2

see the lights, see the party, the ball gowns

see you make your way through the crowd and say hello

little did i know

🧡

It was December in Monaco - the tail end of the year, that strange space between seasons where the world felt briefly suspended. The harbour shimmered under the city lights, and somewhere behind the glass and gold of one of the most exclusive clubs in Monte Carlo, the entire F1 grid was celebrating Max Verstappen's fourth world title.

The music pulsed through the walls, a rhythmic thrum in Oscar's chest. Lights danced across the ceiling - a kaleidoscope of deep blues and violets, silvers flashing like camera shutters. Champagne sprayed somewhere to his left, laughter rising in spirals through the air. The floor vibrated with bass and bodies.

Lando was in the centre of it all.

His shirt had the top three buttons undone, collar crooked, sleeves haphazardly rolled to the elbows. His curls - a mess of damp, chaotic brown - clung to his forehead in the humid air, catching flashes of light as he danced. His movements were wild, unselfconscious - head thrown back, arms in the air, laughing as Max shouted something in his ear and Daniel sprayed him with Prosecco.

Oscar couldn't look away.

He sat in a booth tucked off to the side, a half-drunk glass of something citrusy sweating on the table in front of him. Charles was beside him, his legs stretched out, nursing a whiskey and leaning into Pierre, who looked far too entertained.

Pierre caught Oscar staring and nudged Charles with a smirk. "Someone's got heart eyes."

Charles followed his gaze, then grinned knowingly. "He looks like a boy in love."

Oscar flushed, cheeks warm with more than just the drink. "Shut up."

But he didn't look away.

And maybe Lando felt it - that pull, that attention - because a moment later he was stumbling away from the dancefloor, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Oscar. He lit up, crooked grin in place, and made his way over in a lazy zigzag, like gravity didn't quite work the same around him.

"Hello," he said, slurred and too loud, his words just slightly softened around the edges.

Oscar smiled, gaze gentle. "Hi, Lando."

Lando blinked at him for a moment, swaying slightly where he stood. "Can we go outside? It's loud. And I think Max just tried to kiss me."

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Did you let him?"

Lando considered. "I think I said no. But I also might've hugged him after, so."

Oscar chuckled, pushing his glass aside and standing. "Come on."

He murmured apologies to Charles and Pierre - the former now openly laughing about the Brit's statements, the latter saluting him like he was heading into battle - and let Lando grab his hand and tug him out through the crowd.

The air outside was a welcome contrast - cold and still, the sea stretching out dark and endless in the distance. They found a quiet stone step just past the entrance, out of sight of the chaos inside. Lando collapsed onto it with a groan, dragging Oscar down beside him.

He leaned his head on Oscar's shoulder without hesitation, curls damp against his neck.

"You're warm," Lando mumbled.

"You're drunk," Oscar replied, but there was no heat in it.

Lando hummed like that was confirmation of something profound. "You smell nice."

Oscar bit back a laugh. "Lando-"

"I'm serious," he said, lifting his head just slightly. "You always smell like- I don't know. Clean things. And eucalyptus or something."

"Maybe because I shower?"

"You're very smug when you're right, you know that?"

Oscar turned his head to look at him - Lando's eyes unfocused, mouth parted like he was still chasing the next thought. He started babbling again - about Monaco being too shiny, about Max's dance moves being a crime, about how good Oscar looked in that black shirt and whether it was illegal to be that pretty on a weeknight.

Oscar just listened, head tilted, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Fond. Unshakable.

After a while, Lando looked up at him, brows pulling together. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Oscar met his eyes without hesitation. "I'm admiring you."

Lando blinked. His breath hitched - Oscar could feel it. Like he'd pressed pause on whatever chaos was spinning inside his head.

"Oh," Lando said, voice small.

His eyes dropped, flickering to Oscar's mouth. And then back again, searching.

