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Lando was the kind of kid who filled a room without trying.
Even at eight years old, he had a laugh that carried across playgrounds, a grin that invited trouble, and an energy that seemed endless. He could never sit still for long—always tapping his pencil against his desk, always the first to raise his hand in class, even when he didn’t know the answer. His mum called him a hurricane, a constant whirlwind of movement and sound. His teachers called him “spirited,” though the word was usually paired with a sigh.
The other kids adored him. He could charm anyone into a game of football or tag, always the one darting ahead, shouting over his shoulder for them to catch up. He wasn’t the fastest, or the smartest, or the best at anything, really—but he had a way of making people feel like they belonged when they were with him.
Oscar was the opposite.
He was the quiet kid, the one who slipped into the classroom without drawing attention and sat near the back, head ducked over his desk. He wasn’t shy, not exactly—it was more that he didn’t see the point in talking unless he had something worth saying. He watched more than he spoke, his sharp eyes catching details others missed. The scrape of Lando’s trainers against the tiles, the way his jumper was always slightly askew, the faint streaks of mud on his hands even hours after lunch.
Oscar had only been at the school a week, but he already knew Lando’s name. Everyone did.
It wasn’t just that Lando was loud; he was magnetic. Even now, Oscar could hear him across the playground, his laughter ringing out like a bell as he kicked a football against the side of the school building. The other kids had moved on to their usual lunch routines—clustered in groups around the benches or the monkey bars—but Lando was still at it, his movements quick and uncoordinated, like a puppy chasing its own tail.
Oscar sat cross-legged under the shade of a tree, a book open in his lap. He wasn’t reading, though. Not really. His eyes kept drifting back to Lando, following the way he darted after the ball with reckless abandon, his curls bouncing in the breeze.
Oscar didn’t mean to stare, but there was something about Lando that made it hard to look away. He was so…unapologetic. Everything Oscar wasn’t.
He wasn’t sure if he admired him or envied him.
Lando was completely oblivious to the eyes on him. He was too focused on the ball, on the satisfying thud it made when it hit the wall, the way it always seemed to roll back to him like it couldn’t bear to leave his side. He didn’t care that he was playing alone. He liked the rhythm of it, the predictability.
But then, predictability went flying out the window when he misjudged his kick.
The ball shot off his foot at an awkward angle, soaring over the chain-link fence that separated the playground from the overgrown patch of bushes on the other side.
“Ah, no,” Lando groaned, hands on his hips. He glared at the bushes like they’d stolen from him, muttering under his breath as he stalked toward the fence.
He wasn’t sure what his plan was. Climbing the fence was risky—Mrs. Hargreaves, the lunchtime supervisor, had eyes like a hawk and a talent for showing up at exactly the wrong moment. But the ball was new, and it was his, and he wasn’t about to just leave it there.
He was sizing up the fence, one hand resting on the metal, when he heard a voice behind him.
“Looking for this?”
Lando whipped around. A boy he didn’t recognize was standing on the other side of the fence, holding the ball. He was small, with dark hair that stuck out in messy tufts, and his jumper was too big for him, the sleeves bunched up around his wrists. There were smudges of dirt on his knees and a faint scrape on his chin, like he’d just crawled out of the bushes.
“How’d you get that?” Lando asked, blinking.
The boy shrugged, brushing a stray leaf out of his hair. “Went through the gap under the fence.” His voice was quiet but steady, like he wasn’t afraid to be speaking to Lando but didn’t see much reason to make a big deal out of it.
Lando tilted his head, squinting at him. “Aren’t you covered in spiders now?”
The boy’s face twitched, but instead of looking scared or offended, he just gave a small, crooked smile. “Don’t mind spiders,” he said simply.
Before Lando could reply, he tossed the ball back over the fence. It landed neatly at Lando’s feet, rolling to a stop like it had never left.
Lando bent down to pick it up, cradling it under one arm as he studied the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Oscar,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Lando,” he replied automatically, then added, “You new?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Just started last week.”
“Thought so. I would’ve noticed you before.” Lando grinned, rocking back on his heels. “You play?”
Oscar glanced at the ball, then back at Lando. “Not really.”
“Don’t worry,” Lando said, turning and jogging back toward the playground. “I’ll teach you. Come on.”
Oscar hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the safety of the tree where his book still lay forgotten. But then Lando stopped, turning around to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You coming or what?”
Oscar sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said softly, jogging after him.
And just like that, the hurricane and the quiet kid collided.
They don’t talk again until a month later.
It all started with a shift in seating. Lando had been relegated to the back row of the classroom, a seat far from his usual spot by the windows. He huffed and complained, but the teacher was adamant, pairing him up with Oscar—some quiet kid in the corner that Lando barely knew. Lando had tried not to care, but sitting next to Oscar felt like an unspoken punishment.
At first, it was the smallest things. Every time Lando looked over at Oscar, he seemed impossibly calm—like a constant in a world that was always moving. Oscar’s eyes never wandered, his focus on whatever the teacher said so intently that Lando almost felt like he was interrupting when he tried to make small talk.
Lando wasn’t one to stay quiet for long, though. His voice bubbled up out of him at the slightest provocation. “Hey,” he said one day, his voice too loud for the setting. “What’s your deal, anyway? You’re, like, the quietest person I’ve ever met.”
Oscar glanced up briefly, his pencil still moving along the edge of his page in precise strokes. “I’m just concentrating.”
“Right, concentrating,” Lando said, his grin unrepentant. “On what? This stuff’s boring.” He waved a hand over the worksheet in front of them, his math assignment a mess of scribbles.
Oscar, without a word, nudged his paper over so Lando could see. “You missed a step,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but not unkind.
Lando blinked, then leaned closer to see what Oscar had done differently. Sure enough, there was a mistake he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Well, I’m not exactly a genius at this stuff,” Lando said, leaning back in his seat with a sheepish grin.
Oscar didn’t respond, but when Lando glanced over again, he saw the slightest nod, like Oscar had silently decided to help him. The next few days passed similarly. Lando would look over at Oscar’s desk, only to find the other boy sliding a sheet of paper toward him with a patient, almost imperceptible motion.
It didn’t happen overnight, but over the next few weeks, their exchanges became routine. Lando would ask Oscar for help with math, and Oscar, without fail, would point out where Lando had gone wrong—sometimes explaining it in a way that made more sense than the teacher had. In return, Lando made it his mission to make Oscar laugh, whether through ridiculous stories about his latest antics or his unfiltered observations about the world around them.
Oscar, who typically kept his thoughts close to his chest, began to respond in little ways. His lips would twitch, and sometimes—if Lando was lucky—a quiet chuckle would escape him.
After a month or so, Lando found himself looking for Oscar. It wasn’t like he had a plan—it wasn’t like he was consciously trying to become friends with him—but somehow, there he was, sitting beside Oscar again in class or sitting together at lunch. It became an unspoken thing, a rhythm they fell into without needing to announce it.
Lando wasn’t the type to sit quietly for long, but there was something oddly calming about Oscar’s presence. They would sit in the cafeteria together, Lando tearing through his food like it was a race, Oscar barely touching his. Oscar read his books while Lando told stories, bouncing around from topic to topic like a hyperactive rabbit. And though Lando talked more than he could control, he couldn’t help but notice that Oscar listened. Really listened. He’d nod in all the right places or ask questions in that thoughtful way that made Lando’s words seem important.
But it wasn’t just about what they talked about. It was the way things felt when they were together. A sort of quiet companionship that Lando had never experienced before. A silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, but one that spoke volumes without either of them needing to fill it with words.
The more time they spent together, the more their friendship took shape. It was gradual—like something blooming in slow motion. They were like two pieces of a puzzle that had been sitting on the table for a while, and only now were they starting to fit together.
One afternoon, after school, Lando showed up at the park near his house with his old football, half-hoping to burn off some energy before going home. He saw Oscar walking alone in the distance and jogged over, the football tucked under his arm.
“Oi! You up for a game?” Lando called, his voice excited as always.
Oscar, still a little surprised by Lando’s sudden appearances in his life, hesitated for a moment. He glanced down at the football, then back at Lando. “I don’t really play…”
“It’s not about playing,” Lando said with a grin, tossing the ball between his hands. “It’s about having fun.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow but finally relented, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how much fun I’ll have with you.”
“Oh, you’ll have plenty,” Lando said confidently, already tossing the ball into the air and catching it.
The game was awkward at first. Lando tried to explain the rules, but Oscar barely seemed interested in following them. But after a while, they stopped caring about the rules altogether. Oscar, with his methodical way of doing things, figured out how to kick the ball the right way. Lando, ever the enthusiast, cheered him on as if he’d won a championship.
By the end of the afternoon, they were sitting on the grass, out of breath and laughing—Lando pulling Oscar into an impromptu victory dance that made both of them look ridiculous.
Weeks turned into months, and their friendship continued to grow in the same quiet way it always had. They started hanging out outside school, meeting up to study together—Oscar guiding Lando through more complicated problems while Lando did his best to keep Oscar entertained with his endless chatter.
Their classmates noticed, of course, how the two of them were inseparable. It wasn’t always the big moments that defined their connection, but the small, unspoken things. The shared glances in class, the way they automatically sat next to each other at lunch, the way their conversations could go from silly to serious in a matter of seconds.
“Where’s your other half?” one of their classmates asked Lando one day when he showed up alone at the playground.
Lando blinked, glancing around, before he smiled. “Oscar’s on his way,” he said, not even thinking twice.
As the years passed, their friendship evolved in subtle ways, each shift almost imperceptible, but meaningful nonetheless. What had started in the classroom—those awkward exchanges in the back row during math class, with Lando cracking jokes to ease the tension of a new school year—soon spilled over into other parts of their lives. After school, they would meet up at the park, sharing the last few hours of daylight, or sneak in trips to the ice cream stand down the block, where Lando would always end up with an overly ambitious combination of flavors, much to Oscar’s amusement. Slowly, without either of them realizing it, their bond became a constant.
It was the kind of friendship that, over time, felt like second nature. There were no big declarations, no grand moments to mark the change. But as they grew older, their worlds started to stretch beyond the small neighborhood they’d grown up in. New faces appeared, and with them came new activities, new subjects at school, and new responsibilities that pulled them in different directions. But despite the increasing complexity of their lives, Lando and Oscar always circled back to each other. Their friendship had settled into a rhythm—comfortable and steady, like the way one would naturally slip into an old routine. No one questioned it. It just was.
Lando was, and always had been, the talker. It was something so ingrained in him that it seemed effortless. No matter how much time passed or how many new faces entered their lives, Lando could still talk a mile a minute about anything and everything. He would happily monopolize conversations, his voice high and animated, bouncing from one topic to the next. He’d tell Oscar all about his latest football practice, the new challenges he was facing, or some trivial detail that caught his attention in the hallway. Even in group assignments, it was Lando who would eagerly volunteer ideas, throwing out wild suggestions without a second thought. “Oscar’s basically a wizard!” he’d announce, no context needed, drawing a confused glance from whoever was nearby. But to Lando, it wasn’t just a statement—it was a declaration of pride. Oscar was his best friend, and the world needed to know it. His loyalty, always loud and unshakeable, was something that never wavered.
Oscar, on the other hand, spoke less, but when he did, his words held weight. There was an economy to his speech, a quiet deliberation behind each sentence. He didn’t need to fill the silence to be noticed. And when he did speak, it was always with a quiet assurance, as if he had already weighed the value of his words before letting them slip out. His presence was often enough—his steady gaze, the way he listened intently to whatever Lando had to say. It became an unspoken agreement between them: Lando would fill the space with his voice, and Oscar would provide the grounding, the listening ear that allowed Lando to ramble on without interruption.
But what Lando never fully understood until much later was how much he had come to rely on Oscar’s quiet presence. It wasn’t just the silence that made it work—it was the way Oscar’s attention never wavered. In class, while Lando was bouncing around, engaged in his own whirlwind of thoughts and ideas, Oscar would be the one sitting still, nodding along to Lando’s animated outbursts. It was like a dance, this rhythm of theirs. Lando would carry the conversation, but Oscar was the one who would give him the reassurance he needed to keep going.
Sometimes, when Lando was explaining something that seemed particularly important, or ranting about some injustice in his day, he would pause and look to Oscar. He wasn’t looking for an answer, just a sign—a nod, a half-smile, something to indicate that Oscar was following along. Oscar didn’t need to speak, but when he did, it carried more significance. “That’s true,” he’d say, his voice soft and calm, and somehow that would be enough to make Lando feel as though everything he’d just shared had been worth saying. Even on days when Oscar said nothing at all, Lando could feel the reassurance in the air between them, the knowledge that Oscar had been paying attention and understood exactly what he meant, even if the words were never spoken aloud.
It wasn’t until much later, after they’d spent years in this quiet, comfortable pattern, that Lando realized how much he valued Oscar’s thoughts—the rare moments when Oscar would finally offer something of his own. It wasn’t about the quantity of words, but the quality. Oscar didn’t speak for the sake of it, but when he did, it was always something that felt deeper than the usual small talk. And in those rare moments, when Lando felt like everything else in his life was moving too fast, it was Oscar’s calm, measured words that kept him grounded. He found himself looking forward to those rare glimpses of Oscar’s inner world, even if they were brief. They were small pieces of something larger—a connection that was shared between them in ways words couldn’t fully capture. And it was only in hindsight that Lando realized how much he craved that quiet bond, even though he would never have been able to articulate it at the time.
It was the kind of friendship that didn’t need constant maintenance. It simply was. And the more time they spent together, the more they understood it, both in their own ways. Oscar’s quiet strength complemented Lando’s boisterous energy, and together, they had created a balance that was theirs alone. The world could change around them, but as long as they had each other, nothing really felt all that different.
Despite the ease of their friendship, high school brought with it a fair share of separation. The simple fact that they were no longer in the same classes was the first noticeable change. Their schedules no longer aligned, and the casual moments between periods became fewer, replaced by the frenzy of the hallways filled with new faces and the pressure of academic expectations. Lando, ever the social butterfly, seemed to thrive in the crowded halls. His quick humor and infectious laugh drew people in, and he naturally gravitated toward new friends—friends from his extracurricular activities, friends in his new classes, and friends who seemed to just appear wherever he went, pulled in by his charisma. He had always been the one to start the conversation, the one to make the jokes, the one to laugh the loudest. And somehow, even though Oscar wasn’t always there, Lando never felt alone. He surrounded himself with people, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten the quiet, steady presence of his best friend.
Oscar, on the other hand, found the shift in high school more isolating. He had always been the quieter one, preferring smaller groups, and that trait hadn’t changed. He stayed in his familiar circle of friends, but as the weeks passed and new faces started filling the classrooms and the hallways, Oscar couldn’t help but feel the pull of distance—physically, mentally, and emotionally—from the crowds that had become a fixture of high school life. The chaos of it all left him feeling a little more adrift, a little less grounded. He had always been content with silence, with just a few close people around him, but in high school, it sometimes felt like being quiet meant fading into the background. He wasn’t sure whether that bothered him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that meant he was becoming less of a part of the world around him, slipping further from the friendships he had once held so close.
