Chapter Text
Oscar was always cautious. Since he was a kid, he was doing everything a little slower and more carefully which often made him stay behind, but his results were usually better. Until his mates were running around the playground, then his advantage got lost somewhere along the way as he watched his step and slowed down not to trip on a rock that was sticking out from the ground a little too much for his liking. He learned pretty early on in his life that coming last wasn’t always a bad thing. It was much worse to be made fun of because he tripped and fell, scratching his knees and fighting with all his will not to cry for his mum, than just coming in last. When he was in school, he always took more time to double check his answers instead of just giving back his tests right after he finished, that way he was able to correct the mistakes he made when he was in too much of a rush or if his nerves took over. But being cautious never meant he was calm and collected. He was usually quite the opposite, he just learned how to hide it well not to disappoint anyone. As much as there never was much pressure coming from his parents, he wanted to be good at everything he tried, and he usually was. Math competitions, physics olympics, cricket, robotics, chess, piano and guitar just to name a few. Obviously he couldn’t do all of that at the same time, and some of those things faded as he got older and changed, like cricket, but some stayed and still served him as good ways to relax and unwind, when his daily life was getting a bit too much, like guitar and chess.
Being a highly intelligent and cautious kid didn’t make socializing easy, though. Oscar was fortunate enough not to be bullied, but he never had many friends. His sisters loved to call him a straight up loser, but he refused to accept this badge. He wasn’t a loser. He just preferred his own company most of the time. As they got older, he joked that actually growing up with three younger sisters traumatized him so much, he needed to be alone most of the time to recover. Sometimes even birthday parties or special occasions like Christmas, that included more extended family members, were eventually becoming too much and he needed to go hide in the pantry or his own room for a little while. The only person he could tolerate for extended periods of time was his cousin Charles. Whenever he visited them in Melbourne with his parents, they played and hung out together constantly, and the same thing happened when his family went to Monaco during the summer. They didn’t talk much outside of those rare occasions, unless it was for birthdays or bigger life milestones like finishing school or getting into college. Despite his family’s teasing, he never felt bad for being the way he was. Loser, loner, nerd - he didn’t mind. He didn’t need their approval to keep doing what he loved most.
He began helping his dad in the garage when he was six years old, after he watched Cars for the first time and he wanted to know everything about actual race cars. The whole thing was easier because his father was a mechanic and owned a few shops around Melbourne, having a pretty cool garage at home. He started out holding the lights and handing tools and ended up building his own car when he was sixteen. He could never explain it to others, where did this come from, why cars specifically, never any other sort of machinery. It was just fascinating and he had a natural understanding of it. He wanted to know what made the wheels turn and how to make an engine faster, so it seemed only right that when he had to pick a major at the university, he picked mechanical engineering. Sure, he liked speed and fast cars, but he wanted to make them faster and better, not to be the driver, although his passion for races grew as he aged, when his father started taking him to the Formula One races in Melbourne, and as much as he loved their little tradition, it never felt quite like when they visiting their family in Monaco just in time for the Grand Prix, the cars were so close, it felt like a dream. That’s when he decided that one day he was going to be one of the people responsible for those beautiful machines. He never told anyone though, and didn't want to jinx it before he was sure he was going to be able to make it, because it felt a little embarrassing and predictable. Oscar kept it to himself like most things that were truly precious to his heart. But he was aware that he needed to open up more and practice his people’s skills if he ever wanted a job in F1. Every single component of the sport was a team effort because behind every driver, there was a team of people who took care of him and behind every car there was a team of people who built it. It wasn’t easy to figure out how to improve, and it was Charles who suggested that he should start working at a café, to kind of shock him out of his little asocial bubble and force him to be confronted with unpredictable people. Thanks to that, in his fourth year, he was the leader of a group project that was supposed to be a big part of his masters dissertation, and the master barista in one of the biggest cafés on campus, heading straight into becoming the shift manager after winter break like his boss promised when they were talking about his contract before summer break.
