Chapter Text
The bus rattles and shakes, Oscar’s forehead softly thumping against the cool window. Every hit against the window makes the buzzing in his head a bit quieter even for a second, it’s enough time to lean into the calm before it comes back again.
The world keeps drifting around the bus, swirling around as if making sure that no reality would ever get to touch the boy inside the vehicle.
There are quiet notes drifting into his ears from his broken and many times stepped on earbuds, occasionally letting out a high creaking sound or shutting off completely.
Oscar glances behind as the bus comes yet to another stop, doors sliding open with a quiet swoosh. A druggie, spreading over three of the five backseats giving him a mean look like it was unacceptable to use his eyes for the purpose they were given him for. Oscar turns back around without much reluctance.
The chilly air from outside hits his neck and Oscar absentmindedly fixes his hood, setting it closer to hug his neck. A shiver travels through his bones, not only because of the cool London air, but maybe also because of nerves. Not sure from what.
The bus comes to another stop, students hurrying to get off and be on time for classes and see friends. Oscar hurries to grab his bag, swiftly sliding between blabbering students and stepping out of the bus in the mass. No one seems to pay attention to him, and he thinks that it’s fine. He’s getting used to existing as a figure.
Sometimes though, he wonders what he could’ve done differently. If what life threw at you was inevitable or avoidable. Sometimes he questions if staying and moving behind as a shadow in someone’s story would’ve been better than being another forgettable face in the crowd, existing but not living.
He always snaps out of it, at some point. He knows that no one will be there to force him to stay if he doesn’t prove himself worth saving. He knows now that he isn’t, and he knows that it’s always to better keep his mouth shut.
He gets through his classes, listens to the professors and does his work, minimal effort. Moves from class to another and repeats. His life is an endless cycle that will never feel familiar, no matter how much the same every day is.
--
A low spurt of laughter carries over the lake from the harbor. Oscar doubles over with laughter, hands coming up to his face. He forces his face to neutrality, a small smile tugging at his lips anyway as he listens to his friends arguing, throwing the most pointless points into the mix.
The black t-shirt he’s wearing is close to melting to his back, sun shining from behind him. The wooden planks of the small harbor are still drying from the splashes of water from where he was dumped into the sun-warmed water some time ago. Time is a subject here, a concept of when, not a limitation of what should happen.
There’s no buzz filling his mind, hasn’t been in months. He gets occasional headaches yes, but that’s just the sun and dehydration.
He didn’t get those back at home, but he was younger too.
--
Oscar is restless, fingers twitching as he makes his way down the hill from school. He keeps his hands in his pockets, picking at the garment of his jacket, eyes tracking wet streets of London, trying to avoid stepping into any puddles or brushing past any innocent civilians.
He hasn’t had anything in months and he’s been doing fine. It’s just that from time to time the voices in his head become too much, overlapping with the constant buzz of what ifs. So, he seeks anything to silence his mind, just for a while.
Usually none of it works, but he likes to play pretend.
There’s a faint crack under his foot and as he takes another step away, a sad, now dead snail slimes away, sticking to the ground and his shoe. Oscar grunts but continues walking, it’s a small nuisance if anything. He won’t feel bad about it, he hates slugs anyway.
The door opens with a cling, a system made to inform the workers when someone steps in or leaves on top of the door. A nice-looking blonde cashier greets him and Oscar nods as an answer.
He circles around in the shop for a minute, mostly because it’s customary, that’s what people do, before making his way to the registers, shifting from feet to another as he waits for the blonde to stop organizing some boxes. She notices Oscar quickly enough, giving him a smile and coming up to ask what he wants.
As she reaches over the registers to grab the right pack an elbow nudges Oscar’s side, close to coming into contact with his ribs. Oscar flinches, almost yelping but letting out an awkward half shriek half gasp instead.
Oscar turns to look at his assailant, coming face to face with a little mischievously smiling Lando. Oscar is about to curse him out as the cashier moves the pack of cigarettes to the register after checking them, spelling out the price.
Oscar pays without a word, not saying anything to Lando either, then grabbing the pack of Marlboro’s red as he leaves the store. Lando’s unmistakable footsteps following close behind.
The bell at the door of the store chimes again as they leave, Oscar taking one breath of the chilly air and pulls his hood back up.
