Chapter Text
Chapter 3:
Ruh roh
Oscar was beginning to suspect that Carlos had never actually been right about anything in his life.
"I am telling you," Carlos said, pointing across the table with the confidence of someone presenting a very serious argument, "that chips are a side dish."
"They're not."
"They are."
"They're potatoes."
"So?"
"So they're food."
"That doesn't make them a main."
Oscar stared at him.
"You just said they're a side."
"They can be both."
"That makes no sense."
"It makes perfect sense."
Logan, sitting beside Oscar, slowly lowered his coffee.
"I don't think either of you knows what you're arguing about anymore."
"We're arguing about chips," Oscar said.
"No, we're arguing about principles."
Carlos nodded solemnly.
"Exactly."
Logan looked between them.
"Right."
Across the table, Lando had apparently decided this was his problem now.
"You're both wrong."
Oscar turned.
"You've been listening?"
"I've been trying not to."
Alex leaned back in his chair.
"Don't get involved."
"Too late."
George looked between all of them.
"I'd like to point out that this started because Carlos said fries and chips were completely different things."
"They are," Carlos said.
"They're literally not."
"They are in America."
"We're in England."
"Exactly."
Lando frowned.
"Wait."
Everyone looked at him.
"Are we talking about chips or crisps?"
There was a beat of complete silence.
George slowly put his coffee down.
"Oh, for God's sake."
Alex covered his face with one hand. Oscar laughed. Carlos pointed triumphantly at Lando.
"See? This is why you're my favourite."
"You said I was your favourite yesterday."
"I change favourites."
"Clearly."
The café around them was warm and crowded, the sort of place that looked like it had been designed specifically for people to forget they were in the middle of a university campus.
Exposed brick covered half the walls. Little wooden tables were squeezed into every available corner. Plants hung from shelves beside mismatched books, framed photographs and handwritten quotes. Warm lights glowed above the counter, reflected faintly in the windows. Somewhere behind them, a coffee machine hissed.
It was probably the cosiest place Oscar had found since arriving. And, apparently, the loudest.
"You know what?" Logan said. "I'm changing tables."
"You can't," Carlos said.
"Why?"
"Because then I win."
"Win what?"
"The argument."
"We weren't arguing."
Carlos looked offended.
"That sounds like something a loser would say."
Oscar laughed again. Beside him, Lando shook his head.
"You two are exhausting."
"You've been arguing with George for the last ten minutes," Alex pointed out.
"That's different."
George raised an eyebrow.
"How?"
"I'm right."
"You're not."
Lando opened his mouth, stopped, then looked at Oscar. It was barely anything. A quick flick of his eyes across the table, catching Oscar's for half a second before moving away.
But something about it made Lando's expression change. His shoulders went a fraction stiller. His eyes unfocused for the briefest moment.
That strange prickling sensation had returned.
Pay attention.
Lando frowned.
Pay attention to what?
His gaze swept across the café. Nothing. Students talking. Cups clinking. Someone laughing near the counter.
His head jerked sharply towards the opposite wall.
Oscar's smile faded.
Lando was staring at the brickwork behind them, at the wall itself. His eyes moved rapidly, scanning from one end to the other.
Oscar leaned slightly towards him.
"Lan—?"
The wall exploded.
Glass shattered inward as something tore through the windows beside it. People screamed. Chairs scraped violently across the floor.
Oscar barely had time to register the blur of movement before Lando ducked beneath the table.
"Get down!"
The café erupted into chaos.
Someone knocked over a chair. A cup hit the floor and shattered. People pushed towards the doors, shouting over one another. Oscar dropped instinctively beneath the table.
"Lando?"
No answer. He looked towards where Lando had been sitting. Empty.
Then another window exploded. A red and blue figure swung through the opening, web line snapping taut above him. Spider-Man.
He released the web at the highest point of the swing and landed hard against the wooden floor.
"EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!"
His voice cut cleanly through the screaming. Deeper than Oscar remembered from the videos, rougher, as though he was deliberately relaxing his throat beneath the mask.
But somehow familiar.
Spider-Man fired another web towards the ceiling.
Then another.
"Move! Come on!"
He reached the nearest student, wrapped an arm around their waist and swung them cleanly through the broken window.
Oscar stared. Another web. Another person. Another swing.
Spider-Man moved through the café like he'd already mapped every exit in his head. And somewhere behind Oscar, hidden beneath the noise and the smoke and the screaming, a door slammed shut.
