Dinner
George and Max were already there when Lando arrived, just as they had planned the night before. They had managed to get a table at one of their usual spots, tucked away in a corner of the restaurant where the noise from the other customers wasn’t too overwhelming. George had saved him a seat, although Lando was beginning to suspect it had more to do with keeping him close enough to witness whatever was going on between him and Max.
Because, honestly, it was getting unbearable.
He had barely been there twenty minutes and was already considering asking the waiter to bring him something strong enough to erase his memory. George and Max had been flirting throughout the entire evening, completely oblivious to the fact that there was another person sitting across from them. It was all the little things, really. The way Max kept leaning closer whenever George spoke, George casually reaching over to fix Max’s collar, the stupid smiles they exchanged over things that weren’t even remotely funny.
Lando wanted to be sick.
“Can you two get a room?” he eventually muttered, reaching for his glass.
George looked at him, thoroughly unimpressed. “We’re having a conversation.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I’ve been forced to listen to it.”
Max laughed, reaching for his drink. “Jealous?”
“Of what? Having to share a brain cell?”
“You’re just bitter because nobody’s flirting with you,” George added.
“Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere else.”
They continued regardless, which was perhaps the most offensive part of it all.
Oscar was running late, as he warned them he would be. Lando had received a brief message from him earlier saying he was leaving the office, but forty minutes had passed since then, and there was still no sign of him. He wasn’t particularly worried. London traffic could be dreadful around this time, and Oscar had mentioned having some work to finish before heading out. Still, Lando found himself checking his phone every now and then, mostly out of habit.
It was a little past forty minutes when Oscar finally appeared.
Lando noticed him almost immediately, looking up from the conversation just as he approached their table. He looked a little dishevelled, which wasn’t particularly surprising after a full day at work. His hair was slightly out of place, his shirt looked as though he’d been wearing it for far too long, and there was a tiredness in his face that Lando hadn’t quite expected. But what caught his attention was the faint redness around Oscar’s eyes.
He sat up a little straighter.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Oscar greeted, pulling out the empty chair beside Lando.
“You’re fine,” George said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Max added.
Oscar gave them a tired smile before leaning back in his seat. “Traffic was awful.”
Lando, however, was still looking at him.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was just trying to figure out why Oscar looked so exhausted, or whether he’d been rubbing his eyes too much. Whatever it was, he must have been staring for longer than he realised, because Oscar eventually turned towards him.
“What?” Oscar asked, eyebrows drawing together. “Is there something on my face?”
Lando blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, no. I just…”
He hesitated, taking another look at him.
“Are you okay? You look…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Rough?”
Oscar stared at him for a second before letting out a short laugh. “Are you saying I look ugly?”
Lando rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”
“I’m wounded.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Nice to see you too.”
Oscar shifted in his seat, letting out a quiet sigh as he reached for the menu. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling like my vision’s been a bit off lately, and I’ve been getting headaches. Today’s been particularly bad, though.”
Lando’s expression changed slightly. “Your vision?”
“Yeah. Everything’s been a bit blurry sometimes. It’s probably just the screen time.”
“Have you been staring at your computer all day again?”
“Well, I do have a job that requires me to use a computer.”
“Very funny.”
Oscar shrugged, looking down at the menu. “I’ll be fine.”
Lando didn’t seem particularly convinced. He watched him for another moment before asking, “Have you eaten?”
Oscar looked up.
“Uh…”
“Have you?”
“I had something earlier.”
“What?”
“a bit of a sandwich.”
“When?”
Oscar paused. “At lunch.”
Lando stared at him. “It’s nearly nine.”
“I know what time it is.”
“So you’ve had a bit of a sandwich for lunch and nothing since?”
“I was busy.”
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“You’re kidding me.” Lando leaned back, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Hurry up and order something.”
Oscar glanced at him, an amused expression slowly finding its way onto his face. “Okay, okay. So bossy.”
“Someone has to make sure you eat properly.”
“Didn’t realise I’d moved in with my mother.”
“Your mother would probably do a better job.”
George, who had been quietly watching the exchange, glanced at Max. Max glanced back. They shared a brief, knowing look, the sort that suggested they had both reached the same conclusion but had decided, for once, to keep it to themselves.
Lando didn’t notice. He was too busy watching Oscar scan through the menu, occasionally pointing out things he thought he’d like.
“Get the chicken,” Lando suggested.
“I can choose my own food.”
“Just saying. It’s good here.”
“I’ll have a look.”
“Or the pasta. The pasta’s nice too.”
“Oscar,” George interrupted, grinning. “Just order something before Lando does it for you.”
“Thank you,” Oscar said, finally putting the menu down. “At least someone here respects my independence.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Lando muttered.
By the time Oscar’s food arrived, the conversation had already moved on to something else. George was telling them about a particularly ridiculous situation at work, Max kept interrupting with corrections, and Lando was doing a rather poor job of pretending he wasn’t invested in the story.
Oscar ate while listening, occasionally adding a comment of his own. The tiredness hadn’t entirely left his face, but he seemed a little more relaxed now that he’d had something to eat. Lando noticed him rubbing the corner of his eye once or twice, though he didn’t bring it up again. He figured Oscar would tell him if something was seriously wrong.
Besides, he didn’t want to spend the entire evening nagging him.
Not when George was already giving him enough material to work with.
“You’re both disgusting,” Lando announced at one point, watching George steal a piece of food from Max’s plate.
George looked up. “What?”
“Get your own food.”
“He doesn’t mind,” George replied.
Max shrugged. “I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re both enabling each other.”
Oscar, who had been quietly eating, glanced at Lando. “You do that all the time.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because I’m charming.”
Oscar laughed into his drink. “That’s debatable.”
“You’re actually so rude.”
“And yet you keep inviting me places.”
“I didn’t invite you. Max did.”
“Right. I’ll remember that next time.”
Lando nudged his foot under the table, earning a small, knowing smile from Oscar before he returned to his food.
The rest of dinner passed without much trouble. They talked about work, exchanged stories, made fun of George’s latest obsession, and listened to Max complain about something that had happened during the week. Oscar gradually became more talkative, occasionally joining in with the same dry remarks that never failed to make Lando laugh.
By the time they were done, the restaurant had grown quieter, and the plates in front of them were mostly empty. George suggested getting another round of drinks, but Lando was already leaning back in his chair, declaring that he was too full to move.
“You’re always too full to move,” Oscar pointed out.
“Because I enjoy my food.”
Oscar shook his head, laughing as he reached for his jacket.
It was a good evening, Lando thought. A little too much flirting from George and Max perhaps, and more than enough opportunities for Oscar to be irritating, but a good evening nonetheless. The sort that made the long day feel a little less exhausting.
And when they finally said their goodbyes outside the restaurant, Lando fell into step beside Oscar, already asking whether he wanted to stop somewhere for dessert on the way home.
Oscar looked at him.
“You just said you were too full to move.”
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Are you coming or not?”
Oscar sighed, shaking his head as he followed him down the pavement.
“You’re paying.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then we’re going home.”
“Fine. I’ll pay.”
Oscar smiled to himself, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