Despite all of this, despite the new faces and different classes, Lando and Oscar remained constants in each other’s worlds. Their paths had diverged, yes, but there was a sense of steadiness in the way their friendship held on, though it had evolved. It wasn’t the same as it used to be. The spontaneous park meet-ups and ice cream trips had become rarer as schoolwork piled up, as Lando got caught up in the drama of his new friends, as Oscar settled into his quieter routine. But they still managed to carve out moments for each other, even if it was just on the phone, even if it was just a few minutes to check in.
On weekends, Lando would often call Oscar, the sound of his voice cracking through the quiet of his room as he leaned back in his chair, fiddling with whatever object happened to be on hand—a pen, his phone, the edge of his desk. There were days when Lando would just want to chat about something random, his voice bouncing with energy, the words tumbling out faster than they should. There were other times when the conversation would drift to school—what was happening in his classes, the projects he had taken on, and the occasional drama he had somehow gotten himself into, always with a good-natured laugh.
“Hey, mate,” Lando’s voice would break through the phone line, casual as ever. “So, I was thinking about that time in middle school when you beat me at chess, and I swear you were just messing with me the whole time. How did you even do that?”
Oscar’s laugh would be soft but genuine, a reminder of the years of shared moments between them. “You just weren’t paying attention.”
Lando would groan dramatically, though there was always a grin in his voice. “I don’t know how you do it. I’m still convinced you were messing with me.”
Oscar would smile, the sound of it clear even through the phone. He had always been the more composed one, the one to give as little away as possible, but in these moments with Lando, that calm felt natural. Their conversations were like pieces of an old, familiar puzzle, fitting together easily despite the changes that had taken place. They didn’t need to be in the same room anymore for it to feel like they were sharing something. There was a comfort in these mundane, normal moments—the steady rhythm of their friendship, still there despite everything else changing around them.
As different as their lives had become, Lando never seemed to mind that Oscar had pulled back from the crowd. He still sought him out, still found a way to share the small victories and frustrations of his life. And Oscar, for all his quietness, found something grounding in these phone calls. The chaos of high school life might have been overwhelming at times, but Lando’s voice was always a reminder that some things didn’t have to change. It was a steady comfort, a small piece of normalcy in a world that often felt too loud, too fast.
Lando had always made himself at home in Oscar’s house, a place that had become a quiet anchor in both of their lives. It wasn’t that Oscar had to invite him; he never needed to. Lando simply showed up, unannounced but always welcome. He would knock twice, loud and firm, a rhythm they’d long ago perfected. And then he’d push the door open, his footsteps heavy but familiar, never pausing to wait for an invitation. That was how things had always worked between them—easy, no pretense. Oscar had always been content with that, a little amused by how effortlessly Lando made himself part of his world.
Oscar would be at his desk, headphones on, surrounded by textbooks, always in the middle of some new deep dive into a subject he was obsessed with at the moment. There was a stillness to him, a focus that Lando admired. He could spend hours in the quiet of Oscar’s room, even when he was surrounded by the hum of a world that felt like it was constantly moving. Oscar would glance up, his lips curving into that familiar half-smile—the one that told Lando everything he needed to know about what they had, about the kind of friendship that was woven between them without either of them really needing to say it out loud.
“Just got back from football practice,” Lando would announce, always out of breath, his voice full of the kind of energy that never seemed to leave him. He’d kick his sneakers off at the door, making himself comfortable on the couch without a second thought. Oscar wouldn’t ask for details—he never did—but he’d sit with him, his presence calm and quiet, the kind of stillness that Lando had grown to depend on. Oscar’s eyes would flick back down to his work, but there was a kind of ease that settled over them, as if there was nothing else in the world but this. Every now and then, they would trade a word, a comment about the world outside Oscar’s room, but mostly it was just the kind of silence that existed between two people who had spent years learning to read each other without words.
“Sometimes, I wonder if you ever stop talking,” Oscar would say, his voice light but tinged with that quiet amusement he reserved for moments like this.
Lando would grin, the corners of his lips curling up mischievously. “Why would I? Talking’s the best part of my day.”
Oscar would roll his eyes, but there was always a smile playing at the edge of his lips. It was the kind of affection that had been built up over years of shared spaces, shared silences, and moments that didn’t need to be spoken. He’d shake his head, go back to his homework, but Lando could tell it wasn’t a dismissal. It was just the rhythm they had fallen into—a kind of unspoken understanding that when Oscar needed space, he had it, and when Lando needed someone to listen, he always had Oscar.
But there were other moments too—moments where Oscar would be pulled out of his shell, pulled into the kind of spontaneity that had always been Lando’s specialty. He had a way of coaxing Oscar into doing things that Oscar would never have considered on his own, pushing him out of his comfort zone in the most ridiculous, but exhilarating ways. Like that time they’d snuck out one night, the city lights flickering below them as they made their way to the top of a building. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, just a reckless decision born from Lando’s need to do something adventurous. But Oscar had been hesitant, as always, the weight of rules and logic heavy on his shoulders. Lando had smiled, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along, urging him to just trust him for once.
The night was thick with the quiet hum of the city, and everything felt a little more magical when you were up high, away from the lights, and hidden in the shadows. The streetlights below barely reached them as Lando tugged at Oscar’s sleeve, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“You’re not backing out now,” Lando whispered, the excitement clear in his voice as he glanced up at the building. His breath was quick, his energy almost palpable in the cool night air.
Oscar hesitated, his feet planted firmly on the ground. “Lando, I don’t know…” His eyes darted around, scanning for anyone who might see them. He could already imagine the consequences. But Lando’s grin was infectious, and he knew there was no way out now.
“Come on, just one quick climb,” Lando coaxed, his voice low but insistent. “You’ll thank me later. Besides, it’ll be fun. You trust me, right?”
Oscar shifted his weight from one foot to the other, torn between the part of him that wanted to stay grounded, to keep things simple and quiet, and the part that always gave in to Lando’s stubborn charm. Finally, he sighed, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “Fine. But if we get caught—”
Lando silenced him with a finger to his lips. “We won’t get caught. Now, come on.” His grin widened, and he took off toward the side of the building, where an old fire escape ladder clung to the wall.
Oscar followed reluctantly, but not without a last glance over his shoulder. There was a nervous energy running through him, but it was laced with something else, something exhilarating. Maybe he would thank Lando later.
The first few rungs of the ladder were cold against Oscar’s fingers, the metal rattling softly under his weight. He climbed slowly at first, trying to focus on each movement, trying to drown out the thudding of his heart. Behind him, Lando was already a few steps ahead, moving with a fluidity that seemed natural to him. Lando’s quiet chuckle reached his ears, and Oscar could practically feel the boy’s infectious enthusiasm.
“You’re doing great, mate,” Lando said in a hushed tone, glancing down to give Oscar an encouraging smile.
Oscar muttered something under his breath, feeling a blush creep up his neck at the compliment. He didn’t feel great; he felt like a burglar trying not to make noise. But something about Lando’s excitement made it feel like they were sharing some secret only they knew.
They reached the top of the building, and Lando immediately scrambled onto the rooftop, pulling himself up over the edge and onto solid ground. Oscar hesitated before following, his fingers gripping the final rung tightly as he swung his leg over the edge, finally hauling himself onto the roof.
Oscar paused for a moment, his breath coming out in small puffs. It was dizzying being up this high, the world below them shrinking into tiny shapes. The city was a sprawling mess of lights and sounds, but here, it felt like they were in a world all their own.
Lando was already grinning, running over to the edge of the roof, looking down at the streets below. His eyes shone with excitement, his energy already soaring. “See? Totally worth it.”
Oscar couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling a little breathless himself. He walked toward Lando, his footsteps careful on the gravel of the rooftop. The city stretched out before them, and he could see the stars faintly twinkling above, as though they, too, were part of the secret.
Lando dropped a small blanket onto the ground, and with a flourish, unpacked a bag of snacks he had brought. “Picnic on the rooftop. Who needs a restaurant when you’ve got this?”
Oscar laughed quietly, but his eyes softened. There was something so carefree, so easy about this moment. “You’re crazy.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun, isn’t it?”
Oscar hesitated for a second, looking out over the city, before he gave in to the lightness in the air. They sat together on the blanket, sharing the small picnic that was nothing extraordinary—just a couple of sandwiches and some fruit—but to them, it was perfect. They talked about everything and nothing, their voices low as they whispered and giggled about silly things. Lando would bounce between topics, from school to the latest movie he had seen to an offhand joke about one of their classmates, while Oscar would respond with quiet chuckles, occasionally offering a short remark of his own. Neither of them felt the need for anything more than this.
It was moments like these that made Oscar forget all the reasons he shouldn’t be there. The rules that normally guided his life—his need for control, for order—seemed so distant up here, in the hush of the rooftop and the vast sky above them. All of that faded, and for once, he didn’t have to think about anything except the thrill of the night and the presence of the person sitting beside him.
After a while, they lay back on the blanket, the cool night air brushing against their faces as they stared up at the stars. Lando was still full of energy, still full of the giddy buzz of doing something that felt both reckless and freeing. But Oscar, for once, didn’t mind. He let the moment stretch out between them, peaceful in a way that felt strangely new.
“You know,” Lando said after a long pause, breaking the comfortable silence, “this is probably the best decision I’ve made in ages.”
Oscar let out a soft laugh, glancing at his friend with a smile. “If you say so.”
Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark. “Trust me, you’ll agree when we watch the sunrise.”
Oscar gave him a look, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Are we really doing that?”
Lando’s grin only grew. “Of course. It’ll be worth it.”
Oscar sighed but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. There was something about Lando’s energy that was contagious, and as much as he had protested, he knew he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
As the night stretched on, and they settled into the calm of the rooftop, the hours slipping by unnoticed, Oscar couldn’t help but feel that this was one of those moments that would stick with him—one of those memories that would stand out in the clutter of his life. Because even though the world was chaotic and filled with rules and responsibilities, there were still moments like this—quiet, secret moments where everything felt right, even if just for a while.
“You know,” Oscar said after a while, his voice soft, “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like this before.”
Lando grinned, tossing a piece of sandwich into his mouth. “Exactly. And it’s awesome, right?”
Oscar’s gaze met his for a second, a fleeting moment of shared understanding, before he looked back at the horizon. There was something about that night, something about the way the city shimmered in the distance and the stars above, that made the world feel bigger than it ever had. It was a small adventure, but it was theirs.
And he knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much they changed, this was something they would both remember. The night they snuck away from the world together, the rooftop picnic, and the giddy excitement that came from just being in the moment.
As the weeks went by, the distance between Lando and Oscar only grew, not in any explosive way, but like the tide slowly pulling away from the shore, leaving a space that was increasingly harder to cross. It wasn’t anything that either of them had spoken about or acknowledged outright—it was more like an unspoken agreement that they were both aware of but too unsure to address. They didn’t confront the growing gap between them, didn’t question the silence that fell between their sporadic texts and half-hearted hangouts. They simply let it happen.
Lando still texted occasionally—short, casual messages about something that had caught his eye or a meme that reminded him of Oscar’s dry sense of humor. But each reply from Oscar felt more distant, less eager. It was the kind of reply that you’d expect from someone who’s just trying to be polite, but not really engaged. It wasn’t rude, it was just… absent. Oscar’s answers were more about the facts—“Yeah, I saw that,” or “That’s interesting”—than they were about anything personal.
Lando didn’t know how to fix it. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. There was no argument, no fallout, nothing dramatic enough to mark the shift. But it was there. A subtle undercurrent that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. He kept making excuses, telling himself that it was just the pressures of school, of growing up, of life getting busier. But deep down, he couldn’t ignore the growing ache of feeling left behind, like he was the only one still holding on to the way things used to be.
Oscar, for his part, felt the distance too, though he kept it quiet. He noticed how the texts from Lando were becoming more sporadic, the spontaneous hangouts rarer. The few times they did cross paths at school, the conversation was stilted, like they were strangers who didn’t know what to say to each other anymore. But Oscar never pushed it. He didn’t bring it up, didn’t try to close the gap. Part of him still clung to the comfort of their friendship, to the way Lando always made him laugh, to the ease of their old routines. But another part of him, the part that had started to retreat into the quiet corners of his life, was okay with the space. Maybe even relieved. It was easier to focus on his music, on the comfort of his own thoughts, than it was to try to find a way to rekindle something that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
They stopped making plans to hang out. Lando would text and ask if Oscar wanted to grab lunch or go to a game, but more often than not, Oscar would say he was busy or didn’t feel like it. Sometimes, Lando would suggest a last-minute hangout, but the days seemed to pass faster than they could keep up with. It wasn’t out of malice—it was just the slow drift of life, of changing priorities, and of people quietly finding new rhythms without each other.
Oscar started spending more time in the music room, practicing guitar and writing songs that were far less about the people around him and more about the quiet parts of himself that no one ever saw. Lando, on the other hand, filled his time with new friends, diving deeper into his social circles. He joined new clubs, attended more parties, and did everything he could to keep his mind off the creeping feeling that something had shifted. But whenever he did have a quiet moment, the thoughts of Oscar would sneak in—those late-night talks, the endless hours spent at the park, the times they stayed up watching movies on the couch, laughing over the stupidest things. It was a loneliness Lando didn’t want to acknowledge, but it lingered in the background of everything he did.
Even at school, their paths crossed only occasionally, often in the hallways or when they were assigned to group work. They’d exchange a brief smile, a quick “Hey” before the conversation dissolved into nothingness. It wasn’t that they didn’t care anymore; it was that they had both become so accustomed to the space between them that neither of them knew how to fill it.
It was the silence that got to Lando the most. Not the absence of Oscar physically, but the lack of communication, the lack of any attempt to close the gap. He wanted to ask Oscar if something had changed, if he had done something wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. There was too much unsaid, too much left to interpretation, and so Lando pushed the thoughts aside. After all, maybe it was just part of growing up. Maybe it was just one of those things that happened when life pulled people in different directions.
Oscar, too, felt the tension, but he buried it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Lando, but he wasn’t sure where to begin. The last time they’d hung out, there had been an unspoken shift, an awkwardness that neither of them had addressed. He missed his friend, but he wasn’t sure how to fix what had happened—or if it even needed fixing. Maybe they had outgrown each other, maybe it was just a phase. In his quieter moments, when he allowed himself to reflect, he wondered if Lando even still cared. The thought didn’t linger long, though, because Oscar didn’t want to face the possibility of it being true.
Neither of them knew how to bridge the divide. Instead, they let it grow, each day a little more distant than the last, until it seemed like too much time had passed to go back. The gap between them wasn’t just the result of their changing lives; it was the weight of all the moments they didn’t share, the quiet decisions to not call, not reach out, not try. They both understood, in the back of their minds, that they were drifting—faster and faster—but neither had the courage to do anything about it.