Oscar barely had time to process the screaming before the floor beneath him shuddered. The whole cafe jolted. Tables rattled, cups jumped against their saucers, somewhere behind Oscar, somebody screamed again.
Then came a sound that was almost worse than the impact itself.
A deep, grinding roar.
Oscar looked up. Through the jagged hole in the brick wall, he caught a glimpse of what had actually broken through.
For one second, his brain refused to make sense of it.
It was enormous.
Metal twisted over metal, a mass of black and silver machinery that looked almost like a car that had been built by someone who had never actually seen a car before. Four massive mechanical limbs dug into the pavement outside. Its front end lifted, panels shifting and folding as something inside it whirred violently.
It looked like a Transformer.
And it was heading straight for the café.
"Oh, shit—"
Oscar stumbled backwards. The machine lurched forward. Then something hit him square in the chest. A web.
Oscar's breath caught as the force yanked him forward.
"Wh—"
He didn't even finish. Spider-Man was already there. He caught Oscar around the waist just as his feet left the ground, one arm locking securely around him while the other fired a web through the shattered window.
The cafe dropped away.
For half a second, Oscar could only stare. Red and blue. The mask. The white lenses. An arm around his waist. Then they were swinging.
Wind tore past Oscar's ears as Spider-Man carried him cleanly through the broken window and out over the street. Oscar instinctively grabbed onto his shoulder.
They arced upwards. Below them, people scattered across the pavement.
Spider-Man released the web at the highest point and fired another almost immediately, changing direction towards the roof of the building opposite.
He landed with Oscar still held against him. Other students were already there, some crouched against the wall, others staring back towards the ruined café.
Spider-Man didn't even look at them. His attention was on Oscar. For the first time since he'd appeared, he stopped.
Not for the others. Not even for a second. But for Oscar, he did. His grip loosened slightly around Oscar's waist.
"You alright?"
But there was something underneath it. Oscar blinked.
"Yeah."
Spider Man tilted his head. Something about that tiny movement made Oscar's stomach twist. He'd seen that before.
The accent, too. It wasn't quite the flat, familiar London sound Oscar had started associating with most of the people around him. There was something different threaded through it. Something subtle beneath the deeper voice. Something oddly familiar.
Oscar stared at him.
Spider-Man stared back.
Then his head tilted that little bit further.
"You sure?"
Oscar opened his mouth. Nothing came out. For one strange second, the chaos around them seemed to disappear.
Then Spider Man gave a small nod, apparently deciding that Oscar's silence meant yes.
"You're okay."
He released him.
And before Oscar could ask a single question, another web shot from his wrist. Spider-Man swung straight back towards the cafe.
Oscar stumbled backwards as soon as Spider-Man released him. His legs felt strangely unsteady beneath him. He caught himself against the low brick wall at the edge of the rooftop before sliding down onto the ground.
For a few seconds, he just sat there. His heart was still hammering.
Below them, the cafe looked completely different. Smoke curled through the broken windows. Glass glittered across the pavement. People were still running from the building in every direction.
Then someone landed beside him. Carlos.
"Oscar!"
Carlos grabbed his shoulder, looking him over so quickly it was almost frantic.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
Carlos exhaled sharply.
"Jesus Christ."
Logan appeared next, followed by George. Then Alex. Then another student. Then another. Spider-Man had emptied the entire cafe.
Oscar looked towards the edge of the roof. The cashier was there too, sitting against the wall with both hands pressed against their chest, breathing far too quickly. Oscar recognized them immediately.
That was the person who'd made his coffee.
The thought was bizarrely mundane considering what had just happened. He looked back towards the street. Spider-Man was still there.
He'd landed on the roof opposite them, crouched low, head turned towards the enormous machine tearing through the street below. It was already moving again. Metal groaned. Something exploded.
Spider-Man straightened. He looked like he was about to jump.
"Wait!"
Alex surged forward.
He caught Spider-Man's wrist. Spider-Man stopped immediately.
"We had a friend with us."
Alex's voice was panicked.
"Lando Norris."
For a second, Spider-Man didn't move.
Oscar watched his head turn.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"He's okay."
The words came without hesitation.
"Curly-haired boy, right?"
Alex blinked.
"Yeah."
"Got him to another building."
A beat.
Alex nodded.
"Okay."
