Chapter Text
Lando hissed with pain as he tore the last thorn from the delicate rose, the sharp point piercing through the layers of skin as its one last act of vengeance. He glanced down to the finger, where a spot of red started to appear. One drop fell to the wooden countertop and Lando watched helplessly as another drop followed shortly after.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the Brit muttered under his breath as he watched the red drops soak into the mahogany wood, dread starting to pool in his stomach. That countertop had cost him a pretty penny, so he could only hope some relentless scrubbing could get the stains of his rose thorn attack out.
As he dropped the rose and gripped his finger, the flower fell to the mahogany wood and a few petals came loose. A bright red petal landed in one of the red spots and soaked it up like the unquenchable thirst of a desert traveller finally finding an oasis. The petal sported a dark red spot right in the middle, as if to taunt Lando for once again refusing to wear his protective gloves.
A sharp sting could be felt on the tip of his finger and the Brit grit his teeth as he tried to squeeze the finger, an attempt to stop the blood. God, he needed some disinfectant and a bandage as soon as possible.
Lando turned on his feet, his mind set on the bathroom sink as he began to make a beeline for the back rooms. Suddenly, the front door swung open and let in the hot breeze of the summer Lando was so desperately trying to avoid. The bell chimed its heavenly song as the infiltrator waltzed into the building, the sweltering air following them through. Lando didn’t bother to look up as they entered, the Brit already knew he had an expected guest on his way.
Besides- he had more important things to worry about. Like trying to prevent himself from bleeding out all over his shop from a singular thorn.
As Lando ran towards the backrooms, he heard the person speak with his thick Monegasque accent. “Nicked yourself again?” Charles called out to the younger boy as his body disappeared behind the backdoor. The Monegasque leaned over the countertop and shook his head to himself once he saw the droplets of blood and the soaked petals. Didn’t take much to confirm his suspicions. “I thought you bought a new pair of gloves?”
“Too small,” Lando shouted from beyond the backrooms. “Need to order myself a custom pair. I keep putting it off, I can’t be bothered to measure them.”
The door opened and out walked Lando with a wet cloth in one hand and a first aid box in the other. He placed the two down on the countertop, the rich wood soaking up the warm soapy water instantly.
“Why don’t you go to the seamstress shop? You know Lewis will get it sorted for you,” Charles offered and picked up one of the non-soiled rose petals. He twirled the petal between his thumb and forefinger, satisfied at the silky soft feeling.
Lando shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe another time. Gotta get this flower arrangement done today and I’ve got some others scheduled for tomorrow. Some good ones tomorrow, ones that don’t viciously attack me, at least.”
Charles blinked at the fallen rose petals and then to the one between his fingertips. “Roses?” He asked with an amused tone, already well aware of the answer.
“Roses,” Lando replied with contempt. “So stupid. Who orders just a bunch of roses from a florist anyway? Go to Tesco or something,” the tanned boy grumbled as he popped open the first aid kit and took out a disinfectant wipe
“And tell me why you agreed to doing the roses?” Charles questioned with a raised brow.
“Should’ve heard this guy on the phone. He was wailing about it being his anniversary with his girlfriend tomorrow and he needed the flowers ready by tonight.”
“Again, why would you agree to actually doing the roses arrangement? I’m beginning to think you were right about the Tescos comment. And what a bad boyfriend he is, leaving flowers right until the last moment,” Charles tutted disappointedly.
It was a fair question, Lando had declined orders that were far more complicated than a roses arrangement before and he was always keen to do things that interested him or worked his mind. And with only a day to create an arrangement, he would’ve had a valid reason to say no.
He liked to analyse what flowers to use, where to put them, what emotions he wanted the flowers to convey. Crafting a roses arrangement was simple work, not enough play room for him to get the brain juices flowing. But alas, Lando wasn’t cruel. Who was he to deny anyone flowers on their anniversary?
It was that, and the fact the guy told him to just slap a few roses together and call it a day.
Lando was a proud man when it came to his work, but he was more than happy to just throw it together for a guy who would not even know what a good bouquet looked like.
Besides- like he said, rose arrangements were simple enough. The only pain of it was having to cut the thorns off the roses. And clearly, it caused a lot of pain. “Because unfortunately, I’m a bit of a romantic and wouldn’t want to see anyone go without some red roses in their life,” Lando opted to say instead as he unwrapped a bandage.