And so, they continued to drift, each day feeling just a little more distant than the one before, but neither of them willing to confront the silence. Not yet. Not until it was too late.
It was an unexpected turn of events that led to their reconnection. A group project, of all things. Lando had always been one to participate in group work with enthusiasm, but this time it wasn’t just his usual knack for making things more energetic—it was Oscar who had been assigned to the same project. Their paths hadn’t crossed in months, and while neither of them had forgotten the other, they hadn’t exactly been trying to rebuild any bridges either.
When Oscar walked into the library to find Lando sitting at a table, laughing about something with a friend, there was a brief pause. Oscar stood at the entrance for a moment, unsure whether to approach. The tension that had built up between them since high school still lingered in the air, thick and uncomfortable. But then Lando saw him, his face lighting up with a grin that was familiar and immediate. No hesitation. Just the way he used to be.
“Oi, Oscar!” Lando waved, motioning for him to come over. There was a warmth to his voice, like nothing had changed. “You actually showed up. I thought I’d have to do all the work by myself.”
Lando was still the same—always loud, always brimming with ideas and energy. He’d crack jokes during their work sessions, leaning back in his chair with a grin that Oscar found both irritating and endearing. Oscar was quieter, still reserved, but he began opening up bit by bit. The silences between them were less awkward now, more like a language of their own.
It was different, though. They weren’t the same kids they’d been back in middle school. There was something underlying their interactions now, a kind of tension neither of them knew how to name. When Lando leaned too close to look at Oscar’s notes, or when Oscar would glance at Lando’s hands tapping against the desk, it felt… charged. It wasn’t friendship—not entirely—but neither of them dared to acknowledge it.
Then came the camping trip. It was organized by their school, a chance for students to “connect with nature” and “build camaraderie” or something equally contrived. Neither of them had planned on going, but somehow, they both ended up there. Lando had been coerced by his friends, and Oscar had been nudged into it by one of his teachers, who insisted it would be “a good experience.”
When they arrived at the campsite, the group was told to pair up for tents. Lando immediately looked over at Oscar, raising an eyebrow as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“You and me, yeah?” Lando said casually, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.
Oscar hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
The first day passed without incident—hiking trails, setting up their tent, sitting around the fire with everyone else. It was easy to fall back into a rhythm with Lando, though Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brewing between them. He caught himself watching Lando too often: the way his laugh echoed through the trees, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was focused on something. He looked away every time, but the feeling lingered.
That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Lando and Oscar found themselves still awake in their tent. The sounds of the forest surrounded them, and the glow of their flashlight cast strange shadows on the canvas walls.
“Do you remember that time we sneaked onto that building to watch the sunrise?” Lando asked suddenly, his voice soft.
Oscar smiled faintly. “Yeah. You nearly broke your neck climbing up.”
“Worth it,” Lando said with a grin. “You were so mad at me.”
“You didn’t tell me we weren’t supposed to be there,” Oscar pointed out, but there was no heat in his voice.
Lando shrugged. “Details. It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah, it was.”
The conversation drifted after that, their voices growing quieter as the night wore on. It was only when Lando spoke again that the air between them shifted.
“You ever think about how much things have changed?” Lando asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Like, we’re not even the same people we were back then.”
Oscar turned his head to look at him, his expression thoughtful. “I think about it a lot,” he admitted. “But I don’t think we’ve changed that much. Not where it matters.”
Lando’s gaze lingered on him, something unspoken passing between them. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke, but the silence felt heavy, like it was filled with all the things they weren’t saying.
Then Lando smiled, breaking the tension. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”
Oscar rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “You asked.”
The moment passed, but it left a crack in the carefully constructed walls they’d both built around their feelings.
The next day, they worked together seamlessly—cooking breakfast, packing up their gear, navigating the trails. There was a strange kind of ease between them, but it was undercut by something neither of them could quite name. When Lando brushed against Oscar while passing him a water bottle, or when their eyes met across the campfire that night, it felt… different. It wasn’t just friendship anymore, and they both knew it, even if they couldn’t admit it.
The final night of the trip, the dam broke. They were sitting outside their tent, the stars stretching endlessly above them. Lando had been quieter than usual, and Oscar couldn’t help but notice.
“What’s on your mind?” Oscar asked, his voice low.
Lando glanced at him, then back up at the sky. “Just… us,” he said after a moment. “How we ended up here. How we almost didn’t.”
Oscar’s chest tightened, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. “I didn’t want us to end, either,” he admitted quietly. “But I didn’t know how to fix it.”
Lando turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “Do you think we’re still broken?”
Oscar met his gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I think… I think we’re getting there.”
Lando’s smile was small but genuine. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”
And then, without thinking, without planning, Lando leaned in. The kiss was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but it quickly deepened, years of unspoken feelings pouring into that one moment. When they pulled away, neither of them spoke for a long time. They didn’t need to.
Eventually, Lando broke the silence. “Are you in love with me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oscar’s breath hitched, but he shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “But I love you. I could fall in love with you. I want to find out.”
Lando’s smile was soft, almost shy. “I think I’d like that,” he said quietly.
And just like that, their relationship shifted again—into something new, something uncertain, but something that felt undeniably right.
The weeks after the camp felt like the quiet after a storm—calm, but charged with something unspoken. They texted more, lingering on conversations longer than they needed to. Weekend hangouts became routine again, slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of their friendship. But it wasn’t the same, not entirely.
There were moments Lando caught himself watching Oscar a little too long, wondering if he was the only one who felt the air crackle between them. Moments when Oscar’s words would falter mid-sentence, his gaze flicking away like he didn’t trust himself to look at Lando for too long.
They didn’t talk about the kiss at the camp. Not once. But it lingered, invisible yet palpable, like a bruise that didn’t hurt but refused to fade.
Except they did it again.
It was raining when it happened the first time. Lando had been driving Oscar home from another one of their impromptu meetups, the storm outside relentless, the wipers barely keeping up with the downpour. Oscar sat in the passenger seat, his phone casting a soft glow on his face as he scrolled through something.
“You okay over there?” Lando asked, half-teasing, half-genuine, as he glanced at him.
Oscar nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”
The car slowed as they hit a red light, the rain hammering against the roof like it was trying to break in. Lando turned to Oscar then, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. “Tired from what? You barely left the house today.”
Oscar finally looked up, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Tired of you talking so much.”
It was a joke, but Lando caught something in his tone—something softer, more vulnerable. He opened his mouth to fire back with something sarcastic, but the words never came.
Instead, he leaned over.
He didn’t know why he did it, didn’t think it through, but before he could stop himself, his lips were on Oscar’s. It was clumsy, rushed, their noses bumping as Oscar froze for half a second before kissing back. The rain outside blurred the world into nothingness, the car their only haven. Lando’s hand found Oscar’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his cheek, and for a moment, it felt like the storm had moved inside the car, lightning striking with every touch.
They pulled apart when the light turned green, breathless and wide-eyed, neither of them saying a word as Lando hit the gas, his heart pounding louder than the rain.
The second time was quieter.
They’d been in Lando’s room late at night, working on a project that neither of them could focus on. Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a textbook, while Lando lay sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his laptop. The only light came from the screen, casting soft blues that softened the sharp edges of the room.
“I don’t think I can look at another diagram,” Oscar muttered, closing the book with a thud.
“Finally,” Lando said, shutting his laptop and rolling onto his side to face Oscar. “I thought you’d never give up.”
Oscar shot him a mock glare, but there was no bite to it. He shifted, leaning back on his hands, and Lando felt it again—that pull, that magnetic force that seemed to have a mind of its own.
This time, when he leaned forward, Oscar didn’t freeze. He met him halfway, their lips pressing together in a way that felt slower, more deliberate. The glow from the screen painted them in shifting shades of blue, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. Lando’s hand brushed against Oscar’s knee, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down his spine.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them spoke. Oscar looked down, his lips quirking into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Nothing,” he murmured, more to himself than to Lando.
“Yeah,” Lando echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing.”
But every time, it felt like everything.
And the thing about summer tides is they recede.
The weight of those moments stayed with Lando as the days slipped by, as the end of summer loomed closer. The kisses became memories he carried quietly, tucked into the corners of his mind, where he couldn’t decide if they were meant to be cherished or forgotten.
The announcement came in the form of a casual remark during one of their quiet evenings together. They were at Lando’s house, sprawled across his living room couch. The TV was on, playing some random sitcom neither of them was paying attention to. Oscar had a mug of tea balanced on the armrest, and Lando was fiddling with the loose thread on a pillow.
“I got the scholarship,” Oscar said suddenly, his voice so soft that Lando almost didn’t catch it over the canned laughter from the TV.
Lando froze mid-pull, his fingers tightening around the thread. He didn’t look at Oscar right away, didn’t trust himself to keep his expression neutral. “Oh,” he said after a beat, his voice light and airy. “That’s great.”
Oscar nodded, setting his mug down carefully. “Yeah, it’s—uh—it’s with that big firm. You know, the one I mentioned a while ago.” He was fidgeting, his hands restless in his lap. “It’s a good opportunity.”
“Of course it is,” Lando replied, forcing a grin as he turned to face him. “You’d be stupid not to take it.”
Oscar smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s in Sydney,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
There it was. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unyielding. Sydney wasn’t just far—it was oceans away. A whole different time zone, a whole different world.
“Oh,” Lando said again, his grin faltering. He tried to recover, to mask the sudden tightness in his chest. “Well, I mean… that’s cool. I hear Sydney’s nice this time of year.”
Oscar huffed out a laugh, but it was strained. “Yeah. It’s nice.”
Neither of them said anything after that. The TV droned on in the background, the laughter track a hollow echo against the silence that had settled between them. Lando could feel the words bubbling up in his throat—the questions, the protests, the things he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to.
When are you leaving? How long will you be gone? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
But instead, he just nodded and leaned back against the couch, staring at the TV without really seeing it. “You’ll be great,” he said finally, his voice quiet.
Oscar glanced at him, his gaze searching. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Thanks.”
The goodbye itself was quieter than Lando had imagined it would be. Oscar was leaving early in the morning, and Lando had offered to drive him to the airport, but Oscar had waved him off. “It’s fine,” he’d said. “My dad’s got it covered.”
So Lando showed up at Oscar’s house the night before, unannounced as always. He knocked twice and pushed the door open, finding Oscar in his room, surrounded by half-packed bags and a pile of clothes on the bed.
“Hey,” Lando said, leaning against the doorframe.
Oscar looked up, surprised. “Hey.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Lando stepped inside, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Figured I’d stop by before you left.”
Oscar nodded, gesturing for him to sit. Lando perched on the edge of the bed, watching as Oscar folded a shirt and added it to one of the bags.
“So… Sydney,” Lando said, trying to keep his tone light. “Big move.”
“Yeah,” Oscar replied, his voice clipped. “Big move.”
They fell into a familiar rhythm of banter and small talk, avoiding the subject that loomed over them. But as the night wore on and the room grew quieter, the weight of it became impossible to ignore.
“I’m gonna miss you, you know,” Lando said finally, his voice soft.
Oscar looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he said after a pause. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
They didn’t hug. They didn’t say much else. When Lando left, Oscar walked him to the door, and they stood there for a moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them.
“Good luck,” Lando said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, forcing a grin. “Not that you’ll need it.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
And that was it. Lando walked away, the click of the door behind him feeling far too final. He didn’t look back.
The morning Oscar left, Lando sat in his car outside the coffee shop they used to go to, staring at his phone. He thought about calling, about texting, about saying something—anything.
But he didn’t.
Life went on, as it does. Lando buried the ache under the noise of university life, then work. He threw himself into the whirlwind of deadlines, new friendships, and the steady rhythm of adulthood, each day carefully structured to leave little room for reflection. Somewhere along the way, he met someone—a kind, stable presence who didn’t leave him guessing. Their relationship was easy, predictable, and warm, the kind of connection Lando had convinced himself he needed. It felt like something he could hold onto without fear of it slipping through his fingers, and on most days, it was enough.
But Oscar’s name became a whisper in his mind, a shadow that lingered in unexpected moments. It wasn’t constant—more like an old scar that ached when the weather changed. He thought of him when he passed a chessboard in a park and caught the faint sound of wood pieces clicking against each other. When the sky turned bruised with storm clouds, or when a sunset streaked orange and pink across the horizon, he’d find himself frozen, staring at the colors like they carried a secret only he and Oscar had shared.
Sometimes, it was worse. The whisper turned into a sharp pang when mutual acquaintances mentioned him, always so casually, like Oscar didn’t still live in a corner of Lando’s heart.
“Did you hear? Oscar’s doing well,” one of their old friends mentioned over drinks one evening, swirling their glass as though they weren’t shattering Lando’s fragile calm. “He’s got someone now. Quiet relationship, very private, but they seem happy.”
Lando nodded, smiling politely, even as the words settled into his chest like a stone. Quiet. Private. Happy. It was everything their relationship had never been—chaotic and unspoken, a blur of crossed lines and missed opportunities.
He avoided looking up Oscar on social media. It felt too raw, too invasive, to see the carefully curated version of a life that once felt inseparable from his own. Yet, sometimes, in the dead of night, when the quiet pressed in too closely, his fingers would hover over the search bar. His heart would thud in his chest as if it could sense the questions he wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Was he happy? Did he ever think about Lando? Did he regret the way things had unraveled—or the way they hadn’t?
Lando’s own relationship was good, solid, everything it was supposed to be. They understood each other, respected each other, moved through life with a rhythm that felt steady. But there were moments—fleeting, insistent—when he felt the weight of what was missing.
Some days, the stability and warmth were enough. He’d hold his partner’s hand and feel grounded, like he could finally breathe. On those days, he told himself he had what he wanted: someone dependable, someone who loved him in a quiet, uncomplicated way. But other days, he’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and wonder if he’d settled for something safe because he was too afraid to chase something real.
Oscar had never been safe. Their time together had been wild and unpredictable, a mess of stolen kisses and moments that teetered on the edge of chaos. But it had also been alive in a way nothing else had ever been. Lando hated how his mind would wander back to it, to Oscar’s smile, the way he laughed under his breath, the way his touch lingered like it meant more than it should.
It wasn’t fair—to his partner, to himself—but the memories still clung to him, sharp and vivid. The nights on the rooftop, the car rides with rain pounding against the windows, the way their hands had found each other without thinking.
Nothing else ever felt quite like that. Nothing else ever felt quite like Oscar.
Lando’s decision to move to Sydney had come with the same kind of quiet inevitability that he’d felt for the past few months. It had started as an opportunity for work—an enticing offer, a chance to leave behind the stagnation of his life back home and carve out something new. He had always been someone to seek out new challenges, new places, new faces. Sydney was a city brimming with promise, with the pulse of ambition in the air, and Lando knew that he needed it.
