Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Lando had a normal childhood.

He had loving parents and siblings, who he loved just as much. He went to a good school, got good grades, and had a good childhood.

He never wet the bed, at least not beyond the normal age.

He never, ever hurt animals. He’d rather die than hurt an animal. Lando grew up with dogs, cats, chickens, horses, any animal you could possibly own, and he loved every single one of them, fiercely.

He remembers when his childhood dog passed away, he had cried for hours and was inconsolable for weeks. Lando refused to eat or sleep, absolutely heartbroken.

And he most definitely did not play with fire. Arson was not something Lando ever dabbled in, the thought of fire more frightening than appealing.

So, if someone saw him right now, humming to himself in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, sawing a man into pieces, they’d probably say ‘There were no signs!’, and they’d be right.

Lando didn’t have any of the three signs of being a serial killer because he wasn’t one. He didn’t kill because he enjoyed it, he killed because he had to. He had to protect Oscar.

That’s how this all started, the killing, the dismembering. It all started when he met Oscar.

Lando knows he has always been weird, a freak some would say.

He’d take his lunch outside during high school to people-watch, trailing his eyes over people, observing their routines. He liked to observe people, it put him at ease.

He should have known this day would come, when he’d find the perfect person. It was bound to happen with the number of people he’d come across.

And if you were to ask Max, he’d say it was a long time coming. The two of them were best friends, having met when Max sat down next to him during high school and said bluntly that he was weird.

They had hit it off, Max being equally as weird as Lando. Max would profile every single person he would point out, waiting for Lando to confirm or deny his assessments, the other man having plenty of knowledge on all of the passersby.

Lando went to a good college, had a good roommate (Max), got a good degree, and got a good job.  

He liked his job working at the IT company Max and he started, it was nice, quiet, Lando didn’t have to interact with anyone he didn’t want to. The money was good too.

Lando can pinpoint the exact moment he met Oscar. Sweet, beautiful, kind, angelic Oscar. He’s engraved their meeting into his mind, replaying it every day.

He remembers how mundane the day had been. Lando went to work, watched the man who worked at the coffee stand outside the office call his wife and then call his mistress, did some work, ate lunch, and watched the janitor get multiple calls from his bookie, demanding money, and then did some more work.

He drove home, walking into his apartment building like every other night.

Until he heard footsteps running to the elevator. Any other day, Lando would’ve let the door close, wanting a few minutes of peace on the way up to his apartment on the twelfth floor. But he held the door like he knew he was going to meet the love of his life.

When the man came sliding into view, panting and slipping between the closing doors, he smiled at Lando.

Lando felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The mystery man was wearing black slacks, an oversized pale, baby blue sweater with a white dress shirt underneath. His hair was in disarray, like he had run his fingers through it over a million times trying to tame it.

He had a dark brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder, papers overflowing and almost spilling out. Lando just stares at him as he talks, awestruck.

“Thanks, mate. I’m pretty sure I’d die if I had to wait for the next elevator.” He says smiling shyly, reaching his hand out to press his floor.

The first thing that Lando notices is how small his hands are, the sweater spilling over his palms, giving him sweater paws. Lando felt his eyes lock on them, trying to analyze every single detail as quickly as he could.

The second thing he notices is said pretty fingers pressing the same exact button Lando had pressed, the number twelve already lit up.

“Ah, floor twelve? I just moved in a couple of weeks ago, so this is my first time properly meeting anyone from the building. I’m Oscar.” He says, switching his messenger bag to his other shoulder so he can hold his hand out.

Lando probably looks crazy just staring at Oscar, his eyes in the shape of hearts. He feels an immediate connection, his entire body thrumming with the urge to watch, to observe, to take.

Oscar’s smile falters, his hand slowly retracting as his eyes shift from Lando, awkwardness settling over his features.

Lando thrusts his hand out, overreaching and grabbing Oscar’s forearm. He savors the feeling of Oscar’s arm underneath him, his fingers grazing over the soft sweater before he adjusts his hold, clasping Oscar’s hand in his.

Oscar’s smile perks back up, his eyes squinting with the force of it.

Lando smiles back at him, trying not to seem too excited, trying not to seem too manic. He doesn’t want to scare him off, not pretty, perfect Oscar.

“I’m Lando,” He said, forcing himself to drop the handshake and not hold on for an inappropriate amount of time. Lando feels his fingers twitch, the urge to touch overwhelming. He intertwines his hands together in front of him, the compulsion to feel almost too much.

Oscar just smiles and adjusts the strap of his bag, his mouth opening, his pretty, pink lips parting, his tongue darting out to wet them. Lando feels his fingers twitch again, the feeling quickly spreading from his fingertips up to his shoulders, rolling his shoulder to relieve the sudden tension.

He’s about to say something when the elevator doors open, the ding ringing loudly throughout the tiny space.

Oscar smiles at him again, sticking his arm out to hold the elevator, motioning for Lando to exit first.

And Lando would usually glare at anyone who tried to walk behind him, Max having told him multiple times about how many attacks occur from behind, but this was Oscar. Lando already feels like he can trust him.

He flashes his teeth, a genuine smile on his face. He waits for Oscar to leave the elevator, walking side by side as they head down the hallway. They stop at Lando’s apartment first, the disappointment filling him quickly at the prospect of Oscar leaving.

But then Oscar points to the door to the right of him and laughs.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” He says as he walks to his door and fishes in his pocket for his keys, pressing them into the lock and opening the door.

Oscar looks over at him and sends Lando one more gorgeous smile as he waves, the door closing behind him.

Lando stands there for a beat, and then another before he moves. He’s jamming his keys in, missing the lock a few times before he finally gets it, flinging the door open and letting it slam shut behind him.

He’s rushing through his apartment, only stopping briefly to pet his cat, Bessie, the old barn cat he found when he was younger. He presses a quick kiss to her head, brushing a crumb out of her fur as he throws open the door to his gaming room, launching himself into his chair.

Now usually Lando was anal about wearing his work clothes around the house, stripping them the second he gets home and changing into his house clothes as he’s dubbed them. But he’s a man on a mission, too focused on getting to his computer, his fingers itching to type in the name ‘Oscar’.

He knows it’ll take some digging, working off only a person’s first name is difficult, but not impossible, especially since he knows where he lives.

And that’s how he spends the next six hours, perched on the edge of his chair, learning everything he can about his new neighbor. He only takes a break once to feed Bessie and refill her water, and then he’s right back at his computer.

Oscar’s twenty-four, two years younger than Lando. He’s Australian if the accent he had heard earlier wasn’t evidence enough. He came over for college and got a job. He has a degree in mechanical engineering and works for a company not too far from Lando’s office.

He has three younger sisters and two loving parents if their Facebooks are anything to go off of.

His social media accounts are scarce, only pictures from years ago decorating his feed. Of course, Lando goes through each and every one of them, writing down any details that could be important, such as the box of Tim Tams in the back, Oscar is clearly a fan of them, or the bouquet of honeysuckle his parent’s had gifted him after his high school piano recital.

Lando wants to know everything.

He fills two notebooks by the time he’s found everything he could online, rereading his notes multiple times to memorize everything.

When he finally changes and grabs a protein bar for dinner, it’s nearly two am. 

He should go to bed, the rest can wait until tomorrow, he’ll call off and tell Max an emergency came up, but he can’t stop himself from walking back into his room that had been for gaming before this but has now turned into his ‘work’ area.

Some part of him knows that this is weird, wrong, but he’s not hurting anyone. No, he’d never hurt Oscar. He just wants to keep an eye on him, make sure that he’s safe. Someone has to protect Oscar. Obviously, it has to be Lando, they’re meant to be, he felt it, he knows it.

So, he spends the rest of his night/ morning researching and finding every single camera he can find. He wants tiny ones, so he can put them in Oscar’s apartment, on top of his cabinets, in his smoke detectors, above his windowsills. The cameras need to have audio.

If Oscar has a desktop computer, Lando can easily hack into the camera, setting up a continuous live stream to his computer or phone.

He needs higher-quality cameras to capture the more sensitive rooms like the bathroom and bedroom.

He’ll set the cameras up in his shower, and make sure he doesn’t slip or fall in there. And he’ll position one in his bedroom to get a full view of the bed, just in case someone tries to hurt him while he’s asleep.

Lando wants a bigger camera to watch him outside of his apartment, wanting to capture him in the outside world.

It doesn’t take long to composite a list of things he needs, more cameras than he can count, wanting extra just in case, microphones so he can plant them throughout the apartment and pick up any sound the camera doesn’t catch, Tim Tams, and a beginner’s drill set.

Cameras will be nice, help him see what’s going on from different angles and rooms but Oscar is his neighbor, his apartment shares a wall with Lando’s bedroom. If he can get into Oscar’s apartment and find a spot to drill a hole where he won’t suspect, he will be able to see everything he does with his own eyes.

The opportunity is too perfect to pass up.

If Lando wasn’t so enthralled by his plans, he’d be slightly worried that all these things could be bought on Amazon. But right now, he’s just extremely thankful for overnight, one-day shipping. He knows it most likely won’t arrive until late tomorrow (today) but that’s fine, he’ll spend the day figuring out how to get into Oscar’s apartment.

It takes a while for him to sleep, pacing the wood floor in his bedroom, periodically pressing his ear to the wall to hear something, anything, coming from the other side, but it’s almost four am at this point, the last two hours filled with online shopping.

He knows logically that Oscar is asleep, but that doesn’t stop the desperation from clawing at him.

Does he drink coffee or tea in the morning? How does he take it? How many sips does it take for him to finish a cup?

Does he shower at night or in the morning? Does he shampoo and condition before he washes his body, or in between? Does he brush his teeth in the shower or does that gross him out? Does he shave?

What does his bedtime routine look like? Does he watch TV at night, or does he read a book before bed? Does he lick his finger to turn the pages?

How does he sleep? Naked or fully clothed? Boxers or pajama bottoms? Does he lay on his belly or back? Does he snore?

How many breaths does he take a minute while he sleeps? While he’s awake?

Do his pupils dilate when he’s aroused? Does he prefer to get off in his bed or shower? Not that it matters, Lando will be privy to both. Does he edge himself or does he like to get straight to the point?

Does Oscar like to take it, or give it?

Lando feels like he’s descending into madness, questions flooding his brain as he paces. He’s picking at his hangnails absentmindedly, unaware that he’s bleeding. He’s too focused on all the scenarios playing in his head, all the possibilities that he doesn’t realize the time passing, the sun rising, the city awakening.

He’s knocked out of his thoughts when he hears his alarm blare from the kitchen, his phone sitting on the counter where he left it all those hours ago. He snatches it, turning off the insolent alarm and shooting Max a text, telling him an emergency came up and that he won’t be at work today or tomorrow.

Lando’s attention is ripped from his phone, the text bubble already letting him know Max was texting back, when he hears a clatter from his bedroom. He knows it didn’t come from inside his apartment but from Oscar’s.

