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That fall, the sky was rarely clear.
Rain had been pouring hard since Oscar had woken up, and a cold breeze was brushing the leaves of the trees along the road, pushing them forwards and then backwards in a never-ending cycle. The pedals of his bike were slipping under his shoes as if the bike didn’t want to be guided by its owner, or by anyone at all.
By the time he arrived at college, his jacket was soaked.
Right outside the north gate of the building, a slightly dented motorcycle was carelessly parked. The leather seat was old and worn, and a helmet was hanging off the side of its handlebars, free from any chain or lock. Its vivid neon green color stood out so sharply against the dull and grey morning that it almost looked like a hallucination.
Walking to class, Oscar kept his gaze on the windows, stained by the cold water dripping from the sky, hitting and trying to consume the glass as if it was desperate to enter and drown them all.
He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on one of the wooden chairs, tucked away near the side wall, towards the back. A group of girls was laughing somewhere behind him.
8:47
He was early.
Again.
He put his hood on and let his head fall on his arms, his jacket left on the chair next to him in a futile attempt to let it dry despite the humidity of the room. The muffled voices around him sounded almost like a lullaby to someone who, like Oscar, didn’t sleep enough the night before.
The chemistry notes that had kept him up until 3am were resting in his bag. He didn’t even have the strength to pull them out.
His eyelids felt heavy as he struggled not to fall asleep right there on the spot.
He really wanted to go back to his bed.
A few muffled voices walked their way towards him, their laughs and mocking tones waking Oscar from the trance he had fallen into as he curled in on himself and almost blended with the desk itself.
Chairs scraped the floor, and a group of students sat two rows below Oscar, a few seats on his right.
“—o the principal?”
“Yeah, I told you! Just because he thought I kept that shit in my locker, for fuck’s sake”
The voice awakened him as if the rain had finally broken the glass of the windows and a violent wave of freezing water had been thrown into the building. It was deep, its strong British accent marking every letter as if to underline their importance.
Oscar didn’t have to raise his head for an image of dark curls and grimy tan skin to appear in his mind.
“What did he say?”
“Just… I don’t know, some bullshit about how I’m ruining my future or something,” said again the voice.
The boy who had just spoken clicked his tongue in annoyance with a loud and sharp sound. Oscar raised his head slowly. Then, he leaned back on his chair, arms crossed, left leg moving up and down as he always did when he hadn’t slept enough.
His eyes settled on the boy, and the image took shape comfortably in front of him.
Dark curly hair, slightly wet from the rain, and ocean green eyes wide open as the owner spoke animatedly to a small group of friends. His tan skin was smudged with grease, stains barely visible on his hands and a few on his neck, as if he had just worked on an engine and forgot to wash up afterwards.
Under his camo jacket, he was dressed in black, clothes looking worn and old although the boy didn’t seem to mind.
Lando Norris was the kind of student professors had stopped expecting anything from years ago.
A lost cause, they called him.
Nobody knew why he even went to college.
“He just wanted to accuse me of something, I’m telling you”
Except he was lying, because Oscar sure did watch him put a heavy leather bag in his own locker, a few days ago, while he thought nobody was around.
Oscar was watching him, though.
He had been watching him for quite a while, actually.
The professor entered the room, and the lesson started.
Pulling out his chemistry notes, Oscar felt sick. He tried to focus on the fact that there were only three exams left to do, but then again, it was only his second year spent in that suffocating building.
Sometimes he wished that he didn’t choose this degree, or any degree at all.
Halfway through the lesson, the giant white board behind the lecturer was showing molecular structures and half-erased chemical equations, but there, at the back of the classroom, all eyes were elsewhere.
Oscar had given up trying to comprehend what was in front of him long ago, and his left cheek had already sunk back into his arms as he felt as if gravity had doubled its pull.
10:04.
Again, his eyes settled on the group of boys on his right, two rows below.