But there was something else too, something unspoken that had weighed on him since the moment the offer came through. Oscar.
Lando didn’t say it out loud—he wasn’t even fully aware of it at first. But he knew, deep down, that the decision wasn’t just about the job. The offer to move to Sydney was a chance to escape, yes, but it was also an opportunity to be closer to Oscar. Or at least to the idea of him.
When he broke the news to his partner, she had been understanding. They had been drifting for a while now, the relationship stretched thin by the distance that neither of them was ready to address. The breakup wasn’t messy, but it left a sting in its wake, one that Lando wasn’t sure how to reconcile.
“I get it,” she had said quietly. “We were never forever, were we?”
Lando hadn’t answered, but the truth had sat between them, heavy and unavoidable. Maybe it had always been easier to settle for what was comfortable, to let himself believe that their connection could fill the space that Oscar had once occupied. But in the end, Lando knew. He wasn’t with her because of the deep connection they shared; he was with her because it was safer. She was kind, predictable, and stable. Everything Oscar wasn’t.
But as he packed up his life for Sydney, the reality hit him: he was leaving not just for the job, not just for the city, but in some strange, almost desperate hope that being closer to Oscar might mean something. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to see if he could fix whatever had been left broken between them.
It was a feeling he couldn’t shake. Was he kidding himself? Had he made the move for his career, or was it just another way to find himself near Oscar again? And if so, why? What was it about him that still, after all this time, held such a pull?
The guilt hit him harder than he expected when he first arrived in Sydney. There he was, standing on the balcony of his new apartment, the skyline sprawling before him, and yet the only thing he could think of was Oscar. The decision didn’t feel like a clean break—it felt like an escape, a chance to get away from the past but also to confront it.
But was it fair? To both of them? To himself?
Days blended into weeks, and Lando threw himself into work, into the bustle of a new life. His job at the marketing firm was everything he’d hoped it would be—fast-paced, challenging, exciting. Sydney was as vibrant as the brochures promised, and he tried to lose himself in it. But still, Oscar lingered in the corners of his mind, popping up in unexpected places: when he saw a familiar street corner, or when the weather turned cold and rainy, like those days they’d spent together back home.
He tried not to think about it. About the nights they had shared, the unspoken bond that still hummed beneath the surface. He tried to push the thought of Oscar down, tried to convince himself that his move to Sydney was entirely about work, that he was just carving out his own future.
But then the truth slipped through the cracks. Every now and then, he’d find himself idly checking social media, searching for a glimpse of Oscar. He’d catch snippets of his life—the smile in a photo, a post about a new project—and the ache would come flooding back. It wasn’t even jealousy, not exactly. It was more like a longing, like he had missed a piece of himself that Oscar used to fill.
Oscar had been there—his constant, even when things were messy, even when they had never really figured things out. Now, Lando was here, and Oscar was still there, living his life, far too far away to reach.
Lando didn’t even know what he wanted. Did he want to rekindle what they’d lost? Or was he simply chasing something that was always meant to be unfinished?
His new life was good, it was comfortable, it had a certain warmth to it. The relationships he formed in Sydney were pleasant, even if they felt slightly hollow at times. They understood each other, they laughed together, they made plans. But there was something missing. It wasn’t fair to compare them to Oscar, but sometimes, in the quiet moments, it was impossible not to.
And yet, Lando couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he had made the wrong choice. Or worse, that he had made it for the wrong reasons.
Had he really come to Sydney for the job, or had he come here because Oscar was still a part of him—an unresolved chapter that he was never really willing to close?
The ache wasn’t just about missing someone. It was about missing a connection that, for better or worse, had shaped who he was. A connection that had slipped through his fingers, leaving him to wonder if he could ever get it back.
And all the while, he pretended he didn’t know the answer.
In theory, Lando knew that he would meet Oscar again. After all, Sydney wasn’t that big of a city. However, it still took Lando by surprise. He never thought that the universe would bring him and Oscar back together in the most ordinary way possible, and yet here they were, in a bustling conference room filled with the hum of professionals, strangers colliding in an orchestrated chaos. Sydney’s skyline stretched beyond the windows, gleaming in the afternoon light, but none of it seemed to matter in that moment.
He was standing by the buffet table, his plate full of hors d’oeuvres he’d mostly ignored, eyes scanning the room absently as his mind wandered—until it stopped, completely still, when he saw him.
Oscar.
It hit him like a punch to the gut. That wave of recognition, that shock of familiarity that both disoriented and anchored him at the same time. Oscar stood across the room, a glass of water held casually in one hand, engaged in conversation with someone Lando didn’t recognize. He looked the same—polished, composed, the years not having done much to change him. The tailored suit, the precise way he spoke, everything about him exuded that quiet confidence Lando had once known so well.
Lando froze for a split second, his heart leaping into his throat before settling back into a hard knot in his chest. The world around him seemed to fade, the laughter and chatter of the event blurring into white noise. It was just Oscar now. After all this time, all the distance, all the months and years of avoiding thoughts of him, here he was—within arm’s reach.
Oscar hadn’t noticed him yet. Lando had a choice to make: he could turn around, pretend he hadn’t seen him, keep his distance and avoid the inevitable awkwardness of confronting the past. But Lando knew better. Even without speaking, something about the pull of Oscar, the gravity between them, would have made the decision for him.
“Oscar?”
Oscar’s gaze flickered toward him, and for a brief moment, his eyes were unreadable—neutral, a blank slate that Lando couldn’t read. But then, slowly, the corners of Oscar’s mouth curled into a smile. A small, hesitant thing, but enough to make Lando’s heart skip a beat.
“Lando,” Oscar said, the weight of his name coming out almost as a quiet exhale, as if the sound of it after so long had taken him by surprise. Lando watched as Oscar took a step forward, his hand instinctively reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt, the gesture so familiar, so Oscar, that it sent a rush of memories flooding back.
They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, two people who had once known each other in a way that no one else could understand. The space between them felt impossibly vast, yet in another way, it felt like nothing had changed at all. Time had passed, their lives had shifted in different directions, but they were still here, facing each other after all this time.
“What are you doing here?” Lando asked, his voice sounding breathless, though he hadn’t intended it to.
Oscar, ever composed, shrugged slightly, his expression softening. “Panel speaker,” he said, lifting the sleek portfolio in his hand, almost as if it were a token, a shield he was holding onto. “You?”
“Work,” Lando answered, though it sounded less certain to him now. His mind was racing, running through a million thoughts. He was supposed to be here for a business deal, for the firm. But standing in front of Oscar again, everything felt different. Everything felt… inevitable.
Oscar nodded, the barest of smiles still lingering on his lips. His eyes darted briefly over Lando’s face, as if memorizing every feature, every line, every shift in expression. Lando couldn’t help but feel the weight of that gaze, the way Oscar’s eyes seemed to hold so many unspoken words.
“It’s been a while,” Oscar said, his voice quiet but thick with meaning.
“Yeah,” Lando replied, his throat suddenly tight. “It has.”
There was an uncomfortable silence between them, the kind that wasn’t born of animosity, but of years spent apart, and the uncertainty of what they were now. But despite the tension, it wasn’t the awkward kind. It was more like the space they’d left open between them had only grown larger in the time they’d been apart, and now they were standing at the edge of it, unsure if it was still okay to cross back over.
“You look… good,” Lando finally said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He winced inwardly, wishing he could take it back, but Oscar simply chuckled, that soft, familiar sound that Lando had missed more than he’d realized.
“Thanks,” Oscar replied. “So do you.” There was a pause, and then, a flicker of something in his eyes that Lando couldn’t quite place. It was brief, but it was there—something that felt too heavy to be ignored.
And then, they fell into conversation, as easily as they once had. They talked about work—about the panel, about the things that had changed in their industries—and for a while, it felt like no time had passed at all. The initial awkwardness melted away, and they were just… them again.
But it wasn’t all normal. Not entirely. There were moments where their eyes met for a second too long, where their voices faltered for a split second, where something unspoken passed between them. It wasn’t anything overt—nothing obvious—but it was there, thick in the air, like the static before a storm.
By the end of the evening, when the event was winding down and people began trickling out, Lando found himself alone with Oscar again, standing near the door. Neither of them had mentioned the past directly, neither had said the words they both knew were hanging just out of reach. But the tension was palpable, thicker now, and Lando realized that he didn’t want to walk away without saying something.
So, as the crowd thinned, he pulled his phone from his pocket and hesitated for a second, before holding it out toward Oscar. “Can I… get your number?”
Oscar hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Of course.”
And just like that, after everything—after the distance, the years, the silence—Oscar’s number was back in Lando’s phone, like it had never left.
For a moment, Lando thought that maybe, just maybe, this was where everything would begin again.
It was Lando who cracked first.
The urge had been gnawing at him for days, ever since the conference. He tried to push it down, to focus on work or anything else, but Oscar’s voice—soft, measured, familiar—kept replaying in his mind. Finally, late on a quiet Saturday night, he gave in.
His thumb hovered over Oscar’s name in his contacts. He hesitated for a second longer before pressing the call button. The ringing felt like a countdown, his heart hammering as he waited.
When the line clicked, there was a moment of silence before Oscar’s voice came through, groggy but alert. “Hello? Who’s this?”
Lando froze. He had imagined this moment going a hundred different ways, but now that it was happening, words failed him. Instead, he let out a shaky breath, the sound unmistakable through the receiver.
“…Lando?” Oscar’s voice softened, tentative.
“Yeah,” Lando said finally, his voice quiet. “It’s me.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Oscar exhaled, a small, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. “Didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well,” Lando muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t really plan this. Just… kind of happened.”
Oscar chuckled softly. “Sounds like you.”
They fell into an easy rhythm, their conversation light and unforced, as though no time had passed. Lando asked about Oscar’s job, and Oscar returned the question, both of them skirting anything too personal at first. But as the minutes ticked by, the conversation edged closer to the things they’d been avoiding.
“So,” Oscar started carefully, “you still with… what was her name?”
Lando hesitated, the question catching him off guard. “No,” he said finally. “We broke up a while ago.”
Oscar hummed in acknowledgment. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay,” Lando said, though his voice was distant. “She… she was great, but it just wasn’t—” He stopped himself, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“Wasn’t it?” Oscar offered gently.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
There was a pause before Lando found the courage to ask, “What about you? Are you still, uh…?”
Oscar’s laugh was soft but tinged with something unreadable. “No. That ended too. A couple of months ago, actually.”
Lando let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said, his voice light, almost teasing. “Guess we’re both single now.”
“Guess so,” Lando replied, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest.
The conversation drifted back to safer topics after that, both of them steering away from the undercurrent of unspoken things. They talked about Sydney, about the places they’d been and the ones they still wanted to visit. Lando told Oscar about a café he’d found near the beach, and Oscar promised to try it sometime.
He didn’t plan on saying much when he called, certainly not the things that had been clawing at the edges of his mind since the conference. But here he was, lying on his bed with the phone pressed to his ear, staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they held all the answers he couldn’t find.
Oscar’s voice was soft, drowsy, but still steady as they talked. The rhythm of their conversation felt like a familiar song—easy, nostalgic, almost comforting. They’d covered the basics: work, life, the funny quirks of living in Sydney. But as the minutes slipped into hours, the gaps between words stretched longer, the quiet between them heavier.
At some point, Oscar’s responses had started to fade, growing shorter and softer until they were just faint hums of acknowledgment.
“You still there?” Lando asked quietly, his own voice tinged with exhaustion.
A soft murmur came through the line, something unintelligible, followed by a faint shuffle—Oscar shifting, maybe. Then silence.
Lando stayed on the line, waiting, but the steady rhythm of Oscar’s breathing told him everything he needed to know. He was asleep.
He should have hung up. It was the polite thing to do, the normal thing. But instead, Lando stayed, the silence on the other end somehow more comforting than the silence in his own head.
He let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on the phone. “God, Oscar,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”
He laughed quietly, the sound bitter and soft. “I thought this would help, you know? Moving here, starting over. But I’m still just… stuck. Stuck in the same damn loop, thinking about you. About us.”
The words came easier now, like they’d been waiting for this moment.
“Do you even think about it?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t messed it all up? If we’d just—if I’d just…” He trailed off, swallowing hard.
His free hand pressed against his forehead as he exhaled slowly. “I’m such an idiot,” he muttered. “Calling you like this, pretending it’s fine. Like I don’t feel like my chest’s about to cave in every time I hear your voice.”
Lando let the silence linger for a moment, as if the words might dissipate if he didn’t give them space. But they didn’t. They hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting.
“I don’t even know why I’m saying this,” he admitted softly. “You’re probably out cold, and it’s not like it’d change anything if you weren’t.”
Another quiet laugh, this one tinged with something closer to despair. “But I miss you, Oscar. God, I miss you so much, and it’s so stupid, isn’t it? Because I don’t even know if I have the right to anymore.”
For a while, there was nothing but the sound of Oscar’s steady breathing through the line, and Lando let it fill the emptiness in his chest.
When he finally worked up the nerve to say one last thing, his voice was barely a whisper. “I wish I could tell you all of this when you’re awake. But I’m scared, Oscar. Scared of what you’d say. Scared of what I’d do if you said what I think you’d say.”
He waited for a moment, his heart pounding as if it expected a response. But there was nothing.
“Goodnight, Oscar,” Lando murmured finally, his voice breaking on the last syllable.
He ended the call, staring at the phone in his hand like it might give him some sort of closure. But all he felt was the weight of everything unsaid and the terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, Oscar had heard enough to remember.
The next morning, Oscar texted him.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you last night. Guess I was more tired than I thought. What were you saying?”
Lando stared at the message, his chest tightening. He typed out a reply, fingers trembling slightly.
“Nothing important,” he sent back.
And that was the lie he told them both.
Lando tried to push it aside, the words he’d spilled into the silence of the night. He convinced himself it was for the best—Oscar didn’t need to know, and he certainly didn’t need to hear it. What good would it do? They were here now, speaking in careful sentences that tiptoed around the weight of their history. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was all it could ever be.
Except it wasn’t. Not for Lando.
The days passed, and they fell into a strange rhythm, texting here and there, sometimes grabbing coffee or lunch when their schedules allowed it. It was casual, friendly—almost too friendly. But the tension lingered beneath every interaction, a current they both seemed to feel but refused to acknowledge.
Oscar hadn’t brought up the call, and Lando didn’t dare. He buried it, as he always did, focusing instead on the surface-level conversations they shared. Oscar’s work, Lando’s projects, the city itself—it was easy to talk about everything and nothing at all. But every time their eyes met, Lando felt the same pang of longing that had followed him like a shadow since the night he left.
One afternoon, they found themselves at a small café tucked away in a quiet corner of Sydney. It wasn’t planned—Oscar had texted him about a free hour between meetings, and Lando had agreed without thinking.
The café was cozy, with soft lighting and the hum of quiet conversation. They sat by the window, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the table. Lando stirred his coffee absently, glancing up at Oscar, who was scrolling through something on his phone.
