Chapter Text
Kiss Your Friend for 20 Seconds and Win a Brand New TV
The ad shouldn't be nearly as appealing as it is, and yet it lodges itself in Lando's mind as a tremendously tempting offer. He's seen videos like this before, scrolling through Instagram, whenever his algorithm suddenly decides to veer away from cars, models, and the most mind-numbing content imaginable. The fact that he always stays to watch every single video on that account through to the end - just to see if the people actually manage to claim their free prizes - is something he refuses to justify out loud.
Case in point: just a couple of nights ago he'd been lying in bed - one of the only pieces of furniture they've already reassembled after the move - watching two guys pull apart with grimaces of disgust before the timer even ran out. Lando can't help thinking they're being ridiculous, because what does it matter if you kiss a man or a woman when there's a reward like that on the line?
On the salary he scrapes together at the café, Lando knows a TV is a serious expense - at least if you want one that isn't total garbage, the kind that looks like it was salvaged from your nan's living room. That's precisely why Oscar and he haven't managed to save up enough for one yet.
They're doing it gradually, pooling money from whatever jobs come along that they can juggle alongside their studies. In his case, the café was the only place that didn't turn down his nearly empty CV and handed him an apron on the spot. It might have something to do with the way Lando looked at the manager like an abandoned puppy - or it might be because he dropped off his application in person rather than through one of those useless job-search platforms online.
Either way, Lando is not going to admit this to his mother. Cisca has been nudging him to try showing up places in person for months, and as much as he hates to say it, the woman might have had a point.
So that amounts to a modest income that goes almost entirely toward rent, bills, and not immediately dying of starvation. Everything else, however, is supplemented by Oscar's wage at the mechanic's. The Australian earns more than he does, but Lando supposes he can't really complain. Pouring cups of coffee without spilling them - something he's been slowly but surely making progress on - is hardly the same as restoring one of those classic cars he's seen Oscar working on from time to time, when he's stopped by to walk back to the flat together.
Where Lando slips out the second his shift ends, Oscar is the complete opposite. The guy will stay hunched over an engine until he's satisfied with whatever he's fixing at that moment, and most days, Lando simply has to perch on the bonnet of one of the cars sitting in the garage - Lando, for God's sake, not on the Bentley - and watch the way Oscar leans forward, his arms flexing and showing off his muscles in a quiet reminder that Lando really does need to join a gym once they've got enough money. That is, of course, the only reason his gaze keeps drifting there.
The point is that with what little they both earn, and the move still fresh now that they've finally decided to share a flat after years of friendship under London's exorbitant rent prices, it's been over a month and a half in their new place and they still haven't managed to get a decent TV.
That's one of the reasons Lando stops dead in his tracks when he spots the sign, the cardboard box the size of a better television than either of them could ever afford, and the content creator waiting next to the stand - being turned down by every guy who walks past after reading the sign.
Fragile masculinity. Fortunately, that's something neither Lando nor Oscar - or at least, that's what he assumes - suffer from.
Impulse control? Also not something that features prominently in the British boy's list of qualities, which is why before he knows it he's practically sprinting across the campus lawn toward the stand. He straightens his backpack on his shoulders as he stops, catching the guy with the camera off guard with his abrupt appearance.
"Hi!" he greets, feeling suddenly stupid for having run over. But what if someone had got there before him and the TV had been a mirage? It's not a bad brand, now that he can see the box up close, and there are enough inches for both of them to have proper movie nights and gaming afternoons in the living room. He's already mentally planning where it'll go. Maybe he'll ask Oscar to mount it on the wall once they've won it.
"Hey, hey!" the man replies, signalling his colleague to point the camera at Lando. The curly-haired boy has never been particularly camera-shy - a photography course means he's inevitably ended up as a model for his classmates' projects at some point - but now he's aware that he's not the only one who watches those videos once they go up. "Such enthusiasm. You want to join in, mate?"
"Yeah, actually I do." Lando nods nervously, catching his lower lip between his teeth before releasing it. "It's a real TV though, right?"
The man laughs at the question, but Lando feels it's perfectly justified - what kind of lunatic goes around giving away hundreds of pounds worth of electronics just to watch a couple of people kiss?
"Of course, you can open the box and check for yourself." He gestures toward the box, and Lando doesn't waste a second before crouching down to confirm the screen is genuinely inside. This is definitely his lucky day. "But you know how this works, right? It's yours if you kiss a friend for twenty seconds."
Lando waves his hand dismissively. "I know, I know." It's not like it's going to be a huge inconvenience - lips are lips at the end of the day, and the only difference is that these come with a television attached. "I've seen some of your videos."