He drops his phone in his haste to get to his bedroom, immediately pressing his ear to the shared wall.

Unfortunately, their building is actually nice, and it should be considering the rent they pay, but that means, the walls are thick, meant to keep sound out. Lando can only hear the faint voice of Oscar, his sleepy voice thick with his Australian accent.

Lando hears him mutter a curse, he probably dropped something. He really wishes he could peel back the layers of plaster and see Oscar for himself, in all his morning glory.

Does he have bed head? Does he walk around his apartment in just his boxers? Does he-

No, Lando needs to stop. His day will not be productive if keeps asking himself hypotheticals. If he can just be patient for another day or so, he can have the answers to all his questions. He knows that but it doesn’t stop him from planning on how he’s going to run into Oscar this morning.

He needs to see him.

His usual excuse would be to bump into him as he leaves for work, the odds of the two of them not having met yet are inexplicable. He would curse whatever higher being there was for not letting him run into Oscar earlier, but he can’t be too mad, they still met which is all that matters.

He’ll take his trash out, even though he just did that two days ago and has definitely not accumulated enough garbage to justify another trip to the garbage can outside. He’ll find trash.

It’s the perfect opportunity.

That’s how he finds himself standing by his front door, shifting impatiently, waiting for the sound of Oscar’s door opening, signaling him to leave as well. Lando stands there for a good half hour, his fingers clenching around the bag of trash in anticipation.

When Lando finally hears the opening of a door and a slight shake of his wall, he knows that Oscar has left. He strikes.

He opens his own door, making sure to act as if he’s trying to keep Bessie away from the door, making sure that it appears that his full attention isn’t on Oscar. He has to act natural.

“Bessie, stay back. Good kitty,” Lando says, looking down, ignoring said cat’s judgment from where she’s sitting on the kitchen island. When he closes the door, locking it behind him, he finally looks up.

Thankfully Oscar hadn’t walked past him yet, the man stopping his trek to the elevator to smile at Lando.

“Hey, Lando. Going down?” Oscar greets him, nodding his head at the bag in his hand. Lando has to fight the urge to squeal over the fact that he remembered his name. Clearly, Oscar feels the same way that he does, that much is obvious. You don’t just remember a random person’s name, right?

“Yeah, cleaned out my fridge yesterday,” Lando says, casually. Good, this is good. He can be casual and not bring up his entire family’s life story. Oscar laughs at that, walking to the elevator and looking at Lando expectantly.

He rushes to get into the elevator, the bag of trash banging noisily into his leg. He’s trying not to think about the slightly cold and slimy liquid that seems to be dripping onto his calf. He hadn’t lied to Oscar; he had really cleaned out his fridge.

There were plenty of fruits and vegetables going bad so, it was a win-win situation. Lando does have a sinking suspicion that it may be the rotting pear he found in the back of his fridge that’s leaking on him.

“No work today?” Oscar asks, curiosity painting his features. Lando grasps the bag tighter, his knuckles turning white. Oscar wants to get to know Lando, just as much as Lando wants to get to know him. He knew there was a connection there, Oscar clearly felt it as well.

“Work from home day,” Lando lies, smiling at him. He could work from home, that much is true, but there’s no way he could focus on anything when he knows his packages are being delivered later today. He’s also technically his own boss, so he can take a day off.

Oscar nods his head, pouting slightly. Lando feels his smile falter, the muscles in his jaw jumping. Does Oscar know what he’s doing to him? He can’t just pout and expect Lando not to fold in half.

“I’m jealous. I wish I could work from home, but unfortunately, mechanical engineering requires a more hands-on approach.” He says, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers.

If Oscar wants time off, Lando will buy his company. Money is no issue for him, he’s swimming in it, too much to put to any use. He’s sure he could convince Max why they should buy whatever company Oscar works for.

Oscar shrugs his shoulders, smiling at Lando as the doors open, the automated voice ringing out ‘One’.

“You’ll have to tell me one day what you do to get to work from home, maybe I’ll switch careers.” Oscar jokes, exiting the elevator. He looks back as he walks to the front door, waving.

“Later, Lando!” He calls out, his eyes squinting as flashes Lando another smile, turning around to make his trek to work.

The doors close before Lando can leave, the elevator going back up.

He feels frozen in place, his heart beating so fast it feels like it’ll jump out of his chest, goosebumps spreading across his arms, his toes clenched in his gym shoes. Not only did Oscar remember his name, but he asked about him.

He wants to talk again.

Lando feels like he could start foaming at the mouth with the amount of energy thrumming through him. He’s tingling all over, his body jittery from the tiny interaction with Oscar.

He feels like he’s going to faint at the thought of everything he’ll get to learn about his precious Oscar when he gets his cameras later.

He’s tempted to leave the trash in the elevator and rush back to his apartment to wait at the front door for his packages like a dog. But he doesn’t.

What if Oscar gets sick at the sight of the garbage, at the smell of the rotting fruit? He doesn’t want to be the reason Oscar feels uncomfortable after a long day of work. And what if Oscar finds out he left his trash in the elevator, would he be upset? Disgusted that Lando had just left it there?

Lando would feel disgusted. The thought of someone’s animal getting into it and getting sick or Oscar getting sick is enough to make him press the button for the first floor again. A few people wander into the elevator, all presumably late for work, and Lando tries not to sneer at them.

Oscar wasn’t late to work. And even if he was, that’d be different.

When he finally deposits his trash in the garbage room on the first floor, he rushes back to his apartment, jamming the number twelve button at least ten times.

He feeds Bessie, adding in a few extra treats to buy her silence. And then, he sits on his couch, the TV off, and stares at his reflection. He’s waiting to get a notification saying his packages are here, knowing he’ll need to sign for such an expensive and extensive delivery.

The day passes like that, Lando staring off into space, thinking about Oscar, running through endless scenarios again. Bessie snuggles next to him, enjoying the peace and quiet and the scratches from her owner.

What finally startles him out of his daydream of Oscar and him enjoying a morning snuggled together in bed, is the knocking on his front door. That has to be his packages, his cameras are finally here.

Lando doesn’t check the peephole, just launches himself off the couch and flings the door open, his brows furrowing when he’s met with a familiar face.

“Max?” Lando asks, confusion spreading on his face. He leans out his front door, looking to see if there is a delivery person anywhere nearby. Why is Max at his door?

“Let me in,” Max says, budging past Lando and through the door, immediately beelining to the couch, spotting Bessie. Lando huffs as his best friend barges through, closing the door after one more glance down the hallway to make sure he didn’t miss any of his packages being delivered.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Max?” Lando says, plopping down on the other side of the couch, watching as Bessie snuggles against Max’s hand.

“You don’t look sick,” He says, blunt as always. He doesn’t even look up at Lando, just continues to shower Bessie with love. He knows Max isn’t actively avoiding making eye contact with him, he’s just too invested in petting his cat.

Sometimes, Max struggles with eye contact. It’s never been his strong suit, says it makes him uncomfortable looking into someone else’s eyes that long.

There are only a few people that he always maintains eye contact with.

His mother, his sister, Lando, and Sergio.

Lando sighs, shoving a socked foot into Max’s knee.

“I never said I was sick. I said I had an emergency.” Lando says, withdrawing his foot when Max finally graces him with his attention. He puts his hands up in mock surrender.

Max rolls his eyes and brushes off a stray piece of lint on his dress pants. Ever since Sergio started dating Max, his fashion sense has greatly improved, less skinny jeans that look like they were cutting off Max’s circulation and more stylish clothes. The Mexican lovingly deemed it the ‘boyfriend’ effect, and now the ‘fiancé’ effect.

He watches the tiny speck of lint float through the air and land back on Max’s thigh, the Dutchman going to pick it up again before Lando grabs it and heads to his trash can, the fresh bag inside staring at him.

“What’s the emergency then? Is it your parents? Is it Flo or Cisca? Oliver? Lando-,” Max starts, his words flying out at a mile a minute, a rare show of emotion on his face. Worry.

Lando closes the trash lid, directing his gaze to his best friend.

“No, no. They’re fine. Healthy and happy.” He says, settling back on the couch, leaning down to press a kiss to Bessie’s head, the old cat purring. Max’s shoulders drop, his face falling back into the carefully crafted emotionless mask.

Again, there are only four people Max shows his emotions to.

His mother, his sister, Lando, and Sergio.

“Then what’s the emergency? Maybe I can help.” Max says, his voice ringing out in the otherwise quiet apartment. And Lando feels a rush of guilt for lying to his best friend. They were all each other had at one point (minus their families).

It’s not that Lando cannot create and hold onto relationships or friendships, he’s just always been too needy, too clingy, too much. But he never was for Max.

Max never cared if Lando asked where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. He took everything in stride, answering Lando honestly and bluntly. It’s why the two got on so well. When everyone else left, claiming Lando to be overwhelming and overbearing, Max shrugged his shoulders and called them stupid.

Which is why he owes Max the truth.

“There was an emergency, but no one was hurt. I-,” Lando starts, twisting his fingers nervously. Will this be the straw that breaks the camel’s back? Will Max finally think Lando is too weird to hang around with anymore?

It’s Max’s turn to jam his socked foot into Lando’s thigh (the Dutchman having rushed into his apartment, yes, but remembering how it bothered Lando when people wore shoes inside his space), drawing his attention to him.

“Lando, you could kill someone, and I still wouldn’t think you were a terrible person like you seem to think of yourself,” Max says, sending a rare, reassuring smile Lando’s way. And perhaps that should be the first clue that both of them have a few screws loose but, it’s not, and Lando doesn’t care.

“I may have met someone,” Lando mutters, avoiding eye contact. He knows Max’s eyebrows have flown into his hairline; his surprise palpable without looking.

“Met someone? As in another human being? As in a guy?” Max questions, scooting closer to him, craning his head so he’s almost upside down in Lando’s lap, trying to make eye contact.

Lando rolls his eyes and pushes his friend away, the other straightening up once he meets his eyes.

“No, a toad, yes a fucking guy.” Lando crosses his arms and flops back against the couch, pouting as Max splutters. He scooches closer, crossing his legs, his knee digging into Lando’s thigh.

“Tell me about him,” He says, his eyes wide as he leans forward. Max may be strict with who gets close to him, glaring at anyone that so much as breathes within his vicinity but when he’s the one doing the invading of personal boundaries, it’s okay.

Lando can’t decide if he wants to safeguard all of Oscar’s personal details or talk about him for hours on end. When he sees how eager Max is to learn about Oscar, Lando’s decision is made for him.

He tells him everything, about how he met him yesterday coming back from work, his findings from the internet, his shopping spree, and how he ran into him this morning. He tells Max how they had this immediate connection, how when he saw Oscar, he knew they were meant to be.

He tells Max he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds but he thinks he may love him.  