Settling back into his apartment was always fun, getting or organize everything, prepare space for his tools, unpack all of the boxes his parents sent from back home, fresh bed sheets, new desk set up, but most of all picking up his car from George’s garage where he left it for the break when he went back home. When he was driving it back to campus from his best friend’s apartment complex, he felt alive again, like he was finally complete after three months of unsettling hollowness. This year he actually applied in time for a designated parking space so he didn’t have to worry about having to walk two blocks to his building when he couldn’t find any space to park. His car was in immaculate condition thanks to Georges’s effort and care, not a scratch on the shiny, black surface of his 1969 Mustang’s caroserie, not a speckle of dust on the creamy leather inside, his CD collection alphabetized in the glove box, the roar of the engine coming to life again, making him smile. As much as he missed his home country and his family when he was in the UK, he also missed his life here when he was in Melbourne. He had his routines, little habits, favorite places and things he couldn’t take back with him that made his life complete. Being torn between two places like that sometimes felt a little upsetting, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.
Being back and settling in again made him feel more at ease, a familiar feeling overtaking as he walked to his workplace and noticed the first yellowing leaves falling down. The café was always open a week before classes started so that they could start serving people moving into dorms or coming in for orientation or tourists who wanted to feel the mysterious vibe of the historic part of the university. There weren't many customers coming in yet, but it made it easier to set everything up for the grand opening in October as the first lectures began. He was putting up the cups on the coffee machine, still hot from the warewashing machine and half-heartedly listening to his best friend’s yapping coming from the other side of the bar.
“It’s really fun, and I think you would enjoy it, is all I’m saying.”
“George, for the last time, I’m not going to spend my last free Friday evening fangirling over your boyfriend with you, it’s shady, and crowded, and illegal.” Oscar rolled his eyes and finally turned around, looking at the other man. “It’s not even like you can watch the entire thing, you just see them start and finish.”
“Aren’t those the best parts though? And it’s not illegal-illegal. It’s just not very… sanctioned.”
“Right,” he nodded his head and pulled his lips into a straight line. “Well even though your arguments are really compelling, I’m still going to say no. You only want me to go, because Alex said no and you won’t go alone.”
“That’s bullshit! I want you to go, because you need to go out more. You promised you won’t hide as much this year. Besides, you owe me one.” George looked smug when he pulled that card out of his sleeve and watched as a variety of emotions went through Oscar’s face, finally settling on an outraged grimace.
“Excuse me? Owe you for what exactly?”
“For taking care of Dean when you were away. He was in pristine condition when you got him back, wasn’t he? Not a speckle of dust in sight? Shiny and clean? You think it was easy to do that?”
“Oh come on. You can’t be serious? It’s not like you washed him with your own two hands. Taking my car to the car wash is not the sacrifice you’re making it out to be.” he was dead set on rejecting any offer the other man served him with stone cold facts and common sense.
“You didn’t show up to my birthday party this year. You owe me a party, so I’m taking you to a street race to watch my boyfriend. I won. End of discussion.” he smiled at him, making him sigh deeply in resignation. He could have rebutted this argument with the fact that he didn’t show up because of a terrible food poisoning that sent him to the pits of hell, but there was no use. He couldn’t win this one.
“Jesus Christ, okay. I’ll go. But this is the first and last time you’re pulling something like that.”
“Aha, sure,” George finished his cinnamon latte and gracefully slid down from the stool. “Wear something slutty, I’ll pick you up at eight.” he left a five pound note on the bar and put on his jacket. “Keep the change, and I’ll see you later, Pastry.”
He watched him leave with a jingle of the door bell and sighed loudly, tucking the note into his apron’s pocket. His quiet night in just turned into a nightmare. But maybe George was right. Maybe he needed to get out more and maybe jump-starting that habit with a night race wasn’t the worst option.
•••
He couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of his closet studying the very bland (according to his sister and best friend) array of clothes, trying to pick something that could pass as even remotely slutty in George’s book. What did slutty even mean for a guy like him? Skinny jeans from 2015? A black shirt with one too many buttons open? After fifteen minutes of going through his very sparse closet he settled on a white t-shirt, dark, straight jeans and his vintage McLaren jean jacket he managed to score in a thrift store right after he moved to the UK. He tried doing something different with his hair but after fumbling some more, he just let it fall naturally, like it always did. After spritzing himself lightly with his favorite perfume and popping a mint gum in his mouth, he left the apartment and waited outside the building for George, scrolling through Instagram.