"Then you know you need someone with you, yeah?"
Lando stands back up after carefully closing the box so the cardboard doesn't get damaged, easier to carry that way. God, he hopes Oscar drove to campus today instead of taking public transport, or they'll have to lug this thing across a dozen bus and tube connections.
"Yeah, sure." The man nods, but makes the fact that Lando is alone rather obvious by glancing around for the supposed partner. "Can I call my friend?"
He pulls his phone from the pocket of his baggy trousers and holds it up as explanation. "Go ahead, if he agrees and you manage it, the TV's yours."
"He studies just over there, so he shouldn't take long," he warns while navigating to speed dial. Oscar has been his emergency contact ever since they moved in together. You never know when one of them is going to set the kitchen on fire, and they need to be prepared for the disasters both of them are perfectly capable of causing. "Give me a couple of minutes."
Lando steps away once he gets a thumbs-up, walking across the trimmed grass while the camera is still pointed somewhere at his back. He ignores it and simply presses call, glancing quickly at his watch. If he's not mistaken - and he shouldn't be, given that Oscar's timetable has been categorised in his mind as a matter of the highest priority since the start of term - Oscar should be just a few minutes away from finishing his fluid dynamics lecture in the building across the way. Lando has teased him about that class enough times that Oscar now simply raises an eyebrow and ignores him, calling him a child.
The phone rings five times before Oscar picks up, his voice dropping to an immediate whisper on the other end. "Lando? Are you okay?"
Right - that's one of the new things he still hasn't quite got used to, a consequence of being each other's emergency contact. Oscar always mini-panics when he calls, even when it's usually something completely trivial.
"Osc! Never better, today's our lucky day." he responds cheerfully, doing his best to convey that no, he has not burned the kitchen down.
"I'm in class, Lan. If you're not dying I've got to go." Oscar's voice has shed its worried tone and settled back into the exasperation he usually performs. Lando knows Oscar is fond enough of him that he's not actually tired of him, no matter how often he pretends otherwise.
"No, no, wait." Lando hurries, his gaze drifting over the building's facade even though he hasn't got a clue which room his friend is in. "Don't hang up."
"Lando, there are fifteen minutes left, can't you wait?"
And Lando looks at the way the cameraman and the content creator are still watching him from just a few metres away, looks at the TV box and the sign, and decides that no, actually, he cannot wait.
"I need you to kiss me."
The silence that settles over the call is so sudden and complete that Lando even pulls his phone away from his ear for a few seconds to make sure the call hasn't dropped. It's almost as if there's no one on the other end - at least for a moment, until he picks up the sound of Oscar's breathing again, loud in his ear when he sighs.
"You work at a café, how are you drunk at eleven in the morning?"
It occurs to him somewhat belatedly that perhaps he hasn't explained clearly enough what he's trying to get out of Oscar. "I'm not drunk." The doubt actually stings a little, given that Oscar knows he's stopped drinking entirely since he blacked out one night last semester and woke up in a stranger's bed. He'd had to slip out through the bathroom window and call Oscar to come get him, but the Australian hadn't exactly been a fountain of information that morning either, so Lando has decided that sort of situation cannot be allowed to happen again and has resigned himself to sobriety.
"You just asked me to kiss you." Oscar's voice sounds slightly strangled, and judging by the faint clicking sounds against a desk, Lando is pretty sure his friend is already packing up his pens before the bell has even gone. Maybe he has been a bad influence after all these years. "Not something I usually hear from you unless you've had at least three drinks, you know?"
Lando is a lightweight, fine, but he's fairly certain - though he wouldn't exactly stake his hand on it - that he's never asked Oscar to kiss him while drunk. He's eighty-five percent sure. Alright, maybe seventy. Lando is an affectionate drunk, he can't help it.
"It's not like that. I need you to kiss me so we can win a free TV." he explains, his gaze drifting back to the box. Sixty inches. Enough that they'll both probably need glasses after gaming on it, depending on how far back they can push the sofa.
Oscar is quiet for a couple of seconds before answering. "Like those videos you keep liking?"
That wretched new feature that lets your friends see which reels you've liked is turning into a torment, considering how freely Lando taps the heart on anything that gets the faintest smile out of him. There's so much nonsense in that collection, but he never thinks before clicking.
Could be worse - he could be like Oscar and repost embarrassing things just to open the comments section. Or at least, that's the excuse the Australian always gives when Lando calls out one of his latest slip-ups.
Lando clears his throat against the sudden warmth that settles in his cheeks at being so thoroughly exposed. "Yep, like those." He tries to play it cool. In moments like these, Oscar reminds him of one of those sharks that smell blood off the beaches he always tries to convince Lando to visit. Because obviously Lando is dying to go swimming somewhere his limbs could get bitten off, who needs all their extremities anyway?