One playing video games on his phone, one sleeping, and one whispering in Lando’s ear something Oscar couldn’t quite understand.
Though, he didn’t fail to notice the small plastic bag of white powder being passed under the desk and into Lando’s hand, nor the way the brit suddenly tensed at the sight of it.
Barely, but enough for Oscar to notice.
Still, he didn’t give it back, but slipped it into his pocket.
Everybody knew he always had a problem saying no, anyway.
Oscar turned his head facing the desk, closing his eyes as his warm breath heated the sleeves of his hoodie. The jacket next to him was still drenched.
Three more lectures to go.
By the time the second lecture ended, the rain had begun to pour even harder.
Oscar set the tray of food down on a table near the window that covered almost the entirety of the canteen’s western wall.
The chicken in front of him looked way less appealing than it had when he’d first picked it up, but he started eating anyway, although its bland taste made his hunger fade really quickly.
Outside the window, the world looked blurry.
The voices echoed in the room so loud that Oscar felt everyone was yelling at each other. Once again, though, it was only one voice that caught his attention and made him turn his gaze from the half empty plate in front of him.
Lando and the three boys from the chemistry lecture were sitting with five girls in the middle of the room. Apparently, they had given up on the chicken long before Oscar was planning to himself.
The curly-haired boy was talking with the drug dealer friend about a football match that was played yesterday, or maybe the day before, with so much enthusiasm that Oscar wondered if they were really twenty-one years old and not eight.
Another student joined them, giving Lando a brotherly punch on the shoulder and sitting between him and the drug dealer guy.
“Did Oliver really bag the valedictorian?” he asked the brit with a pinch of unbelief.
“Who’s Oliver?” one of the girls asked.
“Lando’s older brother, you know? Tall nerdy guy from Medicine?”
“Jeez, Lando, you couldn’t be more similar,” mocked a second one.
Lando just shrugged his shoulder.
He had specific ways of reacting when people mentioned his family, Oscar thought. Despite him brushing it off and seeming indifferent, the way he would tense almost imperceptibly when someone mentioned his older brother or his father didn’t really go unnoticed by him.
Oliver was one year older, and well-known by everyone for his unbeatable grades and his charming, big-hearted nature. He was Lando’s polar opposite. Oscar knew Lando hated it, because whenever someone pointed it out, they always did so with the implication that Lando was a disappointment and that he should’ve been more like his brother.
His dad was on death row, accused of aggravated murder by a neighbor who, after losing her brother, had become convinced that he was responsible. When the news spread through the college hallways and students’ dorm rooms at the end of May, five months before, nobody really seemed surprised. If anything, they took the news as a simple explanation of why Lando acted the way he did.
The brit didn’t seem to harbor any hate for his father, though. From what Oscar had seen, any time a friend had dared to even suggest the possibility of his father being guilty, he had defended him with his whole chest, refusing to listen to anyone who spoke badly about him
On the other hand, Lando’s mother was such an angel that nobody who had met both could quite believe she was really the one that had raised Lando.
When Oscar woke up from his thoughts, Lando was talking to one of the girls, a smirk growing slowly on his face as the girl blushed and laughed at something he had said.
The chicken on his plate was cold.
Oscar forced himself to bite one more piece, while he spared a glance at the grey and dull landscape out of the window.
Then, with his bag on his shoulder and the empty tray of food in his hands, Oscar started making his way towards the canteen entrance.
The table he had been staring at for half of his lunch break was right in front of him. As he walked towards it, the curly-haired boy suddenly turned his gaze to Oscar.
Their eyes locked.
He didn’t say anything, nor did he smile. If anything, he glanced at the empty table Oscar was sitting at a few minutes before, then looked back at him.
It didn’t last more than two seconds, anyway.
Oscar walked past him, and Lando looked away.
Oscar slept through the entirety of the third lecture.
The girl that was sitting next to him woke him up right after the professor left, asking him if he was feeling alright. She didn’t receive anything more than a mumbled “thank you”, and a wave when Oscar left the room.