And when he finally finishes, he feels a weight lift off his chest when he looks at Max and sees not an ounce of judgment in his eyes.

Max waits a minute to make sure Lando is done talking when he finally speaks up.

“I felt that same way about Checo when I first met him. Minus, you know, the creepy stalkerish behavior. I never bought cameras to invade his privacy, but, to each their own.” Max shrugs his shoulders, not a hint of remorse for calling his best friend a creep apparent.

Lando sighs, rolling over and burying his face into the couch pillow, and screams.

Why did Max have to point out that he’s a creep, a stalker?

“Max, please.” He sighs, his face still smooshed into the pillow as he lies there.

Max rolls his eyes at his friend’s dramatics.

“I said you had creepy stalkerish behavior, not that you are a creepy stalker.” He huffs, grabbing a handful of Lando’s shirt and tugging on him gently, coaxing his friend to sit up and stop pouting.

Lando sits up, ready to defend himself and say that he’s not a stalker (he definitely is) and that he’s just looking out for Oscar when there’s a knock on his apartment door.

The room falls silent, both of them slowly turning to look at each other.

Before Lando can even think, he’s flying off the couch, slipping on the soft carpet, catching himself before he can face plant. The second he gets up, he’s rushing to his front door, almost careening into it.

He flings the door open, coming face to face with a mountain of boxes.

Max sits quietly on the couch, tilting his head to get a better look.

A tiny lady pops up behind the boxes, thrusting a clipboard toward Lando for him to sign. He can barely grasp the pen, his hands shaking with excitement. She doesn’t say anything else, just rolls the trolly down the hallway and back into the elevator.

Max, the lazy bastard, doesn’t even offer to help, just watches as Lando struggles to haul all the boxes in, very carefully.

When he finally gets them all in, he turns his attention to his best friend, expectantly. Max just stares back at him, unaware of what he wants.

“Want me to go?” He says after they both are silent for a few minutes as Lando fiddles with the tape on one of the boxes.

Lando nods, his curls bouncing with the force of his movements.

“Not because you aren’t my best friend but-,” He starts, Max, cutting him off as he stands up, petting Bessie once more. He walks past Lando and bends over to lace up his dress shoes, careful to stand on the doormat and keep his shoes off his wood floor.

“I get it, you want to play with your little creepy stalker toys.” He says, reaching out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder, finding his keys and wallet that he deposited on the entry table when he walked in.

Lando shoots him a glare, “Max-”.

But he’s already opening the door and stepping out, turning around before the door closes.

“You know we actually have a company to run but don’t worry, I’ll take care of it today,” Max says, his voice overflowing with sarcasm. The last thing he sees before the door closes is his friend smirking at him.

And if Lando wasn’t about to vibrate out of his skin at seeing the packages he’d been waiting for all night, then he would’ve tackled Max in the hallway. But alas, the culprit gets away.

He stares at the door for a beat and then another before he turns his attention to the big, brown boxes sitting in his entryway.

It doesn’t take him long to unbox everything, carefully placing the cameras in his gaming room. He lays the tiny ones and the microphones on the ground, tiptoeing around them as he places the bigger camera on his desk. He plans on using that one for observing Oscar outside, at work, out to eat, anything.

He keeps the drill case in his living room. He’s really hoping that he can find a covert place to drill a tiny hole. There’s got to be someplace where he can see everything, but Oscar would never notice.

Lando spends the rest of his evening planning on where he wants to place the cameras in Oscar’s apartment, going off his own layout. He orders takeout, making sure to eat in his kitchen and not touch any of the cameras until he has thoroughly washed his hands.

Eventually, he goes to bed, exhausted from the night before. He tosses and turns all night, his mind running with everything that could go wrong.

Oscar could walk in on him tomorrow in his apartment and call the cops, scream, and file a restraining order. He could come home from work early and catch Lando in the act. He has to be careful.

He wouldn’t understand, he’d think Lando was a stalker, a creep (it’s fine if Max calls him that, he knows his friend was joking). If Oscar thought that about him, he’d die. Eventually, he’ll explain everything to him, tell him that he’s doing all this to protect Oscar, not hurt him, not invade his privacy.

Oscar will understand, he has to. Lando will explain that he did this out of love, out of devotion.

When he wakes up the next day it’s to his alarm ringing, signaling that he has to start getting ready for the workday. He reaches for his phone, turning off the blaring noise in his ear, and seeing a text from Max.

It reads:

“Take the day off. Let me know how it goes.”

Lando texts back a quick ‘thank you’, forever grateful that Max has his back, no matter how unconventional the situation.

He showers quickly, running through his plans for the day in his head. He has to wait until Oscar leaves, his neighbor having left his apartment yesterday at seven o’five exactly. Lando quickly gets dressed and organizes all his things. He had packed carefully last night, a black duffle bag full of his equipment, including the drill kit.

He had wanted to run into Oscar again this morning, aching to see his sunny smile, but had quickly decided against it. If he keeps purposely running into him, Oscar will get suspicious. 

So, Lando sits on the couch, digging his fingers into his thighs as he hears the telltale shake of the wall and closing of a door, the clock on the wall reading seven o’five. He’s punctual.

Lando appreciates that. He’s also punctual.

He sits there, forcing himself to not move, and meet Oscar in the hall.

How did he sleep? Did he think of Lando after their interaction yesterday? Does he think about him as much as Lando thinks about him?

He occupies himself with those thoughts until the clock hits eight o’five, an hour having passed since Oscar had left.

Lando gets off the couch and heads to his computer in the other room.

The first step is to disable the security cameras in the hall. He can’t have anyone spotting him breaking into Oscar’s apartment. Not exactly breaking in, just unlocking the door without his permission and letting himself in. He’ll make sure to lock up as he leaves.

It doesn’t take long to get into the security system. Lando didn’t start an IT company from the ground up because he was bad at his job. He easily replaces the live feed with a loop from a couple days of ago, the empty hallway looking the exact same.

Lando watches the feed on his computer for a few minutes, making sure that no one has picked up on the change.

And he waits and waits and waits, and nothing happens. The old footage plays on a loop, the security guard at the front desk downstairs none the wiser.

He moves swiftly, not wanting to waste any time.

Oscar’s lock is surprisingly easy to pick, the door opening within a minute of fiddling. Lando makes a mental note to replace his own lock with something stronger, making sure to also mention it offhandedly to Oscar.

When the door falls open, he looks both ways, wanting to be sure that no one is watching him. The hallway is empty, most of the building’s residents at work. Lando takes a deep breath before he picks up his duffle bag full of supplies and opens the door, letting himself into Oscar’s apartment.

He has to remind himself to be quick, in and out, and not to touch anything. He had brought a pair of black, latex gloves with him, not wanting to leave any fingerprints or dirty Oscar’s apartment unnecessarily.

The first thing he notices is the pair of flip-flops by the door, and he remembers that Oscar grew up going to the beach and surfing daily. Lando wonders briefly what brand they are, what brand does Oscar like?

He wants to know everything.

But he holds himself back from snooping, placing his equipment down by the door and closing it gently, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Lando keeps repeating to himself, ‘Get in, get out’, he can learn everything about Oscar later when he’s not on a time crunch. He forces himself to not overanalyze the differences in their apartments, such as how Oscar’s barstools are all mismatched, the colors all a different shade of blue (is that his favorite color?), or how he has art hanging on almost every wall, most of the pieces looking like Australian landscape.

He spots something that feels too good to be true. There’s a painting hanging on the wall that they share, a few holes in the plaster from where Oscar had most likely tried to hang the frame.

It’s perfect, it’ll blend right in.

It takes a few tries to get the drill through, the walls are thick to prevent any chance of disturbances between neighbors.

But he finally gets it through, peering through the hole to look into his own apartment, a few stray pieces of plaster in his way but it’s good. He can see clearly if he closes one eye. It blends in with the rest of the tiny holes dotting the wall perfectly.

Next are the cameras. Lando knew a few places he wanted them, starting in the living room and kitchen and working his way toward the more private parts of Oscar’s home.

He starts with a few above his upper cabinets, nestled against the plants that are there. He places them discreetly enough that if Oscar waters the plants, he won’t see them.

His next location is the TV, placing one underneath the stand flush with the piece of furniture’s leg. It blends in well. He places another amongst the HDMI cords, disguising it as another cord that belongs there, angling that one toward the front door.

There’s a light above the entryway, just like the one Lando has in his apartment. The light fixture is flush with the ceiling, and the bulb itself is inset. It’s easy to tuck one up there, gaining another view of Oscar’s entry.

He sets a few more up around the living space, wanting to have as much variety as possible.

When he’s done, he moves on to the guest bathroom, only equipped with a toilet and sink, no shower. He hides the cameras in there quickly, above the mirror in the light fixtures, and above the medicine cabinet situated over the toilet, angled to catch all the movement in the bathroom.

Lando is about to go into Oscar’s bedroom when he feels his palms start to sweat, his heartbeat kicking up, his legs shaking slightly. It’s one thing to be in Oscar’s apartment, it’s another to be in his bedroom.

He can’t help himself. When he goes into his room, he drops the duffel bag, gently, not wanting to damage any of the cameras, and takes in his surroundings. He knows he’s supposed to be in and out and not snoop but he’s realizing when it comes to Oscar, he doesn’t have much self-control.

His beds made, the blankets slightly rumpled and the flat sheet slightly longer on one side. It’s obvious which side is Oscar’s, the pillowcase rumpled from where he slept, the nightstand filled with personal items.

He has a phone charger, a photo of him with his sisters and mother, another of just him and his dad, and a pair of glasses, something Lando hadn’t known until this very moment. Nothing on his internet deep dive informing him that Oscar wore glasses, presumably reading ones if the book next to it is any evidence. Lando makes note of the book, wanting to buy it so next time he bumps into Oscar, he can carry it, prompting another natural conversation.

He runs his hand over the pillow, his fingers ghosting the soft material.

Lando’s not sure what compels him to, but he leans over and presses his face into Oscar’s pillow, his eyes fluttering closed as a soft moan leaves his lips.

The pillow smells like Oscar.

The scent of his shampoo was embedded in the fabric. Wafts of coconut and eucalyptus find his nose as Lando inhales, trying to get more.

He takes in the undertones of the scent, the vanilla sugar, mint, and tonka fragrance the best he’s ever smelled. Lando takes one more deep breath, gripping the pillow tightly before forcing himself away, reminding himself that he has a job to do.

It takes a lot of willpower to release the fabric and move away from Oscar’s bed. He sets about to place the cameras, one in the smoke alarm above his bed, giving him a perfect view.

Another is positioned in his closet, angling it so that when the door is opened, he gets an expansive view of the room. He places another in the lampshade on Oscar’s bedside table, and another hidden behind one of the plants on his dresser.

Lando wants to add more cameras, wants to have every single angle and every single second, captured. But he forces himself to stop when he’s placed ten around the room, any more and they’d start to be obvious, running out of hidden spots.