The track was located at the outskirts of the city, accompanied by a pretty big, abandoned warehouse turned into a party place. He could hear the thick beat vibrating through the ground and saw colorful lights flowing out through the glassless windows, assuming that some racegoers were already there, or that at least some of them would be going there after the main event is over to celebrate or drown their sorrows. George was giggling at whatever his boyfriend was telling him about in his heavy accent, and Oscar never wanted to be anywhere else more in his life. It’s not that he was particularly envious or repulsed, he just felt out of place, like always. When he realized that they’re not going to pay any attention to him, he just went around Max’s car to examine it, imagining the air flowing around it, trying to estimate aerodynamics that could be at play. It was a good car. Very solid for racing like that. However, the true treat was waiting for him next to it. A gorgeous McLaren GT in deep purple with a shimmering, chameleon-like color shift that reflected pink and blue. Extravagant and effective for street racing, yet still somewhat usable for daily driving. He squeezed his hands into fists in the pockets of his jacket, having to physically stop himself from touching it. He tried to take a peek inside through the window, but it was too dark outside to see anything but the elegant, black leather finishing inside. He would do a lot of things to take this beauty out for a spin somewhere where he could see its full potential. There was quite the crowd forming on this side of the track as well, and Oscar noticed a guy in the very front wearing a leather jacket with two kiwi bird patches on the front, talking and laughing with a bunch of giggly girls. A guy he thought he recognized from somewhere, he just couldn’t put his finger on where from. He had a pretty smile, wide and perfectly heart shaped, his pearly teeth shining through, with a small gap between his front teeth and fangs that stuck out a bit. Kind eyes scrunched in a grin, shining in the sparse lighting of their surroundings.
He froze when the man looked at him, making direct eye contact and sending him a small smile, not as big as the one reserved for his fans, but still undeniably intentional. Before he could move, the guy was coming towards him, just to stand right in front of him.
“You like the car?” Oscar knew this voice. He heard it almost every day.
“Oh yeah, it’s definitely impressive. Did you have it wrapped or was it painted?”
The guy chuckled, and Oscar’s face stayed frozen in a painfully bland expression. “You’re looking at my car like you want to take a bite of it and that’s your first question? Was it wrapped or painted?”
“I mean, I pretty much know everything else. It’s no more than a year old, twin-turbo V8, seven-speed ssg, 612 horsepower. Pretty basic, but if you had it tuned in any way, I’d be interested to hear all about it. The color just looks original so I’m wondering.” he shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool, not letting his nervousness at the sudden attention show. The stranger assessed him curiously, as if he was studying him, never letting the light smirk leave his lips.
“Custom made at the factory,” he said finally. “Was a bitch to pay for, but overall worth it. She’s my special lady, so she deserved all the best. You know an awful lot about cars without taking a look inside of them. How?”
“I like cars, and I’m a mechanical engineering student, the knowledge comes with the territory.”
“Are you a racer?”
“Oh no,” Oscar smiled lightly. “I prefer to build cars, not total them.”
“This actually happens way less often than you might think if you’re a half decent driver. So if you’re not a racer, then what are you doing here?”
“I came with a friend, he insisted that I needed to see his boyfriend race.”
“Who’s your friend’s boyfriend?” the other man looked around, trying to find somebody in the crowd.
“Max.”
“Ah!” his face brightened in understanding again. “George’s friend. Wait but you’re not Alex, I never saw you here before. What’s your name?”
“Oscar.” he said bluntly, looking at the car instead of its owner again. His heart was hammering in his chest, waiting for the name to tumble out of his lips. Lando.
“Nice to meet you Oscar, I’m Lando.” a wide smile brightened his entire face again. “I can take you for a spin after the race, if you’d like. But now I should probably get in and warm her up.”
“Oh yeah, no, of course. I um… Yeah, good luck.”
“We’ll see if you have the potential to become my next lucky charm.” he opened the car’s door and slipped into the driver's seat, and as he did the entire inside of the car lit up in a bright purple glow.
Oscar turned around and managed to find George, who was still lost in conversation with his boyfriend. They watched the race as much as you can call watching the ten times both cars zoomed past them on the start/finish line, but when it mattered the most, it was Max who came out on top. It’s not that Oscar wasn’t rooting for him. He wasn’t rooting for anyone actually, but for some reason it stung a little when the Dutchman got out of his car and ran straight to George and kissed him triumphantly. Oscar caught Lando’s eyes on the other side of the track, and sent him an apologetic smile to which the other man just shrugged and smiled widely, still getting celebrated by a group of his devoted fans that pulled him away.
“Hey Oscar, appreciate you coming today, mate,” the voice behind him was laced with a slight lisp and a foreign accent. “Come celebrate with us at the warehouse, it’s my birthday tonight.”