“Hm, yes I’m sure you are such a romantic.” Charles nodded slowly and the younger boy shot him a glare.
Lando carefully wrapped the bandage around his finger before any more red liquid could escape the small cut. Once he was satisfied, he closed up the first aid box and swiped the wrappers into the bin under the countertop. He grabbed the wet soapy cloth and began his quick work on scrubbing at the red stains.
“Anyway, ignoring my little fiasco,” Lando addressed Charles. “What’re you- what the fuck am I looking at?” Lando cut himself off abruptly upon seeing the state of what Charles would call an outfit.
Charles stood there with his hands on his hips and a sullen look, as if Lando had kicked his puppy. The Monegasque was wearing a horror show of an outfit, with a white vest top, a black pair of shorts and a grey beanie atop his head. His hair came out from below the beanie and stuck flat against his forward, which gave him a thick fringe.
“Say what you want to say. I’m very happy with my outfit choice today.”
Lando blinked as he registered the full look. And oh god, the shoes. Don’t get him started on the shoes. “You look like Justin Bieber if he was 26 and from Monaco. Also, you could definitely join the Gallaghers.” Lando eyed the outfit up and down, a flicker of disgust etching on his face.
“The who?” Charles furrowed his eyebrows.
“I- don’t worry. You need to get changed. Like- now.” Lando found he couldn’t even laugh at the outfit like he normally would, this was just plain sad.
“We have a heat wave, it is 27 degrees and my salon is too hot. I can wear a vest and some shorts if I please.”
“... And the beanie helps keep you cool?” Lando asked. “Or did you do another botched haircut on yourself?”
Charles scowled as he pulled the beanie down even further. “I’m not answering that.”
“Noted.” Lando laughed to himself and continued his relentless scrubbing of the countertop. He uttered a little celebration to himself when he saw that the red stains were slowly but surely coming out.
The older boy jumped up onto the countertop and sat on the ledge, his legs swinging as he watched the world move outside the shop. Charles twisted until he was looking down at the crown of Lando’s head. “Your curls are looking better recently, did you use the products I gave you?” Charles’ hand found the crown of Lando’s curls and gently brushed through them. Lando didn’t flinch at the intrusion, already so used to Charles’ hairdressing instincts taking over.
Lando nodded. “Done wonders, mate. I will say, it’s grown back a lot nicer since we had to shave it that one time.” His own fingers instinctively reached up to ruffle his hair and fix it.
Two years ago, Lando snagged himself a date with someone from out of town after a rowdy night out in one of the local bars and was getting ready to go out. He picked out the perfect outfit, his loose black shirt with the white trousers that always got people going and yet, his hair didn’t want to cooperate. It refused to style, wouldn’t stay in place and overall felt practically fried. With his frustration getting the best of him and feeling like there was nothing else he could do, Lando did the only reasonable thing on his mind.
It was single-handedly the worst decision he’d ever made. Lando had grabbed the hair trimmer and slid it right down the middle of his head. And when the hair fell to the floor and Lando took one look in the mirror, he left out a blood-curdling scream that even his date could probably hear from the next town over.
Needless to say, Lando never made it to the date.
Instead, Charles reopened the salon at 7pm and tried to fix whatever monstrosity Lando created. In the end, there was no saving the botched mess, and Charles had shaved the rest of the frazzled mess off. It was for the better, considering the curls had grown back a lot healthier.
“I’m glad. Got rid of that peach fuzz mess you had going on.” Charles hummed innocently and turned back towards the window. The Monegasque watched someone let themselves into the building opposite the flower shop with curiosity.
“Hey!” Lando exclaimed, a pout forming on his face. Charles rolled his eyes in return. “I’ll have you know, both men and women loved my hair.”
“And I’m sure they love the curls a lot more than the bird's nest.”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Noted.” Charles looked over his shoulder and flashed Lando a great big grin.
Lando playfully shoved the older boy and finished up the last of his scrubbing. Once he was satisfied the blood stains were fully out of the wood (hurray for not having to fork out more money), he grabbed the rest of the red roses and readied himself to make the arrangement. It could’ve done with the extra rose, but he wasn’t going anywhere near more thorns.
One missing rose wasn’t going to hurt anyone. An extra rose would.