“Busy day?” Lando asked, his voice casual.
Oscar looked up, offering a faint smile. “Always. But it’s good. Keeps me out of trouble.”
Lando chuckled softly, though the comment stung in a way he couldn’t quite place. “Not sure I’d call you the trouble-making type.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “You’d be surprised.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. The casual ease of the conversation gave way to something heavier, something unspoken.
Oscar broke the gaze first, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why Sydney? I mean, you could’ve gone anywhere.”
Lando froze, his hand stilling over the coffee cup. His breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside the window seemed to blur, as though the question itself had shifted the axis of his carefully constructed reality.
Oscar’s gaze was steady, curious but not accusing, like it was just a normal question between two old friends. But Lando could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the truth tangled somewhere between his ribs.
“Uh,” Lando started, trying to buy himself a second to think. He forced a laugh that sounded too thin, too forced, even to his own ears. “You know, work. Got offered a decent position here, and I thought, why not?”
Oscar tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s it? You just… thought, why not?”
“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, nodding too fast. “Fresh start and all that. New city, new opportunities. You know how it is.”
Oscar didn’t reply immediately, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as if he were trying to see through the cracks in Lando’s words. But after a moment, he just gave a small nod, leaning forward to take a sip of his coffee.
Lando let out a silent breath, but the relief was short-lived. The truth lingered, clawing at the edges of his thoughts. He had moved to Sydney for work—technically. But that wasn’t why. Not really.
Because the second he’d remembered Oscar was here, something in him had shifted. It was like an invisible thread had pulled him across the world, as if he’d been chasing something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find.
And now here they were, sitting across from each other like they hadn’t spent years tangled up in a mess of almosts and never agains.
Lando felt his chest tighten, the air around him suddenly too heavy. Was he here because of Oscar? Had he uprooted his entire life for the faint, unspoken hope of this—of sitting across from him in a café, pretending they were just two people catching up over coffee?
He hated how the answer hovered so close to the surface, raw and undeniable. Yes. Yes, he had come here for Oscar. For the idea of something unfinished, something unresolved, something he hadn’t been able to let go of even after all these years.
“Lando?”
Oscar’s voice jolted him out of his spiraling thoughts. He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at the table, his hand still gripping the coffee cup like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment.
“Yeah?” he said, his voice a little too sharp, a little too brittle.
Oscar’s brow creased, concern flickering across his face. “You okay? You kind of spaced out there.”
Lando forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack at any moment. “Yeah, sorry. Just… long day.”
Oscar didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. In Sydney, I mean. It’s nice to have… familiar faces around.”
Lando swallowed hard, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to say something, anything, but the truth was lodged in his throat, too heavy to dislodge.
“Yeah,” he managed finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Me too.”
As the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, Lando found himself nodding and smiling in all the right places. But inside, the question kept echoing, relentless and unyielding.
Why Sydney?
And no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the answer remained the same: Oscar. Always Oscar.
It was Oscar who reached out first, breaking the silence that had settled between them like an unspoken truce. The message came late one afternoon, while Lando was at work, his phone buzzing with a notification that made his breath catch.
It was an article, forwarded without context—something about a new innovation in technology. At first, Lando thought it was a mistake, that Oscar hadn’t meant to send it to him. But then he noticed the small message attached below: Thought you might find this interesting.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, the words blurring as emotions swirled in his chest. It was simple, casual, but it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to respond or let it slip into the ether. But before he could overthink, he typed back, Thanks. Looks cool.
The conversation could’ve ended there—polite, distant. But it didn’t.
A few days later, another message came through. This time, it was a café recommendation, complete with a photo of a mismatched teacup and a tray of pastries. Found this little place. Might be your vibe.
Lando stared at his phone again, his heart doing an unwelcome little flip. He knew this pattern—he’d been the one to reach out first, once upon a time. He’d been the one to extend olive branches, to bridge gaps, to keep them connected. But this was different. Now it was Oscar, sending these small tokens of connection like breadcrumbs leading back to something they’d lost.
He replied again, telling himself it didn’t mean anything. Looks nice. Might check it out sometime.
And then, slowly, the messages became a rhythm, a thread woven back into Lando’s life. They weren’t long, drawn-out conversations—just little snippets, fragments of connection. But they were enough to make him feel the pull again, the gravitational force that Oscar always seemed to carry.
It wasn’t long before Lando found himself hitting send more often than he expected. A funny meme he stumbled across late at night. A random question about Sydney’s neighborhoods that he could’ve easily Googled but didn’t. Every message felt like a test, like he was inching closer to something uncertain but undeniably familiar.
When Oscar responded—always quick, always warm—Lando felt a quiet sense of relief, like they were rebuilding something neither of them had fully realized they missed.
Then came the first invitation.
“You should come to this work thing,” Oscar said over the phone one evening, his voice calm but laced with something Lando couldn’t quite place. “It’s casual, not corporate or anything. You might like the crowd.”
Lando hesitated, gripping his phone tightly. The idea of stepping into Oscar’s world again, of being surrounded by strangers who knew him in ways Lando didn’t anymore, felt daunting. But at the same time, there was a flicker of hope he couldn’t ignore—a chance to see Oscar outside the safety of texts and calls.
“Sure,” Lando said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. “Why not?”
The night of the event, Lando arrived five minutes early and stood outside the bar, the cool air wrapping around him like a blanket, but not enough to ease the tightness in his chest. The city hummed around him—cars honking, the buzz of conversations flowing in and out of nearby cafes, and people walking by with their heads down, unaware of the delicate shift happening inside him. But all of it, every small sound, every brush of air, felt like it was converging on one single thing: Oscar.
Lando’s eyes flicked toward the window of the bar, half expecting to see a crowd of unfamiliar faces. But instead, his gaze locked on him instantly. Oscar stood near the bar, talking to someone, a laugh slipping from his lips. It wasn’t loud or exaggerated. Just a low chuckle that seemed to wrap around Lando’s heart like a quiet pull. His hair was slightly disheveled, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times—a small, familiar gesture that made Lando’s chest ache. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the way he stood, casual but confident, made Lando want to reach out, to close the distance that still stretched between them.
The light in the room, warm and golden, framed him perfectly, making it look like Oscar belonged there. In that moment, Lando realized it wasn’t just the space or the people around him that made Oscar shine. It was something about him—how he could own a room without even trying. How his presence demanded attention. And yet, there was something in Lando that pulled him back, a little voice warning him it would be easier to leave. Easier to pretend he hadn’t seen him, hadn’t come here at all.
But then, Oscar turned.
Their eyes met through the glass, and for a heartbeat, the world around Lando seemed to still. All the noise of the city faded, leaving just the two of them standing in a bubble of something that was too familiar and too alien at once. Oscar’s gaze softened, and that slow, genuine smile crept across his face—a smile that was just for Lando. Not for the crowd, not for the moment. But for him.
Lando’s heart skipped a beat. The kind of reaction that shouldn’t happen after all this time. He felt the pull all over again—the way Oscar always seemed to magnetize him, even after everything.
He swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion that rushed in and threatened to overtake him. For a second, he thought about turning around, walking out the door, pretending this was all just a bad idea. But his feet moved before his brain could catch up, and with a small breath, he pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of the bar.
The crowd inside was a low murmur of conversations, clinking glasses, and soft jazz in the background. Oscar’s voice cut through it all when he spotted Lando. “Lando!” he called out, a brightness in his tone that made Lando’s chest tighten. There was no hesitation as Oscar crossed the room, his smile widening when he reached him.
Before Lando could respond, Oscar’s hand brushed briefly against his arm, a simple touch that carried too much weight. “Everyone, this is Lando. He’s new to Sydney, so be nice.”
The introductions blurred into the background, the names and faces nothing more than a static hum that faded as Lando’s focus narrowed entirely to Oscar. His easy movements through the room, the way he seemed to navigate the crowd with a grace Lando could never quite replicate, felt so natural, so effortless. Lando, on the other hand, felt like a misplaced piece in a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
Oscar kept talking, kept introducing him, but with every step they took through the crowd, it felt as though they were both trying to keep their distance and close it at the same time. Every word Oscar spoke was easy, light, but each glance felt like a crack, a moment too brief and too fleeting.
At one point, Lando found himself standing on the side, watching as Oscar mingled with a group of colleagues. His eyes, though, kept drifting back to Lando, as if he couldn’t help himself. Lando wanted to look away, to pretend he didn’t notice, but he couldn’t. Something about Oscar’s gaze made him feel like they were still tethered in a way that neither could fully cut loose.
Oscar returned after a while, drink in hand, his face softening when he saw Lando standing there, a little removed from the rest of the crowd. He offered the drink, his fingers brushing against Lando’s as he passed it over.
“Here,” Oscar said, the simplicity of the gesture pulling Lando in. “Figured you could use this.”
Lando took the drink, their fingers lingering just a second too long. The exchange was so small, so seemingly insignificant, but to Lando, it felt like everything. He didn’t say anything at first, just sipped the drink quietly, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the way his chest felt like it was cracking open.
For the rest of the night, it was the same. Small touches, exchanged looks, half-spoken words that neither of them dared finish. It was all familiar—the rhythm of it, the pulse that had once driven them. But now, there was something in the air. Something unspoken between them that neither could quite name.
And then, when the event finally started to wind down, Oscar turned to him with that easy, effortless smile. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he offered.
Lando nodded, voice low. “You didn’t have to invite me tonight,” he said, the words tasting like an apology, like an explanation he wasn’t sure he wanted to make.
Oscar shrugged, his hands tucked in his pockets. “I wanted to.”
Lando didn’t press, though a thousand questions sat heavy on his tongue. Instead, he glanced at Oscar, his profile illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlights, casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, he thought about the pull between them, the way they always found their way back to each other, even after everything. It was a feeling he couldn’t ignore anymore.
Oscar was right beside him, and that was enough—for now. But Lando couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was shifting, that the ground beneath them was beginning to tilt. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending that he didn’t want more. That he wasn’t still hoping for something—anything—he wasn’t sure was ever truly meant to be.
As the weeks slipped by, the invitations began to snowball, each one an echo of the one before it. At first, they were simple—casual coffees, shared lunches at new spots Oscar had found—but then something shifted. The days grew longer, and so did their conversations. Lunches turned into slow, deliberate walks by the harbor, the salty wind tugging at their sleeves, their feet dragging just a little longer than necessary as they circled the water’s edge. It wasn’t the places they went, but the space they shared. Every conversation, no matter how trivial, felt charged, as if the world around them faded into the background and there was only the sound of their voices and the pulse of their proximity.
Coffee dates weren’t just about the caffeine anymore. They became these long, drawn-out hours spent over cups of overpriced lattes, the city’s noise ebbing and flowing around them while their focus remained fixed on each other. Oscar would text him pictures of particularly tragic latte art, the foam spilling over the sides of the cup in a messy heap. Lando would respond with a teasing message about how Sydney’s baristas clearly had something against symmetry. It was light, easy—sometimes too easy. The kind of easy that made Lando’s chest feel full in a way he didn’t understand but also didn’t want to examine too closely.
As time wore on, it wasn’t just the planned meetings that made up the rhythm of their days. There was something almost fateful about the way their paths started to cross at the most random moments. Lando would walk into a bookstore, fingers brushing over the spines of books, only to look up and find Oscar perched on a stool, flipping through a novel as if he’d been there for hours, waiting. Or they’d bump into each other at the park, Oscar’s face lighting up in that unmistakable way—eyes wide with surprise before he smiled and fell into step beside Lando, like nothing had changed.
There were moments when the encounters weren’t even a coincidence. One night, on a whim, Lando went to a food truck late after a long day, craving something simple and greasy. He turned the corner and found Oscar there, arms crossed, standing in line for fries, that easygoing grin stretched across his face when he saw Lando approach. They sat on the curb together, shoulder to shoulder, the world around them dimming as they shared fries and laughed about nothing in particular. It was effortless. In that moment, Lando could pretend they’d never been apart. It was just the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of old familiarity, the kind of connection that doesn’t need words but somehow still says everything.
But with every meeting, every message, every shared silence, something deeper crept in. Lando couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he tried to bury it in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just a friendship they were building again; it was something more, something that threaded through every lingering glance, every accidental brush of their hands as they reached for the same thing, each fleeting moment that passed with a lingering tension neither of them acknowledged but both felt. Lando’s chest would tighten every time Oscar’s eyes lingered a fraction too long, or when their shoulders brushed just a little too closely. It was subtle—quiet—but undeniable. Like a spark waiting for the right moment to catch fire.
And through it all, there was something else that gnawed at him, something that made his pulse race and his mind spin: it wasn’t Lando doing the inviting anymore. It was Oscar. For the first time in ages, it wasn’t Lando taking the initiative, checking in, making the plans. It was Oscar—Oscar texting him first to make sure they grabbed coffee after work, Oscar suggesting spontaneous weekend adventures, Oscar sending random messages in the middle of the day just to say hello. It was a shift that Lando couldn’t ignore. It felt like a role reversal, but more than that, it felt like something had changed between them. Something had shifted, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air.
Lando wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever it was that was happening between them. Part of him wanted to pull back, to protect himself from the inevitable crash he could sense lurking in the distance. But another part of him—the part he couldn’t control—wanted to lean in, to see where this pull might take them. And so, he kept saying yes. He kept showing up. He kept letting Oscar lead him through their unspoken dance, unsure where it would end but unable to stop himself from stepping forward.
Oscar invited Lando over one evening, like he had so many times before. It started casually—just a movie, a chance to relax after a hectic week. But as soon as Lando stepped into Oscar's apartment, something shifted. The air felt heavier, charged with the things left unsaid between them.
Oscar greeted him with a warm smile, like it was nothing, but Lando couldn't shake the feeling that it was something—more than just an invitation, more than just a movie night. The familiarity between them was still there, the ease of their friendship, but it was tangled now with something else. Something that neither of them was willing to name, not yet.
They settled on the couch, just like old times, the flickering light from the television casting shadows across the room. The movie played softly, but neither of them was really watching it. They were talking—about the film, about life, about little things that didn't matter, but in the back of Lando's mind, he could feel the tension building with every word, every glance.
It was when they started reminiscing about their past, about the late nights they'd spent together, that things began to change.
"Remember that time we stayed up all night watching movies?" Oscar asked, his voice a little softer than usual. "I think we got through a whole trilogy before we even realized it."
Lando smiled, the memory warm and bittersweet. "Yeah. You kept falling asleep, and I had to keep waking you up."
Oscar chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I don't know what I was more tired from—watching the movie or from just being with you."
There was a quiet pause, and for a moment, everything felt like it had been before. The same comfort, the same closeness. But then, it shifted, like an invisible wave crashing between them.
Lando could feel it in his chest, the weight of it —something unspoken, something dangerous, something that had always been there, but they’d never let themselves acknowledge.