He looked at his friend and the other man’s arm wrapped tightly around George’s waist, and raised an eyebrow at him, expectantly. “Sure thing, and congratulations on your win, it was pretty tight, but you managed it well like George always tells me.”
“Lando had a very good night tonight. He raced clean, which doesn’t happen often.”
“So he’s a cheater?” Oscar raised an eyebrow.
“Not a cheater per se,” George joined their conversation. “He just likes bending the rules. A lot.”
•••
The whole building was vibrating with sound. Oscar was impressed with the fact that everything was put together so well, with an actual DJ and a rather impressive bar with a couple of bartenders. Max and George were still busy touring the crowd and accepting congratulations like some sort of royal couple and Oscar decided that he needed something to drink if he was to survive the night. He ordered vodka with coke, and as he was getting ready to leave and join his friends on the dance floor he bumped into someone.
“Sorry- Oh well, hello there,” Lando smiled at him the same way he did before the race. “How was the race?”
“It was pretty close, to be honest, I thought you were going to win. Guess I'm pretty bad at being a good luck charm.” he had to take a step towards the other man as the music was not making conversation any easier, leaning in a little every time one of them was talking.
“Nah, I wouldn’t blame this on you,” Oscar watched as the other man accepted a plastic cup of something that looked like vodka with cranberry juice. “Max is just a bloody good driver, and he had birthday luck.”
“You’re too careless with your corners. It costs you unnecessary time you could use to beat him on the straights. I looked up the layout of the track and his car specs, it should have been your win, but… yeah.” he shrugged, keeping eye contact and took a sip of his drink.
“You sure have a lot of opinions for someone who watched me race just once.” he chuckled lightly, a pink sheen dusting his cheeks, but he was holding back. He looked down at the drink in his hand, his expression a little off, like something stung him. “But thank you for saying that, you’re most likely right. Engineers probably know their shit.”
“I didn’t say you raced badly. I said it could have been a little better if you wanted to win. It’s an observation, not a critique.”
“Don’t try to make it better, I lost because of my own carelessness. Although I have to admit, you did distract me right before the race.” Lando looked up again, the playful sparkle back in his eyes, a gentle smirk tugging at his lips.
“I had to somehow let you know that your new lucky charm has arrived, didn’t I?” Oscar raised an eyebrow at him, feeling the slight burn of vodka sliding down his throat, a familiar warmth radiating in his stomach.
“Do you actually start bringing luck after you’re rubbed or something? Or was it just virgin performance anxiety?”
Before he could answer the other man, George showed up at his side and pulled him towards the mass of people dancing after briefly greeting Lando, where he joined him and Max, still feeling Lando's heavy gaze on him as they left. He caught him staring a few times as they were dancing with different people, as alcohol settled into his bones and eased his brain, his skin not crawling with anxiety anymore. Light buzz filled his veins as the person he was dancing with kissed him, a little too much a little too fast, shoving their tongue into his mouth, but he reciprocated it. He let the hands of a stranger roam his waist as he stared into the green eyes somewhere in the distance, locked on him, glinting in the colorful lights of the warehouse.
He met Lando again at the bar later in the night, a bottle of water in his hand, flirting with a booby redhead and a gorgeous man with dark skin and neatly done braids. Oscar finally let himself really look at him without it seeming out of place, his attention occupied by something else. The Brit was undeniably attractive. He had a very expressive face, all of the emotions visible, even in the slight quirk of his eyebrows or twitch of the corners of his mouth. His eyes were shifting constantly between green and blue, depending on the light, and his skin was dusted with beauty marks. He was rocking a thin moustache and a short goatee and his curly hair was neatly groomed into a trendy hair style Oscar couldn’t remember the name of. He thought that he could definitely hook up with him. He was attractive and unfamiliar enough for it to be good fun without any complications. The people Lando was talking to were clearly interested in him, constantly initiating touch, trying to form a connection that momentarily evaporated when Lando turned his head to the side and his eyes met Oscar’s who raised his brow at him.