"Lando, those are scripted, it's all staged." Oscar and his bottomless pit of conspiracy theories comes for him, and Lando feels the urge to defend himself. He knows when he's being had and when he isn't, and besides, he's already seen the television - it's right there, a few metres away. "There is no TV."
"There bloody well is, Osc. Sixty-inch flatscreen, it's five metres from me, you muppet." He's not a kid being dangled a lollipop and then having it snatched away, for God's sake. "I checked, alright? Like, I literally saw it with my own eyes, inside the box."
"Are you sure? You skipped your last eye exam."
At this point he's pretty sure Oscar is just winding him up, but he still starts tapping his shoe against the grass in frustration. "Oscar Piastri." His mother has always scared him senseless with the full-name treatment, and he hopes it has the same effect on his friend.
Unfortunately, it doesn't seem equally effective.
"Lando Norris," Oscar mirrors, dragging out the syllables in a way that sends a treacherous shiver down his spine. Bloody hell, Lando thought spring meant he wouldn't need his coat anymore, but maybe he was wrong about that. "If you want me to kiss you that badly, you just have to ask nicely, mate."
Oscar's low voice saying those words absolutely does not make Lando anxiously bite his lip again, his free hand running along the strap of his bag to wipe the sweat from his palm.
"You're such an idiot," he complains quietly, though there's no real bite to it. "Now come kiss me so we can claim the prize."
Oscar hums in agreement, though by the shift in background noise it sounds like he's already packing up and heading out of the lecture hall.
"Where are you and the new TV?"
"On the left side of the lawn in front of your faculty building. Don't take long. At the rate my café wages and your mechanic money are going, we'll be waiting forever to afford one ourselves."
Oscar's laugh is the last thing he hears before the call cuts out and Lando simply heads back to stand beside his prize and his challenge, waiting for his friend to arrive. Today could be a great day; a proper step forward in their new life as flatmates.
"Did he say yes?" the man by the television asks expectantly. Even if he seems slightly bored from waiting, he hasn't offered the challenge to any of the other students or passersby, so Lando takes that as a win.
"Yeah, he'll be here in a minute." He's certain Oscar won't let him down - he never has, even in far stranger situations than this one.
"Good, but that was fast so I have to ask. You two aren't a couple, are you?"
The question makes Lando's eyes go wide for a moment. "No! No, no. No, we're not a couple." He can feel the warmth rising to his cheeks at the very idea, a flush he hopes his tan from the holidays disguises at least a little. "He's my best friend, we literally just moved in together and we could really use the savings."
The man nods, signalling to the cameraman to keep rolling. "Perfect! So no tricks from either side, and none from mine. All above board! Lucky, isn't it?"
"Absolutely." Lando grins broadly, then feels embarrassed by his own enthusiasm a moment later. He's watched the way other guys reacted when they took on this challenge, and he's pretty sure none of them responded with quite this much energy to begin with.
Which seems to be exactly what George thinks when he slows his stride toward his next class upon spotting Lando standing there next to the sign. He catches instantly the way his childhood friend's quick mind puts two and two together, and approaches with the most shit-eating grin Lando has ever seen.
"Well, well!" he calls out as he closes the distance with his long legs. "I cannot believe what my eyes are seeing."
Somehow, in all his imagining of kissing Oscar to win a television, Lando had never factored in the possibility that anyone else from their inner circle might witness it. God, he doesn't think he'll hear the end of it once George decides this is worth sharing with the group.
"George." He greets him flatly as the aforementioned throws an arm over his shoulders with casual ease, making full use of the height difference that's been there since they were kids and has only grown with the years.
"Is this your flatmate?" the influencer asks, clocking the half-hug. Lando pulls away immediately. There is no television in the world that could make him kiss George - not even an entire cinema could bring about that tragedy - and the blue-eyed boy seems to think exactly the same.
"Oh, God no. God forbid I'd share a flat with this bloke." Both of them launch into their own variations of denial until the man seems to understand that George is not the one who answered Lando's phone a few minutes ago.
"So you're not the one who's going to help him win this wonderful television?"
"Absolutely not, and certainly not to keep it in his flat." George clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, though he seems genuinely entertained by the fact that Lando is standing here at all. "You called Oscar, didn't you?"
Lando nods, refusing to meet George's eye. Of course he called the Australian - he's the one who's going to enjoy the TV beside him every evening. But the way George phrases the question has Lando squirming about his own decision all over again. It's about the money, that's the only reason he'd push them into this situation, without a doubt.
