#mmalf.fic

It’s not the first time he’s been summoned to help Charlie with kitchen triage, nor would it be the last. “Charlie’s one of the most talented architects at her firm. Not that you’d know it, based on how this is going,” Oscar says, pulling open a drawer for one of the kitchen knives. He sharpens them deftly, easy muscle memory at this point.  “Oui, et oui. Bonjour, make yourself…” Charlie says, yanking the oven open and not paying attention to Lando at all. “At home.” There is an immediate waft of steam. Charlie stares at the oven like it’s committed a grave personal offense against her. She extracts whatever's been baking in its hellish interior and dumps the tray in the sink. The three of them huddle and stare down at a mass of lumpy brown gloop. “Is that…?” Lando asks, trailing off when it’s clear he cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.   “They were potatoes!” Charlie wails.

“So you made me some biscuits, forgot the chips, and have no plan.” Oscar rubs the back of his neck. “It sounds terrible when you put it like that.” Yet they smile at each other. Syrupy sweet. It makes something de-ice inside of Oscar and he wants to throw up in his mouth a little bit. It’s hard to focus when it feels like the world is reduced to Lando and this room and this interaction, right here and right now. And the worse thing is, Oscar, against his better judgment, would totally allow himself to be temporarily incapacitated. 

“I feel like this is the part where people normally like, talk about the weather or something,” Lando says, out of nowhere.  Oscar finds this kind of refreshing, the lack of preamble before hurtling right into a thought.  “Right,” Oscar says. There’s an awkward pause. “What do you think of this weather?”  “S’nice, actually. I’m not often in town during the summer?” Lando scuffs the pavement with his shoe, heedless of the fact that they’re quite nice Onitsukas, if Oscar has correctly identified them.  “Colder than usual, I reckon.” “You’re Australian though.”  “What, was it my accent?” Oscar deadpans.  Lando stops on the spot and looks him in the eye, as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to find this funny. Oscar shrugs, as if to say there’s no threat here, mate, and Lando nods. As if he understands this is not in fact some sarcastic or loaded comment, but an invitation to the joke. 

tagging... @lovelylotusf1 @jusst-you-race @maaxverstappen @alphatinies @albonoooo @fueledbyremembering @souvenir116 @blueballsracing and whoever wants 2 play

from: Anonymously - or not - tell me what passage, fic, line of narration, or anything you remember me by as a writer.

i will go ahead and tag uhhhh... idk if these folks have done this recently... @strwbrryfire @cx-boxbox @epaulando @unlapped @oscarpiastriwdc @f1-giuki @lovelylotusf1 !