As he moved upstairs and walked through the hallways, everything seemed to be moving slower than usual.
Maybe it was because not many people frequented the Physics area on the top floor, or maybe it was because it was 3pm and everyone had decided to give up on the last lecture of the day, too exhausted to pay attention, but either way, the college seemed empty.
When he entered the classroom, the professor wasn’t there, and apparently not even the majority of the students.
He made his way towards the back counting ten others sitting on the wooden chairs, endless eye bags and yawns and all the rest of the package the college hid between all those “it’s for your future” and “the best years of your life” lines.
For the fourth time that day, Oscar dropped his bag on the floor, placed his jacket on the back of his chair and waited.
3:05.
When the professor came in, a familiar figure behind him made his way into the classroom, and while she turned on the laptop and the whiteboard behind her, Lando walked to the middle and looked around for a few seconds before walking up the classroom alone.
Still and almost uneasy, as if something in him had changed since his friends left him alone, he let his eyes quickly scan the seats, eventually landing on Oscar.
The latter shifted his gaze slightly to the left, following the movements of the professor but still watching Lando, with the corner of his eye, moving towards the back of the classroom. He sat in the same row as Oscar, five or six seats away.
The lesson started.
Oscar didn’t fail to notice how the brit kept his eyes on him for a while, a long while, before dropping his head on the desk and falling asleep right when the professor started talking about the next exam’s structure, twenty minutes in.
He tried to pay attention, he really did, but nothing that she was saying was really making sense at that point, so he eventually gave in, resting his cheek against his palm and sinking his elbow on the desk. His face turned slightly, just enough for his eyes to settle on the sleeping figure a few seats away.
All he could really see was the back of Lando’s head, a soft mess of curly hair and the tanned strip of his nape where it disappeared beneath the collar of his camo jacket.
Oscar didn’t know how long he stared.
At one point, though, the voice of the professor, the soft clicking of laptop keyboards and the occasional scribbling of pens seemed to fade into the background, becoming nothing more than a distant hum.
His eyes lingered on the soft, dark curls, wondering how it would feel to run his hands through them, gently, as if they were something so delicate they could be ruined by a simple touch. Then, his gaze drifted to the nape of his neck, imagining the contrast it would create if Oscar were to touch it, softly, with his pale hands constellated with moles.
He wondered how someone with such a terrible attitude could look so peaceful as soon as he fell asleep. Lando was an asshole, everybody knew it. There wasn’t a rule he was willing to follow, nor a value he was willing to respect. Probably, there wasn’t even anyone he was willing to fight for.
Still, Oscar kept looking for him in classrooms and around the corners of hallways. There was something about Lando, something that made Oscar’s eyes linger longer than they should, something that made his attention drift away from whatever else he was supposed to be focusing on.
Maybe he was just crazy, but whenever Lando hopped off his motorcycle, pulled off his helmet and made his dark curls fall loose in the wind, lighting a cigarette as he walked through the gate, Oscar couldn’t help but thinking he looked so cool.
And now, with Lando asleep just a few seats away, Oscar found himself looking at him from afar.
Like the day before, and the one before that.
By the time the lesson ended, he hadn’t even noticed that the rain outside the window had stopped.
Oscar was standing in front of the glass doors of the fridge, staring at the rows of drinks inside.
The doorbell of the corner shop rang somewhere behind him.
He opened one of the doors and picked a can of diet coke with his hand, shivering at the sudden cold breeze biting his skin and seeping right below into his muscles.
He would’ve gladly gone back home right after the physics lecture ended and taken a nap, but he had a project to make due the following day. The thought of it made him nauseous, so instead of going straight home and starting to work on it, he stopped at the corner shop few streets away in hope to buy himself some time.
He would’ve stayed up until 3am again, anyway.
Closing the glass door, he walked towards the checkout.