"And he agreed?" George asks, even though he already seems to know the answer. It's not the first time the pair of them have fielded suggestions from the rest of the group about how attached they've become to each other - and far more so since they signed the lease together after an argument that left them in a two-day silent standoff before their stubbornness broke and they met each other halfway. So he knows precisely how George's eyebrow is going to arch when he answers.
Lando hums an affirmative, raising his hand to gnaw at the dry skin around his thumbnail. "He's on his way. We need the TV, you know we've barely got any furniture."
The justification seems to bounce right off his friend's mind, judging by the way George's lips press into a look that plainly says I don't believe you for a second, even as he nods along.
Fortunately - or unfortunately - he doesn't have to wait much longer or keep up the conversation with anyone present, because he spots Oscar's figure cutting a quick path toward him. He's wearing the short-sleeved burgundy T-shirt Lando had convinced him to buy because the colour brings out the honey tones in his hair, its waves now bouncing with his stride as he jogs over.
"Lando." he calls as he stops beside him, and Lando takes a step forward to meet him. Now, with both George and Oscar here, he feels as though they haven't talked about this nearly enough. Maybe they should have had a longer conversation on the phone, just to make sure they're on the same page, tuned to the same frequency.
"Osc, hey." His friend drops his bag to the ground and Lando mirrors the movement. He runs a hand through his curls to channel the awkwardness somewhere. Oscar always pulls him into a close hug when they meet up, but right now that probably isn't the best approach, given how much closer they're going to be in a few minutes. "You came."
"Of course I did." Oscar's hazel eyes travel to the cardboard box, then settle for the first time on the man with the camera and the content creator beside him. "The thing actually works, right?"
"Just bought it, brand new."
Oscar nods, bumping hands with George when he spots him behind Lando - greeted with a dangerous ear-to-ear grin that tells the Australian he has absolutely no intention of going anywhere until this whole transaction is complete.
"Right, so you're going to go through with it, yeah?" Both flatmates nod, and the camera is thrust in front of their faces almost as if in response. "What are your names?"
"I'm Lando, and this is Oscar, my flatmate." He can feel the warmth radiating from the Australian on his side as they naturally end up standing close together, right next to each other by instinct.
"Great, great. Have either of you kissed a guy before?"
Neither of them should freeze the way they do in front of the lens capturing their every reaction.
"No." Lando doesn't think he's kissed a guy before - at least, not sober. He can't guarantee he hasn't tried at least once when he's had too much to drink. It's not something he's ever spent much mental energy debating. He doesn't think he's ever done it for the simple reason that pulling girls has always been easy enough that he's never felt the need to complicate things.
It's not that the idea of kissing a man horrifies him - he knows for a fact it doesn't, given that the curiosity has always lurked somewhere underneath. The thing is, he's about to find all this out with Oscar, who - despite Lando being willing to bet he knows every detail of the man's life - still manages to surprise him when he answers: "Yeah, once."
He nearly gets whiplash at Oscar's reply. What? How is he only hearing about this now? "What? You never told me that."
Oscar only meets his eyes briefly in a silent reply that conveys not now, not here, we'll talk at home. It's their nonverbal communication - but now Lando is starting to doubt it, having missed something this significant without even the faintest suspicion. It's just that Oscar has always seemed so... thoroughly straight, Lando supposes.
Not in the way where he's taking a different girl home every night - it's nothing like that. But regardless, Lando has never caught Oscar looking at another guy in a way that raised any questions. It creates an unbidden tightening in his chest to consider it.
"No girlfriends to call, I take it?" the stranger asks, to which Oscar shakes his head. Lando is still lost in that small, enormously significant revelation of his, so the shift barely registers under the man's voice. "In that case, you both know how it works. I'll set the timer here, twenty seconds. You kiss for the full time and the prize is yours. Simple, right?"
"Simple," Oscar answers, seeming to take charge of the situation as his hand settles gently on Lando's hip. The skin beneath prickles at his touch. The man shows them the timer set to twenty seconds.
"And just pressing your lips together won't cut it, it has to be a real kiss or there's no prize."
Lando has seen this part in videos, and even so, even though he usually finds the awkwardness of it funny, he understands it for the first time. Maybe he judged too quickly.
Oscar gives a thumbs-up before turning to face Lando. The green-eyed boy is already staring at him, his gaze tracing every feature of Oscar's face. They've been friends for so long that it's still strange to think back to the point when he lost all his baby fat and turned into all sharp jaw angles and cheeks that flush far too easily, even when he tries to play it cool with a stoic expression.