Spider-Man held his gaze for barely another second. Then he released his wrist. He jumped. A web shot upwards. And he was gone.
Oscar stared after him. Then the machine moved. The entire roof seemed to vibrate beneath them. Someone gasped.
"Oh my God."
Oscar was already on his feet. Several people rushed towards the railing. He followed.
Below, Spider-Man swung straight towards the machine. He landed against its side. For one impossible second, he looked tiny. Then his wrist snapped forward. Webbing exploded across the machine.
One line. Then another.
Spider-Man moved faster than Oscar could follow, swinging around the enormous metal body and covering it in layer after layer of webbing. The machine fought back.
A mechanical arm tore through several strands at once. Spider-Man barely moved in time. He fired another web. The machine pulled. Spider-Man's entire body jerked forward.
Oscar's stomach dropped.
"He's going to get crushed."
But Spider-Man dug his feet into the side of the building. Another web. The machine's movements slowed.
Then its enormous hand swung sideways. It caught Spider-Man across the face.
Oscar flinched.
The impact sent him flying several metres. For one horrible second, he didn't move. Then he pushed himself upright. Blood splattered across the side of the mask. Oscar's breath caught.
The mask had torn badly near the cheek, exposing the fabric beneath it. Something underneath had clearly been cut too. But Spider-Man didn't stop. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand.
Then he fired another web.
"Jesus," George whispered.
Oscar glanced sideways.
Max stood several feet away. He wasn't looking at the machine. He was staring at Spider-Man. There was something in his expression Oscar hadn't expected.
Worry. Not the vague concern everyone else seemed to have for the masked stranger. Something sharper and more personal.
Oscar frowned. Before he could think about it, someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Come on. We need to go."
Oscar looked back towards the fight.
"But—"
"Now."
The rooftop was beginning to fill with smoke, and more debris was falling into the street below. People were already being moved towards the stairwell.
Oscar hesitated for one last second. Spider-Man was still fighting, still moving, still actively throwing himself directly at something ten times his size.
Then Oscar was pulled away from the railing.
The last thing he saw before the stairwell door swung shut was a flash of red and blue disappearing beneath another web line. For reasons Oscar couldn't explain, his eyes remained fixed on the spot where Spider-Man had vanished long after he was gone.
By late afternoon, the chaos had finally begun to feel like something that had happened to someone else.
The campus had mostly settled. The police had cleared the area around the cafe, the broken windows had been boarded up, and every second person seemed to have a video of Spider-Man saved on their phone.
Oscar had seen enough of them already. He was sitting cross legged on the bottom bunk(yes Lando’s bunk, not that either of them really cared about it much), laptop balanced against his thighs, scrolling through his phone while the room remained unusually quiet.
Then another video appeared.
SPIDER-MAN TAKES DOWN ATTACKING MACHINE AFTER CAMPUS CAFE ATTACK
Oscar tapped it. The footage was shaky, filmed from somewhere across the street. It showed Spider-Man swinging between buildings, webbing the enormous machine over and over again.
The machine wasn't actually alive. Oscar had learned that part later. There had been a person inside. Someone had apparently built the thing and driven it straight through the cafe.
The video cut between different angles. Spider-Man getting thrown against a building. Spider-Man climbing back up. Spider-Man wrapping webbing around one of the machine's enormous arms. Spider-Man getting hit.
Oscar winced. The mask tore. For half a second, there was something underneath it, skin and then blood. A lot of it.
Oscar leaned closer to the screen. Spider-Man barely reacted. He kept going.
Eventually, the machine collapsed under the sheer amount of webbing wrapped around it, its metal limbs pinned against the pavement.
The crowd erupted.
Spider-Man stood there for a moment. Even through the terrible quality of the video, Oscar could see that something was wrong. He was favouring one leg.
He limped for perhaps three steps before straightening. Then someone shouted his name. Spider-Man looked up and waved.
Oscar smiled despite himself. The video ended.
He lowered his phone. The bedroom door opened. Oscar looked up. Lando stood there.
"Hey."
He looked remarkably normal.
His curls were damp, his hoodie was pulled loosely over his shoulders, and he was carrying a paper bag from somewhere on campus.
Oscar's eyes immediately went to the side of his face. There was a bandage there. Much smaller than the wound Oscar had seen on Spider-Man's mask. Still, the skin surrounding it was darkened slightly, almost like a bruise beneath the adhesive.
Oscar frowned.