The old man behind the counter gave him a familiar smile, took the can Oscar had placed on the till and scanned it. While Oscar waited, his eyes drifted outside the shop window.
The ground was still wet, grass sparkling reflecting the faint afternoon sunlight, puddles scattered across the street. A motorcycle was parked further away from the shop, yet still in sight.
“£1.50, please”
Oscar handed over the money, then looked around the corner as the man fumbled around for the change. At the end of the last aisle, a boy stood with his back to him, his hood pulled up over his head. Oscar stared at him silently, watching him as he reached for a packet of cigarettes before slipping it into the pocket of his camo jacket.
“Here you are, son. Have a good day”
“Thanks”
The smell of rain filled his nostrils as soon as he stepped outside the shop. The first hints of sunset were beginning to appear, as Oscar lifted his bicycle from the ground, pushed it down the empty street and made his way to the road bridge.
With his bike and his bag left somewhere behind him, he sat on the stone parapet, legs dangling loosely over the edge.
As he cracked open the can, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He took the first sip, letting the fizzy cold drink down his throat as the autumn breeze sent a shiver down his spine.
“Hi Osc”
The sweetness of the diet coke still lingered on his tongue as Lando appeared beside him, hopped onto the stone parapet and sat down cross-legged.
The sunlight made its way through the clouds still scattered in the sky, bathing everything in a breathtaking orange glow. When Oscar turned around, Lando was staring at the water in front of him, quiet.
His hair looked almost hazelnut-brown, his skin almost glowing golden against the grey tone of the empty roads around them. Although there was still dirt between Lando’s fingers, Oscar felt the urge to reach for his hand, just to feel its warmth against his own.
“Hi Lan”
The other turned, offering a familiar smile and punching him lightly on the shoulder. Oscar found himself wishing Lando’s hand hadn’t moved away so quickly.
Lando pulled the stolen pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket and took out one. His other hand reached into the pocket of his black jeans for the old lighter his dad had given him before being sent to jail, a few months ago.
“I heard about Oliver,” Oscar started, aware he was the only one Lando was comfortable talking to about his family.
“Yeah,” the older boy replied, opening the lighter with his thumb. “Mom just took the chance to scream at me saying I should be more like him”
The bitterness in his tone lingered in the air between them, as Lando tried several times to flick the lighter which didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“Fuck this,” Lando whispered, letting the lighter fall onto his lap.
“Here”
Oscar took his own lighter and handed it to him. Lando just stared at him for a few seconds before the corner of his mouth turned slightly upwards and his warm hand reached for Oscar’s.
Oscar didn’t smoke.
He had just bought one and always carried it with him after Lando’s started not working.
The brit lit the cigarette and exhaled the smoke out, creating a huge cloud floating in front of their eyes, mesmerizing. As he brought the cigarette to his mouth, Oscar’s eyes lingered on his lips, slightly pink, softer than they had any right to be.
His mind drifted somewhere else, imagining what it would feel like to brush his thumb gently over them, before leaning in and kissing them softly, in the back of his mum’s Mercury. He imagined Lando’s warm breath over his lips, so close, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him and Oscar ready to swallow it entirely. The thought alone made his chest physically hurt, a need he couldn’t name clenching somewhere beneath his ribs.
The smell of Marlboro Reds intoxicated his lungs like a sweet poison Oscar couldn’t get enough of.
“You should stop stealing them, Lando,” is what he said instead, calmly. “The owner and his wife are struggling with money lately”
Lando shrugged his shoulders.
“You and your caffeine will keep them alive,” he simply replied, pointing with his chin at the can resting in Oscar’s hands. “Can I have some?”
What a stupid question.
Oscar would’ve given him everything if he just asked.
Lando took a sip of his coke, as his throat caught the younger one’s attention. He looked at Oscar for a brief moment, then turned back as a small grin appeared on his face.
Sometimes Oscar wondered if Lando could read his mind.