Lando can read Oscar like an open book - though perhaps his dyslexia makes that a poor choice of analogy. The point is that he knows him, and that's exactly why he can't help the soft exhale that escapes him when he feels Oscar's hands - pale and far too smooth for someone who works part-time in a garage - settle at his waist, his fingers reaching the curve of his lower back.
"Ready?" he hears from somewhere in the distance, and Oscar seems to be asking the same thing. Even though the whole thing was Lando's idea and not the Australian's, in this moment Oscar looks far more decided than he does. To be fair, he hadn't realised Oscar wanted a television quite as badly as he did.
Lando unconsciously licks his lips. His mind is going slightly blank and he thinks he's going to embarrass himself monumentally because he's completely forgotten how to kiss, every memory of his many experiences has packed its bags and abandoned him on the spot.
He can see Oscar ask quietly if he's ready, his hazel eyes briefly dropping to Lando's lips - bitten more than once in the last few minutes, now faintly pink and shining - before returning to Lando's green ones. Lando nods, and a second later the stranger's voice signals the start of the challenge.
If someone had asked Lando what to expect from kissing a man like Oscar Piastri, his answer would have fallen far short of the reality. Because despite Oscar being a quiet, measured sort of person - someone whose patience with Lando is genuinely admirable - there's no way he could have expected anything like this.
The collision is sudden, driven by the abrupt start of the challenge that sends their lips meeting halfway and traps a startled sound in Lando's throat at the contact. Maybe it's the rush of it all that makes the sensations so overwhelming.
Oscar's lips are far more demanding than he ever could have imagined, catching his with an urgency that seems to ease off after the first three seconds. Lando is not counting, though he probably should be.
The truth is that after that first contact, there is no television in Lando's mind. All he can focus on is the way each movement of Oscar's mouth against his is becoming considerably more languid, much softer, more like what he recognises as Oscar - still unmistakably passionate beneath the slower rhythm.
He feels the weight of the hands on his body, the way Oscar's fingers tremble for a couple of seconds before pressing into him again, and that small movement is a very effective reminder that he should probably be participating in this.
It was his idea, after all, even if the way Oscar has started kissing him makes it difficult to remember anything.
Lando responds slowly, catching Oscar's upper lip between his, wetting it involuntarily as his tongue acts on autopilot and finds itself trying to push past into Oscar's mouth. He's not thinking clearly, and his hands come to rest against Oscar's jaw - not so much to guide him, more to find somewhere to hold on.
The unhurried movements are almost as good as the urgent ones, but everything feels so much warmer with them. Oscar yields after a second, letting their tongues meet, and Lando swallows a sound when he feels Oscar's tongue moving slowly over his - like he has all the time in the world to coax reactions out of him.
Oscar's thumb is now pressing more firmly against the curve of his lower back and Lando finds himself moving closer in response, chasing short kisses before being caught again.
He has completely lost track of time when he finally hears the timer beep. It takes them a second longer - twenty-one - to separate, Lando fighting the impulse to leave one last press of lips against Oscar's before the real world settles back over them and they both step back slightly.
For a few moments the only thing registering in Lando's mind is the way Oscar's gaze falls to his lips, still only a breath away. Wherever Oscar's hands are still resting on his body, something like fire seems to be spreading, and it's not until his fingers finally move away that Lando can breathe clearly. He can hear his pulse in his ears, feel it strong in his chest and the way his blood seems to rush burning into his cheeks.
Holy shit.
Oscar simply runs his tongue over his lips one last time - as though savouring whatever trace of Lando is still there - before turning and directing his attention toward the influencer.
"We can take it now, right?"
Christ, Lando had forgotten that the whole point of this was the bloody TV at their feet. He's overheating, a tangle of deep embarrassment and undeniable exhilaration he wants to deny, even though he knows there's no point. It's as if his mind had simply switched off the moment Oscar laid into his lips, the surroundings fading to the point where he barely registers George standing a few feet away until he sees him with his phone pointed at them and his mouth hanging open. He's not sure whether he's holding back laughter or just in genuine shock, but Lando can understand the latter. He wasn't expecting that ending either.
The stranger blinks at Oscar a couple of times before making a sweeping gesture to indicate the prize is theirs for the taking. "Yes, of course. Very well earned, I have to say." Lando refuses to make eye contact with anyone present. "You sure you're not a couple?"
The choked sound in his throat gives him away when the question comes around again. He's heard it a thousand times before - even from this man who has just given them a television for kissing - and yet this time Lando finds his eyes going to Oscar's first before he shakes his head.
"No, we're not," Oscar says firmly before bending down to take hold of one end of the box. "Help me with this, Lando."