His sisters might have seen him a loser, but at the age of sixteen Oscar learned that other people highly disagreed on that. When he opened his locker on Valentine’s Day, a stack of various cards and little papers fell to his feet. Him and his roommate later counted fifteen in total, while Logan got only eight. Of course after filtering out those from girls, Oscar was left with three, but it was still more than he expected. As he grew older, he noticed the effect he had on people despite his flat tone and cold expression, a member of his robotics team blushing when he explained something to her, Logan looking at his lips when he talked rather than into his eyes, pretty European girls watching him play volleyball on the beach with Charles over their sunglasses, people in clubs and pubs propositioning him after just a few sentences exchanged. It’s not that he was some kind of casanova, he usually felt awkward in those situations, trying to let the women down easy, cherry picking the men who approached him, because he mostly wasn’t attracted to them. If he had a type, he couldn’t really describe it, when George asked him about that when they first went out, Oscar’s brain bluescreened for a good minute and he ended up blurting out: you. George laughed at him and spent his night trying to understand what he was looking for rather than accepting his new friend's advances and he couldn’t blame him. It was pathetic and actually did make him look like a loser. What George and Alex couldn’t understand was that he needed some time to adjust. To watch. To familiarize himself with at least a few targets before he could start analyzing them and picking what he liked most.
He watched Lando on campus. Noticed him the first time he came to The Bean House with a group of friends, all of them dressed in different, intimidatingly cool ways, and Lando wore a simple white t-shirt and an oversized cardigan in a shade of lime green so offensively bright, he looked like it was glowing. The cardigan had the pattern of black blobs on it that reminded Oscar of a lava lamp, an attempt to balance out the green, but a very weak one. He was talking about getting a new design of something, probably some sort of art installation, and he blurted out his order to him so carelessly that Oscar didn’t understand anything that came after cappuccino. At that time his barista social skills were still very much in the trenches so he didn’t ask him to repeat, and he improvised as he prepared his drink. He wrote down what he added in his notebook under the counter and when Lando came asking for repetition, he decided he succeeded.
The Art Department Clique as he called them in his head came in at least two or three times a week, sometimes Lando visited alone later in the day, sitting with his laptop or a sketchbook in the corner booth, in headphones, looking sharp and focused and sometimes so profoundly sad that Oscar dropped a free burnt croissant or chocolate cookie on his table, almost like an afterthought, always quick, not to get his attention for too long and Lando never did pay him much attention, as if he didn’t recognize him despite seeing him almost every day. At some point Oscar just labeled him the asshole supreme and he lost his pastry privileges, even as one day he was crying his pretty eyes out in the booth, looking like a kicked puppy. But despite being the asshole who couldn’t bother enough to recognize the guy who basically kept him alive by providing him with caffeine and carbs, he was still an attractive asshole. It wasn’t a crush per se, Oscar wasn’t hell bent on getting to him somehow, but he was definitely interested and if Lando only showed him any interest, he would jump at the opportunity.
So now, looking straight into his eyes, Oscar raised an eyebrow and smiled at him, waiting for Lando’s move. The other man blinked a few times and shifted from one foot to the other, explaining something rather quickly to the couple he was standing with and when they walked away Oscar approached him, eyes never leaving his, still watching and calculating. He leaned in, invading his space, a warm, citrusy scent clouding his senses.
“Do you wanna dance?” he asked close to the other man’s ear to avoid yelling.
“Do you think you can keep up with me?” Lando asked with a mischievous smirk.
“You think I can’t handle you?”
“Well you didn’t show much success in bringing luck…” he pressed a hand to Oscar’s chest, as if he wanted to keep distance between them, or keep Oscar at bay.
“I thought we established it was for the lack of rubbing. Dancing could fix that.”
“You associate dancing with rubbing? That’s a little forward of you…”
Oscar bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile and looked towards the mass of people on the dancefloor, noticing the couple from earlier still looking in their direction.
“If you want me to chase you, you should know I have great stamina.”
“Ah, comes from all the rubbing?"
Oscar laughed at that and shook his head. The alcohol hummed in his veins, amping up his courage, enticing him to keep up with Lando’s teasing, and do everything he could to get his hands on him. He realized it’s been a long while since he approached someone first and since he wanted someone so badly, he was willing to cave in. “You’re a brat, you know that right?”
“And you’re so into it, it makes you a little stupid, pretty boy,” Lando let his hand slide down his chest and torso, long fingers feeling up soft abs under the material of Oscar’s t-shirt, sending hot shivers down his spine. “But I’ll be good tonight and I’ll grant your wish.”