His hands start to shake as he makes his way over to the en suite bathroom, the door closed. When he turns the door handle, he tries not to lose his composure as he had in Oscar’s bedroom. He wants to take all of his personal items and lay them out on his bed and study them for hours.

Oscar has a pink and purple toothbrush, a cartoon character printed on the handle. He has three different types of mouthwash, one for healthy gums, one for whitening, and another for morning breath.

His bathroom is a little disorganized but nothing that will bother Lando once they live together and share a bathroom. He doesn’t mind cleaning up after Oscar a little.

There’s a blow-dryer on the counter, not a comb or brush in sight. Lando forces himself to stop observing everything, knowing that when he gets back to his apartment, he can open his computer and comb through every single room carefully, picking out every detail he was forced to overlook.

Lando closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself.

He moves quickly afterward, wanting to go back to his apartment and make sure everything is working and functional. Then he can stare at his computer for hours, analyzing everything until Oscar comes home.

He places one camera above the trim in the shower so that he can get a complete view of Oscar inside. He places another one above the door on the trim, facing the shower to provide another angle of Oscar in the shower and getting out as well.

Lando puts one above the mirror and another in the light fixture. The last one he places in the bathroom is in the fan, which is flush against the ceiling, providing the perfect hiding spot.

He leans out of the bathroom door and double-checks that no one is in the apartment with him, as he takes his phone out and starts taking pictures of the bathroom. He gets close-ups of the counter and all the products in the shower.

He moves to Oscar’s bedroom, taking pictures of his bed and his nightstand, moving to his closet and dresser next, capturing anything that screams ‘Oscar’.

Lando glances at the hamper, the lid closed, taunting him. He really shouldn’t but he should. He finds himself drifting over and slowly opening the lid, he feels his breath catch in his throat when he’s met with a small pile of Oscar’s dirty clothes.

What makes his heart stop and his breathing ragged, is the sight of a tight pair of plain, navy blue boxer briefs. Lando’s fingers twitch and this time he can’t stop himself from reaching out, his fingers immediately finding the soft, worn fabric.

He’s snatching them before he can think, stuffing them into his hoodie pocket and grabbing his duffel bag. He runs through the entire apartment once more to make sure he’s left nothing behind before beelining to the front door, making sure the lock isn’t broken from his early ministrations.

Lando opened the door slowly, sticking his head out and looking both ways to make sure no one was out there. When the coast is clear, he rushes out, unlocking his door quickly with his keys and flinging himself into his apartment. The slight thrum of anxiety that had been rushing through him the entire time he was in Oscar’s apartment finally subsided, easing into relief at being able to protect Oscar finally.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He drops the now empty duffel bag by the front door and takes his shoes off carefully. He heads to his gaming room and settles into his chair, turning his computer on. Lando opens the program on his computer, the one that allows him to view the live footage from Oscar’s apartment, pleased to see that they are all working.

After Lando checks all the cameras, he goes to the kitchen to grab a snack and something to drink, scratching behind Bessie’s ears as he passes by where she’s curled up on the floor in a sunspot.

He knows he’ll be at his computer for the rest of the night, jotting down every detail that he comes across that pertains to Oscar. He takes his capri sun and goldfish back to his room, pulling up the live feed from Oscar’s bathroom first. When he curls his legs up, folding them underneath him, crisscross applesauce style, he feels the bulge of fabric in his hoodie pocket.

He had momentarily forgotten that he had snatched Oscar’s dirty underwear, from his hamper. And now that he remembers, he carefully extracts them from his pocket. He clutches the fabric tightly between his fingers, holding himself back from shoving his face into the boxer briefs.

Lando abandons his computer and snacks, carrying the navy underwear to his bedroom, and laying them gently on his bed on the pillow next to his. It’s almost like Oscar is with him. He wants to bury his face in the fabric, and inhale Oscar’s most private scent, but he knows that he needs to analyze everything in Oscar’s apartment before he comes home.

He forces himself to walk away from the taunting and tantalizing piece of clothing, forcing his feet to carry him back to his computer. He sucks down his capri sun, trying to focus on the task at hand.

And when he spots the stack of car magazines on Oscar’s coffee table, his mind zeroes in on them, his attention torn from the underwear.

Lando spends the rest of the day, filling his notebook that he dedicated to Oscar, waiting not so patiently for said man to come home. It somehow feels like minutes but also hours when he finally hears the telltale sound of someone in the hallway, walking past his front door and to the apartment next to his.

It’s Oscar.

He switches to the cameras that have a view of his entryway, splitting the screens to get every single angle. Lando watches diligently as Oscar enters the apartment, toeing his shoes off and setting his bag by the front door.

He makes his way through the apartment to the kitchen, Lando alternating between the cameras to keep him in his sight. His socked feet pad across the hardwood floor quietly, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle.

Lando’s eyes are drawn to the way his adam apple bobs as he drinks the water. He tries not to think about how pretty his throat looks, a droplet of water running down the pale expanse of skin.

Oscar sets the bottle down, drifting to his bedroom. Lando frantically switches to the ones in the other room, leaning closer to the screen as he observes Oscar.

He licks his lips, noticing how dry they are, as he watches the man strip, pulling off his bulky sweater, similar to the one he was wearing when they met. This one’s a dark navy, matching the color of the underwear in Lando’s bedroom.

He’s wearing a white dress shirt underneath. Oscar slowly unbuttons the shirt, Lando almost panting as he sees the stretch of skin underneath, the moles dotting his skin making him salivate.

It’s obvious he works out, his abs flexing as he twists to undo his belt. He has a softness to him in his chest, his pecs looking pillowy and supple, the creamy skin making Lando’s teeth hurt with how hard he’s clenching them, the urge to mark so strong.

If Lando thought Oscar’s chest was delectable, his ass was heavenly, downright exquisite. He has to physically hold himself back from the urge to say, ‘fuck it’ and beg Oscar to let him fuck him.

But he doesn’t. He grips his thighs and digs his blunt nails into the skin, refusing to scare Oscar off and ruin their future.

He stares at the screen as Oscar continues to take off his dress pants, his heart finally returning to a regular rate and rhythm once he’s wearing clothes again. He’s wearing a huge shirt, one that makes him look absolutely adorable, swimming in the fabric. There’s a giant snoopy printed on the front.

Lando is eternally thankful that the shirt is huge, falling to Oscar’s mid-thigh and covering his sinful ass. He had forgone pants or shorts, wearing only his boxer briefs from the day, the black fabric clinging to his ass.

Lando watches him the rest of the night, his eyes tracking every single movement he makes, his stomach twisting with desire.

And when Oscar finally crawls into bed at ten pm, Lando does the same, even though he hasn’t gone to bed before midnight since he was probably sixteen. He pulls the footage up on his phone, setting it against the other pillow on his bed, and grabbing Oscar’s underwear, snuggling the fabric to his chest.

He doesn’t want to ruin Oscar’s precious boxers by using them for anything inappropriate, he’d rather hold them and pretend he’s holding him.

He watches Oscar curl up into a tiny ball, falling asleep within minutes. Lando feels his eyes getting heavy as he cradles the fabric.

The last thing Lando sees before he falls asleep, is Oscar stretching, rolling onto his belly, and smooshing his face into his pillow.

That’s how the next month passes.

Lando watches Oscar every single day. When he’s at work, he pulls up the footage of him sleeping, helps calm him, and gets him through the day. He rushes to get home before Oscar so he can make sure he doesn’t miss anything.

Max had commented that Lando doesn’t people watch like he used to, that he doesn’t know the janitor’s routine or who the receptionist calls every day during lunch, but he knows what Oscar packs for lunch, and that he calls his mom every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Lando just levels him with a glare, muttering that he doesn’t need to learn anything about anyone because he has Oscar now, the most interesting, beautiful, and perfect person.

And Lando has learned so much about Oscar, all his questions from before answered over the past month.

He drinks both coffee and tea, depending on the day and his plans. He takes his coffee black but his tea with cream and sugar. Lando doesn’t know how many sips it takes for Oscar to finish his coffee or tea because he tends to get distracted by the way he licks his lips afterward, wishing he could also taste the remnants off Oscar’s lips.

Oscar tends to shower in the morning, before work. On the days he goes on runs, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, he showers in the mornings and evenings, peeling off his tiny, sweaty shorts. Lando almost started drooling the first time he saw Oscar take them off. He shampoos first, then he puts conditioner in his hair and washes his body, then washes out the conditioner last. Oscar always brushes his teeth in his bathroom sink, with no exception. He shaves his face every morning in the shower, carefully and slowly. He doesn’t shave the rest of his body besides his pubic hair, trimming it short.

Oscar drinks a glass of water before bed, heading to his bathroom while doing so. He washes his hands then his face and applies a nighttime cream, massaging his face thoroughly. He brushes his teeth again and uses one of the many mouthwashes. He alternates between the three of them every night.

Lando knew it was true love when he noticed that Oscar would change his outside clothes before they could touch any piece of furniture, placing them in his hamper immediately. Lando does the same.

Oscar doesn’t watch TV often, usually watching Law & Order: Special Victims Unit when he eats dinner. He does like movies, watching at least two a week, his favorite being Howl’s Moving Castle. He reads before bed, at least thirty minutes every night. He had finished up the first Sherlock Holmes story, quickly starting the second one. He doesn’t lick his finger when he turns pages, he fiddles with the corner of the page while he reads, making it easy to flip the paper.

Oscar sleeps in every single position possible. He usually starts curled up in a ball and ends up almost diagonal across the bed, his arms and legs sprawled in every direction. So far, Lando has only seen Oscar wear boxers and an oversized shirt to sleep. He sleeps on both his belly and back, changing positions frequently throughout the night. Oscar doesn’t snore besides the occasional little snuffle here and there.

Lando had counted Oscar’s breaths one night while he slept, twelve breaths per minute, the rhythm the same for an entire hour.

It depends on what he’s doing, but usually, he takes about sixteen breaths per minute during the day. Lando had counted multiple times and then took the average of all of them.

Oscar’s eyes are hazel, normally, the dark rings of brown reflecting sunlight and looking magical. But when he’s turned on, his pupils swallow his entire iris, leaving only pitch black behind. He doesn’t seem to have a preference for jerking himself off in his bed or shower, having done both plenty of times since Lando had started watching him. He always changes his bedsheets afterward.

Lando thinks Oscar may be sadist with the way he pushes himself to the edge over and over again until he’s whimpering and writhing, his legs kicking out slightly in pleasure. He’s never seen Oscar cum in less than ten minutes, the Australian always pushing himself to the brink of insanity and pleasure until he’s squirming with it. 

The first couple of times Lando had watched Oscar get off, he had only used his fist on his cock, not giving him any idea of what he likes with a partner. It wasn’t until a couple of days in that Oscar had slipped his fingers inside himself, cumming on the spot. From there on out, he tended to get off primarily with his fingers or a toy inside his pretty little hole.