Lando moves to the other side in silence, doing his best to ignore the fact that he can still taste Oscar on his lips when he nervously bites them. He's fairly certain his friend had one of those chocolate protein shakes he loves before coming here - the ones that stand in for his morning coffee. At least they don't have to save for a coffee machine, and Lando will not be talked into accepting any challenge like this one again if that's the prize on offer.
"Coming, coming." They lift the TV together, their eyes carefully avoiding each other. "Thank you very much," he says to the internet stranger, privately hoping to never see him again - even though he very much chose to be here.
The two of them move off, trying not to listen to the man's commentary into the camera behind them or the murmuring of the small crowd that has gathered on the lawn. Well. That's one way to lose whatever dignity you had left - if he ever had any. He avoids looking at anyone's faces, knowing the last thing he wants is to spot one of his exes in the crowd giving him that look he knows all too well, the one he's learned to translate as: oh, so that's why.
"I cannot believe you actually went through with it." George is still following them, now positioning himself in the middle to help lift the box from the centre. At least it blocks any chance of his gaze accidentally wandering to Oscar. "I'd say no one will believe me, but there's no way they won't see the video when it goes up."
"Lando, watch it!" Oscar snaps when Lando nearly trips over his own feet at George's words. "At least let it make it home in one piece."
"Did you drive today?" Lando asks, eyes forward, deciding they do not need to have a conversation about it.
They don't have to talk about it; friends kiss each other all the time, he's fairly sure of that. It's only strange because it's the first time they've done it. And the last, obviously - he needs to make that clear to himself, because he is absolutely, definitively not thinking about kissing Oscar again. Not about feeling his hands on his hips sliding up to grip his waist and pull him closer, his warm lips working against his in a too-hot, too-wet tangle.
"Yeah, I did," Oscar confirms, and Lando tries to ignore the fact that even his voice seems to be showing the strain, sounding tighter than usual. "I'm parked on the back street."
"Alright guys, I've got seminars to get to, but this has been a great moment for the history books." George takes his leave, making them both slow down and readjust their grip on the TV when the tallest of them claps both of them on the back.
The minutes between that point and the moment they stop next to Oscar's car can be filed under the top ten most uncomfortable stretches of silence between them. The quiet feels like a loaded thing, something that's going to snap at any moment - but neither of them wants to be the one to break it. Only heavy sighs are exchanged when their eyes catch each other in sidelong glances, along with instructions for getting the TV safely into the back seat.
"No, we need to do up the seatbelt or it'll go flying, Lando," Oscar reminds him as they try to strap the television in with the safety belts as though it's a child. They do domestic things together all the time - it's partly why moving in together was such a natural decision - but this time it makes the colour flood back into Lando's cheeks.
"This is ridiculous," he mutters under his breath, but Oscar catches it anyway, stopping his work with the straps to look straight at him. They're both leaning in from opposite rear doors, working face to face in the middle of the car. Oscar's hazel eyes lock onto his, and Lando wants to grumble quietly at the fact that just a few minutes ago the Australian seemed to be looking at him differently.
"It was your idea," Oscar reminds him, which is entirely fair. He can't even make excuses for himself. "You got us a TV to make me sit through your The Office reruns, you little dictator." He knows Oscar is trying to defuse things - redirecting the focus toward the possibilities their kiss has opened up rather than the act itself - but he must see something in the way Lando's green eyes are watching him, because what he asks next is: "Do you regret it?"
Does he regret it? It's a fair question, and the answer comes too easily and immediately to be a normal reaction. Because no - Lando doesn't regret kissing Oscar at all, even if he's now mortified at how readily he surrendered control, handing it over without a second thought.
Oscar's hand comes up to his neck to keep Lando's gaze from drifting aimlessly around the interior of the car. "Lan?"
"No," he admits a moment later, simply taking in the way Oscar's waves fall across his forehead and thinking he should have been quicker earlier so he could have run his fingers through them during the kiss. "I really don't."
"Good. Because I don't either, alright?" Oscar tells him, his thumb tracing slow circles against his neck to make the point land. "We're fine. You did well."
You did well. Those words have absolutely no business warming him the way they do, but a shy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the praise. He decides to lean back and get on with the seatbelt - suddenly, holding Oscar's gaze feels like a contact sport.
"I think that's secure enough - just don't slam the brakes on, though, just in case." He calls the job done, and they both make their way back to the front seats.
"I don't slam the brakes," Oscar objects, and Lando knows that's actually true - Oscar simply avoids using the brakes as much as humanly possible in general. It's as if in his mind he's driving a racing car rather than a second-hand Mini Cooper. A sideways glance at his friend and Lando has to admit Oscar carries himself like he could be a racing driver if he wanted, even if he's chosen to study engineering in the hopes of working at a team like McLaren instead.