He took the drink from Oscar's hand and finished it in two gulps, leaving the empty glass on the counter and taking Oscar’s hand, leading him towards the mass of people moving to the rhythm of an upbeat house song. They fell into the music and each other, their bodies syncing in no time, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. Oscar’s hands on Lando’s hips and waist, Lando’s fingers in Oscar’s hair and squeezing his biceps. They drove each other mad and kept turning away whenever they got too close to kissing, their breaths mixing together as space between their bodies disappeared and they were pressed flush against one another, the Australian’s hands snaking under Lando’s shirt, hot skin slick with sweat. It was an impossible test of patience and self restraint because clearly neither of them wanted to give in first. Watching Lando move under the lights as they parted again, Oscar knew he couldn't take it anymore and next time they’re against each other he will finally close the distance and taste his lips. But before he could act on it, Lando bumped into some girl who turned out to be his friend and immediately pulled him towards her friend group that apparently was full of people Lando knew as well, considering how warmly he was welcomed.
Oscar had hoped that Lando would just say hello to his friends and that he would come back to him, but after he heard the word shots, he knew he blew his chance completely. He waited too long and lost the chance to hook up in a very cool car with a very cute racer. He cursed under his breath and started moving around the dancefloor, craning his neck to look for George and Max. He found them outside of the warehouse, smoking with a bunch of other people who were mostly focused on Max. George offered him a cigarette, but the one who lit it up for him was the cute guy that kissed him before. Oscar smiled at him and winked as he exhaled the first drag, nicotine hitting him harder than he anticipated. They fell into an easy conversation that ended with the cute guy giving him his Instagram handle and a very long but mediocre makeout that was interrupted by George asking Oscar if he wanted a lift home.
He patiently answered all of George’s overly-excited questions on the way home, his friend demanding details of what happened to the guy from the dance floor.
“Okay but what happened after he kissed you the first time? We had to split to look for you before we were leaving. Where did you go?” George was half turned to him from the front seat so he could see him better in the night light creeping in through the window.
“We found a little more private place and made out some more, and he was way too eager to do more. Unfortunately, I don’t fuck on a first date, I’m a gentleman like that.” he answered, amused, earning a light chuckle from Max in the driver’s seat. “He wanted to suck me off, but I turned him down. Wasn’t pretty enough.”
“Oh my god, you are a proper heartbreaker now,” George’s speech was a little slurred, courtesy of all of the gin tonics he had. “Turning a free blowie down because a guy wasn’t pretty enough? I need to give you alcohol more often.”
“Did you have your eyes on somebody else, then?” Max asked all of a sudden.
“I kinda did, but we kept missing each other the entire night. Maybe I’ll catch him next time.”
“Oh you poor soul…” George reached out and squeezed his hand clumsily. “There won’t be a next time until spring, unless you want to get into really, really illegal shit.”
“Oh,” Oscar looked out the window and gently squeezed his friends’ fingers back. “I guess I fumbled then. Well, my loss, but I’ll live.”
They all laughed and he took the phone out of his pocket to keep himself busy when George and Max fell into a conversation about something related to the Dutchman’s studies. He thanked them immensely for driving him home and congratulated the birthday boy for his win once again, spending well over five minutes hugging a very drunk George on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building.
When he finally managed to get into bed, he opened Instagram and pulled up his cousin's account, looking for a photo from one of his fancy exhibitions, scrolling through the posts until he found what he was looking for, or rather who he was looking for. He clicked the tagged username, and a mix of colors exploded right into his face. Colorful outfits, paintings, projects, various types of art, everything overflowing with vivid colors. But brightness aside, there was another thing making a prominent appearance on the photos as he carefully scrolled through the page - a wide, heart-shaped smile. Oscar’s finger loomed over the follow botton for a while, but he eventually decided against it, not wanting to come off as desperate or creepy. He closed the app and put his phone onto the bedside table, tucking himself in and falling asleep easily thanks to alcohol that blocked all of the unwanted thoughts and scenarios that could be flooding his mind right now.
•••
“I’m not saying that to scare you, but if you won’t get your grade up, I will have to fail you during the first semester and you won’t be able to graduate with your class.”
Lando moved uncomfortably in the chair in front of his French professor’s desk, a centerpiece in an otherwise bland office. He swallowed thickly and bit the inside of his cheek.
“Maybe there’s some additional exercises you could recommend to me? Like a course book or something?” he croaked eventually, anxiety always sitting in his voice chords, making his voice falter and crack pathetically.
“What I would recommend to you, monsieur Norris, is getting a peer tutor. No amount of course books will help you with speaking which is your weakest spot next to conjugation. Ask around your classmates, maybe someone will have a recommendation, though I have to admit, it was rather reckless of you to wait with taking the language course until your final year.” the woman looked at him from above her wire framed glasses, her wrinkled face stern and cold.