"Why do you have a bandage at the side of your face?"
Lando paused.
Then shrugged.
"Uh."
He touched the edge of it.
"Spider-Man took me to another building, but I got a little hurt."
He said it like he'd scraped his knee.
"Had to go to the campus nurse."
Oscar stared at him.
"You got hurt?"
"Bit."
"How bad?"
Lando considered this.
"Not bad."
Oscar looked at the bandage again. The exposed skin beneath it was already mostly closed. There was still a dark, narrow mark where the injury had been, but nothing like the gash he'd seen on the footage.
Lando caught him looking.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Oscar narrowed his eyes.
"You heal fast."
Lando grinned.
"Good genes."
"Right."
“It was a scratch, at best."
"Sure."
Lando dropped the paper bag onto his bed and flopped down beside it. He looked tired. More than tired, actually. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and his movements were slower than usual, like he'd spent most of the day trying not to do too much.
Oscar glanced at the clock.
"Where've you been?"
"Campus."
"All day?"
"Mostly."
Lando shrugged again.
"Had to wait around for the nurse. Then I didn't really feel like going anywhere."
Oscar nodded. That made sense.
What he didn't know was that Lando had spent most of those hours sitting somewhere quiet, waiting for his skin to knit itself back together.
The wound had been ugly earlier. Deep enough that hiding it would have been difficult. Now it was barely more than a dark mark.
Now it was healing far too quickly for something that should have looked like that. Lando reached for the paper bag and pulled out a sandwich.
"Did you see the video?"
Oscar glanced at his phone.
"Yeah."
"Of the robot thing?"
"Yeah."
Lando unwrapped the sandwich.
"Mad."
Oscar looked at him.
"You don't sound very surprised."
Lando took a bite.
"I mean."
He chewed.
"Someone built a giant robot and drove it through a coffee shop."
A shrug.
"Bit of a weird Tuesday."
Oscar laughed.
"That's not normal."
"Nothing about this university is normal."
"Fair."
Lando took another bite. Oscar looked back at his phone. Then at Lando. Then at the tiny bandage. Something about the whole thing felt strange. He couldn't explain why. Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe the adrenaline was still messing with his head. Because the voice from the rooftop was still sitting somewhere in the back of his mind.
That strange accent. That little head tilt.
And now Lando was sitting three feet away from him, eating a sandwich like he'd done nothing more interesting that day than attend a lecture.
Oscar shook the thought away.
Probably nothing.
Lando glanced over.
"You alright, Osc?"
Oscar looked up.
"Yeah."
A small smile, muttering the still slightly unfamiliar nickname under his breath.
"Just tired."
Lando nodded.
"Same."
He leaned back against the wall. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Lando lifted his sandwich.
"Want half?"
Oscar smiled.
"Yeah."
"Good."
He held it out. Just like that, the strangest day either of them had experienced since arriving at university quietly became another ordinary afternoon in their room.
The week passed surprisingly normally.
Which, considering the previous one had involved a fire, a masked vigilante, and a giant machine crashing through a coffee shop, was probably a good thing.
There were lectures. Assignments. Late-night trips to the library that turned into arguments about absolutely nothing. Carlos losing his student ID for the second time and insisting the university was somehow responsible.
Oscar got used to the rhythm of things. He got used to knowing which stairwell was quickest between buildings. He got used to Logan stealing his pens. He got used to George appearing in places nobody had invited him to. He got used to Alex somehow always having coffee.
And, perhaps most surprisingly, he got used to Lando.
Lando had started taking up a strange amount of space in Oscar's daily life without either of them really deciding that he should.
Sometimes it was sitting beside him in lectures. Sometimes it was walking back to the flat together. Sometimes it was simply Lando appearing beside him without warning and asking whether he wanted food.
And somewhere during the week, without Oscar noticing exactly when it happened, Lando had stopped calling him Oscar.
It was always "Osc."
"Osc, pass me that."
"Osc, we're gonna be late."
"Hey, Osc."
Oscar hadn't questioned it. Until Saturday morning. There were no classes, which meant the flat had somehow become louder rather than quieter.
Carlos had taken over the kitchen. Charles was sitting at the table with his laptop open. George had somehow appeared despite not living there. Alex had joined of course while Max sat half asleep in one of the chairs, hood pulled over his head.
Oscar was halfway through spreading butter onto toast when Lando reached across him.
"Osc."
Oscar looked up.