With the way he's been going to the gym regularly and the muscles in his back have been growing these past months, his T-shirt fits more snugly than when he first bought it, and Lando's gaze lingers on the way the bicep pulls against the fabric - frankly impressively. He's been through this before, getting caught up watching Oscar's arms when he works in the garage or when he helped carry the moving boxes up to the new flat.
But there's something new about admiring that part of Oscar now, after feeling his lips on his own - his mind carrying him inevitably toward imagining how easily Oscar could hold his weight in those circumstances, without having to pull away from his mouth even slightly in order to lift him.
Lando clears his throat, his nervous, clumsy fingers lunging for the window button to roll it down in search of fresh air. Even if Oscar has just told him they're fine, Lando is starting to think that might just be one of those little white lies people tell to keep the other from worrying. But he has broken something - the easy calm that always existed between them has shifted into something electric, and now Lando knows too many things he didn't know an hour ago to just carry on as normal.
"Who was it?" he asks before he can stop himself. Oscar takes his eyes off the road when they slow at a red light, confusion plain on his face. "The guy you kissed."
"What?" Lando is pretty sure Oscar heard him perfectly and is just playing dumb, but there's no way he's letting him get away with it. The curiosity - along with something considerably darker - has latched onto his insides ever since Oscar admitted in public that he's kissed another man. And it's not that there's anything wrong with that, or at least he doesn't think kissing a guy is something to make anything of, but the fact that it was Oscar and that he's never mentioned it once opens up a crack of doubt in his mind that threatens to gnaw away at him.
"You said you'd kissed a guy before kissing me," he spells it out. Oscar's hands tighten around the leather of the steering wheel for a moment before the light goes green and they move on. "You've never told me that. So who is it?"
"Why does it matter?" He can feel Oscar getting defensive, but by now the lack of openness has Lando in exactly the same place. Lando shifts in his seat to face him without undoing his seatbelt. "It was one kiss."
"Of course it matters, it's important." Lando thinks they're close enough to talk about these things. He's told Oscar about every girl he's been with, about the problems that came up once things got serious and Lando found himself failing without knowing why, without knowing how to handle any of it. Even if Oscar has never shared those same conversations with him, Lando has always assumed that's just because his friend barely goes out at all, only occasionally joining him at the odd party.
"Look, it's not a big deal, alright?" Oscar insists, and Lando watches the moment he seems to start shutting down - jaw tightening, walls going up. Lando's hands had been on that same skin, dotted with moles, just a few minutes ago. "The other person didn't think it was important enough anyway."
That brings Lando's inquisition to a halt for a moment. What kind of idiot wouldn't see how significant it is to kiss Oscar Piastri? Maybe it's because he now knows what his lips taste like, or maybe it's simply because he knows Oscar better than he knows almost anyone - knows how special he is, how singular and brilliant his friend is. He doesn't think you can move through the period of your life before kissing Oscar the same way as the period after - indifference isn't an option - and he can certify all of this because his overstimulated brain is threatening to push him to the edge with so many revelations at once.
He is now living in the era A.K.O. - After Kissing Oscar. "Then the other guy's an idiot."
Oscar glances at him again, his gaze sweeping over Lando's face without any attempt at subtlety, in a way that sends a warmth - not as unusual as it should be, given recent events - settling into his chest and making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "He's not an idiot. He was just too drunk."
And there's something in the way he says it that makes Lando's throat tighten, because he recognises the tone. He recognises the quiet fondness underneath the words, and Lando can't help thinking he must have been missing something important if Oscar still holds something for this guy even though they're nothing to each other.
"Do you like him?" he asks, and he can see every muscle in Oscar's body tense at once. He takes the next corner a little more sharply than usual. "The guy. You sound like you like him."
Oscar's fingers drum against the steering wheel as he picks up speed. Lando has the urge to ask him not to do something stupid like run over the speed limit on a residential street or he'll have to cover the fine alone - he doesn't. Instead he watches as Oscar reaches for the radio to turn it on as a distraction. They never put the radio on - both of them hate the songs on live broadcasts and Lando always takes over as the group's DJ and puts on his own playlist.
Now, though, Oscar cranks the volume knob up as if to avoid answering, which is itself an answer.
"You do like him." Lando sinks back into his seat, eyes forward. His shoulders slump into the headrest and he hugs his bag to his chest. There's a tightness in his chest - probably just from the simple fact that Oscar never trusted him with this. Oscar, who apparently likes a guy and didn't think to tell his friend - the one he's just moved in with. "I can't believe it."