Lando gives him another nudge, not missing his ribs this time but it’s soft, just enough contact to get Oscar’s attention.
“I thought you quit,” Lando says, nodding at his pocket where he stuffed the cigarettes, he isn’t judging but asking.
Oscar gives him a half shrug, his expression never changing “I did.”
Lando doesn’t ask or press, accepting the answer without a word and without any second guesses follows Oscar through the streets and up the cracked stairs to the abandoned market square.
Now for a while, Lando has been a constant in Oscar’s life, along with other things that keep staying the same but Oscar would consider Lando’s impact in his life yet steadier than anything else. It was long time ago when they first ever met, long enough that Oscar doesn’t have a clear memory of it, but he can remember meeting Lando properly for a first-second time.
--
The cafeteria is filled with chatter, every student pushing each other forwards with only one thing filling their minds, food.
Oscar hangs slightly behind the group of his classmates, last one of them in the line, picking out cutlery and filling his glass with water, avoiding the students walking through the line to exit the canteen.
The chatter before him quiets down, his classmates carrying the discussion elsewhere.
Oscar moves off the line to give the impatient people behind him space. He glances around the canteen, trying to spot any of his friends without any success.
He shuffles a bit, sliding the phone to his hand from his pocket and typing the password with one hand, another holding the tray of whatever disgusting mess was served today. He sends a simple “where did you go to?” and waits a bit for an answer, shifting his weight from leg to another.
He doesn’t get an answer.
Oscar finds himself in a booth tucked away in a quieter corner of the hall. He’s only half focusing on his food, mostly moving it around his plate as he scrolls on Spotify, moving songs to the queue.
A figure slumps to the seat across him like an old friend. Oscar looks up, a drip of hopefulness in his chest that dies as fast as it comes. Oscar ignores it and moves his full attention to the brunette who has appeared out of nowhere.
Oscar recognizes him, of course. Lando Norris, he had a bit of a party boy reputation in high school, but Oscar always thought it was mostly rumors spread to cause unnecessary harm and bring out bit of humor.
Oscar didn’t know what parts of the stories were supposed to be funny, but he never found it important enough to ask.
Now Lando is sitting opposite him, with an empty plate and a bright water bottle containing a neon green tinted liquid that resembles a biohazard. Oscar swiftly wonders why no teacher has taken that away from him.
Lando’s wearing a black monster hoodie, not unlike one that Oscar has at home, and a greyish-black cap. The green of the monster logo contrasts Lando’s green eyes well.
Nevertheless, during this quick-thinking Oscar doesn’t find a reason to explain why is Lando sitting here with him. Oscar’s about to ask that, but the brunette beats him up to it.
“The whole room is fucking filled, you don’t mind if I sit here, right?” Lando asks, already getting comfortable and searching for something from his bag, lifting it up to the table to get a better view inside, not caring a bit about the principle of it.
“Um, no. You can sit there, I don’t own the space.” Oscar answers, what else can he say?
“Mint, thanks.” Lando says with a bright smile as he looks up from his bag, finding what he was looking for and placing an opened bag of crisps onto the table. He grabs one and stuffs it into his mouth as Oscar realizes that he’s been staring. He moves his attention back to his pretty much untouched food, but Lando talks again.
“Want some?” He asks, nudging the crisps closer to Oscar.
Oscar glances at them and shakes his head, “I’m good, thanks.” Who knows if the crisps are some sort of hazard as well.
Lando shrugs, like he didn’t expect Oscar to accept the snack. There’s a bit of silence between them, by all means it should be awkward but somehow it isn’t. Lando keeps eating his crisps, always looking at the younger boy, and Oscar keeps moving his food around the plate, deliberately not looking at the older boy.
At some point Lando breaks the silence, yapping away whatever comes to his mind.
Oscar lets him. Doesn’t look at him, doesn’t add anything to the monology Lando’s having but doesn’t leave either.
--
Oscar’s lying on his bed, not really doing anything- hasn’t been for hours now. He tells himself that it’s because of the broken heating system in his apartment, which is indeed part of the reason.
His phone pings, a clear sound radiating through the buzz in his head.