Lando hadn’t been able to hold himself back, jerking himself off in tandem with Oscar, feeling connected with him. Listening to Oscar’s whimpers and whines and watching him play with himself made Lando feel like they were together like they were a long-distance couple trying phone sex.

Lando felt himself falling more and more in love with Oscar.

He thought he was the only one privy to the knowledge of how Oscar liked to be pleasured, his shower routine, what he ate for dinner, what he wore to bed. But now he’s not so sure.

They’d bumped into each other a few more times in the hallway, Lando subtly bringing up books or magazines or movies that Oscar had watched, conversation flowing easily. Oscar always looked so happy to talk to him, so smiley and blushy.

Which is why when he gets home that afternoon, delayed by a problem at work, one of the interns deleting a project they’ve been working months on, Max having called Lando in to help him fix the problem, he’s shocked to open the camera footage and find that Oscar isn’t alone.

There’s a man lounging on Oscar’s couch, nursing a cold bottle of water, and watching some American football game on the TV. Lando quickly flips through the cameras, spotting Oscar in his bedroom, stripping from his work clothes into more casual, comfortable attire. It’s not his usual boxers and baggy shirt, but instead a pair of track pants and a T-shirt.

He changes the camera when Oscar leaves, tracking the other’s movement as he walks into the living room. Lando feels like he’s going to vomit.

Who is this man? He can’t be Oscar’s boyfriend, he’d know. Oscar is hardly ever on his phone besides when he calls his mother and when he looks up cat memes on Pinterest. Lando knows he’s never called or texted this man.

His question is answered when he hears Oscar’s voice ring out on his monitor, his voice as soft and melodious as always.

“Angela wanted me to help you review some of the clients that I’m handing off to you. With this promotion, I’ll be able to work from home now so I won’t be in the office to help you.” He says, sitting on the couch, a large gap between the two of them, his laptop tucked under his arm.

Oscar is quick to open it up, logging on quickly, like he doesn’t want this man in his space any longer than he has to be.

“I know that time management is sort of an issue for you, hence why we couldn’t do this at work, so I’ll try to be as quick as possible,” Oscar says, pulling up a client list, and looking at the man expectantly.

“Excuse me, Jared,” Oscar tries when he notices the other’s focus on the TV.

Lando feels his hands clench into fists in his lap, how could anyone ever ignore Oscar? He feels his anger and irritation rising, not at Oscar, no, never.

“Yeah, sorry, mate.” The man, Jared, says, his gaze not tearing from the screen, taking a sip of water.

Lando can see the minute change in Oscar’s posture, his shoulders tensing and his teeth clenching, his jaw muscles jumping.

Fuck, Lando is so close to fucking pummeling this dick. He’s about two seconds away from rushing over to Oscar’s front door and finding any excuse to get him away from this 'Jared' guy.

“It’s fine but,” Oscar starts, the fucking loser low life finally dragging his eyes away from the football game.

“I’m all ears, Osco.” He says, smiling widely and scooting closer to him, his arm coming to rest on the back of the couch behind Oscar.

Lando sees red. This man, this nobody, this fucking piece of filth has no right to call Oscar by anything other than his name. He can tell Oscar isn’t comfortable with the nickname, which only adds fuel to the fire burning inside Lando.

Oscar just smiles uncomfortably, shifting away from the man and focusing on his laptop instead, rattling off names and information, focusing on the account rather than the prick next to him.

Lando watches closely for the next forty-five minutes, making sure that this Jared guy doesn’t make any more moves on Oscar. He tries to scoot closer to Oscar a couple of times, the Australian always moving away, until he’s almost off the side of the couch.

The absolute scum of a guy barely pays attention to what Oscar is saying, his gaze drifting between the TV and Oscar’s lips, the fucking pervert. He has the audacity to look at Oscar like that.

Lando is relieved when Oscar finally shows him to the front door, making it obvious that he doesn’t want the man to stay longer than he has to. He had briefed him on the clients and their account information and now he needs to leave.

Of course, the pig doesn’t just fucking leave, no. Instead, he stands in Oscar’s doorway, trying to flirt. It’s not working if the way Oscar’s back is tensed is any giveaway.

The audio is spotty, the interference from the hallway and the distance from the mic cause the words to be muffled. But Lando doesn’t need words, he can see clear as day as the man leans forward, crowding Oscar’s personal space, his face looking akin to a dead fish as he attempts to kiss him.

Lando feels his vision go blurry, his hands shaking as he clutches his forearms, his breathing becoming ragged as he watches the horrific scene. He wants to scream, he wants to gnash his teeth, rip the man to shreds, he wants to follow this man home and make sure he never fucking touches Oscar again. The man should not be allowed to even breathe the same air as Oscar.

The horror show is over before it began, Oscar shoving the man hard, the little cunt stumbling back into the hallway. Lando can see the slight shake in Oscar’s hands as he tugs anxiously on his T-shirt.

The audio may be shotty as hell, but Lando hears Oscar clearly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Leave now and I’ll consider not reporting you to HR.” Oscar says, his voice slightly panicky, unease bleeding into his words. He doesn’t wait for a response, slamming the door in his colleague’s face, retreating into the safety of his apartment, and wrapping his arms around himself.

And all Lando wants to do is comfort Oscar, hold him, and assure him that he’s safe, that he’ll protect him, no matter what.

But, in order to protect him, Lando needs to make sure this man never bothers Oscar again.

So, without thinking, Lando snatches the hoodie off the back of his computer chair, the black fabric perfect for what he’s about to do.

He hears footsteps thundering past his door, his head whipping around at the noise prompting him to rush to his front door.

Lando opens the door slowly, calculated, not wanting to alarm the man. He sees him just a couple of doors down, muttering to himself angrily. Lando closes his door quietly, locking it quickly and darting down the hall. He keeps his footsteps light, not wanting him to turn around.

The guy doesn’t even notice Lando, even when the elevator doors open, and he slinks in behind the fucker. He blends in, looking harmless as he hunches in on himself. Lando has to bite his tongue and clench his hands when he hears the words coming from the man’s mouth.

“Fucking stupid slut. Invites me over and then acts surprised when I try to get some. Tease.” He huffs, pulling his phone out and typing aggressively. He continues to mumble under his breath, his words unintelligible.

It’s at that moment that Lando realizes that he’s going to kill this man. He’s going to take someone’s life. He should feel scared, that he’s capable of something so vile, but he knew the second he met Oscar that he’d do anything for him.

Perhaps he should feel bad, remorse for his future actions, but he doesn’t, not yet at least. Maybe, once he’s watched the life drain out of this man, then he’ll feel something.

It’s not that he wants to kill him, Lando has never wanted to kill someone before. He knows he will derive no pleasure from ending this man’s life, only relief from protecting Oscar.

They approach the first floor, the elevator doors sliding open. The man gets off, beelining to the glass doors at the front of the lobby. Lando follows him, keeping himself as inconspicuous as possible.

It becomes obvious quickly that he didn’t drive here, but instead most likely took the train (or Oscar drove him which Lando really doesn’t want to think about). There’s a station not too far from Oscar and Lando’s apartment building, the walk only being five minutes.

Lando doesn’t know if this man is stupid or just has zero sense of self-preservation. He doesn’t turn around once to check his surroundings, doesn’t even recognize Lando as he steps into the same train car.

This man clearly has no awareness of his surroundings.

Lando pulls his phone out, pretending to be engrossed in it as he watches him. A million thoughts rush through Lando’s head, all centered around how he’s going to get away with killing this man.

He mulls over the options, finding flaws in every single one of his ideas. Before he can settle on a foolproof plan, the man is straightening up and checking the next stop, signaling to Lando that he’ll be getting off soon.

When the doors creak open, the metal grinding together and making a horrible screeching noise, the man gets off, Lando following suit.

He still has no idea that Lando is following him, even when they descend the stairs and walk down the street. The man doesn’t look up from his phone once, his eyes glued to the screen. He probably doesn’t think anyone would ever try anything, stupid enough to think he’s invincible.

But Lando is starting to feel paranoid the longer they walk, getting closer to where the man presumably lives. He’s running out of time. If Lando doesn’t do something soon, he’ll get away and who knows what he’ll do to Oscar. No, he can’t let him slip away.

Lando spots a dark alleyway down the street, only a block away. A plan begins to form in his head, deciding that he’ll have to drag Max into this mess. He just hopes that he’ll understand.

Lando picks up his pace as they approach the alleyway, the man’s head finally snapping up when he hears his footsteps advance, his eyes going wide before Lando is yanking him down the dark, narrow back street.

His hand immediately finds the other’s mouth, covering it as he whispers to him.

“Scream and I’ll kill you,” Lando says, his voice low and dangerous. The man’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head, his phone slipping out of his grip and clattering to the ground, the sound echoing throughout the quiet alleyway.

He nods, shaking.

Lando wonders if he knows that he’s going to kill him regardless of whether he screams or not.

The man brings his hands up to grab Lando’s forearm, pressed to the man’s throat, his other hand still pressed to his mouth. Lando feels his eye twitch in annoyance, why is he fighting?

The fucking prick bites him, his teeth digging into the soft flesh of Lando’s palm.

Lando yanks his hand away, hissing quietly in pain. The man opens his mouth, still struggling against the arm pressed against his windpipe, and tries to scream.

Before he can even make a squeak, Lando recovers. He brings his now free hand up to the man’s hair, tangling his fingers in the greasy strands and pulling him forward, his head lifting off the brick wall.

Lando makes sure he has a good handful of hair as he slams the man’s head back into the bricks, once, watching his eyes glaze over slightly, the grip on his forearm loosening minutely. He rolls his eyes in annoyance. Can’t this fucking pig just pass out, why is he making this so difficult?

Lando pulls the man’s head back again, about to slam his skull back into the wall before a thought crosses his mind. He peers around the sluggish man’s form, pleased to see no blood on the bricks. If he leaves behind any physical evidence, it’ll be hard to stage this as a disappearance.

He bends over, snatching a plastic bag off the ground and placing it behind the man’s head. He’s still struggling but much weaker now. Lando makes sure the bag is secure behind his head. He then pulls him away from the wall again and slams him back into it. 

The man goes slack this time, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his body going limp. He slides down the wall, Lando releasing his grip on him and letting him crumple. It’s fitting that he ends up in a pile of trash.

As disgusting as it may be, Lando stuffs the plastic bag into his hoodie pocket. He can’t leave any evidence behind. He’ll just make sure to wash his hoodie at least five times before wearing it again. Or throw it away.

Lando cocks his head to the side as he stares at the man. He looks dead already. He bends down to feel for a pulse and feels the erratic heartbeat under his fingers.

Good. Lando isn't done with him yet.

Now he needs to call Max.