"Hm?"
Lando held out the butter.
"Can you pass that?"
Oscar took it.
"Here."
"Cheers."
Lando went back to his breakfast. Carlos stopped chewing. He looked at Lando. Then Oscar. Then back at Lando.
"Since when do you call him Osc?"
Lando paused. The knife in his hand remained halfway to his toast. He genuinely seemed to think about it.
Oscar looked at him, waiting. Lando frowned slightly.
"I don't know."
Carlos narrowed his eyes.
"You've never called him that before."
"I definitely have."
"When?"
Lando looked vaguely offended.
"Somewhere."
"That's not an answer."
"It started somewhere in the middle."
George glanced up from his phone.
"That's incredibly specific."
Lando shrugged.
"I guess it just stuck."
Carlos pointed between them.
"Why?"
Lando stared at him.
"Why not?"
"Because it's weird."
"It's a nickname."
"You don't nickname people."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
Lando opened his mouth.
“I nicknamed you Carlito at some point so,” Then pointed his knife at Carlos. "Also, you're annoying me before nine in the morning."
"It's ten."
"That's worse."
Alex snorted into his coffee. Charles had been suspiciously quiet through the entire exchange. Until now. He looked at Oscar. Then at Lando. Then back at Oscar.
A slow grin appeared.
"Oh."
Oscar frowned.
"What?"
Charles leaned back in his chair.
"Nothing."
Lando glanced between them.
"What?"
Charles's grin widened.
"Nothing, Osc."
Oscar blinked. Lando immediately looked at him. There was a tiny pause.
"Don't."
Charles burst out laughing. Carlos slapped the table.
"Oh, that's his."
Lando rolled his eyes.
"Shut up."
"No, no, no." Charles was grinning now. "I get it."
"You don't get anything."
"I absolutely get it."
Oscar looked between them, "What are you getting?"
"Nothing," Lando said immediately.
Charles pointed at him.
"See?"
"See what?"
"He only lets you call him that."
Lando stared at Charles. Then Oscar. Then down at his breakfast.
"I don't care."
Charles laughed.
"Sure."
"I genuinely don't."
"Of course."
Lando took a bite of toast with considerably more force than necessary. Oscar couldn't help smiling. He wasn't sure why the nickname felt different coming from Lando. It shouldn't. It was three letters. A shortened version of his name. Nothing more. And yet, somehow, hearing anyone else say it felt wrong. Like they'd borrowed something that wasn't theirs.
Oscar glanced across the table.
Lando was already looking at him. Their eyes met. For a second, neither of them said anything. Then Lando's mouth twitched.
"You're staring, Osc."
Oscar looked away.
"I'm not."
"You were."
"Eat your toast."
Lando grinned.
"Yes, sir."
From across the table, Charles quietly muttered, "Oh, this is going to be unbearable."
"Shut up, Charles," Lando and Oscar said at exactly the same time.
There was a beat. Carlos slowly looked between them. Alex covered his mouth to hide a laugh. George raised both eyebrows. Max, who had barely spoken all morning, opened one eye.
"Huh."
Lando frowned.
"What?"
Max shook his head and closed his eye again.
"Nothing."
Oscar looked down at his toast, trying not to smile. Beside him, Lando did exactly the same.
A few days later
By Friday night, the living room had become unusable. Not because there was anything particularly wrong with it. There were simply too many people.
Carlos had claimed the largest section of the sofa. George was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the coffee table. Alex had somehow acquired an entire blanket despite nobody remembering bringing one into the room. Charles was leaning against the armrest, scrolling through the movie options.
Max had the remote. Which, apparently, made him the only person whose opinion mattered.
"No," Carlos said.
Max didn't look up.
"You haven't even seen the title."
"I don't need to."
"It's a classic."
"It's two hours and forty minutes."
"Exactly."
"That's not a selling point."
George leaned over from the floor.
"Put it on."
"Thank you."
"I didn't say I wanted to watch it."
Carlos looked offended.
"Then why did you tell him to put it on?"
"Because I want to watch you suffer."
"You're horrible."
"I've been told."
Lando was sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, one knee pulled against his chest. Oscar was beside him, mostly because there hadn't been anywhere else to sit.
The opening credits rolled.
For approximately six minutes, everyone was quiet.
Then George whispered,
"That's the guy."
Alex looked over.
"What guy?"
"The guy from that other film."
"Which film?"