The Brit tapped his phone and pressed play on the last load of music he was listening to. The sweet melody of ‘sdp interlude’ by Travis Scott came from the Bluetooth speaker as he got to work. Charles' legs occasionally banged against the wooden counter as he let his body move to the beat, engulfed in the sound waves.
Some moments passed, the music changed to sad, to cheerful, to house music and all sorts of music. As the music changed like tides, Charles continued staring at the shop opposite Lando’s own until he eventually spoke up. “You know, the tattoo parlour has settled in quite nicely. I know some people were worried it would be a bit of an eyesore, but I think it’s quite pretty.” Charles nodded to himself approvingly as he watched a boy with blonde hair leaving the building and strutting towards the black scirocco parked outside.
“What are you looking at over there?” Lando tried to peer over the counter to gain a better look. The older boy’s tongue swiped across his own bottom lip and the Brit’s interest peaked. “Who are you looking at over there?”
”Bit of eye candy. It’s some much needed eye candy too. There’s only so much shirtless George I can handle,” Charles quipped before giving the younger boy a quick glance over his shoulder. “Check him out for yourself.”
Lando peered over Charles’ shoulder like a meerkat and stretched his neck. He managed to catch a glimpse of the man entering his car before he disappeared and drove away. “Car’s mint.”
The Monegasque rolled his eyes. ”Not the fucking car, stupid. Although it is very nice, I would much prefer Ferrari.”
“I’m sure if you ask the man nicely he might just get you one,” Lando cooed as though he were speaking to a child.
“Anyway,” Charles quickly changed the subject. “As I was saying, they’ve been here- what, two months now? They seem to be doing quite well, the owners seem nice enough too.”
“Wow, mate. You say that like you’re surprised they’re nice. Holding onto some stereotypes, are you?” Lando accused the older man and turned back to creating the bouquet of roses, doing very little to hide his growing smirk.
Charles gasped loudly. “I- what- no! I am not stereotyping, I am merely saying they seem like nice people and that-” He cut himself off when he took one look at Lando’s body as he was stifling a laugh. Charles let out a groan. “You are a pain in my ass, a thorn in my side.”
Lando faked a wince. “Too soon, mate.” He felt a light throb in his finger.
“Stop interrupting me! I’m trying to tell you about the tattoo parlour!” Charles scolded the younger boy, who had the nerve to give him a sheepish smile. “Just- I’m glad it’s come together nicely. The place was a dump before and it’s good to see the place thriving. It has been very busy, non? And the name, ‘Lasting Colours’, it’s very fitting. I wonder if-”
Lando’s hands stopped suddenly as Charles mentioned the shop’s name, his voice drowned out as the Brit’s attention was now focused on the shop adjacent to his own.
The tattoo parlour which, as Charles had mentioned, was called ‘Lasting Colours’, was fairly new compared to the other shops on Harlow Street. It had been open for just two months, but it took another three months prior to opening to get the place into decent shape. Lando had watched builders, plumbers and electricians come and go over those months, until finally the owners rocked up and opened it ready for business.
And Charles was right about the name being very fitting. Harlow Street was like something out of a coming of age movie set in a small town or a beautifully painted landscape. The buildings were bright, attractive, colourful, and eye-catching to those who entered. Businesses were strategically named to fit the vibe of the town too.
When Lando first moved there, freshly turned 19 after leaving his home in Bristol, it hadn’t been as homely. Together, the community had worked hard to turn it into the place it was today. Businesses opened, parks were refurbished, and the town was tidied up. Eventually, thanks to the savings he earned before moving and from working park-time, he managed to open his own flower shop.
The community was amazing, most people who lived there had their own little business they ran. There was George and Alex, who ran a cafe with a bookstore situated upstairs. Yuki, with the finest world buffet restaurant in town. Charles, with his salon. Daniel, with a vintage store and his organised weekly park runs.
The list went on and on.
But the tattoo parlour with its colourful name (see what he did there?) slotted in quite perfectly, plastered onto the building in neon lights and cursive writing, stark against the black walls. It was like the northern lights against a black canvas, especially during the night. Sure, the black walls were a little shocking to the system when comparing it to the bright colours and pastels of Harlow Street, but it made it unique. And Lando liked unique things.
He liked the name too. Harlow Street was all about leaving its mark on you, about changing something in your life and giving you that feeling of happiness. It was all about growth and prospering in the world.
Whether or not they meant it that way, Lando wasn’t sure. He had a tendency to look into things a little too deeply and give things meaning when perhaps they didn’t need a meaning.