He’s more nervous about calling his best friend than killing a man. Does that say something about him?

He takes his phone out of his pants pocket and unlocks his phone. He finds Max’s contact quickly, not hesitating to press the ‘call’ button.

It rings once, twice, three times before he picks up.

“Lando?” Max answers, his voice slurred and raspy, as if he had just woken him up.

Lando realizes he has no idea what time it is, just that the sun has set, the stars glowing in the dark, night sky. When he pulls the phone away from his ear, he sees the tiny black numbers at the top of his phone.

Why is Max asleep at nine fifteen?

“Why are you asleep this early?” Lando asks, glancing down at the man at his feet, digging the toe of his shoe into his thigh to make sure he’s not waking up. He’s not. The man is still knocked out cold.

“I wasn’t asleep.” Max huffs, the telltale sound of sheets shuffling giving him away.

Lando grins.

“You are in bed; I can hear your ridiculously expensive silk sheets.” Lando teases, pestering Max even though he’s about to kill a man.

“Lando, I wasn’t fucking sleeping,” Max says, his voice monotone and blunt. If he’s not sleeping, but in bed, then what-

“You and Sergio were having some alone time,” Lando laughs, quickly covering his mouth so no one passing by would hear him. Max may not find it funny, but Lando is trying not to bust a lung.

Lando wiggles his eyebrows, even though Max cannot see him.

“Yes, and you interrupted us. So, may I ask what is so important?” Max says, his voice flat as he speaks to Lando. But he can hear Max lean away from the phone, whispering something to Sergio in Spanish, his tone soft and full of love.

“I need your help,” Lando says, sobering up. He has a job to do, protect Oscar. He wants to kill this guy and be done with it, so he can go home and make sure Oscar is safe.

And what he’s about to ask of Max is serious. He’s dragging him into a crime.

“If I send you a location, will you come pick me up? No questions asked?” Lando asks, feeling the sudden urge to pick at his cuticles.

He hears Max lean away from the phone again, muttering something to Sergio. He hears more shuffling and then he responds.

“Yes. Send me the address.” Max says, the call dropping afterward. Lando sighs, relief flooding his body. Max always ends calls abruptly, which means that he’s not pissed at him, just acting normal.

He drops a pin at his location and sends it to Max, receiving a thumbs-up in response.

Lando crouches down, making himself blend into the shadows, avoiding any prying eyes that pass by. Only two people walk past, one a drunk, the other a woman with headphones in. Neither of them even glances down the alleyway.

He watches the man, making sure that he’s not waking up. He’s still knocked out when he sees Max’s Mercedes Benz pull up to the entry of the alleyway. Lando rolls his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He should’ve told Max not to bring such a flashy car, even though Max only owns garish cars. Honestly, this car is one of the tamest in his collection. It’s Sergio’s if he remembers correctly.

Max doesn’t step out of the car, just rolls down the passenger side window and looks down the alleyway, spotting Lando.

He doesn’t say anything, just motions for Lando to get in.

The fucking prick is heavy, all dead weight.

It’s easy enough to stumble down the alley, making it seem like two drunkards rather than a murderer and his victim. When he approaches the car, Max leans over and unlocks the door, pushing it open for Lando.

He’s quick to fold the seat down, allowing Lando to haul the man into the back. There aren’t any seats, just an empty storage area, perfect for stuffing an unconscious man. Lando is careful not to hit his head, or get any blood on the interior, folding the man’s limbs so he fits in the back.

He scans his surroundings before he pops the seat back up, plopping down and closing the door quickly. There wasn’t a soul around, the only sign of life being the flickering of the lamppost down the street.

Lando buckles his seatbelt, peering behind him to make sure the man is still knocked out. He was a little worried that he hadn’t made a single noise yet, but he checked his pulse, the piece of trash was still breathing.

Max doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask for directions or anything, just speeds off, seemingly knowing where he’s headed.

It’s silent for a couple of minutes, neither of them saying anything until Lando feels like he’s going to go crazy.

“You’re not going to ask?” Lando asks, his eyes drifting from the tinted window to Max’s side profile. Max just hums, turning down a road that leads them out of the city.

“Why you dragged an unconscious man into the back of my car? No.” He says, squinting at the poorly lit street names as they pass. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, navigating the dark roads with ease.

It’s silent for a few minutes as Lando watches the analog clock tick by. Ten, eleven, twelve minutes. Eventually, Max speaks up again.

“Is Oscar okay?” He asks, his gaze finally finding Lando. The lights of the city are fading behind them, the greenery of the countryside covering the road in front of them.

Lando looks out the window as he responds, “Fucking prick tried to hit on Oscar and then tried to fucking kiss him. Oscar pushed him away, but he was shaken up. Called him a slut.” His hands are gripping his thighs tightly, his fingers turning white.

Max hums, one of understanding, again.

“I have to make sure he doesn’t bother Oscar again,” Lando says, looking over at Max.

His friend doesn’t say anything for a beat, a knot forming in the pit of Lando’s stomach.

“You have to do what needs to be done to protect Oscar, and yourself.” He finally says, meeting Lando’s eyes, and sends him a tiny smile. Lando feels the knot release, the anxiety of Max thinking he was crazy and psycho washing away with his statement.

But Lando recognizes the ease with which he says it.

“You-,” He starts, cocking his head and pointing at Max, a look of understanding spreading across his face.

Max just nods, quieting Lando’s curiosity immediately.

“I never told you the truth about how I met Sergio.” He says, focusing back on the street as he speaks, continuing down the country road. Lando doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to spook Max into not talking.

“Well, the whole truth. I did meet him in Guadalajara when I went down there for my final year of university, for my Spanish class final.” Max starts, slowing down to turn, checking both ways even though there’s no one out on the road.

“Our teacher made us spend a week in Mexico, to prove that we actually learned something in four years of university, do you remember?” Max asks Lando, the Brit nodding his head, remembering vividly how Max had stomped around their apartment, complaining for a good two weeks.

“I saw Sergio in the market on our first day. He was selling his family’s fruits and vegetables, with his parents and sister. His nieces and nephews were running around when they almost barreled into me. It was Sergio who ran over to scoop them up, apologizing profusely.” Max says, a soft smile spreading over his face.

“I came back the next day and stuttered through introducing myself in Spanish. He didn’t brush me off as some stupid foreigner, he listened to me and helped me with the words I didn’t know. I asked him if I could help him out for the day. He looked skeptical until I told him I wanted to practice my Spanish.” Max explains, turning down another road. Lando has no idea where they are or where they are going. The only thing he can tell is that they are very far from civilization.

“I helped his family in the market for the next three days, trying to flirt with Sergio in my very accented Spanish, until he finally admitted that he spoke English. When I showed up on the fifth day of our trip, he wasn’t there, neither was his family. It took a lot of asking around and assuring the locals that I was harmless till they finally told me where I could find him.” Max continues. Lando has a bad feeling about what’s to come next because Max and Sergio didn’t start dating until two years after they graduated when their company was up and running. What happened that made Max have to wait two years to see Sergio again?

“His family’s farm was big, the fields expanding in every direction. Their house, though, could barely be called a shack. The aluminum slats on the roof were caving in and missing in places. The structure itself looked like it was built using wood and mud. His parents saw me approaching, they were yelling something in Spanish that I couldn’t hear until I got closer.” Max says, his hands tightening on the wheel, his fingers digging into the leather.

“They were begging me for help, saying that Sergio was hurt. When I got inside the house, he was lying on the bed in the one room in the house, his eye black, his lip busted and bleeding, and bruises scattered across his face. He was curled in a ball, grasping at his stomach. He almost punched me when I touched him. It took almost thirty minutes of coaxing before Sergio even opened his eyes, another half hour to convince him to let me look at his wounds.” Max speaks, his voice tense, his body stiff as a board.

Lando doesn’t say anything, just continues to look at him and listen.

“His lip was split clean through, his eye was so badly bruised, the sclera was completely red from all the broken blood vessels, he had bruises around his neck in the shape of hands, he had at least three broken ribs from what I could feel, and he had a nasty gash on his forearm.” Max details, reading off all of Sergio’s injuries like he made himself memorize them as if he tortured himself with them for years.

“There was a local gang that demanded fifty percent of all the farmer’s crops in the area. Sergio’s family didn’t harvest much this time around, only producing half of what they had last time. They sold half and kept the other half to give to the gang. But they didn’t believe that their harvest was so sparse this year, they were convinced that they lied to them. They told Sergio’s family that since they didn’t give them fifty percent, they were going to rape their daughter, Sergio’s sister.” Max says, his voice thick with something heavy. Lando continues to silently stare at his best friend.

“Sergio begged and pleaded, promising them one hundred percent of their harvest next time, even offering himself.” And when Max says that Lando can see how his eyes darken, his posture straightening up.

He looks murderous.

“They took the deal, the first part of it at least. But they were furious that Sergio would even think of offering himself, so they beat him until he was barely clinging to life. I couldn’t do anything, I wasn’t there. Sergio had been in danger, and I hadn’t been able to protect him. And I couldn’t do anything to help them, not for two whole years. All I could do was patch Sergio up the best I could and make him a promise.” Max says, his voice breaking as he speaks.

“I promised that in two years, I’d have enough money to get his family and him out of Mexico, that I’d take care of them, and all he had to do in return was stay alive and healthy for those two years. I told him that I wanted nothing in return, just for him to be happy once I got them out. I don’t think he believed me, not truly, even though he promised to stay alive and wait for me.” Lando feels his heart break at Max’s words, wishing that he would’ve told him, that he would’ve let Lando help him.

“And two years passed. I left my phone number so they could call me if an emergency happened, but they never did. So many times, I wanted to fly down there but I couldn’t, I had to keep working, I had to get the company to actually make money. And eventually, it did. When I finally had enough to support Sergio and his family, I bought a plane ticket to Guadalajara and flew out the next day. When I got down there and saw Sergio for the first time since my trip, I thought ‘This is what love is, this is how love feels’ and it was like everything finally made sense.” Max continues, turning down another road, the trek alternating between dirt and gravel.

“He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was really there like he was surprised I had come back. I told him I loved him, that I made him a promise and I wasn’t going to break it. He didn’t think I was crazy or psychotic or tell me to get lost. Instead, he said he loved me back. After that, I helped him and his family pack their things, everything fitting in two suitcases. And I-,” Max says, catching his breath before continuing.

“Max, you don’t have to. I understand why you didn’t say anything.” Lando says, reaching over the center console and squeezing his shoulder, comforting him. He can tell how hard it was for him to hold the weight of this alone on his shoulders.

“No, I can. You need to hear it’s okay. It’s okay to do what you have to, to protect the man you love.” Max says, tearing his gaze off the road to look at Lando. They’ve been driving for at least forty-five minutes, far away from the city and any prying eyes.