He just nodded his head solemnly and sighed, understanding that their meeting was over. He took his graded papers from her desk and shoved them into his backpack, getting up from the chair.
“I will do my best to improve and find a solution. Thank you for making time for me, madam Moreau.”
“I’ll see you next week in class, monsieur Norris.”
He left and sighed, making his way out of the languages department, crossing the campus’ main quad and getting into a small café where he found his friends waiting for him at one of the tables. He left his things there and went to the bar looking right into the familiar brown eyes. A warm smile pulled at the barista’s lips.
“Welcome to The Bean House. What can I make for you today?” his Australian accent always caught Lando off guard. It was charming in a way that made everyone’s heart flutter, including his own, despite being used to the accent itself since one of his best friends was also from down under.
“I’ll have the usual and a-”
“Warm cinnamon bun?” the barista finished for him.
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
They have been playing this game for a month now. Pretending that they don’t know each other and that they’re just a client and a customer. Both of them itching to talk to each other about more than coffee and desserts, but Lando always came during rush hour so Oscar was busy, or he came in with a bunch of his friends, or Oscar’s manager was present during the shift and he had to be on his best behavior.
The Australian recognized Lando at the race already, he remembered him by his order, a large oat milk cappuccino with caramel syrup and cinnamon. He remembered his large hands reaching for the bills to put into the tip tin, but paying for the order with his phone, silver rings reflecting the overhead lights at the bar. He remembered the cute smile and beauty marks sprinkled all over his face. He also thought about the keychain dangling from his backpack, a little frog holding a bisexual flag, probably more often than he should have. Just like he shouldn’t have been thinking about the night at the warehouse, when he was kissing a stranger, holding Lando’s heavy gaze, and then about his hands on Lando’s body just for him to be ripped away from him and never to be returned.
As Oscar started moving around behind the bar, Lando slipped a ten into the tip tin and added a few coins he found in his pockets, making more noise than he intended to. He never noticed Oscar before the race. It was his fault he didn’t pay enough attention to the person who served him his daily dose of caffeine. If he did, he would have made a move earlier. Oscar was very handsome, the type of handsome that’s not aware of how attractive he is. He was also shy from what he noticed and he usually kept a straight face unless he was talking to someone he was close with. The only exception being at the party, after he had a few drinks. Lando sometimes saw him talking to George who was hanging out at the café between classes and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling when he saw Oscar laugh so hard he had to put a hand on his stomach and turn around to collect himself. What he definitely noticed though, was how broad his back was, how his biceps were bulging under the sleeves of his fitted work t-shirt and how the maroon apron with the café’s logo on it cinched his waist.
Lando tried his best to start a conversation, go back to whatever he attempted to start at Max’s birthday celebration before they were cut off by one of Lando’s own dumb friends and that stranger that sucked himself onto Oscar for the rest of the night. But maybe he wasn’t trying hard enough, because their sparse interaction at The Bean House was all that was going on between them for the past month. The Australian was intriguing, mysterious and Lando couldn’t crack him yet, which he usually did pretty quickly after he met someone new. For now he was just sure that he had a pretty good shot, based on the fact that Oscar was making out with a guy at a party and then he touched him like he never wanted to let him go. He looked around his shoulder and noticed that there was no line behind him, so maybe that was his chance.
A big, blue cup was placed in front of him with a matching plate that hosted his sweet treat, and the warm scent of a fresh cinnamon bun filled the air between them, bringing him back to reality. Oscar scanned his loyalty card and told him his total as he put his phone to the reader.
“Hey, so I was wondering if you would like to maybe-” Lando started, but was interrupted by a giggly group of girls that just walked in and crowded behind him.
“Yes?” Oscar looked at him patiently, his eyes shining prettily in the warm light.
“Would you like to maybe grab lunch toge-”
“Mate, are you done, we’re in a hurry!” one of the girls actually stood next to him, seeing that his order was ready, and Lando just shook his head, taking his dishes away and moving back to the table, where he sat down next to Charles. He looked over his shoulder at the cute barista who was now busy with making orders and probably thought he’s a total loser. He somehow willed himself to focus on the conversation that was going on at the table and forgot about his failed attempt to ask the Australian out.