He lays for a minute more before tilting his head and struggling a little to lean in to grab it from the nightstand, hand fighting for a way out from layers of blankets. Even after weeks of complaining about it, the air conditioner is still broken and is blasting freezing air into the apartment, bringing the temperature down to 15°C and depending on the time of the day, even less. Of course, Oscar would turn it off if he hadn’t lost the remote control when the Christmas break ended.
The heaters have been fighting for their lives to not completely fall apart, so that added to the minus degrees outside it’s safe to say that Oscar has been freezing for hours now. Which is something, as he tempts to run a tad too hot most of the time.
The notification is already available on the lockscreen to read, a message from Lando’s number telling “dinner in 20”.
Oscar has been slowly getting more used to these abrupt plans that Lando keeps making. He always gives Oscar enough time to get ready, physically and mentally, and time to disagree if Oscar doesn’t feel like doing anything.
Most of the time he doesn’t, but yet he can count the times he has disagreed to not come along on one hand.
Something about Lando’s easy nature to tell him what they’re doing without further expectations for either of them makes it easier to agree. It doesn't matter whether they go somewhere, like car rides, dinners, just walking around or staying at either of their flats, Lando never presses Oscar to talk.
Sometimes it’s a little eerie how easily the older one can read the younger one. Lando knows when to talk to fill the silence and when not to. He knows when to wait for Oscar to gather his thoughts and when to listen to him ramble, even when Oscar’s mind is unable to keep up with the words coming out of his mouth and he keeps tripping over them.
So, he answers. “Okay.”
The cold air from the open windows of the car hits his skin, making it’s way through Oscar’s jacket and under his hoodie, making the boy shiver no matter the warm air seeping through cracks of the air conditioning in the car. He hasn’t quite warmed up from the freeze of his apartment yet either.
Lando parks the car just outside the entrance. Very few people stop by the Extra services outside the city on a late winter evening like this.
It has become a regular spot for them over the last few months, offering good food and privacy when needed, while still being close to London but away from the city's busiest areas.
It’s like, you’d expect the buzz in your head to get louder in quiet, but this place does quite the opposite.
The music Lando’s been blasting the whole ride – The Weeknd, Oscar notes, quiets down and comes to a full stop as Lando pulls off the key from the ignition. He swirls the keys around his fingers once, grabbing his phone from the center console before they both get out of the car.
The said car is a shiny black McLaren 540C with some modifications and changes made to it, most likely by Lando himself, Oscar has learned.
He’s been quite tempted to ask how a student could afford such a car, but knows it would be impolite to ask for such information. That doesn’t mean Oscar doesn’t like the car or is jealous of the fact that Lando gets to own one. It's far more than enough for him just to be inside it while it's being driven.
Not too long after they find themselves seated next to the windows inside, having made their order, the windows offering a great view of the highway, and the McLaren. There are maybe ten other people in there with them, plus a handful of unfortunate night-shift workers.
Seated close to the small playground across the room is a young couple with two extremely tired-looking toddlers who are on the verge of either falling asleep or throwing a tantrum. On the same side as them, a few booths down, a group of more or less drunk teenagers are nursing another alcoholic drink from a juice can. At the bar stools near the kitchen, an old man is seated, wearing a flattened and dusty beanie that has seen better days.
Oscar’s fingers are twitching again, itching for anything, a bottle to wrap his fingers around or a cigarette to hold. Anything to loosen up the nerves inside him.
He shifts, moving his hands between his legs under the table. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Lando. His eyes track the movement, a subtle shift in his expression.
“They have that same fish hotdog on sale everywhere. No one even likes fish.” Lando says, eyes still on Oscar.
Oscar glances up at Lando and then the board over the registers, taking in the looks of the so said fish hotdog, shrugging but the movement doesn’t come off as naturally as he hoped for. “Pretty much everyone but you like fish, Lando.”
“Well people have no taste.” Lando says, “But seriously, a fish hotdog? That must be a crime. A five-year sentence incoming.”
“Five?” Oscar huffs, a little amused. “For a fish hotdog?”
“A crime I said! Lucky they don’t get more. It doesn’t even make sense, like doesn’t a hotdog acquire a sausage inside of it to be considered a hotdog and not... a bread.” Oscar rolls his eyes at that, easing into the conversation. A fish hotdog would not be something that he would personally order, but he doesn’t think that it can be that horrible either.
“It can’t be worse than a chili hotdog, that shit is nasty.”