“-Lando? Lando!” Charles clicked his fingers in front of Lando’s eyes. His fixated gaze on the black painted building was broken and he found himself face to face with the Monegasque’s scrunched up face. “You never listen to me!”
“Your voice is lovely background noise, if that helps. Like white noise,” Lando retorted before his hands got back to work.
Charles’ scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Always lost in that little head of yours, aren’t you?”
“Always gotta have the last word, haven’t you?” Lando fired back, not looking up from the arrangement.
“I don’t see you complaining about me when I’m cutting your hair and giving you products for free.”
“Exactly, free haircut. What’s there to complain about?”
“You are hopeless,” Charles sighed to himself before jumping down from the counter. He sauntered over to a table to the side where the completed arrangements ready for pick-up were waiting. “I’m only here to pick up my bouquet anyway, I’ve got a client coming in at 3pm.”
Standing out amongst them all was what Lando liked to call the ‘Blush Symphony’. It was a beautiful pink themed bouquet with lilies, carnations, phloxes and more. It may have been pink centric, but the varied shades of the lilies in it gave it its own unique touch
‘Blush Symphony’ was one of Lando’s more popular arrangements; he always had quite a few orders for them per week. It was one of the first arrangements he’d ever created, with some low quality flowers (thank god he changed suppliers) and practically no money to his name after he bought the shop. Lando created the bouquet and placed it in front of the large window, not realising at the time that a certain Monegasque man had his eyes on the flowers the moment it appeared in the spotlight.
Charles was his very first customer.
It didn’t take long after that for his business to boom. What Lando didn’t know when he first met Charles was that the Monegasque had quite the large social media following that were all interested in his hairdressing videos, his story times and his thoughts. A day after purchasing the bouquet, Charles had posted the flowers on his instagram and tagged Lando’s own page in it.
Thus came the rise in Lando’s career and the very much needed delivery service.
And the start of Charles demanding ‘Blush Symphony’ for every special occasion.
“What’s the occasion this time?” Lando asked whilst he continued slotting the flowers into the perfect position. He was about halfway done, with the arrangement 25 out of 50 roses in. Or rather, 49 roses.
“Maman is flying in tonight with Arthur. They’re staying for a week and it’s been so long since I’ve seen them. She loved the bouquet when she last saw it on FaceTime, I thought Maman would like her own,” Charles explained while never taking his eyes off the pink bouquet. His fingers delicately traced the box that held the flowers together, a small smile grew on his face.
“And Arthur?”
“Vintage jacket from Daniel’s store. Found an old Ferrari jacket in there.”
Lando’s surprise was evident as he exclaimed, “What’s this?” A teasing smile graced his lips. “Charles Leclerc, willingly parting with anything to do with Ferrari. Who are you, and what have you done with Charles?” He quipped, his eyes squinted mischievously.
“I can be nice sometimes!” Charles retorted with a scoff and finally picked up the bouquet. He cautiously wrapped his arm around it, careful not to disturb the array of lilies and carnations.
“Well, I’m glad you’re nice to someone,” Lando snorted as he gently placed a few more roses in the arrangement.
The Moneqasque rolled his eyes and proceeded to glare at Lando’s smirk adorned face. “Fuck you, I’ll be taking my leave and the bouquet with me. I have better things to do than stand here and be mocked!”
“Hmm, I’m sure you do, Charles.” Lando nodded along slowly.
“And if you fancy joining us for dinner tomorrow night you’re more than welcome. I’ll text you the details. Mwah, ciao!” Charles’ tune quickly changed as he blew the younger boy a playful kiss. Before Lando knew it, the front door swung open, the bell chimed, and the summer breeze found its way through again.
“You’re French, not Italian!” Lando shouted after Charles.
“Monegasque!” Charles fired back. He flipped his middle finger over his shoulder without even glancing back as the front door triggered the bell again and clicked shut behind him.
As Charles exited the flower shop, Lando’s gaze followed him for a few moments before he could disappear from the window’s sight. Curiosity washed over the Brit as he watched the sleek black Scirocco from earlier pull up outside the tattoo parlour. The blonde-haired man emerged from the vehicle, adjusted his jacket and ran his hand through his hair. Charles’ stride faltered as his gaze fixated to where the blonde man stood.