“How was your meeting with madame Moreau?” asked Charles finally, as the conversation at the table broke down into smaller circles.
“She will fail me if I don’t improve and suggested I get a peer tutor, because there’s no hope for me in the books,” he mimicked the professor’s thick French accent very poorly. “So I thought that maybe you could find a way to squeeze me into your busy schedule and you could teach me?”
Charles blinked at him and started laughing lightly, finishing the piece of cheesecake on his plate, but he stopped as soon as he realized his friend wasn’t joking.
“Wait, you're serious?” his French accent came through the most when he spoke English, despite him being fluent in French, Italian and Spanish. “That’s a really bad idea, Lando.”
“But why?” he whined dramatically. “You know French well, you can teach me!”
“It’s my mother language. It’s hard to teach something you know so well, especially in a different language. Maybe I could teach you in French but not in English. Sorry, mate.” he looked genuinely apologetic, like a kicked puppy.
“What about your hot millionaire boyfriend? He knows French, right?” Lando was getting desperate at that point, he would do anything to improve his grade.
“Carlos doesn’t speak French, he’s from Spain, Lando. But I know someone who could help you.”
“Oh my God, Charles, yes, whoever it is. I’ll take anyone.”
Charles turned around to look at the bar and took his friend’s hand so that he would stand up with him and they approached the bar together. Oscar was busy cleaning the portafillers, but other than that there were no clients around.
“Hey, Oscar.” Charles said and Lando noticed how weird his name sounded coming from someone else’s mouth.
“Huh? Oh hi Charles,” he turned around and smiled widely, looking between the two of them, and Lando furrowed his brows. “What can I do for you guys?”
“Lando here needs a French tutor and I thought that you could help him out. You’re very good at it.”
Oscar was staring at the both of them, pulling his lips in a thoughtful grimace and scrunching his eyebrows together, his eyes lingering on Lando, looking him up and down once or twice.
“But I’m not doing it for free.” he said finally, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Oh no, that’s obviously understandable. Money is not an issue, I just need to start as fast as possible.” Lando said, his voice tense and thin, on the verge of breaking, like it did at madam Moreau’s office.
“Well then, congratulations mate. I reckon I might be a shit good luck charm, but I’m a good tutor. You can ask around on campus.” he smiled gently, the same shy, knowing smile he usually offered Lando when he was taking his order.
“Thank you very much, really. I promise I’ll be good,” he held the Australian’s gaze and returned the smile, turning to his friend after a beat. “Wait, how do you guys know each other?”
“We’re cousins.” they both answered at the same time.
“Cousins- How’s that even possible? You’re from Monaco and you’re Australian, how the fuck are you cousins?”
“Lando, my friend, there’s this thing called migration, here, let me tell you all about it…” Charles put his arm around Lando’s shoulders, walking him back to the table, and explaining their family history to him.
Later, when Lando, Charles and their friends left the café and Oscar was sitting in the library doing research for an upcoming paper, he got a message from an unknown number.
???: tell me when you’re available for the tutoring sessions, I would like to schedule it two times a week since I’m in deep shit
There was a screenshot of a fifth-year art major schedule attached to it, and before Oscar could even think of a response, came another message.
???: it’s Lando by the way ☺️
He saved the number to his contacts as “Lando 🐸” and abandoned his notes just to pull up his own class and work schedules.
oscar: i can do mondays between your morning and afternoon classes and thursdays at 6pm at the bean house or the study hall, whichever you prefer
Lando 🐸: that’s perfect, thank you so much, really, you have no idea how much i appreciate it
Lando 🐸: i’ll see you on thursday than, monsieur piastri
Oscar put his phone back on the table, screen down and went back to staring into his textbook, willing his brain to work and his heart to stop pounding in his chest. It was just another tutee, easy money on the side. The fact that he was also a really handsome guy who happened to be driving an amazing car was just an additional bonus, a little treat for all the effort he put into saving money and over-scheduling himself for the fourth year. He still couldn't decide if Charles did that on purpose or if it all was just a happy accident that turned out to be beneficial for the both of them. In the end, he decided he didn’t care. What mattered, was that he now had less than 48 hours to dust off his French and blindly prepare a lesson for Lando. But he was going to do alright. He had to, not to let down both Charles and Lando and to uphold his reputation as a brilliant student and teacher. He definitely didn’t have any additional motivation in the Brit’s cute smile or his pretty eyes and tempting lips, he still fantasized about when he was alone in his room.