Oscar shifted on the couch, his shoulder brushing against Lando's. It was accidental, but the spark it ignited was anything but. They froze, the space between them narrowing, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
And then, it happened.
Oscar turned toward Lando, his eyes meeting his, searching. For a moment, Lando was lost in that gaze—the familiarity of it, the way Oscar's lips curled slightly, the heat that was building between them.
The same tension, the same ache.
Before he could think, before he could stop himself, Lando leaned in. It was slow, hesitant at first, but the pull between them was undeniable. Their lips met, soft, tentative, and then harder, desperate. It wasn't just a kiss—it was a collision, the weight of everything they'd ignored, everything they'd buried, crashing down on them.
Oscar's hand moved to Lando's jaw, fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Lando's hands were on Oscar's chest, the fabric of his shirt soft under his fingertips. He could feel the heat of him, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath the surface, and it made his pulse race, made his breath hitch.
The kiss grew more urgent, more frantic.
Lando's hands roamed, his fingers sliding beneath the fabric of Oscar's shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. It was too much, too fast, but Lando couldn't pull away. His body moved on its own, the heat between them spiraling out of control.
Oscar's hands were suddenly everywhere —on Lando's neck, his waist, pulling him closer still. The kiss was messy now, all teeth and urgency, their bodies pressing together as the space between them disappeared. Lando's heart was hammering in his chest, his mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening, but there was only one thing he knew for certain: this was everything.
It felt like everything.
But then, just as quickly, Oscar pulled back. It was a sharp, unexpected movement, like the world had slammed into reverse. His hands were still on Lando's body, but they were still now, stiff.
Lando's breath was ragged as he looked at Oscar, confusion and desire flooding his system. Oscar was staring at him, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with the same erratic breath.
"Wait," Oscar said, his voice hoarse. He placed his hands on Lando's shoulders, pushing him back slightly. "I... I can't–"
Lando's heart dropped into his stomach, the warmth of the moment evaporating in an instant. "What?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, thick with disbelief. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. He didn't know what to say, what to do.
Oscar swallowed, looking at him like he was seeing him for the first time. "I don't know if this is what I want. I don't know if I'm ready for this."
The words stung. Lando didn't know how to respond. Everything felt too heavy, too complicated, too wrong now.
"I'm sorry," Oscar said, his voice barely audible, his hand sliding away from Lando's chest. "I can't do this."
Lando nodded, though every part of him wanted to protest, wanted to say something-anything-that would make this make sense. But instead, he just stayed there, frozen, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute, his mind racing.
Oscar shifted away from him, the space between them widening once more. "I-" he started, but the words didn't come.
There was nothing left to say. The silence in the room was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos in Lando's chest.
And just like that, the moment that had felt so perfect had shattered, and with it, all the tension, all the unspoken things, remained suspended between them.
They sat there for a long moment, the space between them somehow bigger than before. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. The movie on the screen had long since stopped being relevant, replaced by the quiet hum of something broken, something unresolved.
Lando shifted on the couch, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in. He couldn't take it anymore— the silence, the tension, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He needed space.
Needed air.
"I should go," Lando said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt foreign in his mouth, but they came out anyway, as though his body knew what he needed before his mind did.
Oscar's gaze flicked to him, a mixture of regret and surprise in his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but stopped short. He nodded, his hand tightening in his lap. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."
Lando stood up, his legs feeling like lead, but he didn't look back. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, sliding his arms into it quickly, as if doing something physical would distract him from the confusion swirling inside him.
He could feel Oscar's eyes on him, but he didn't meet them. He just walked toward the door, the weight of everything pressing down on him like an unbearable force.
As he stepped outside into the cool night air, the door clicked shut behind him.
Lando stood there for a moment, his breath shallow, his heart hammering in his chest.
He didn't know what had just happened.
Didn't know what they were anymore, what any of this meant. All he knew was that leaving had felt like the only thing he could do.
And as he walked away from Oscar's apartment, the hollow ache inside him only deepened.
The walk back to Lando’s apartment was a blur, the world around him nothing more than shifting shadows and distant sounds. The city, usually alive with energy, felt colder tonight. The chill cut through him, but it wasn’t the weather that left him shivering. It was the weight of the kiss. The feel of Oscar’s lips, the heat of him, still clung to Lando’s skin as though it were etched there, marking him in a way he couldn’t shake. But it wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything that came after—the way things broke, cracked apart just when they’d started to feel whole again.
With each step, Lando’s thoughts spiraled. He replayed the kiss, the way it had happened so quickly, yet felt like a lifetime. The spark, the tension that had built between them for so long—it was electric, but fleeting. He didn’t even remember how they’d gotten there, how they’d crossed that line they’d been so carefully toeing. He had wanted it. Hell, he’d wanted it for so long. But now, standing on the edge of his apartment, all he could think was, Why did I leave?
His fingers brushed the keys of his front door, his pulse racing. He couldn’t escape the questions. The guilt, twisting like a knot in his stomach, gnawed at him. Why did it feel like something was wrong when all he’d ever done was give? He had tried to give everything—his attention, his time, his affection. Every piece of him that Oscar had ever wanted. So why did it feel like he was the one who was always left wanting more?
Pushing the door open, Lando stepped into the quiet of his apartment. The silence felt suffocating. He had always been alone, always navigated the world on his own terms, but tonight, loneliness felt like an old friend who had come to collect. He stood in the middle of the room, the stillness pressing in on him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a desperate need to do something—anything—to push back the storm inside his chest. But the words were caught in his throat, stuck somewhere between regret and uncertainty. He could feel the absence of Oscar like a heavy blanket that smothered him.
His feet carried him aimlessly around the apartment, his thoughts scattering with every step. Why did I leave? He kept asking himself. But it wasn’t just the kiss, not really. It was everything before that. It was how they’d circled around each other for years, always near but never truly touching. How Oscar had somehow always been there—like a shadow, like a constant, something Lando couldn’t ever seem to fully escape, no matter how many times he tried to distance himself. And now, after all that, why did he still feel the pull? Why couldn’t he just move on?
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster, his thoughts scattered, like a puzzle he could never quite finish. Every time he thought he had it figured out, something shifted. Oscar was in Sydney because of the scholarship, that much was clear. But Lando… Why was he here? In Sydney? Was it really for the work? Or was it something else? Was he here because of Oscar, because he couldn’t shake the idea of him, even if he never had the courage to admit it?
He stopped in front of the window, the city lights blurring into a haze of motion. His reflection stared back at him, distorted in the glass. What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. His chest tightened. He wanted to reach out to Oscar, to pick up the phone, to send a message—Sorry, I shouldn’t have left. But the words felt heavy, like they would break something he couldn’t fix. He could never just fix it. Not with Oscar.
And yet, the ache never went away. Even now, standing here, with his life in a thousand pieces, the image of Oscar—the way his eyes softened when they made eye contact, the easy way he laughed—haunted him. Why was it always like this? Why couldn’t he ever get over him?
Lando slid down to the floor, his back against the cool wall, and buried his face in his hands. I’ve always been giving, always been the one to hold on. And yet, every time, I end up hurt.
He wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to call Oscar and demand answers. But instead, he felt hollow. Hollow in a way that made him question everything. Was it always going to be like this? Was he doomed to keep falling into this cycle, caught between wanting and needing someone who had never fully belonged to him?
For a long time, he sat there in the dark, his mind a tangled mess of emotions he couldn’t begin to untangle. He wanted to move forward, to let it go. But the truth, buried somewhere deep in him, was that he didn’t want to let go of Oscar—not now, not ever.
But what was he supposed to do with that?
The next morning, Lando woke up to the silence of his apartment. It wasn’t the kind of silence he was used to, the kind that filled the spaces with calm and clarity. This felt different. It was the kind of quiet that made everything seem too loud—his racing thoughts, his heavy heart, the aching emptiness left after he’d walked away from Oscar the night before.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Oscar had looked when he’d left. He’d tried to hide it, but Lando had seen it—the hesitation in Oscar’s eyes, the way his lips parted like he was about to say something, and then thought better of it. It made Lando feel like shit. He hadn’t even been able to explain himself properly, hadn’t been able to tell Oscar why he felt like he had to leave.
But how could he? How could he explain that it wasn’t just the kiss, or the tension, or the way his heart had hammered in his chest when they’d been close. It was everything. It was the uncertainty of it all. The feeling that no matter how many times they tried to rebuild what they’d lost, it always fell apart in the end.
Lando couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep going back and forth, always teetering on the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could have.
He stood up from his bed, pacing around the room. The decision was gnawing at him. He had to get out of Sydney. He had to leave—leave the mess with Oscar behind, leave the temptation of staying in a city that kept pulling him back, even when he knew he wasn’t ready to face what was there.
But even as he thought it, the weight of it settled heavily on his shoulders. He had built a life here. His friends, his work, everything had started to fall into place. He had just started to make his mark in a city that felt like a second home. But it was all just distractions, wasn’t it? All of it—every coffee with Oscar, every conversation, every accidental touch—was just a way to keep from facing the truth: he had nothing left here but the fear of what would happen if he stayed.
The thought of leaving was a gut punch, but maybe it was the only way. Maybe if he left, he’d stop thinking about Oscar every damn minute. Maybe he’d finally get out of the loop.
Lando glanced at his phone, hesitating. He wanted to reach out, to explain, to say something, but the words felt stuck. And anyway, what could he say? What could he tell Oscar that would make any of this feel better?
His thoughts were interrupted when his phone buzzed with an email. The subject line made his stomach drop: “Exciting Opportunity for Quadrant”.
He froze, staring at the screen as the email opened. It was from the marketing agency he had been in talks with for months. The one that had promised to get back to him if any opportunities came through.
And now, here it was. The offer.
“We are thrilled to extend an invitation to you to lead a new initiative focused on athletes in the marketing space. We believe your vision for Quadrant aligns perfectly with our goals, and we would love to discuss the possibility of bringing you on board. We are prepared to offer you a lucrative contract, as well as the freedom to build your brand from the ground up. We are eager to meet and discuss the next steps.”
Lando read the email twice, his fingers trembling slightly as he processed the words. It was everything he had wanted. Everything he had worked for. The chance to finally take Quadrant to the next level, to make a name for himself in the industry. And it wasn’t just a small opportunity—this was big. Bigger than he had ever imagined.
But then, as the excitement started to bubble up inside him, the other side of it hit. The reality of the decision.
Moving back to the UK, leaving Sydney behind, meant leaving Oscar. It meant walking away from whatever this was, whatever they were building together, however uncertain it might have been.
Lando stood there, frozen in place, the weight of the email settling over him like a thick fog. This was the decision he had to make. The kind of decision that didn’t come easily.
And just like that, the pieces of his life felt like they were shifting. For years, he had been chasing this dream of building something with Quadrant. But now, he had to decide whether it was worth it. Was it worth sacrificing whatever was left between him and Oscar?
He dropped onto the couch, phone still in hand, and stared at the email. The noise in his head was growing louder, but nothing felt clear. Not yet.
The door to the future was wide open, but behind him was something he couldn’t leave behind so easily.
The next few days blurred together, marked by a strange mix of anticipation and dread. Lando buried himself in the practicalities of the offer, hoping the logistics would drown out the noise in his head. He scoured websites for flights back to the UK, jotted down notes about potential office spaces for Quadrant, and mentally mapped out the steps it would take to set up the business.
The idea of launching Quadrant had always felt like a distant dream. He could already picture the sleek offices, the energy of brainstorming sessions, the adrenaline rush of seeing his ideas come to life. Partnering with someone like Zak Brown was the kind of opportunity people waited a lifetime for. Zak’s name carried weight—his connections, his experience, his reputation—it could elevate Quadrant to a whole new level.
And Lando wanted that. He wanted to pour himself into this project, to finally build something that felt entirely his. For a brief moment, excitement would bubble up, and he’d let himself imagine what his life could look like. The bustling streets of London, a thriving company, the satisfaction of chasing his ambitions and actually catching them.
But then, as quickly as the excitement came, it disappeared, replaced by a familiar ache. Oscar.
No matter how hard Lando tried to focus on what lay ahead, Oscar’s face was there, lingering in the corners of his mind. The memory of their last night together replayed itself in his head on an endless loop—the way they’d kissed, the way it had all unraveled so fast. He told himself it was better this way, to create some distance before things got more complicated. But even in the quiet of his own apartment, he couldn’t shake the weight of the decision.
He hadn’t even met Zak Brown yet. The meeting was set for the end of the month—a formality, really, to finalize the offer and discuss plans in detail. And deep down, Lando knew he’d say yes. He’d been waiting for a chance like this, dreaming of it for years. It was the right move for his career, the next step forward in building a life he could be proud of.
But it didn’t feel simple.
He thought about Sydney, about the life he’d carved out here. About how he’d come here to build something new, to create distance between himself and the parts of his life he couldn’t bear to face. And, of course, about Oscar.
Oscar was the part he couldn’t figure out, the part that made every choice feel infinitely harder. They’d fallen into something that felt so familiar and yet so fragile, like walking a tightrope where every step could send them spiraling.
Late at night, when the city had quieted and the world felt still, Lando found himself pacing the length of his living room. His phone sat heavy in his hand, his thumb hovering over Oscar’s name in his contacts. He debated telling him about the offer, about the decision he was on the brink of making.
But every time he thought of what to say, the words felt wrong. Would telling Oscar make things worse? Would it hurt him to know? Or would it be better to just leave, to slip away without dragging either of them through the mess of it all?
He sat down on the edge of his sofa, staring out at the city lights beyond his window. Somewhere out there, Oscar was probably asleep, oblivious to the storm raging in Lando’s chest.
Lando thought about all the times he’d given himself over to this—to Sydney, to Oscar, to the idea of rebuilding something he’d thought was broken. And for what? To end up here again, stuck in a place where every choice felt like losing something important.
He wanted to stay. And he wanted to go.
The contradiction made him feel like he was being torn in half. He thought of the life waiting for him in London, the potential Quadrant held, the chance to finally have something that felt like his. But then he thought of Oscar’s laugh, the way his face lit up when he was excited, the way he’d always felt like home, no matter how far apart they’d been.
The thought of leaving without saying anything was unbearable. But so was the thought of telling Oscar and watching his face fall, of feeling the weight of what he’d be leaving behind.
By the third night, he was still no closer to an answer. But then, just as he was about to put his phone down, an email notification lit up his screen. It was from Zak’s team—details about the upcoming meeting, a casual line about how much they were looking forward to working with him.
Lando stared at the message, his stomach twisting into knots. He had a decision to make.
And the first step, he realized, was telling Oscar.
Oscar looks for Lando first. The text from Oscar came late in the afternoon, vague and simple:
“Let’s talk. I’ll pick you up at 6.”
Lando stared at his phone, equal parts curious and anxious. They hadn’t spoken much since that night. Sure, there had been a few texts here and there—Oscar’s attempt to keep things normal—but the tension was still there, an unspoken weight between them. And now, this.