He must have sensed that he was being watched, as the blonde man looked across to where Charles gawked at him. Charles offered him an awkwardly polite wave and nearly dropped the pink bouquet in the process. Lando breathed a sigh of relief when the Monegasque managed to catch it just in time.
Secondhand embarrassment curdled through his body and the Brit almost smacked himself in the face as he watched Charles’ limbs flailing awkwardly as he decided what to do. It was bad enough to watch Charles’ fall over himself at the ‘eye candy’, but even worse to remember the monstrosity of an outfit he was wearing.
To Lando’s surprise, the blonde-haired man returned the wave eagerly and even threw a small smile into the mix. He could’ve sworn he saw Charles shudder the moment the man turned his back to him and walked away.
Once the man across the street entered the tattoo parlour and disappeared from sight, Charles had a skip in his step as he made his way back to the hairdressers.
Lando shook his head to himself when he felt his phone vibrate once Charles was gone. The Brit picked up the phone and answered, placing it between his shoulder blade and his ear while he got back to arranging the rest of the roses.
“Hello, Charles. Nice to speak to you again,” Lando said tiredly.
“Lando, oh my goodness. Did you see? He just pulled up and waved at me, god isn’t he so-”
Lando groaned loudly; so much for his so-called peaceful day.
*
After a hard day’s work spent fighting against red rose thorns, tackling a chunk of the wedding flower arrangements, cleaning the shop, and managing two deliveries, Lando was ready for the memory foam of his mattress to engulf him. And ordering the largest pepperoni pizza he could find. Fuck those pre-cooked meals Charles and him cooked together.
On a typical week day, Lando would’ve clocked out by 5pm with the occasional overtime that took him to 6pm instead. He’d have gone to the other shops, visited his friends and spent money that he definitely shouldn’t be. Instead, he was leaving the store at nearly 8pm with his back in half and contemplating taking the day off tomorrow.
Lando hadn’t expected the two deliveries to arrive so soon, they were expected for the next day. But when they arrived at his door an hour before his normal closing time, he had to rush around and make sure all of the flowers were organised and placed with some water to keep them fresh. And while he was putting the deliveries away, just five minutes before close, the red roses guy called to say he wouldn’t be able to make it until later in the evening.
He almost hung up there and then, nearly decided to just throw the red roses at the wall and leave the shop for the comfort of his flat. But he needed the money and he wasn’t a victim of a thorn attack for nothing.
While he waited another three hours for the guy to turn up and collect his stupid roses, Lando started to make a dent in the wedding flower arrangement that was due at the end of the week. It was his focus for the time being as they were needed at the venue by Friday as the wedding was on Sunday. Thankfully, the order for the wedding flowers came in just over a year ago (take some lessons, red roses guy) and thus, the designs for the bouquets, arch and garnets were all ready. All that was left to do was craft it all perfectly together and have his delivery driver, Jon, take it to the wedding venue ready.
Once the red roses guy collected the bouquet- and no, he didn’t notice there were only 49 roses out of 50- Lando pulled in all the stands outside the shop and made sure to add some fresh water to their pots. The last thing he needed was his flowers wilting from the scorching sun in this weather.
The front door slammed behind him, glass rattling as Lando locked the door with the bloodied scarlet rose tucked under his armpit. He lowered his head and let out a long sigh when the lock clicked shut, a weight finally lifted from his shoulders as he was able to return to his safe haven.
Lando grabbed the rose from under his armpit and twirled it between his fingers, watching as a petal broke free from the rest and waved back and forth in the air before it touched the ground. To be honest, Lando wasn’t sure why he kept the rose. He wasn’t even sure if it was classed a biohazard or not, whether it was safe to just be carrying it around. It was a little morbid, carrying around a bloody rose, but he went to throw it in the rubbish bin and he felt a small emotional attachment to the poor thing.
He’d text Charles saying he formed a bond with the rose. Charles would text him back to tell him it was a trauma bond.
He took a deep breath of the fresh air and basked in whatever sunlight was left. It was no longer hot, with the cool breeze incoming as the sun was close to setting. After enjoying whatever light rays were left, Lando turned on his foot and began his journey back home.
He didn’t live far at all, in fact, just a two minute walk away from the shop. Most people who owned a business on Harlow Street tended to live quite close; with the block of conveniently placed flats and the new housing estate just a few minutes down the road, it all slotted together quite nicely.