“Can be! At least the chili one has a sausage in it.” Lando argues, leaning back in his chair, then adding to it, sounding less sure, “it has a sausage in it, right?”
Oscar lets out a breath of laughter, huffing through his nose and rolling his eyes again. “Yes, it had a sausage in it.” He remembers having one years ago at a way smaller and dirtier gas station than this one. He thought that his tongue would fall out after taking the first bite and letting the burn take over his mouth, worsening it with water. His sister had been laughing doubled over next to him, on the verge of falling off the chair they shared onto the dirty floor.
The tension from his body slowly drains out as they debate about the worst gas station food they’ve come across to, his shoulders easing and his hands resting against his hips now, no longer aching for any substance.
Their order number is called and they get their food, moving their focus on the overly greasy fries and flat burgers.
--
The sun is out, warming the courtyard and attracting all the tired students in the lack of vitamin D.
Oscar is no exception, even though he wouldn’t straight admit it.
He has the rest of the day free, as his professor for his last lecture had fallen ill and they had been set to do independent work instead, so he took advantage of the rare sight of the sun for now before the endless humid and rainy days would make a comeback.
He can barely settle down on the ground, staying under an old willow to have some shadow for himself and importantly, for his laptop, as another body appears next to him.
“Hey mate,” Lando greets him, sitting down as well and taking up Oscar’s space like he belongs there.
“Hey.” Oscar muses, getting comfortable against the trunk of the tree, not even surprised by Lando’s surprise appearance.
Lando certainly takes his time to grab a can of Monster from his bag, take his cap off to run a hand through his curls and cracking the can open before putting his cap back on.
Oscar settles to watch him, and as Lando is doing his best to find a flat spot to place his monster on, he talks. “When did you fall asleep?”
It’s an innocent question but Oscar knows what Lando’s looking for.
And knows he won’t be able to avoid it no matter if he wants to.
He tries anyway, “I don’t know, didn’t check the time.”
Lando hums, finding a flat spot good enough and turns to Oscar now. There’s something there that makes Oscar think for a second that Lando will ask if he’s okay.
He doesn’t, of course.
“You could’ve called me, before.” His gaze is weighted but Oscar doesn’t look away like he usually would. The words aren’t loaded with anything, it’s a reminder.
Oscar hasn’t checked his phone the whole day. Not that he even could, as he left it at home. He doesn’t want to see the thread of messages sent through the night; it was just another moment of weakness in the drunk hazed mind of his.
He remembers parts, not everything but memory works like that anyway. He doesn’t need the full story because it’s all past and stupid anyway.
“I know,” Oscar says, keeping his expression neutral, eyes on Lando, but his fingers are picking at the grass next to them. “Just ignore whatever I said.”
Lando hums, “Okay.” And doesn’t add anything else to it; he doesn’t need to.
The silence around them is a bit awkward for a second, only for one before Lando starts to fill the silence with another story of his extremely pervert history teacher – pervert, even if he can’t prove it.
Oscar is happy to listen, occasionally adding short comments to the older one’s story.
--
Oscar is drumming his fingers along to a beat he heard in the halls today against the bench, damp air making his hair stand up in different ways no matter his hood and cold seeping its way against his skin from the bench he’s sitting on.
With his other hand he’s swirling a bottle of Jägermeister back and forth, around and back and forth again, repeating the movement.
He fucking hates Jägermeister.
His phone has finally stopped ringing, no wonder a thread of calls and worried messages from Mark.
Oscar grabs his phone and deliberately doesn’t open Mark’s contact, leaning back on his bench and taking another chug of his drink.
He opens Lando’s contact instead, typing out “u awake?” followed by a “I feel good. like ligth”
The grey icon next to his messages clicks blue. Oscar waits for Lando to write something back but he doesn’t. A drop of water splashes onto the screen of his phone.
Oscar: “i fucking hate london” 01:23
Three dots appear, followed by a
Lando: “awake, are you out?” 01:24
Oscar: “it never stops raoning here” 01:24
Oscar: “im at th park” 01:24
Lando: “okay, I’ll be there” 01:24
Then, as like an after thought
Lando: “in 10” 01:26
Oscar hums almost automatically but doesn’t switch off the phone, waiting for a couple of seconds before wiping the phone against his jeans and taking another chug of the drink. Then, typing out another message.