At 6:02, Oscar’s car pulled up outside Lando’s building. Lando hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. “Where are we going?” he asked as he clicked his seatbelt into place.
Oscar glanced at him with a small, enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.”
They drove without a destination, or so it seemed. Oscar didn’t offer any details, and Lando didn’t push, instead watching the cityscape blur past the window. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, exactly, but it wasn’t easy either. Lando kept sneaking glances at Oscar, wondering what was on his mind, but the other man’s expression was unreadable.
It was nearly sunset when Oscar finally pulled off the main road, taking them down a quiet, winding path that Lando didn’t recognize. The car came to a stop at the base of a hill.
“We’re climbing that?” Lando asked, squinting up at the steep incline.
Oscar grinned, grabbing a backpack from the backseat. “Come on. It’s worth it.”
Lando followed him, slightly out of breath by the time they reached the top. But when he looked around, he froze.
A picnic was laid out on the soft grass—a blanket, cushions, a small bouquet of wildflowers, and an array of carefully packed food. It was thoughtful and sweet, the kind of effort that made Lando’s chest ache.
“Oscar…” he started, but he didn’t know how to finish.
Oscar scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “I wanted to do it right this time. I didn’t want the first time we… I didn’t want it to be rushed. Or in the middle of a mess. I’m sorry I stopped you, but I just wanted it to mean something for you.” He gestured to the setup, his voice soft. “Flowers and everything, like you deserve.”
Lando felt a lump rise in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything, letting the warmth in his chest speak for itself.
They sat on the blanket, side by side, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The city felt far away up here, the world quiet except for the faint rustling of the breeze. They ate in companionable silence, sharing bites of sandwiches and laughing over the poorly cut fruit Oscar had brought.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
But the reality of Lando’s looming decision tugged at him, refusing to let him fully enjoy the moment. As the sky deepened to shades of pink and orange, he finally blurted it out.
“Oscar, I might be leaving Sydney.”
Oscar froze, his hand midway to his mouth with a piece of fruit. Slowly, he set it down, his expression unreadable. “Why?”
“There’s this… opportunity. In the UK. It’s big. It’s—” Lando faltered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s everything I’ve been working toward.”
Oscar didn’t respond right away. He stared out at the horizon, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost resigned.
“This must’ve been how you felt when I told you I was leaving, huh?”
Lando’s heart twisted. “Oscar—”
“No, it’s okay.” Oscar shook his head, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not the same. I get it. You have to go.”
The sadness in his voice made Lando want to take it all back, to promise he wouldn’t leave. But before he could say anything, Oscar turned to him, his expression firm.
“Forget it. I don’t want to waste whatever time we have left, whether it’s weeks or months.” He hesitated, then reached out, his hand brushing against Lando’s. “I want to try, Lando. I want to be with you, even if it’s not forever.”
Lando’s breath caught. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected Oscar to say, but it wasn’t this. His heart felt too full, emotions tumbling over one another in a way he couldn’t quite contain.
“Are you sure?” Lando asked softly.
Oscar gave a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Before Lando could second-guess it, Oscar leaned in, his lips brushing against Lando’s in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every second of it.
The kiss deepened, and for a while, the rest of the world melted away. But when they finally pulled apart, the weight of reality settled back in.
They didn’t need to say it out loud. They both knew the clock was ticking. But for now, in the golden glow of the fading sunset, they allowed themselves to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was enough.
The drive back was quiet, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. The air between them was warm and easy, the tension of the last few days having finally eased.
Lando sat in the passenger seat, his hand resting lightly in Oscar’s. Oscar’s fingers were wrapped around his, steady and grounding, even as he focused on the road ahead.
The city’s lights blurred past, casting soft glows across the car’s interior. Lando glanced at Oscar out of the corner of his eye, catching the way the soft light played across his face—the gentle curve of his jaw, the concentration in his furrowed brow as he navigated the turns.
“You remember when we used to do this?” Lando asked, his voice soft, breaking the quiet.
Oscar glanced at him briefly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Which part? Me driving while you fall asleep and leave me to entertain myself?”
Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully. “I stayed awake sometimes.”
“Rarely,” Oscar teased, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of Lando’s hand. “But yeah, I remember. We used to drive aimlessly for hours, just talking about everything and nothing.”
The memory warmed Lando’s chest, a pang of nostalgia settling in his stomach. He let his gaze drift out the window, watching the familiar streets roll by.
“I used to think those drives were the best part of my week,” Lando admitted after a moment. “Didn’t matter where we went. Just being with you was enough.”
Oscar’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, and when Lando looked back at him, he caught a flicker of emotion in his eyes—something tender, something unspoken.
“It was enough for me too,” Oscar said quietly.
The conversation lulled after that, but it didn’t feel unfinished. The sound of the tires against the road and the occasional hum of the engine filled the space, lulling Lando into a sense of calm.
As the minutes stretched on, Lando found his eyelids growing heavier. He leaned his head back against the seat, the warmth of Oscar’s hand anchoring him, and let his mind wander. Memories of them together played in his head like a highlight reel: late-night snack runs, shared laughter over inside jokes, the way Oscar’s face lit up when he was excited about something.
His chest ached, equal parts longing and contentment. He didn’t want this to end, didn’t want to lose what they’d found again, even if it was fragile and fleeting.
Somewhere between the glow of the streetlights and the rhythm of Oscar’s thumb stroking his hand, Lando drifted off. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he wished he could stay in this moment forever—safe, warm, and at peace beside Oscar.
The days after the picnic passed in a blur for Lando, his thoughts shifting back and forth between Oscar and the offer that now weighed heavily on him. He’d had a few moments of clarity, when the distractions of their time together were enough to silence the growing storm in his chest. But now, with the meeting with Zak looming ahead, he couldn’t escape the pull of it all.
He had prepared for this moment for weeks, ever since Zak’s team had first reached out. Lando had watched the email with the offer sit in his inbox, unopened, for longer than he wanted to admit. The idea of leaving Oscar behind in Sydney, of uprooting everything to go back to the UK, still felt impossible, but here he was, ready to meet with the man who could change everything.
The morning of the meeting, Lando couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubbling in him, despite the weight in his chest. This was his chance—his opportunity to build Quadrant into something bigger than it had ever been. He would be working with one of the best in the business, expanding his baby, the project that had taken so much of his heart.
But the excitement was tempered by a lingering feeling of unease. He had just spent a weekend in Sydney with Oscar, reconnecting in ways he hadn’t imagined possible. How could he walk away from that? How could he give up everything he was building with Oscar, even if it was uncertain?
He’d told himself that it was just business, that he was doing what was best for his future. But when he stood in front of Zak’s office building later that day, the full weight of the decision hit him again. Lando stood there for a moment, staring at the polished glass doors, trying to breathe through the knot in his stomach. The noise of the city seemed so far away, and in this moment, it felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for him to take the next step.
He stepped inside, walking through the sleek lobby and up to the elevator. His heart raced as he reached the top floor. There were no more distractions now, no more second-guessing. It was just him, and the reality of this opportunity.
The door to Zak’s office opened, and Lando felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. The man who would hold his future in his hands sat behind a polished desk, dressed in a sharp suit, his gaze immediately lifting from the papers in front of him as Lando entered.
“Lando,” Zak said with a smile, his voice deep and firm. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”
Lando smiled back, but his throat felt tight. “You too,” he said, his voice a little rougher than he expected.
The tension that had been buzzing around Lando melted slightly as he sat down across from Zak. There was something calming about the man, something that made the nervousness ebb away the longer they talked. Zak was efficient, running through the clauses, the terms, the project, and the vision he had for Quadrant. Lando’s focus sharpened as Zak spoke, his hands instinctively reaching for the papers laid out in front of him, skimming over the details.
Lando tried to hold onto the sense of clarity that was starting to settle in. This was it—this was what he’d been waiting for. His future was unfolding right in front of him. He didn’t want to mess this up. He was here now. This was real.
“And if you have any questions, feel free to ask,” Zak said, breaking him out of his thoughts.
Lando hesitated for just a moment, the words on the tip of his tongue. He knew what he wanted to ask, but saying it out loud felt like pulling on a thread he wasn’t sure he could untangle. “Would it be possible for me to stay in Sydney?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know the work would be in the UK, but it would be great if I could grow the company from here, continue working in Sydney, at least for the time being.”
Zak paused, his gaze lingering on Lando for a moment, before he shook his head, his expression softening. “Sorry, kid,” he said, his tone sympathetic. “The company needs a physical presence in the UK, especially in terms of the marketing arm and the partnerships we’re looking to establish. There’s just no window for that right now.”
Lando’s heart sank. He knew it, he had known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made it all the more real. He couldn’t stay here. He’d have to leave.
“I understand,” Lando said quietly, pushing the disappointment down. “I want the deal, regardless. I’ll sign it no matter what, even if I have to move back to the UK.”
Zak studied him for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “I’ll ask around, see if there’s any flexibility,” he said, offering a small smile. “But if you’re willing to take the deal, that’s what matters. We’ll work something out. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Lando nodded, the knot in his chest still there, but slightly loosened. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quiet but genuine.
As he stood to leave, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He wasn’t sure if it was the weight of the decision, the relief of finally knowing what he needed to do, or the uncertainty of what came next, but he knew one thing for sure. This was the moment that would define the rest of his life.
The drive back to the office was a blur of thoughts, and by the time Lando reached home, he felt completely drained. The adrenaline of the meeting had worn off, leaving him feeling hollow. He needed space, time to think, but more than anything, he needed someone to just be there.
Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and called Oscar. He didn’t have the energy to explain everything in a text, didn’t know where to begin. The moment the call connected, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“Hey,” Lando said, his voice hoarse.
“Hey,” Oscar replied, a slight hesitation in his voice. “You good?”
“I… I don’t know,” Lando said quietly, looking at the city street in front of him, his thoughts tangled. “Can you pick me up?”
Oscar didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. “Of course. Where are you?”
“I’m at home. Can I come to yours?” Lando says, sighing as he leans back against the wall of the building. His fingers twitched with nerves, and his mind continued to race. He had just signed away a piece of his life, but he wasn’t sure it was for the right reasons.
“Of course, darling. I’m on my way.”
When Oscar pulled up minutes later, Lando didn’t waste any time climbing into the car. Oscar didn’t say anything as he started driving, only giving Lando a small, knowing glance.
Lando, exhausted, sat quietly beside him, the hum of the engine lulling him into a sense of comfort. It wasn’t until they were almost home that Lando realized how much he needed Oscar. It wasn’t till then that he realised he refers to Oscar’s apartment as home. It wasn’t till then that he realised that Oscar was home.
The familiarity, the warmth of their shared silence, was something he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much.
When Lando finally arrived at the flat, he made his way to the bedroom, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. As the door clicked shut behind him, his thoughts began to settle. But no matter how many times he tried to reassure himself that this was the right choice, the answer still felt uncertain.
One thing was for sure, though. He was closer to making peace with it, whatever it was. The road ahead was still unclear, but at least now, he had the offer in hand. Whether or not he could walk away from it—whether or not he could move on from what he had with Oscar—remained to be seen.
Lando woke up groggily, the warmth of the blanket enveloping him in a comforting haze. His mind was slow to wake, disoriented for a moment as he tried to piece together the fragments of last night’s events. The softness of the mattress beneath him was unfamiliar, and the faint scent of something distinctly Oscar lingered in the air.
It took a few moments before his bleary eyes fully adjusted. He wasn’t in his own bed. The walls were a different shade, and the room, though cozy, had an unmistakable personal touch that wasn’t his. He blinked, trying to shake off the fog of sleep, and then it hit him: he was in Oscar’s apartment.
The realization made him pause, a gentle knot of unease pulling at his chest. He thought about the night before—the meeting, Oscar picking him up, him falling asleep, all of it—before everything had blurred into the comforting, safe space that Oscar had created.
But where was Oscar now?
Lando’s eyes shifted around the room, landing on the couch where a lump was curled under a thick blanket. Oscar. He looked so small, his body crumpled in a way that was uncomfortable even to look at. He was fast asleep, his hair messy and his breathing slow and even, but the position looked almost painful. Lando’s heart softened at the sight.
He slowly pushed himself up from the bed, the lingering warmth of the sheets reluctant to let go of him. With careful steps, he crossed the room and crouched down beside the couch. He placed a hand gently on Oscar’s shoulder, shaking him lightly.
“Oscar,” Lando murmured softly, his voice thick from sleep. “Come on, mate. Come back to bed.”
Oscar stirred but didn’t wake up immediately, his face scrunching up in discomfort. Lando smiled faintly, remembering the way they used to joke about Oscar’s mornings—how he was always a grumpy mess when he didn’t sleep properly. But now, Lando’s only concern was the way Oscar’s limbs looked so stiff, so out of place on the couch.
“Come on, Oscar,” Lando repeated, a little firmer this time, gently coaxing his lover to wake up. “It’s not gonna be good for your back if you stay like that. Come on.”
Slowly, like a sleep-deprived animal resisting the pull of the world, Oscar opened his eyes, blinking against the light streaming in through the windows. For a moment, he didn’t register where he was, and then his gaze settled on Lando, a flicker of confusion passing over his features.
“Lando?” Oscar mumbled, still half in a dream, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it…?”
“You’re on the couch, mate,” Lando chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his own hair. “And you’ve got terrible posture.”
Oscar let out a tired, groggy laugh, stretching out his limbs before blinking up at Lando again. His expression softened, the vulnerability there making Lando’s heart ache.
“I’m sorry,” Oscar mumbled, his voice hoarse, eyes still half-closed. “I didn’t want to wake you…”
“You didn’t,” Lando replied, his tone tender. “But come on, you’ve gotta sleep properly. You’re not a cat. C’mon, let’s go back to the bed.”
Oscar hesitated for a second, as if weighing whether to argue or protest, but in the end, he simply sighed and let Lando pull him up, guiding him gently to the bed.
The moment they both settled under the covers, with Oscar curling up beside him, Lando felt something in his chest loosen, a quiet comfort he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. He didn’t need to overthink things. He didn’t need to question what came next. Right here, with Oscar’s presence next to him, felt like the most peaceful, uncomplicated place he could be.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Lando closed his eyes, the tension melting away as he allowed himself to simply rest.
He drifted off, finally relaxed, his body finally giving in to the sleep he’d been craving for months.
And in the quiet, he thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the best sleep he’d had in a long time.
The days blurred together as Lando continued to pack up his life in Sydney, but there was a surprising sense of calm this time. Every time he picked up an item, it felt less like the end and more like a new beginning. He was moving forward, yes, but he didn’t have to do it alone. Oscar was there every step of the way, not just as a partner, but as a friend, in a way that felt more grounded, more constant.
Oscar was at his side all the time now. Sometimes, Lando would find him standing in the doorway, a soft smile playing on his lips as Lando sorted through yet another pile of clothes. Other times, he would simply sit on the couch, watching Lando work with that quiet, supportive presence that seemed to fill the entire room without needing to say much at all.