To get home, Lando simply needed to cross the street, walk down the road a little and he was home. It was perfect for the times he woke up five minutes before he was supposed to open, which was quite often with a sleep schedule like his own.
After he crossed the street, Lando found himself once again drawn to the tattoo parlour. With the sun beginning to hide away as it prepared to dip below the horizon, the neon sign of ‘Lasting Colours’ seemed to glow brighter than ever. It looked like it was still open, but it was a Monday evening and from working late previously, he knew that they were supposed to close at 6pm that day. From what he gathered, Wednesday and Thursday seemed to be the late night shifts.
As he drew closer, Lando noticed the additional neon light fixtures that weren’t turned on. He could see the outline of patchwork designs with small writing around them. It was hard to tell without the signs on, perhaps one day Lando would see it while working late on a Wednesday.
He found himself standing in front of the large window and peered into the building. Lando cupped his hands around his eyes to block out the glare of the sun and squinted to take a closer look. Littered across the back walls of the parlour were stencils and drawings of multiple tattoos. Some were framed while others were stuck to the wall in what looked like a rush.
To say the artwork was stunning was an understatement, Lando’s mind blanked out whatever he could describe them as. There were many different styles of drawings, some were portraits of people, some were patchwork designs like the neon signs and others were dots morphed into a big picture. Lando was surprised to say the least, there were so many different art styles and he could only name a handful. He’d admit, whenever he found himself thinking about tattoos, his mind would wander to the ones that everyone thinks of when it comes to men.
You know, roses, clocks, lions… the typical ‘masculine’ tattoos that every gym boy was getting. It always seemed to Lando that it was a waste to get something such as that etched into your skin forever, but as he looked at a design on the wall, he was starting to see the appeal.
It was a framed drawing rather than a stencil, drawn on brown paper. It was a simple outline of two orchid flowers, juxtaposing each other. The black orchid faced upwards while the white orchid faced down, the two intertwining in the middle as they crossed paths. It was a simple design, just the outline and the two colours. But something about the tattoo called out to Lando, pulled him in with intrigue.
Orchids, much like many other flowers, carried various symbolic meanings which helped Lando with versatility when it came to creating his bouquets. And while many flowers overlapped in meanings, orchids were mostly similar to roses. Love. There were deeper meanings to orchids that he preferred to convey in his works. Each culture had their own symbolism, with Asia believing it represented beauty and wealth. Ancient Greece believed consuming the tubes of orchids could heighten sex drive and determine the gender of a baby. Thus, it was a symbol of fertility and virility.
The array of different colours of orchids each carried their own special meaning the deeper you looked into it, which most people didn’t tend to know, including a large portion of florists. However, Lando loved to research and learn about his passions and delved deep into learning the symbolism behind some of his favourite flowers. He believed knowing what flowers overall represent and the deeper meanings could better help him when creating his bouquets, to convey the messages in flowers.
And with that research, Lando formed his own opinion on what orchids symbolise.
Orchids, to Lando, symbolised hope and strength, similar to the Aztecs. They would crush up the orchid flower and use it for their elixirs, to help give them strength and courage for the battles ahead of them. Though it's no longer a battlefield, Lando found that the message still held strong nonetheless.
Before he could be caught ogling drawings through the winter, Lando took a few steps back until his back collided with something. A sharp exhale escaped his lips upon the impact and his hand instinctively reached back to soothe the stinging sensation pooling across his skin. As his hand traced the impact point, he felt the cool touch of metal against his fingertips.
Startled, Lando jerked forward with wide eyes and swiftly pivoted on his heel. Before his eyes stood a motorbike, parked on the road and opposite the window. It had gone unnoticed until then, Lando too engrossed in being nosey looking through windows. He’s unsure how he could’ve missed it, however. It was pitch black with orange accents and patches across the coat, and the orange was very… bright.
Drawn by curiosity, Lando edged closer and closer to the motorbike until his hand extended to touch the sleek black metal. A shiver ran down his spine as his fingertips grazed the cold surface, a shaky intake of breath. Suddenly, his hand shot away from the motorbike as he heard footsteps behind him.
“Hello.” An accented voice came from behind Lando.
“Hello,” Lando responded meekly, like a child caught drawing on the walls. He didn’t turn around just yet, already eager to plan his escape before the unknown figure could see his face.
