Chapter Text
It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but Oscar really needed that hug. He let Lando hold him for a while, warmth seeping into his bones and easing the roar of his thundering heart. When they finally parted, Lando just looked at Oscar with a tentative smile. “You alright, Osc?”
Osc… he couldn’t remember the last time someone had called him something other than his name. “Not right now but I will be, I think.”
Lando gave him a reassuring pat on the back and nodded in the direction of a grate on the wall. Pale grey light was starting to seep through the slats. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“Not that I know of,” Oscar answered carefully. “Why do you ask?”
The look he got in response- arched brows and an incredulous tilt of Lando’s chin- made it seem like it was obvious. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Oscar had absolutely no idea why Lando would suddenly ask about allergies. Finally, Lando rolled his eyes and sat back on his calves. “Breakfast, you muppet. Don’t wanna kill you on accident.”
A pang of something soft and tender made Oscar’s chest hurt. Rubbing his sternum with the palm of his hand to soothe the ache, Oscar shook his head and motioned at his pack. “I’ve got food already, thanks.”
“Really? That’s a shame, guess I’ll have to eat the pop tarts myself then…” Lando trailed off teasingly, a lopsided smirk tugging the corner of his lips upward. It was almost comedic how quickly Oscar changed his mind. “Come to think of it, I am suffering from a pop tart deficiency.”
Faux concern had Lando covering his mouth sagely. “In that case, let’s not dilly dally.”
Oscar started pulling clothes on as Lando slid the attic hatch cover to one side and lowered the ladder. To Lando’s credit, he didn’t struggle as much as Oscar thought he would with the unwieldy wooden construct. After throwing on a pair of sweatpants and tugging a sweater over his head, Lando disappeared down the ladder. Then he re-appeared, only his head popping up into the attic. “If you want, you can raid the drawers while I heat the pan. Door on the left when you come down should be the master bedroom.”
And with that, he ducked down again. Oscar blinked owlishly, hands stilling as he processed Lando’s words. Heat the pan- Lando has a working stove!? The prospect of a warm breakfast had him redouble his efforts to get dressed quickly. He almost forgot about his ankle as he left the attic, only remembering when it knocked a rung on the ladder.
Glancing through the door on the left, Oscar confirmed it was indeed the master bedroom and promptly ignored it. Keeping the weight off his right foot, Oscar hobbled into the dining room. There was a broad frame in the wall between it and the kitchen, giving the illusion of an open plan room. Recessed in each side of the frame was a sliding door.
More importantly, Lando stood in front of a stove with a packet of pop tarts on the counter next to him. He must’ve heard Oscar coming because he spoke without turning around. “It runs on gas, which apparently doesn’t expire. Sometimes the igniter acts up, though.”
Sure enough, he was fiddling with the knobs and dials on the stove. Oscar’s flat used to have something similar, so he budged Lando out of the way and had a crack at it. His first attempt had a strong flame going on the nearest burner within seconds. Lando glared at him. “Wow, way to rain on my parade.”
“Just good with my hands,” Oscar said noncommittally. “Didn’t realize these things were still kicking.”
Lando placed four frosted chocolate fudge pop tarts into a large pan and put it on the element. “Not all of them, but most. A lot of people don’t even try using them, so they tend to have a decent bit left.”
Oscar used to think that wandering around and talking to people from all walks of life had made him quite knowledgeable about the new world. Now, though, he wasn’t quite so sure. There was only so much you could glean from conversations; some things had to be learned over time. He had to have missed hundreds of intricacies to living in one place over the last year. Maybe it was time to settle, time to learn those things.
An awkward shuffle pulled Oscar from his thoughts. Lando was trying to reach for a drawer in front of Oscar with his left hand, even though the drawer was on his right. Stepping back and pulling the drawer open for Lando, Oscar peered at the brit’s right hand. If Lando had ignored an injury in favor of treating Oscar, he’d feel terrible.
Somehow, the truth was even worse.
Light greenish-purple wrapped around Lando’s wrist, darkening in some places and not others. It looked like a handprint. Alarmed, Oscar brushed his fingers over Lando’s elbow to get his attention. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Lando said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Just got grabbed, that’s all.”
Zombies didn’t usually grab, they much preferred biting. Plus, the bruise couldn’t be more than a day old. Oscar didn’t remember seeing yesterday’s zombie reaching for Lando when he pulled it off him either, so what was going on? Leaning against the counter, Oscar raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m not buying it.”