“I dropped them off at the airport and told them that I had one more errand to run before we left. I told them to leave without me if I wasn’t back in time and gave Sergio your number. If anything happened to me, he was supposed to call you. I should’ve known he’d follow me, he’s as stubborn as can be. I found the men who had been terrorizing Sergio and his family, the same men who almost beat him to death. And I killed them. Every last one of them. Because I knew that if I didn’t, Sergio would never be able to sleep at night, neither could I. Sergio was mine to protect, and that was the only way I knew how. I killed thirteen men, Lando, and I don’t regret it. What kind of person does that make me?” Max says, asking Lando a question he doesn’t have an answer to. He looks back at the man stuffed behind them, well aware of what he’s going to do to him, and he doesn’t feel any regret whatsoever, either.

“I don’t know who that makes you, but I know it makes us the same,” Lando says, looking back at his best friend who just came and picked him up in the middle of the night and didn’t question him cramming an almost dead guy into his back seat.

Max laughs, the tension leaking out of him slightly. He has a smile on his face for the first time in a while.

“Sergio, the stubborn bastard, followed me there. He saw the carnage and he didn’t run or scream or look terrified. He just took my hands and helped me wash up, whispering soft, sweet nothings until all the blood had washed away. And then we left, and never looked back,” Max says, finally pulling into a long, gravel driveway and coming to a stop in front of a deserted warehouse.

“If you plan on killing this man, because he hurt Oscar, or was going to, just know, you will get no judgment from me.” He says, putting the car in park and undoing his seatbelt, turning to look at Lando.

Lando does the same, instead looking at the man behind him. As he eyes the man, he doesn’t feel regret or empathy, only anger and disgust, and rage. His decision was made for him the second that fucking filthy pig laid a finger on Oscar.

Lando looks back at Max, his expression dark, his fingers twitching. 

Max doesn’t say anything, just nods, like he understands Lando without him having to say a word.

He climbs out of the driver’s seat, Lando exiting the car as well and folding the seat down immediately. The dull thunk of the seat folding causes the man in the back to groan, his eyes still firmly shut. He settles after a minute.

Lando looks up at Max, the Dutchman leaning on his crossed arms, his forearms pressed into the roof of the car as he looks up at the sky. Max glances back down, feeling Lando’s gaze on him.

“There’s a closet in there with all the supplies you could possibly need. I’ll wait out here, tell me when you’re done. I’ll show you how to properly clean up.” Max says, like he’s shooting the shit and not becoming an accessory to murder.

Lando nods his head, bending over and attempting to hoist the man out of the car. He accidentally hits his head as he yanks him out, the little prick groaning. Max levels a glare at Lando, rolling his eyes when he finally pulls him out and drops him, his upper body crumpling into a heap in the gravel. The man’s legs are still partially in the car.

Lando makes an ‘oopsie’ face.

“Get him out of my car, please. Sergio is already going to kill me for bolting in the middle of the night, the last thing I need is to get blood all over the interior of his car.” Max huffs, watching as Lando mutters something to himself and pulls the man the rest of the way out of the car, his legs hitting the gravel with a thud.

The man doesn’t make any more noise.

It takes Lando a couple of minutes and many failed attempts until he figures out how to maneuver him. He slings the unconscious man’s arm over his shoulder, grabbing his wrist as he hoists him off the gravel, his legs dragging behind him as Lando moves them both. He has his other arm wrapped around his waist, helping pull the man.

Max just watches from his position, laughing when Lando loses his grip, and the man flies face-first into the gravel. He lets out a loud whine, one of his hands coming to smack his face like he’s trying to check for any damage.

Lando sends a heated glare at Max and heaves him off the ground, readjusting him.

They disappear into the warehouse, Max’s laughter fading as the door closes behind them.

Lando’s not sure what he’s expecting, a dark, dingy run-down warehouse perhaps. Definitely not clean brick walls, and even cleaner grey concrete floors. There’s a fine layer of dust on everything but besides that, it’s perfectly neat.

It’s not huge, Lando notices as he glances around. There’s a tiny office situated in the back left of the building, next to is a utility closet. There’s some old machinery in the vast room, indicating to what the warehouse was used for in the past, meat packing. There are metal troughs and sorters, and plenty of huge, sorting tables.

He can see a faded poster on the wall, a picture of a pig wearing a chef’s hat, the words so faded he couldn’t decipher anything.

Before Lando can continue to look around, the man he had dragged in and unceremoniously dumped on the concrete starts to groan, his eyes opening for a brief second before closing again.

He should probably get to it before the fucker wakes up and starts causing problems.

He drags him by the arm toward the closet, not wanting to let him out of his sight. The man’s head rolls around as Lando pulls him, his neck bending at an angle that looks borderline painful, not that Lando cares.

He makes a note to ask Max what the fuck he was planning for, because inside the closet are two rows of shelves, each overflowing with different items. Lando spots rope, the thick corded military kind, about twenty different knives, ranging from a pocketknife to a cleaver, an array of tools that sort of look like they could belong in a kitchen, something vaguely melon scooper shaped, and a million other things.

What really catches his eye is the handheld chainsaw in the back, his curiosity wanting him to reach out and turn it on. He doesn’t, he holds himself back. Lando gathers everything he thinks he’ll need.

Zip ties. He’d grab the rope but he’s not sure how to tie a knot strong enough to prevent the man from escaping. He’ll have to ask Max if he knows how to restrain someone, just in case he needs the skill in the future.

Duct tape. It wouldn’t hurt to have reinforcement.

A hunting knife. He runs his finger over the blade, pressing his thumb into the sharp edge. He pulls away quickly, a tiny droplet of blood pearling on the pad of his finger. It’s sharp. Perfect.

He doesn’t know what compels him, but he grabs the chainsaw.

The man starts to groan again, this time longer and more coherent. He’s really starting to piss Lando off.

He leaves the man by the closet door, still within his sight, as he walks over to the office, the room is empty except for a wooden chair. Lando sets all his supplies down carefully, taking stock of everything he grabbed before going to fetch the man.

He doesn’t even remember his name, he realizes belatedly. He means so little to him, his mere existence nothing more than a nuisance to him and Oscar.

When he exits the room, the man is blinking at him, his hands coming up to shield his eyes from the overhead lights. Lando probably gave him a nasty concussion earlier.

The man looks like he’s trying to formulate a sentence, but Lando doesn’t care, reaching down to wretch the man up, and pulling him to the office. He’s not helping Lando whatsoever, it’s like he’s still limp with the way he’s stumbling over his own feet.

It’s not hard to slam him down into the chair and secure him, the zip ties echoing in the quiet of the building as they cinch close. Lando quickly wraps duct tape around the zip ties, watching as the light slowly returns to the man’s eyes, his mind clearing up quickly as he takes in the situation.

He angles his body to the supplies, refusing to let the man out of his sight even though he’s tied up. Lando sees, out of the corner of his eye, the man tugging at the zip ties, a panicked whine escaping him as the realization sets in.

“Please,” He pleads. Lando isn’t sure what he’s begging for, to not hurt him, to set him free, both? It doesn’t matter, Lando doesn’t plan on listening.

He doesn’t say anything in response to him, just humming a quiet tune under his breath. It’s a song from a movie that Oscar had watched twice last week. It’s been stuck in his head since then.

The man starts to struggle, his movements jerky and hysterical.

“Please, please. I’m- I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please let me go,” The man says, rocking the chair back and forth while he struggles. He’s about to knock himself over. Lando cannot stand this piece of fucking filth. He can’t even die quietly.

Lando doesn’t want him to fall over and slam his head against the concrete, killing himself. He stands up from where he was crouched, securing the zip ties and duct tape, and grabs the hunting knife.

If he won’t stop moving, Lando will make him.

He brings the knife down, stabbing the blade into the man’s thigh, feeling the steel slide through the muscle. The man screams and throws his head back. He stops fighting, contorting his body, trying to get away from the hunting knife digging into his thigh.

Lando feels annoyance creep into him. He really can’t shut the fuck up.

His screams eventually die down to muted whimpers.

“Finally. You shut the fuck up.” Lando grumbles, grabbing the handle of the knife and yanking the blade out, anger washing over him as the man lets another scream out. Why is he acting like he didn’t bring this upon himself like he didn’t touch Oscar?

He brings the knife up, settling it against the man’s throat.

“Do you know why you’re here? Hm?” Lando hisses, digging the blade into the soft flesh of his throat, his teeth bared. He wants to slit his throat, right now. He’s acting like the victim, like he didn’t try to flirt with Oscar like he didn’t try to kiss him, and then proceed to call him a slut.

The man sobs and shakes his head, worthless pleas spilling out of his mouth.

“Please, I’m sorry. I- I don’t kn- know. Plea-,” He chokes on his words, looking Lando in the eyes for the first time tonight. He cuts himself off with his own whimpers.

Lando seethes. Now he’s just lying. He’s playing Lando for a fool.

“You have the nerve, the audacity, to touch him, to call him a slut and yet you act innocent? You’re nothing more than a worthless, pathetic piece of trash. You don’t deserve to breathe his air.” Lando spits, the knife catching on the man’s adam apple as he swallows, his eyes clouded with fear.

Understanding floods the man’s face.

“Who? Os-,” He starts, Lando cutting him off before he can finish as he yanks the knife from his throat and wedges it into the man’s open mouth. He settles the blade in the corner of his mouth, pulling the man’s cheek back with force, the knife cutting through a thin layer of flesh.

Lando feels the flesh give underneath him, well aware of how easy it would be to slice through and carve a Glasgow smile. He doesn’t. He restrains himself, not wanting to make a mess.

“Don’t say his name,” Lando bristles, his voice cold and steady, anger pouring off him in waves. The man has no right to say Oscar’s name. He flinches as the knife digs into his cheek, trying not to scream as the steel blade digs into his flesh.

He’s mumbling something Lando realizes, his words catching on the knife jammed into his mouth. Lando withdraws the blade, wiping it on the man’s pants, cleaning it of any saliva and stray drops of blood.

His words make Lando go still.

“I’ll never see him again if you just let me go. I promise. I’ll quit my job, I’ll move, I’ll- I’ll do anything! Just please don’t kill me. Please!” He begs, his eyes glazing over with tears, his body trembling with fear.

Something snaps in Lando.

“You’re a spineless, disgusting pig,” Lando growls, standing up from the crouched position he was in, towering over the man suddenly. The man looks up, terror spreading across his face as he watches the knife that was just in his leg and then mouth, come to rest right underneath his right eye.

The blade digs into the soft, delicate flesh, as Lando applies pressure. The man closes his eyes like that will stop Lando from forcing tension onto his eye socket. Lando continues to dig the knife in, the blade creating pressure, the man’s eye looking like it’s about to pop out at any second.

He’s still whimpering and pleading.