Lando had started getting caught up in the logistics of the move again—figuring out where he’d live in the UK, how to set up the new Quadrant office, making sure the transition would go smoothly. But every time his mind wandered to the task, Oscar was there to pull him out of it. They had moments where they talked about life, about the future, and about everything that had brought them to this point. Other times, it was just the two of them, sitting together, the comfortable silence wrapping around them like a blanket.
“Can I help you with anything?” Oscar asked one evening, his voice gentle as he made his way into the living room, a cup of tea in hand. It was a question Lando had grown accustomed to hearing, but it still carried the weight of something deeper. Something Lando didn’t know how to name.
Lando glanced up from the box he was filling with books. “You’ve already done so much,” he muttered, giving a tired smile. “I feel like I’m keeping you here for no reason.”
Oscar tilted his head, stepping closer to hand him the tea. “No such thing as ‘no reason,’ Lando,” he said softly, eyes locking with his. “You don’t need to apologize for letting me be here. You never have.”
Lando took the tea, letting it warm his hands. “I know,” he said, voice dropping slightly as he took a small sip. “It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to accept how much you’re doing. I’m moving across the world, and you’ve still got my back.”
Oscar didn’t say anything for a moment, instead choosing to settle down beside him on the floor. There was no pressure, no expectation—just the simple presence of someone who was, without question, there for him.
As Lando packed, Oscar would often drift in and out of the room, offering quiet commentary on which shirts looked the best or teasing him about how many sneakers he had. Sometimes, he would disappear into the kitchen and come back with dinner—something simple but comforting, like spaghetti with a side of garlic bread. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was perfect in its simplicity, and it made Lando feel more grounded than he had in ages.
One evening, after another long day of packing, Lando found himself sitting on the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Oscar entered the room, carrying a bowl of popcorn and two beers. He set them down on the coffee table with a soft clink, and without a word, plopped down beside Lando, leaning his head back against the couch.
“You ever think we’re doing this all wrong?” Lando asked quietly, his voice rough from a day of packing. He didn’t really know what he meant, but the words were out before he could stop them.
Oscar let out a low chuckle, nudging him with his shoulder. “No. Not at all,” he said easily. “We’re just living, mate. Doesn’t have to be perfect.”
Lando smiled, feeling the weight of everything in his chest ease for just a second. “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he murmured, taking a sip of beer.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound between them the soft hum of the TV in the background and the rustling of popcorn as they ate. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t anything monumental. But it felt real. And that, for Lando, was something he didn’t want to lose.
Later that night, after they’d finished the popcorn and put away the beers, Oscar stood up and stretched. “You need anything else? You’re looking pretty wiped.”
Lando shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I think I’m good for tonight,” he said. He wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to admit how much the last few days had taken out of him. His mind kept drifting to the move, the life waiting for him in the UK, but it was hard to ignore how at home he felt right here.
Oscar stepped into the kitchen, then returned a moment later with two mugs of tea. “How about this?” He handed one to Lando, settling back down beside him. “Couldn’t sleep without my cup of tea.”
Lando grinned, taking the mug from him. “I’m starting to think you’re secretly a grandma.”
Oscar laughed, nudging him playfully. “I take it as a compliment.”
For the rest of the evening, they continued to talk—about small things, about memories, about silly moments they’d shared. Every so often, their hands brushed as they passed the popcorn, and each time, Lando felt something stir inside him. It was familiar, comforting, but there was something else now—something more.
And yet, as the night wore on, and the quiet of the apartment settled around them, Lando couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when the time came to leave. His thoughts were still muddled, but for now, sitting on the couch with Oscar, he let himself forget about the packing, the future, the decision he had yet to make.
The world outside felt distant—unimportant. For now, it was just them, together, in this little bubble of normalcy.
And Lando wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was the first time in a long while he felt like he didn’t need to have it all figured out
Lando was folding up the last of his shirts when his phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—Zak Brown’s name flashing up. His heart gave a little jolt.
He stepped out of the living room, into the small hallway, trying to steady his breath. He’d been waiting for this call for days, a part of him hoping for good news, but unsure what exactly would come from it. His hand trembled slightly as he swiped to answer.
“Lando, hey!” Zak’s voice was upbeat, like always, but there was something in it that made Lando hold his breath. “Got some good news. We’ve found a way for you to stay in Australia. Not Sydney, though—it’s Melbourne.”
Lando’s chest tightened. He’d been preparing himself for the UK, thinking that would be the next chapter, but Melbourne? The thought of staying in Australia, staying where Oscar was—something shifted inside him. Still, he needed to know the catch. “Okay… What’s the catch?”
Zak continued, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “The pay won’t be quite as high as the original offer we discussed, but it’s a solid salary. The only issue is that it’s Melbourne. So… you’d be working there, but you’d be able to stay in Australia.”
Lando was silent for a moment, letting the news sink in. His first instinct was to feel grateful. He could stay in Australia. He could keep building Quadrant, the dream he’d worked so hard for. But then the practical side of him kicked in—the pay wasn’t as high, and Melbourne was a significant shift, a different city, different life. And yet… staying with Oscar—it was worth it.
He stood still for a moment, processing it all. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this torn.
“That’s… amazing,” Lando said finally, his voice steady but tinged with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. “I’m in. I want the opportunity.”
There was a pause on the line, and Zak’s voice came through again, cheerful. “Great to hear, mate! I’ll get the details finalized and send over the paperwork. Melbourne will be a good fit for you. And we’ll figure out everything on this end. I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”
“Thanks, Zak,” Lando said, his heart racing as he hung up.
Lando sat on the couch, his phone still in his hand as he processed the news. The weight of it was sinking in—he was staying in Australia. Melbourne wasn’t Sydney, but it was still a huge win. He was getting the chance to grow Quadrant, make it a reality. But there was still one more thing on his mind, one person who had been running through his thoughts constantly.
Oscar.
Just as he was about to call him, Oscar walked into the room, his usual bright smile lighting up the space. Lando barely had time to speak before Oscar’s eyes flickered to his phone.
“So?” Oscar asked, his voice low with anticipation.
Lando grinned, his heart pounding. “I got the offer. I can stay here—well, in Melbourne. It’s not exactly what I imagined, but it’s everything I wanted.”
Oscar’s expression lit up in an instant. “You’re staying? In Australia?” he asked, his excitement almost palpable.
Lando nodded, a bit of nervous energy pulsing through him. “Yeah, I’m staying. They worked it out. It’s not Sydney, but it’s close enough.”
Oscar paused, his eyes gleaming with something Lando couldn’t quite place. There was a beat of silence before Oscar blurted out, “You won’t believe this… but my company is looking for people to move to their Melbourne branch. They need volunteers, and it’s all paid. I—uh, I was actually thinking of applying, but…” Oscar trailed off, his gaze fixed on Lando, the words sinking in.
Lando blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “Wait, what? You—could actually move to Melbourne too?”
Oscar nodded, his eyes bright. “I didn’t know if it would even be an option, but now that you’re staying, it feels like it’s meant to be. I could transfer. It’s everything lining up perfectly.”
Lando’s stomach fluttered with excitement, the happiness bubbling up inside him like a rush of adrenaline. They could be together, in Melbourne, in a new chapter of their lives. It felt like a dream he hadn’t even dared to entertain.
“You’re serious?” Lando asked, his voice low with disbelief.
Oscar grinned, stepping closer to him. “I’m serious. I’ll do it. I’ll apply, and if they accept me… we can make this work. Together.”
Lando couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face. Everything suddenly felt like it was falling into place. A future in Melbourne—building Quadrant, working with Oscar, living in the same city. It was everything he’d been hoping for, everything that had seemed so uncertain now solidifying into something real.
“That’s… incredible,” Lando said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re really doing this.”
Oscar leaned down, kissing him gently but with a weight of feeling that made Lando’s heart race. “Yeah,” Oscar murmured against his lips. “We’re really doing this.”
The kiss deepened, their hands instinctively finding each other, touching, exploring, as the world outside seemed to fade away. It was just them now—this new, exciting chapter they were about to write together. No more uncertainty. No more wondering what would happen.
They pulled apart, both of them breathless but grinning like idiots. Lando let out a soft laugh. “I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like… everything’s falling into place.”
Oscar smiled, his hand resting on Lando’s chest. “It is. And it’s going to be amazing. We’ll make it amazing.”
Lando pulled him in for another kiss, his heart swelling with the possibility of everything ahead. They had a future now. Together. And for the first time in a long time, Lando felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
They stayed there for a long while, tangled up in each other, the weight of the world suddenly feeling lighter.
The days leading up to their move to Melbourne were a whirlwind of activity, but amidst the chaos, something comforting had settled between them. The once-strange quiet moments of packing, sorting, and planning had transformed into something warm. It was a feeling of home, one that Lando hadn’t expected, but cherished nonetheless. Oscar was there through it all—sometimes silent, sometimes chatting away about the most random things, but always present. It was like they were slowly and methodically building their future together, one small decision at a time.
They spent evenings sprawled on the couch, laptops open in front of them, browsing through potential homes. Oscar’s head would occasionally rest on Lando’s shoulder as he scrolled through listings, and Lando found himself glancing over at him more often than not. It was in these quiet moments that the reality of what they were doing settled in. They were building a life. Together.
“I think this place has potential,” Lando said one night, pointing to an apartment listing he had found. It was in a leafy suburb of Melbourne, near the park and with a cozy balcony that overlooked the city.
Oscar squinted at the screen, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. I like it. I can already see us with a small herb garden there, maybe a hammock to just chill after work…”
Lando laughed softly. “I thought you weren’t a hammock person.”
“I’m not,” Oscar grinned, “but I could get used to it with you.”
The simplicity of their life together felt almost too perfect. Every little task felt like a step toward something solid, something secure. They spent hours poring over furniture stores, discussing colors for their future living room, debating whether to get a massive sofa or something more compact. Lando hadn’t realized how much fun it could be to plan a life with someone. It wasn’t just about buying furniture—it was about creating a space that was theirs, a place where they both could breathe and exist freely.
And when they weren’t debating the best layout for their living room, they were tackling more practical matters. They made spreadsheets for the cost of moving, the budget for setting up their new place, even the moving company they’d need. Every detail seemed to matter, and Oscar was always there to keep everything organized. His calm, steady presence kept Lando from stressing out too much. Whenever Lando would start spiraling, worried about how they’d make everything fit, Oscar would gently pull him out of his head, reminding him that they were doing this together.
“Lando,” Oscar would say softly, setting down his phone and looking at him with those reassuring eyes, “we’ve got this. You and me. Everything will fall into place.”
There were mornings where Lando woke up to find Oscar already at the stove, making breakfast. The smell of sizzling bacon and eggs would fill the air, and it felt like the start of something beautiful. Oscar would set the table, pouring them both a cup of tea, and they’d sit together, talking about nothing in particular—just enjoying each other’s company.
When the evenings rolled around, they’d cook dinner together, usually something quick and simple. The rhythm of working together in the kitchen felt familiar, like a quiet routine they had always shared. Lando had grown to appreciate these moments, the small yet meaningful parts of their life. Oscar’s laugh would ring out every time Lando made some silly comment, and their laughter would carry into the late hours as they cleaned up together, their hands brushing occasionally as they moved around each other.
They talked about the future often—where they wanted to live, how they saw themselves growing. It wasn’t just about the logistics of the move, it was about what came after. Would they adopt a dog? Maybe. Would they travel? Definitely. It was about the life they were building, not just the physical space they would occupy.
Sometimes, Oscar would ask about the future in more personal terms, his voice low and earnest. “What’s next for you? For us?”
Lando would look up from whatever task he was doing, catching Oscar’s gaze. The question always caught him off guard, but it made something inside him feel lighter. “I think,” he’d say slowly, “we just keep moving forward. Together.”
It was simple, yet powerful. The certainty in his words surprised him.
As they went through the motions of packing and planning, Lando realized that this was the life he wanted. This was what he had been searching for, even without knowing it. And Oscar, with his presence, his laughter, and his steady hand in guiding their shared path, was exactly what he needed.
One day, as they sat in the living room, Lando looking at a moving company’s website, Oscar turned to him, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure about this? About us? About everything?”
Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached for Oscar’s hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and in that silence, everything felt certain.
As they packed up the last of their things, Lando found himself pausing more often, just to take in the simple moments with Oscar—the way they worked together, the way their hands brushed as they reached for the same box, the soft laughter between conversations about what to keep and what to throw out.
For the first time in a long while, Lando didn’t feel unsure. The future, once daunting, felt a little less intimidating with Oscar by his side. It wasn’t just about the move or the new job—it was about this life they were building, together.
He glanced over at Oscar, who was busy taping up a box, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as their eyes met.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Lando said softly, more to himself than to Oscar.
Oscar smiled in return, his gaze steady and comforting. “Me too.”
And for a fleeting moment, amidst the hustle and chaos of packing, Lando realized that this was it—the life he’d been looking for.
The one where everything just fit.
A couple of years had passed, and Lando and Oscar had settled into a quiet, comfortable life together in Melbourne. The apartment was small, but it felt like home—filled with plants Oscar insisted on taking care of, Lando’s cluttered desk with marketing ideas scattered all over, and the soft hum of music playing in the background.
Oscar was sitting at the kitchen counter, half-focused on his phone, while Lando worked in the living room. The evening light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room. There was a calmness to their routine now, an ease that had come with time.
Lando leaned against the doorframe, watching Oscar for a moment. “You know,” he said, a grin creeping across his face, “sometimes I think we should just quit it all and run away together.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, glancing up from his phone with a teasing smile. “Where would we go?”
Lando shrugged. “Anywhere. As long as it’s with you.” His voice softened.
Oscar’s grin faltered for a second, before he set his phone down. He stood, walking toward Lando slowly. “Well,” he began, a quiet seriousness settling over his words, “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should make this a little more official.”
Lando blinked, not entirely expecting the shift in the atmosphere. “What do you mean?”
Oscar hesitated for just a moment. “Marry me.”
Lando’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. He didn’t respond immediately, and Oscar’s face flushed with an almost imperceptible doubt. “I mean… I know it’s a big thing, and I don’t have a ring or anything yet, but I—”
“Wait,” Lando interrupted, smiling softly as he stepped closer. “Are you serious?”
Oscar looked up, his face turning a little more red. “Yeah, I am. I think you’re it for me, Lando. I’m not going anywhere, and I want you to know that.”
Lando reached up to touch Oscar’s face, brushing away the worry in his eyes with a quiet laugh. “Well, in that case… yes.”
Oscar’s breath caught as the words sank in, and before either of them could say anything more, Lando pulled him into a kiss—slow, lingering, filled with years of love they hadn’t quite expressed in words.
They didn’t need a grand declaration, not with how easy it felt to be together, not with how well they knew each other.
This, all of it, was enough.
[End]