Oscar: “wait wfym?” 01:28
The second he hits send, his phone goes black, battery icon blinking thrice on the screen before pure nothing. Oscar sighs, pockets his phone and softly kicks the ground under his feet, small rocks flying everywhere.
He’s kinda drifting between reality and the space in his mind, which is quiet for once.
The few people out at this time give him odd looks, some more concerned than others and some a little disgusted even.
In some time, maybe after ten minutes like Lando said or maybe even less, a hand comes up to Oscar’s shoulder and he shivers at the contact, leaving his headspace at the same moment and turning to look at Lando.
Lando gives him a small, a bit weird smile that Oscar doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. The drizzle has transformed into a full rainstorm at some point while Oscar was drifting, his bottle slowly filling up with more rainwater than liquor.
“Wait wot” Oscar says to him with a surprised and light smile of his own, which is a half grimace by the state of his drink and by the wonder of what Lando’s doing here.
“Hey aussie boy,” Lando answers, or not answers, softly nudging the younger one. “You’ll catch another cold by staying here. Let’s go.”
Oscar furrows his eyebrows but obeys. He doesn’t want to get sick again, that’s true. He has missed some important finals already, being sick for two final weeks straight. They don’t have any finals now, but he hates being sick anyway, it’s never just a flu.
He gets up fairly quickly but not surely, almost faceplanting the ground the second he’s fully standing up.
“Jesus,” Lando exclaims, grabbing Oscar by his hood which effectively does two things. 1. Keeps Oscar from finding himself even lower down compared to a bench, and 2. Choking him.
Oscar gags, the clothing hitting his throat with quite a force. Lando holds on to it for a couple more of seconds before he’s fully sure that Oscar can stay up and steady for a moment, still coughing from the impact.
When he gets his throat, or lungs.. both? Under control he talks again, not able to keep himself quiet.
“Why’re you here?”
“I said I would be. How much have you drunk?” Lando retorts, not disappointed but seriously wondering as he grabs Oscar’s arm and throws it over his shoulder, taking most of the weight of the younger boy. Oscar lets him without any argument, not too sure about his ability to walk without support either.
“n’t much,” Oscar mumbles and Lando doesn’t contribute with an answer of his own.
His clothes keep sticking against his skin as they walk, no matter how many times he pulls them off. It’s irritating as fuck.
They do make it to Lando’s, as his apartment is so much closer than Oscar’s. And also, Lando has never been to Oscar’s before and when he tried to ask for an address, he got one from Melbourne, most likely Oscar’s childhood home.
Oscar had gone blackout, but Lando filled in the rest for him later.
Seemingly nothing too interesting happened. They got to Lando’s and Oscar had thrown up to Lando’s entryway – not on his shoes. Lando made sure that he was okay and gave him some water and a pastille, not trusting the younger with any type of chewing gum as he would’ve most likely choked on it.
They had a talk. When Oscar tried to ask about it Lando waved it off as nothing important.
Oscar didn’t quite believe him but maybe he didn’t really want to know either.
They smoked a little, mostly Lando, but Oscar had a few before he fell asleep on Lando’s couch.
He had woken up wrapped in a soft and very used blanket, scented heavily with citrus and just Lando. It was extremely comfortable, Oscar thought.
The next moment he was leaning over to the floor, reaching for a bucket placed close to the sofa and heaving for the first time that morning.
When he finished, grimacing and wiping his mouth to his hand Lando made his presence known with a bit pitying, “Morning.”
Oscar had just grunted as an answer.
--
The time has run away from them, the afternoon, soon to be evening getting chillier and ground icing their asses as they continue working on their assignments under the willow tree, having the discussions faded in close memory.
Just as they’re packing their things, getting ready to leave and go home, Lando swiftly steers the conversation back to earlier. Oscar had hoped that he wouldn’t. He almost regrets ever making friends with him but that’s just absurd, a thought placed by the fear of confrontation.
Oscar doesn’t think that he’d like Lando to leave.
“Don’t start avoiding me now, Piastri. Okay?”
Oscar glances at Lando, keeping his face neutral despite the whirl of emotions in his stomach. He looks away and softly shakes his head. “I won’t.”
He means it, but he doesn't always succeed in doing what he means to do.