“I would die for Oscar. I’d kill for him. I’m going to, right now. And you, you can’t even be a man and fight for him? Not that I'd mean anything since he's mine. The first sign of pain and you just roll over and submit. You could rip off every single one of my fingernails, skin me alive, burn me, anything, and I’d still not give Oscar up. Because I love him.” Lando says, watching as the pressure continues to build, the man’s eye being forced open from behind his eyelid. He’s screaming again, begging Lando not to hurt him. Not to kill him.

“I’ll never, ever see Os-,” He barely gets the first letter of Oscar’s name out before Lando is digging the knife in all the way, the man’s eyeball popping up and out. Huh, he didn’t even need to use the melon scooper.

The man screams, louder than he had when he stabbed him in the thigh, louder than he has all night. He trashes in his restraints, his bloody eye hanging by a loose ligament.

“I told you not to say his name. You just. Didn’t. Listen.” Lando sighs, disappointed. He wanted to teach him a lesson before he killed him, but the stupid prick couldn’t listen. The instructions were very simple.

Lando is grateful they’re in the middle of nowhere because he’s howling now.

He still has the knife in his hand, and he needs him to stop thrashing, so he brings it down, hard, into his other thigh, the one previously unharmed, and causes the man to go limp. A silent scream escapes him, his remaining eye going wide at the onslaught of pain.

The man is babbling and mumbling incoherently, his eye dripping fat droplets of blood onto the concrete below them.

There’s another puddle forming on the ground from both of his thigh wounds, the sticky, warm, blood looking viscous as it pools together.

Lando’s fingers twitch at the need to clean it up.

“I- I’m so- sorry, ple- please,” The man pleads, his entire body shaking and contorting. Lando wonders briefly if the man knew those were going to be his last words.

Lando rips the knife from the man’s thigh and brings it to his throat, the steel blade slicing into the man’s skin effortlessly, severing the arteries underneath easily. Nothing else is said as the man gurgles, blood pouring from his neck, some dribbling out of his mouth.

He twitches and then falls limp, blood still spurting out. It takes him approximately thirteen seconds to bleed out. Lando counts. He had pulled his hand away as quickly as possible, not wanting the man’s filthy blood on him.

Lando feels a rush of relief at the knowledge that this man will never touch Oscar again, and will never breathe the same air as him. Oscar is safe and Lando will do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

Which is how he finds himself, sawing the man into pieces, Max grumbling to himself as he scrubs at the concrete floors.

He had been slightly peeved when Lando had ushered him inside, the pool of blood giving him a headache. Lando didn’t know what a bitch it was to clean up blood yet, so Max would let it slide, this time.

It was Lando’s idea to cut the man into pieces, scattering him in different rivers, the water washing away any and all evidence. Max had considered it, ran the possibilities through his brain, and deemed it a good enough idea.

Lando is humming underneath the roar of the handheld saw, the same tune from earlier. It doesn’t take long to dismember him, placing each different body part into varying black garbage bags.

When he’s done, Max wrangles him back into the office, carefully and clinically going over every step in removing blood stains, so even a luminol light wouldn’t be able to detect them.

And Lando listens, following along and helping Max clean up the mess. He owes him, a lot, and Sergio too, considering he let Max borrow his car.

It takes another hour for the two of them to clean up all the blood, effectively hiding that anything happened in the building. Max told him that he’d come back out in a couple of days a lay down a new layer of concrete, just to be safe.

Lando has a feeling he’s going to drag him along.

When they get into the car, it’s with one less person. Neither of them cares, both talking casually about work and upcoming plans. Max had mentioned a vacation would be nice, with all four of them. Lando agrees. Once he starts dating Oscar, they can go on double dates and vacations, and he can spoil him endlessly.

It takes another two hours before Max drops him back off at his apartment. It had taken a decent amount of time to scatter the man’s body parts inconspicuously and quietly in the dead of the night.

They drive to six different rivers, each one leading into a different, larger body of water.

Max refuses to let him go home with bloody clothes, driving them both back to his and Sergio’s house, the other awake and waiting for Max when they arrive. He takes one look at Lando and rolls his eyes, muttering something in Spanish before fetching him a change of clothes.

Sergio waits outside the bathroom as he changes, holding his hands out to accept the soiled clothes. He’s wearing rubber gloves that go up to his elbow, refusing to touch the bloody, soiled garments.

Lando thanks him shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as Sergio brushes past Max, this time he can hear his words clearly. Although, he can’t understand them.

“Estás intentando matarme? Siempre te estás metiendo en problemas!” Sergio says, his voice just barely louder than his usual soft, quiet tone. Max shrinks in on himself, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Mi amor, yo no hice nada. Los problemas me encontraron por una vez.” Max whines, tugging on Sergio’s hips and stopping him from stomping away. His Spanish has greatly improved since the last time Lando heard him speak.

Sergio turns on his heels, his arms full of Lando’s bloody clothes. He smiles at Lando over Max’s shoulder. His gaze drifts back to his fiancé, his previous kind eyes icy as he glares at Max.

“Bien. Tal vez los problemas te encontraron esta vez pero te fuiste en medio de nosotros teniendo sexo. Para eso, puedes dormir en el sofá esta noche.” Sergio says, turning back around and heading down the hall, disappearing from their sights.

“Por favor cariño, no me hagas dormir en el sofá.” Max says, his voice echoing in the empty room, Sergio already gone. Lando just stands there, picking at his cuticles and pretending not to listen to their lover’s quarrel.

Max turns to him, slowly, his expression somber.

“Let’s go,” He mumbles, sulking past Lando to the front door, motioning with his head for him to follow.

Lando apologizes profusely, trying not to laugh when Max translates their conversation, huffing and puffing like a brat. It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at Lando’s apartment building, now dressed in clean clothes.

Max tells him that he’ll have his clothes cleaned and returned in a couple of days. As he’s about to enter his building, Lando hears Max muttering about ‘groveling at Sergio’s feet’. He turns around to wave at his friend, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to his best friend.

Max cracks a small, exasperated smile, mouthing a small ‘you owe me’ as he rolls the passenger window up and drives off.

Lando stands outside for a minute, letting the cool, night air whip against his cheeks. He takes a deep breath, smelling the incoming rain in the breeze.

He makes his way into the building, sending a polite smile to the security guard before he realizes that he’s dead asleep. Oscar doesn’t need anyone besides Lando to watch out for him. He’ll protect him, no matter what.

The elevator ride is slow, giving Lando time to clear his thoughts. He feels… odd?

There isn’t an ounce of regret in his body, that’s the weird part. Most people who just killed someone would probably feel sick with guilt, terrible at the fact that they took someone’s life, but Lando didn’t feel that.

He felt relief at knowing that Oscar was safe now, that he could sleep at night without thinking that man may bother him again. He can’t tell Oscar, obviously, doesn’t want to scare him, but he hopes that once the man doesn’t show up to work, he’ll feel relief.

The doors ding open, and Lando steps out.

He’s not paying attention as he walks down the hall, daydreaming about the nice long hot shower he plans on taking when he arrives at his door, taking his keys out of his pocket. He hears a throat clear, his head snapping up quickly.

Oscar is standing in his doorway, his body propping the door open. His one arm is wrapped around himself, the other rubbing his eye sleepily. He’s wearing a loose pair of boxers, his T-shirt sliding off his shoulder, the neck comfortably stretched out.

He looks exhausted, like he has been fighting sleep for the past few hours, or maybe, sleep was evading him. The man must have made him so uncomfortable that he couldn’t sleep. Lando wishes he would’ve drawn his death out even more at the sight of Oscar’s pale face.

“Oscar?” Lando questions his voice quiet as speaks, not wanting to startle Oscar out of his sleepy state. The Aussie suddenly perks up, his ashen face regaining some of its color, his cheeks pinking up.

“You left earlier. Your door slammed shut, I thought something was wrong, and then you didn’t come back and I-I was worried.” Oscar says, trying to act nonchalant but Lando knows him, can tell when he’s shy, like right now. He’s tugging on the hem of his shirt, the apples of his cheeks a beautiful rose color, and he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“You were worried?” Lando somehow manages to choke out, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears. Oscar nods his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he looks down bashfully. Lando wants to wrap him in his arms and protect him from everything bad in the world. He tries not to squeal at Oscar’s cuteness.

“Yeah. We’re friends right, so, we should look out for each other.” Oscar says confidently, even though, again, his body language gives him away. But Lando can’t even focus on that, his entire being zeroing in on the word ‘friends’.

And yes, Lando loves Oscar and wants to be more than friends, but he doesn’t want to rush anything. Being friends is a perfect first step, definitely a step in the right direction as well. Lando feels his stomach flip, a smile spreading across his face as he looks at Oscar.

“Friends, Osc, don’t you think we’re moving a little fast?” Lando jokes, watching as Oscar doubles over in laughter, color returning to his face. His one arm braces itself against his stomach as he giggles, Lando just watching with fondness in his eyes.

He’s beautiful.

“How rude of me, Lando. Shall we slow it down?” Oscar jokes back at him, a bright smile on his face. Fuck, Lando feels breathless with how much he loves him. Oscar leans against the doorframe, his megawatt smile settling into something smaller, something fond.

“You’re okay, right? You can tell me if you aren’t.” He says, attempting to peer into Lando’s soul.

Lando nods, responding to Oscar, “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Oscar. Just, had business to take care of, running a company is a twenty-four-seven operation.”

Oscar nods, his eyes slightly wide as he takes in Lando’s words. He blinks slowly, his posture loosening up as he fights sleep.

“Didn’t know my friend was a CEO,” Oscar says, yawning halfway through his sentence. Lando tries not to coo over how cute Oscar looks, a spitting image of a sleepy kitten. Lando unlocks his door finally, gently sticking his foot in the doorway so Bessie doesn’t escape.

“Go to bed, Osc. You look exhausted.” Lando says, realizing his slip-up too late. He’s about to apologize and assure Oscar that he won’t call him that again because the last thing Lando wants to be is a pushy prick like the man earlier. He was complete and utter garbage, and Lando is no better if he disregards Oscar’s boundaries.

But Oscar just smiles again, his eyes crinkling as he lets out a little breathy laugh.

“You’re the only one to ever call me that. It’s nice.” He says, wishing Lando goodnight as he retreats back into his apartment, the door closing behind him with a quiet click.

And Lando stands with one foot in his apartment and stares at Oscar’s front door, trying desperately to comprehend what just happened. He’s not sure how much time passes until Bessie starts sniffing at his trainers, meowing loudly for her dinner.

After he feeds Bessie, and himself, and takes a long, hot shower, he lies in his bed, the live feed of Oscar sleeping soundly in his bed playing next to him. He can’t help but replay over and over again in his mind, the soft way Oscar said the word ‘friends’ as sleep evades him. 

Lando is more than happy to be friends. A relationship needs a good foundation in order to be strong, and friendship is sure to build a solid base.   

And Lando and Oscar’s relationship is going to be strong. Lando will make sure of it.