They sat in silence for a while, Lando sipping Oscar’s diet coke, holding the cigarette so gently with his other hand that Oscar couldn’t help but wonder how the same hands could punch someone straight in the face over some stupid fight, and be so gentle the moment after.
It always happened the same way.
They always found themselves at the corner shop at the same time, after college. Lando would steal, sometimes cigarettes, sometimes beers, and Oscar would buy anything that had enough caffeine to keep him awake. Then, one of them would sit on the stone parapet of the bridge, always in the same spot, and the other would join right after. They would sit there, quietly, neither of them wanting to go home.
Oscar felt the other’s gaze on his face, but he didn’t turn around. He let him stare.
He didn’t know why, but that was all they did.
Stare.
In the hallways, behind the desks, in the canteen crowded with people. Always looking for each other but never quite reaching the other.
Oscar never said anything. Not if Lando didn’t say it first, anyway.
The gentle wind carried away their voices as they talked about everything and nothing at the same time, like they always did.
“—m sorry for the bike, I’ll fix it tomorrow!” Lando was saying, trying not to laugh at some of his own excuses he’d thrown out after Oscar had called him out on all the promises he’d broken and all the stupid things he’d done.
“I still owe you a black eye,” he said.
As the younger spoke, Lando closed his eyes, smile lingering on his face as he waited for him to keep his word and punch him.
Instead, Oscar thought of kissing him.
Twice.
“You’d let someone punch you without fighting back?”
Lando shrugged his shoulder.
“If it’s you, yeah”
The tone was caring, soft.
Lando was known for never giving up on a fight. Even when he was on all four, against odds he could barely beat, he wasn’t the type of guy to turn his other cheek.
And yet, he was sitting there, shoulders anything but tense, hands resting loosely in his lap and eyes closed, waiting.
Sometimes Oscar thought Lando really did love him.
He took the last sip of the can and crashed it between his fingers, loudly. The sun was by now hidden behind the tall grey buildings and the almost entirely leafless trees.
As he watched the river running beneath his feet and enjoyed the cold breeze, Lando stared at him.
His gaze caressed Oscar’s face, then his hands, then somewhere between his nose and his lips. The younger knew that’s what he would do when he was thinking of something he didn’t really wanna say out loud, but he waited, because there was nothing Lando wouldn’t have told him, in the end.
“Osc”
“Hm?”
The cigarette in Lando’s hand was left cold, burnt.
“Why do you keep sitting alone in college?”
As Lando’s words flew to his ears, Oscar fought hard not to turn around, hold Lando’s face gently and whisper on his lips that he would’ve stayed next to him everyday, forever, if only Lando asked.
Instead, he turned his gaze on his lap, lost, and because Oscar didn’t reply, Lando tried again.
“You should hang out with good people, Osc”
Lando’s voice carried an unspoken veil of sadness that seemed to rip Oscar’s heart from his chest and squeeze it mercilessly.
It wasn’t necessary for Lando to say that he wasn’t part of the “good people” he was talking about. Oscar knew. They both knew.
Yet, there wasn’t a moment during the day that Oscar cherished and cared about more than this one, and the one of the day before, and the one before that.
Oscar’s life was so empty that it suffocated him. It suffocated him when he was in college, when he was eating at home, when he was trying to sleep in the middle of the night but his mind couldn’t stop working, for some reason.
Yet, when the smell of Marlboro Reds filled his lungs and Lando’s laugh filled his soul, everything felt easier.
The world went quieter.
So Oscar kept going to the corner store everyday, even if it wasn’t the nearest one. He kept buying diet cokes and sitting on the stone parapet, even if it was cold and uncomfortable, just to wait for a curly-haired boy to appear, light his cigarette with Oscar’s lighter, and drink from his can.
He didn’t say any of that.
Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and played with the cold can in his hands.
“Yeah, maybe,” was what he said.
I’d rather be with you, was what he thought.