“It doesn’t bite, by the way- the bike, that is- although, it was entertaining to watch you jump a mile. It won’t hurt you.” He recognised the accent immediately; there was only so much hanging around Daniel you could do before you became accustomed to an Australian’s way of language.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando scoffed. “That orange is enough to scar someone’s eyes. Someone could probably claim against that.”
“I don’t know about that, but sure.” The man gave a small laugh.
The footsteps started again and he was quickly next to Lando’s side, the Australian man’s hand reached out and touched the sleek black metal, similarly to Lando previously.
Lando gulped and he pointed his finger at the motorbike. “This is yours then?”
“No,” The man mused. “I just come outside for any random motorbike, just to make sure people like you don’t topple it over.”. The Brit could sense sarcasm from a mile away, but it wasn’t as if they man was trying to hide his sarcastic tone. Lando looked up, ready to reply with whatever rapidfire remark his mind could come up with- but he was stopped in his tracks. One good look at the man’s face was enough to render Lando speechless for a second.
He looked-
Good.
Yeah, good. That’s it.
Lando’s attention was drawn to the sweep of brown, fluffy hair that seemed to perfectly frame his face. An odd impulse surged through him, urging him to reach out and feel how soft the strands were beneath his fingers. Maybe that was Charles’ influence coming back to bite him. He lightly shook his head to himself; for his own sanity, he needed to get a grip, and fast.
Next were his eyes, the cinnamon brown that shone brightly as the summer sun rays hit him, making the Australian look radiant. Then, the man turned his head away from the motorbike and directed his soft, dimpled smile towards Lando. The Brit might deny to everyone that he felt something pooling in his stomach, though he couldn’t deny it to himself. And his smile… It was enough to send a weak man into a coma.
Then there was the leather jacket, sleek, black and looking as though it was perfectly tailored to fit his frame and show off the broadness of his shoulders.
Lando was aware he was staring as the Australian man’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink,his mouth opening and closing as if he was debating what to say.
“I’m Oscar Piastri.” His voice cut through the thick fog clouding Lando’s mind.
Suddenly jolted out of his trance, Lando shivered and blinked rapidly, as though he were physically yanked back into reality. He tore his gaze from Oscar’s eyes, down to his outstretched hand and back to the golden brown eyes. Lando tried to pretend he didn’t see the way his muscles stretched the leather jacket.
His hand reached out tentatively until Oscar clasped it in his own, a gentle but firm shake. “I’m Lando Norris,” he managed to say after a brief pause. As their hands met, a chill shot through Lando, up his arm and through his chest until he felt an odd pang in his heart.
Oscar’s hands were strikingly different to his own. While Lando’s hands were seemingly too large, calloused and rough from years of gardening, handling flowers and water, Oscar’s were soft, smooth and dainty, almost silk like to the touch.
One of Oscar’s fingers lightly grazed the plaster on Lando’s finger, and he recoiled from the delicate grasp. As he sensed Lando’s hesitation, Oscar turned Lando’s hand to the side for a better view of the bandaged finger, his brow furrowed slightly as his finger traced the plaster with a small frown.
Lando decided he disliked the sight of Oscar’s frown; the Aussie was far prettier when his lips curved into a soft smile and his dimples adorned his face. The slight crease between Oscar’s brows as he studied Lando’s hand only deepened the dislike for the frowning.
It was weird, that feeling of wanting to ease his concern. It didn’t send a good message to Lando.
The Aussie’s gaze shifted to the red rose held tightly clutched in Lando’s free hand and the Brit felt the sudden urge to hide the flower behind his back. Oscar’s eyes went back to the plaster, then to the rose, then to the plaster, and then to Lando’s eyes, a curious look in his own.
“Is that a rose in your hand?” Oscar asked in a monotone voice, still holding Lando’s hand.
“Clearly, mate,” Lando snorted. Way to point out the obvious.
“Looks a little worse for wear,” Oscar pointed out, which prompted Lando to take a quick glance at the rose. He wasn’t exactly wrong; the petals were drooping and Lando had gotten his blood all over it earlier that day. “Did you take it in a back alley and beat it up yourself?” The Aussie questioned, Lando watching as a small smirk grew on Oscar’s face. Oh, that smirk… Lando might hate that more than the frown. At least the frown didn’t make him feel queasy.