The murmur isn't meant for Oscar's ears, but he seems to pick it up over the music anyway, because a second later he's reaching across and taking the phone out of Lando's hands - which he'd only pulled out for something to do with himself - and placing it in his own lap.
"It's not like that, don't overthink it," he says, and there's sincerity in his voice, but overthinking is Lando's specialist subject, his calling card. "Put some music on, please, or I'm going to crash us if I have to hear Bruno Mars one more time."
Lando obeys in silence, instinctively reaching for his own taste in music and easily connecting his phone to the car's console. "It's just... it hurts that you didn't tell me about him."
"Lan…" The nickname falls from the lips he kissed less than an hour ago with such softness that Lando can't help feeling guilty for pressing. But at this point it feels like a personal affront he can't scratch - the idea that there's something profoundly wrong with the possibility that Oscar might have fallen for someone and Lando had no idea. "Come on. Would you rather I told you it was just a one-night thing? Because that's the truth."
He doesn't know what he'd rather, honestly. When he opens Spotify, the first song that autoplays is 'back to friends' - there is no possible way that track doesn't make the whole situation more unbearable. He puts on an Olivia Dean song instead and leaves it on shuffle; he knows Oscar isn't a big fan of mellow music, but for once Oscar says nothing about it, just letting Olivia sing about the man she needs. It's not until Man I Need is halfway through that he realises he's swapped one kind of discomfort for another.
It's genuinely remarkable how his mind is now picking up every lyric and searching for meaning when he's never given any of them a second thought before. It leaves Lando unsettled with himself, sinking a little further into his seat.
"It's fine. You don't have to explain anything to me." Liar. "I just... I'd like you to trust me with it. If you ever see him again."
"I trust you more than anyone, Lando," Oscar says, and his left hand leaves the gear stick to rest quietly on Lando's thigh. His breath catches at the contact, his mind snapping back to the kiss with the inevitability of a reflex. He knows he's not getting rid of that memory anytime soon. Who is he kidding? He'll probably think about it every time he walks past the TV once it's up on the wall.
Lando licks his lips nervously before bringing his fingers up to his mouth, picking at the dry skin again. "Yeah?"
"I trust you enough to skip class to come and kiss you because you've suddenly told me we can get a free TV out of it. What do you think?"
A smile forms on his face for the first time in a while. They've genuinely just done something insane, and Oscar, rather than questioning it, simply followed along as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand is still on his thigh and Lando wants to shift it slightly - to feel the heat of his fingers more directly through the fabric of his trousers - but he knows that might make Oscar pull away.
Instead, his desire for closeness escapes in a far more disastrous way when he opens his mouth, his habitual lack of filter doing what it does.
"You're a really good kisser."
Oscar Piastri does not slam the brakes - but what he does just now cannot be described any other way. The deceleration is such that Lando finds himself quietly grateful he buckled up, or he'd have gone straight through the windscreen.
"Osc!" The jolt has him immediately checking on his flatmate, satisfied he's fine before looking back at the cargo in the rear. "Christ, good job we strapped her in. What is wrong with you, Oscar, honestly - you can't do that to me."
"Me?" Oscar's face has gone a deep, burning shade of crimson as they turn into their own neighbourhood, which they're still learning by heart. "You need to warn a person. You can't just say things like that."
He hears a couple of horns directed their way because of the change in pace, and Oscar curses quietly under his breath before carrying on. His eyes are caught between the road and the figure of Lando sitting next to him. The hand has gone back to the gear stick after the shock and Lando already regrets having said anything - even if it was nothing but the truth. He never would have imagined Oscar kissed like that. Quiet, reserved Oscar Piastri.
"But it's true, it was a good kiss." Because now that he's started making himself cringe by acknowledging it out loud, there's no point in stopping. He might as well keep that train of thought going. "Was I alright?"
"Lando." This time it sounds like he's trying to shut him up, but the nerves have taken over his body after the emotional rollercoaster, and now it's genuinely hard to seal his lips again once he's started talking.
"You caught me off guard at first, normally I'm not so slow off the mark, but…" A hand placed over his mouth stops him mid-ramble. Oscar is the messiest person he knows and yet has impeccably clean hands, and even so, Lando can still faintly smell the petrol from the garage on his skin. "Ohcar?"
The name comes out muffled through his fingers. "It was good, I promise. But please, shut up until we get there." A snort is all that remains of the laugh that never quite makes it past Oscar's hand over his mouth.
He spends the rest of the journey pretending he can go on like nothing has changed - but one glance at the way Oscar's cheeks are still flushed pink when he parks tells him that, in all likelihood, some things have already changed