#331681

What’s revealed wouldn’t be out of place on some TV drama. Maybe another remake of Sherlock Holmes—one where the detective is investigating Oscar’s partners for some reason.

The wall above Lando’s bench is plastered with pictures of Max and Charles, interspersed with neon yellow post-it notes filled with Lando’s messy scrawl. There are lines of bright orange string between some of the pictures, tying the clusters of Maxes and Charleses together.

Oscar can’t really see any logic to the strings. Maybe Lando opted to use it decoratively, rather than to connect… whatever dots he’s trying to connect back here.

Only the years of avoiding punishments while sneaking out at night at boarding school help Oscar keep his face blank as he studies Lando’s insane project. He’s very practiced at looking like he hasn’t a clue why he’d be accused of sneaking into another student’s bedroom—after all, he was only going to the bathroom.

Just like he was only going to the bathroom the time Zak caught him exiting the Red Bull hospitality. Or when Andrea asked why he was photographed entering Ferrari’s. Or when he bodily ran into Gianpiero Lambiase on his way out of Max’s motorhome, the man coming over for an apparent visit just as Oscar was ending his own.

Sometimes a guy’s just gotta go. No reason to accuse him of anything illicit.

Oscar’s just, like, a little guy. Perfectly innocent. Nothing to see.

Lando is looking at him expectantly, eyebrows doing some curious interpretive eyebrow dance like he’s waiting for Oscar to say something, contrary to his earlier request.

Oscar raises his own eyebrows questioningly and gestures at Lando, motioning for him to keep talking. When Lando doesn’t seem to get the hint, Oscar clarifies, “I’m hearing you out. Go on.”

Lando reaches over Oscar’s shoulder to close his driver room door and then rubs his hands together with apparent glee, his eyes taking on a conspiratorial glint as he looks from Oscar to his Lestappen stalker wall and back.

“Okay, so I know this isn’t, like, the most original theory—TikTok is already full of it—but I’m, like, ninety-five percent sure Max and Charles are secretly dating. Like, for real. They probably kiss and everything.”

Oscar is intensely curious what Lando counts as “and everything” in addition to something as tame as kissing, but he’s uncertain if he’ll be able to keep up his neutral expression when Lando inevitably turns out to be hilariously wrong. (Somehow Oscar doubts Lando’s theories include himself, is all.)

“Okay,” he says blankly.

This seems to disappoint Lando, who looks hurt at Oscar’s non-response, his shoulders slumping as his eyebrows take on a sad furrowed slant that could rival Leo’s neglected puppy look when he’s finally let back into the bedroom after a few hours of being locked out.

“Uhm…” Oscar allows his hesitation to fill the silence. He glances back at the wall and squints at Lando’s post-it notes.

hickie or in grown hair????? one reads, glued onto the bottom edge of a photo Oscar recognises from a day when Charles complained he’d forgotten his razor, and Max’s was apparently “shit”. His neck has a small red spot on it. Oscar remembers it was sore for days—it’s hard to forget, what with Charles complaining about it like he’d been decapitated, demanding Max dote on him and bring him drinks in bed.

“It looks… very convincing?” Oscar tries, looking back at Lando with what he hopes is a reassuring smile that shows he is very much interested in Lando’s crackpot theory and all it entails.

Lando’s face lights up with a blinding brightness that could probably illuminate the entire Singapore circuit at night. “Right?” he exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet with enthusiasm. He begins to gesture to different pictures on the wall and explaining all the “proof” he seems to think he has collected.

Oscar nods dutifully while he talks.

It probably counts as a neck workout, because Lando goes on for a full twenty-two minutes.

“…And that’s why I think we should try to catch them in the act!” he concludes his speech, clapping his hands the way Zak sometimes does when he thinks he’s made a salient point. “Then we’ll know for sure if I’m right!”

Oscar frowns dubiously. “Catch them in the act of…?”

Lando shrugs. “Y’know. Kissing. And stuff.”

Oscar carefully bites on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. Not because Lando is being ridiculous—though he is—but because Lando doesn’t even know how close to right he is, yet also how very far.

He clears his throat. “Alright. I mean, I’m no spy or anything… but I’ll keep my eyes open?”

Lando beams. “Great! Let me know if you see anything. I’m so sure if we work on this together, at least one of us will be able to catch them!”

Oscar can’t hold back a smile in return, lopsided and probably far too amused. “You know what, with both of us on the case… I think the odds are in our favour.”