"You know."
"No, I don't."
"You definitely do."
"I absolutely don't."
Carlos threw popcorn at them.
"Can you all shut up?"
Lando caught the popcorn without looking.
Carlos stared.
"How did you—"
Lando ate it.
"Reflexes."
"You're annoying."
"Thanks."
Oscar smiled and looked back at the screen. Ten minutes later, Lando's head dipped. Oscar didn't notice at first. Then it dipped again. He glanced sideways. Lando's eyes were closed.
Not fully asleep. Not yet. His head tipped forward slightly before he caught himself and blinked awake.
Oscar smiled. Lando noticed.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were going to."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
Oscar turned back towards the television.
"You're imagining things."
"Mhm."
Five minutes later, Lando's head dropped again. This time Carlos noticed. He reached across and shoved Lando lightly in the shoulder.
"Stay awake."
Lando's eyes opened.
"I'm awake."
"You were snoring."
"I don't snore."
"You absolutely snore."
Lando stared at him for a second. Then reached into the popcorn bowl. Carlos immediately leaned back.
"Don't."
Lando threw the popcorn. It hit Carlos directly in the face. The room erupted.
"OI!"
Lando grinned.
"Shut up."
"You little—"
Another handful.
Carlos ducked.
"STOP THROWING FOOD!"
"You told me to stay awake."
"That doesn't mean assault me!"
Oscar was laughing now, trying unsuccessfully to hide it behind his hand. Beside him, Lando muttered something under his breath. Oscar looked over.
"What?"
"Nothing."
His voice sounded different. The usual British edge he'd grown accustomed to had faded slightly. His vowels had rounded out, something deeper and stranger slipping through. It was more noticeable when Lando was tired, like whatever effort he normally put into sounding typically British had simply disappeared along with his ability to stay awake.
Oscar found himself listening. He'd always found Lando's accent interesting. There was something underneath it that he couldn't quite place, kind of like Max’s Dutch accent but more diverse.
Now it was much stronger.
"You're doing the accent thing again."
Lando blinked.
"What accent thing?"
"Your accent."
Lando stared at him.
"It's always the same."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
Oscar shook his head.
"It gets stronger when you're tired."
Lando considered this.
Then shrugged.
"Probably because I'm tired."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"Sure it does."
"No, it doesn't."
Lando smiled sleepily.
"You're overthinking it, Osc."
And before Oscar could answer, Lando's head tipped sideways against the back of the sofa. Within seconds, he was asleep again. Carlos glanced over.
"He's gone."
Max didn't look away from the movie.
"Good."
Oscar smiled faintly and turned back towards the screen. He didn't think about the accent again. It was just another strange little thing about Lando Norris.
The following Tuesday
"Can you move this?"
Oscar looked up from his laptop. Carlos was standing beside the sofa.
"No."
Carlos frowned.
"Why?"
"Because I can't."
"Helpful."
"I've got an essay due."
"So?"
Oscar stared at him.
"So I'm doing it."
Carlos sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
He grabbed the edge of the sofa. Max took the other end.
"Ready?"
"Yep."
They lifted. Nothing happened. Carlos strained.
"Why is this thing so heavy?"
Max looked at him.
"Because it's a sofa."
"That's not helpful."
"It's not supposed to be."
Lando walked into the room carrying a bottle of water.
"What are you doing?"
"Moving this."
Lando stared at them.
"Why?"
"Landlord's coming."
"So?"
"We need to clean."
"Move it, then."
Carlos glared at him.
"We're trying."
Lando looked at the sofa.
"Move."
"What?"
"Let me."
Carlos stepped aside. Lando put his bottle down.
"Ready?"
Max nodded. Lando grabbed the edge and lifted. The sofa came up with no heroic amount of effort. It just came up. Carlos stared. Oscar stared. Max looked down at Lando's hands.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Lando frowned.
"What?"
"Put it down."
Lando lowered it.
Carlos looked personally betrayed.
"You were holding basically the entire thing."
"No, I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
Max started laughing.
Lando looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're laughing."
"I know."
"Why?"
Max shook his head.
"You're such a dork."
Lando frowned.
"I was helping."
"You lifted a sofa by yourself."
"It wasn't that heavy."
Carlos pointed at him.
"That's not normal."
Lando shrugged.
"I work out."
"Since when?"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Yeah."
"How often is sometimes?"
Lando picked up his water bottle.