“Oh yeah, it decided to challenge me.” Lando scoffed and Oscar hummed in response, a slow nod as he listened to Lando. “It took quite a beating. I only came out with a scratch.” Lando’s bandaged finger twitched as he spoke, which drew Oscar’s attention back to it.
“I don’t know, Lando, seems like the rose got some good hits in,” Oscar said with an amused tone, eyebrow raised smugly.
“Told you, it’s just a scratch,” Lando defended himself and took his hand away from Oscar’s grasp. He was not about to look like he lost a flower fight.
”Sure, that’s why it has dried blood on the stem and petals.”
Lando’s gaze snapped towards the flower in his hand and sure enough, he noticed more traces of his own blood staining the stem as well.
Maybe he should’ve thrown the rose away instead.
A warmth spread through Lando’s cheeks and he could feel a blush creep up his neck. He heard a giggle ripple through the air and turned his attention back to Oscar, whose hair slightly shook as the small noises escaped him. Oscar’s infectious smile, paired with his bunny teeth, were too much for Lando to fight off his own laughs.
Once Oscar calmed down, he smiled sweetly at Lando with a fond look in his eyes. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’re the florist across the road?”
“Wow, however did you know?” Lando replied sarcastically, delight spreading through him as Oscar’s nose scrunched as he laughed. “But, yeah, that’s my shop over there.”
“It’s pretty, fits the vibe of the rest of the town here,” Oscar noted thoughtfully, nodding in approval.
Lando sighed with content. “Thank you, took a while but I got what I wanted with it.”
Before Oscar could respond, Lando’s phone vibrated with an incoming call. He flashed Oscar an apologetic look before fishing for his phone stashed away in his pocket. Just as he managed to pull it out from his jean pocket, the call dropped. Lando threw his head back with a groan and checked who the missed call was from. It was his mother, and suddenly, Lando remembered that he’d told his mum earlier that day that he’d call her that night.
With a muttered curse, Lando shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned to face Oscar, only to find the Aussie giving him an understanding look. “Need to cut our conversation short?” Oscar inquired as he casually rested his arm against the vibrant motorbike.
Lando nodded sadly. “Got a meeting with my mum that just can’t wait. I should get going, sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Oscar half shrugged. “It’s getting late, anyway. It was lovely to finally meet you, Lando Norris.”
Finally?
“It was- it was good to meet you too, Oscar Piastri,” Lando said with a sad grimace before he slowly started to take a few steps backwards, eyes still trained on Oscar. “See you around?”
“Of course, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you a lot more,” Oscar chuckled, as if he knew something that Lando didn’t. The Brit’s curious gaze was quickly answered, however. “You should stop by again some time, preferably in the shop rather than almost knocking my bike over.”
“The shop?” Lando glanced over to the tattoo shop, and really, he should’ve been paying more attention earlier on. Part of him just assumed Oscar was a client there, someone stopped by for a consultation or something. He’d never seen the motorbike before, and it’s not one that was easily missed. “You’re one of the new owners?” Lando asked with a shocked tone and wide eyes to match.
Oscar nodded. “I am indeed, along with my friend Max. But like I said, stop by sometime- I can tell you more about those designs you couldn’t keep your eyes off.” He chimed in.
“I-” Lando’s voice instantly trailed off, a wave of embarrassment washed over him at the thought of being caught peeping through the window. He could only imagine the amusement Oscar felt seeing Lando squinting and staring.
His face must’ve turned a bright red, as Oscar’s cheeks tinted pink to match, a small smile set on his lips. “Goodbye, Lando.”
And with that, Oscar turned and walked back to the tattoo parlour's front door. Before he left Lando’s eyesight, the Aussie gave him a small wave and closed the door behind him.
The air was silent and still, as if waiting for something else to happen. There was not another soul in sight, many of the shops having closed long before Lando’s own. A small breeze came and ruffled the Brit’s brown locks, a sign to finally get a move on.
He took a few cautious steps back, a flicker to the motorbike, a flicker to the shop one last time before Lando turned around and began heading back home. The sun was setting, the sky a beautiful orange and pink that spread over the rooftops of Harlow Street before it the descended into darkness.
Lando wa on towards his flat with the red rose still clutched tightly in his hand. His mind was clouded with images of wedding flowers, roses, tattoos, bikes, leather jackets, Oscar.
Oscar.
And if Lando had a skip in his step and a stupid smile spread across his face, that was nobody’s business.