Tilting his head back and taking a long breath, Lando finally relented. “Yesterday, when I woke you from your nap.”
“What about it?” Oscar asked, confused.
Lando just turned around and placed Oscar’s hand over the bruise on his wrist. It was a perfect match. “Not your fault, mate. I scared you.”
He vaguely remembered shoving Lando away in his waking moments, but Oscar never realized he’d actually hurt him. And Lando just ignored it, playing cards with him for hours afterward. Guilt snaked around Oscar’s lungs and tightened his chest. “You should’ve said something, Lando. I would’ve apologized sooner if I knew.”
“You’re talking like you shot me or something,” Lando snorted dismissively. “I’ll be fine, so sit down and be a good boy while I finish the pop tarts.”
Oscar started to protest, but Lando cut him off by shoving a cold pop tart in his mouth. “Shut up and eat, you muppet.”
Defeated (and utterly delighted to taste that nostalgic chocolatey fudge again), Oscar sauntered back to the dining room and sat down. For good measure, he propped his bad foot up on the edge of the table. Years of cricket made him no stranger to the art of healing a sprain, and even though Lando had a functioning stove, Oscar doubted he had ice packs too.
A few minutes passed before Lando set down a plate with three steaming pop tarts on it. “Bone apple-tit, or whatever they say.”
“Bon appétit,” Oscar corrected mindlessly. “And thanks again for the breakfast.”
Lando was already back in the kitchen, grunting in response as he finished off the pack. It was a sound of shut up and eat. Naturally, Oscar obliged. The gooey filling was hot- but not too hot- on his tongue and sunk into every crevice of his mouth. Something about pop tarts gave them a very distinct taste, regardless of topping, and the nostalgia was fierce.
Some time later, Lando dropped into the seat opposite Oscar and tucked in. He devoured the pop tarts with significantly less reverence, simply shoveling them in his mouth as fast as he could. Oscar watched with amusement, not even done with his second one by the time Lando finished. “What’s the rush? You got somewhere to be?”
“Just a habit,” Lando admitted sheepishly. “Hot food makes smoke, better to eat fast in case anyone sees it.”
He pondered Lando’s words for a while, chewing thoughtfully. “I never really had to worry about that. Always on the move, you know.”
Their very different walks of life had intersected by sheer coincidence. It could very well have been two ships passing in the night if they hadn’t been in the same part of the city that day. Curiosity sparked on both sides, Lando being the first to speak up. “What’s it like wandering around?”
“Pretty lonely. I stop by camps every now and then, but I’m mostly on my own.” A sensible answer on Oscar’s part. He wasn’t about to start dumping every hardship he’d experienced in the last year on poor Lando. “And you? What’s home like?”
Lando’s expression softened. “Warm, safe, out of the way. Somewhere I can always go back to, a project I can always work on.”
“How many people do you have?” Oscar asked, genuinely intrigued. While Lando was well geared, there was a certain distrust in his eyes. The first pointed to a larger settlement while the second indicated a handful at most. Lando grinned ruefully. “Just me, myself, and I.”
Oscar’s eyes widened as he tried to imagine living on his own, tucked away in a little hidey hole far from everyone else. Even Oscar, who often went more than a week without running into someone else, was vastly more social than Lando. He couldn’t understand how someone could willingly live in such isolation, let alone how difficult it must’ve been to look after himself.
“Lando, when’s the last time you spoke to someone other than me?” As soon as the question left Oscar’s lips, Lando chuckled and he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.
“I saw some people near the end of winter, but speaking? Probably five months ago.”
“No wonder you didn’t want to kill me on accident,” Oscar breathed. “I just- I can’t believe you survived winter on your own. How did you do it?”
By nature, humans are social animals. Even when surrounded by other humans, a person can feel isolated if they don’t have a bond with any of them. That was the kind of loneliness Oscar knew. Meanwhile Lando, who saved him from a zombie and showed him somewhere safe to sleep, who improvised a compression sleeve for his sprained ankle and played cards with him till sunset, who hugged him when the nightmares overwhelmed him and found pop tarts for breakfast, had been entirely alone for almost half a year.
He was the kind of person Oscar would’ve once described as outgoing, the only difference being that there was no longer anywhere to go out. Something must’ve happened, Oscar realized, to shatter Lando’s trust in other people. It must’ve showed on his face because Lando looked him in the eyes then, two drops of forest green saying I know that you know.
“Same way you did, I suppose. One day at a time.”