"I think I really like you, Osc," he whispered. "Even though I'm drunk. Maybe that made it more worse."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, soft and almost sad. "I think I like you too, Lan. But you are very drunk. So I think it's home time."

Lando pouted, but didn't argue. He let Oscar pull him up, his hand loose but trusting in Oscar's.

They made it back to the hotel in relative silence - Lando swaying slightly in the elevator, fingers still tangled with Oscar's, his head tipping to rest against Oscar's shoulder somewhere between the third and fifth floor.

"Room key?"

Lando fumbled in his pockets for a second and then paused, blinking.

"...I think I lost it."

Oscar shook his head fondly. "You can stay in mine."

Lando didn't object. Just mumbled something unintelligible and leaned into him like a magnet.

In the quiet of the room, Oscar helped him out of his shoes and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, careful and gentle. Lando climbed into the bed like muscle memory, curling instinctively toward the warmth.

Oscar slid in beside him, the sheets cool against his skin. Lando was already half-asleep, face pressed against Oscar's shoulder, limbs thrown over him like he couldn't bear the thought of space between them.

"G'night," Lando mumbled.

Oscar pressed a soft kiss to his curls.

"Good night, Lando."

🧡

The hotel room was quiet - the kind of stillness that only came after a long night, wrapped in soft sheets and shared body heat. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the glow of Monaco's endless lights, and the hum of the city outside had faded to a distant, forgettable murmur.

Lando was asleep, half-curled against Oscar's side, mouth slightly open, breath soft and even. His hand still rested on Oscar's stomach, fingers twitching now and then in dreams. The kind of peace that only Lando seemed to radiate in sleep - like everything noisy in the world had finally dulled.

Oscar stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

It wasn't the warmth of the room, or even the leftover adrenaline still dancing in his chest. It was something else. Something quieter and colder.

His phone lit up on the nightstand.

He frowned. It was nearly 2AM.

Without thinking, he reached for it, turning the screen over in his hand. Unknown number. No name. No contact photo.

He opened the message.

It was a photo - slightly grainy, clearly zoomed in. But unmistakable.

Him and Lando, sitting on the stone steps outside the club. Lando's head on his shoulder. Oscar leaning just a bit too close. The angle caught the way their bodies gravitated toward each other - the intimacy obvious. More than friends. Obvious to anyone who bothered to look.

His stomach dropped.

Below the image, a single message.

What would Mason think?

Oscar's breath caught. For a moment, all he could hear was the dull rush of blood in his ears.

He stared at the screen for several seconds, unmoving. The name hit harder than he wanted to admit. Logan. The ghost of a past that hadn't quite settled - one that still flickered in quiet places he thought he'd locked away. Their breakup hadn't been explosive, but it hadn't been clean either. It had left marks. Confusion. Silence.

And now, someone had dredged it up. Used it like a knife.

Oscar's fingers moved quickly, mechanical. He blocked the number. Deleted the message. Shut off his phone entirely and placed it facedown on the nightstand. Like that would make it go away. Like that would undo the clench in his chest.

He lay still for a while, staring into the dark.

Someone had seen them. Had followed them. Had taken a picture. Had known exactly what to say to twist the knife.

His first instinct wasn't fear.

It was anger.

He glanced sideways, toward the other side of the bed.

Lando was still asleep - lips parted, brow soft, his curls a dark halo on the pillow. Oblivious. Trusting. Safe.

Oscar felt a sudden, sharp protectiveness surge through him - something that coiled low in his chest and settled into steel behind his ribs.

He would not let someone take this from them. Not now. Not like this. Not when it had only just begun.

He reached out carefully, brushing a strand of hair off Lando's forehead. The touch was feather-light, but Lando shifted anyway, leaning into his hand like a habit.

Oscar swallowed the tightness in his throat.

He didn't know who had sent the message. Didn't know what they wanted. But one thing was certain.

He'd burn the whole grid to the ground before he let anyone hurt Lando.