"Sometimes."
Carlos stared at him.
"You're impossible."
Oscar was still looking at the sofa.
Lando caught him.
"What?"
Oscar blinked.
"Nothing."
"You've been staring at me for about thirty seconds."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
Oscar glanced at the sofa. Then back at him.
"Sofa."
Lando narrowed his eyes.
"You're weird."
Oscar smiled.
"So are you."
He went back to his laptop. And that should have been the end of it. Except Oscar's brain supplied an entirely unhelpful thought.
Spider-Man threw a car.
He immediately dismissed it. Lando wasn't Spider-Man. Obviously. That would be ridiculous.
Saturday
The heat had settled over campus unusually late. Everyone was complaining about it. Everyone except Oscar. He walked into the common room wearing a hoodie, hood up, sleeves pulled over his hands.
Carlos looked at him.
"Mate, you're going to cook."
"I'm fine."
"You look boiling."
"I'm fine."
Lando glanced up from his phone. He didn't laugh. He just watched Oscar for a second.
"You alright, Osc?"
Oscar shrugged.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Just uncomfortable."
Lando paused. Something about that answer caught somewhere in the back of his mind. It felt like it should make sense.
He frowned slightly.
"Want the fan?"
Oscar looked at him.
"Yeah."
"Alright."
Lando got up. He crossed the room and switched it on. The fan hummed to life. Oscar sat down.
"Thanks."
"No worries."
Lando returned to his chair. That was it. No comments about the hoodie. Oscar glanced at him once. Lando was already back on his phone. Something about that made Oscar's shoulders loosen.
A few days after that
They were walking back from class when a bicycle shot around the corner. Lando's hand moved before Oscar even registered what was happening. He caught the strap of Oscar's backpack and yanked him backwards.
The bicycle flew past.
Oscar stumbled.
"Jesus."
The cyclist shouted something over their shoulder and disappeared down the path. Oscar stared after them. Then looked at Lando.
Lando was already watching the cyclist disappear.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
Oscar looked down. Lando's hand was still gripping his backpack.
"You saw that coming?"
Lando blinked.
"Yeah."
"Before me?"
"I've got eyes."
Oscar narrowed his eyes.
"You've got weird eyes."
Lando grinned.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"Pay attention, Osc."
He let go of the backpack and started walking again. Oscar remained where he was for a second. Then followed.
Mid-October
By the time midterms approached, studying had become less of an activity and more of a permanent condition. The library was always full. The common room was too loud. And somehow Lando's bed had become the unofficial backup study space.
Neither of them had discussed this. It had simply happened.
Oscar sat against the wall at one end of the mattress, laptop balanced against his thighs. Lando occupied the opposite end, three textbooks scattered around him.
For nearly twenty minutes, neither said anything. Pages turned, keys clicked. Someone shouted from the hallway. Neither reacted. Eventually Oscar reached across the bed.
"Can I steal your calculator?"
"No."
"You have two."
"That's irrelevant."
"Why?"
"I like having options."
Oscar stared at him.
"You're weird."
"I know."
Silence returned. Oscar went back to his work. A few minutes later, Lando spoke.
"Osc."
"Hm?"
"You understand this?"
Oscar looked across the bed.
"No, thought I was the only one."
They both looked down at the same equation. Oscar frowned.
"Wait."
"What?"
"I think you did that wrong."
Lando leaned closer.
"Where?"
"Here."
Oscar pointed. Lando stared at it. Then at Oscar. Then back at the page.
"Oh," A pause. "You're right."
Oscar grinned.
"I know."
"Don't get cocky."
"You asked me."
"I made a mistake."
"Rare."
"Shut up."
Oscar laughed. Lando smiled too. And then, without either of them really thinking about it, they went back to studying.
Outside, the campus carried on. Inside, they stayed exactly where they were, comfortable. Neither of them noticed how easily it had happened.
The second incident happened on a Thursday in early November. Oscar never quite figured out what it was.
One second, he and Logan were walking across campus with a handful of other students, and the next, something enormous crashed through the side of the science building. People screamed. The windows shook.
Oscar barely had time to look up before Logan grabbed his arm.
"Run."
They ran.
It didn't matter. Within minutes, the entire lower floor had been evacuated, students pouring through the exits as something metallic and impossibly loud tore through the building below them.
Oscar and Logan ended up several floors higher than they'd intended, trapped with a handful of other students on one of the upper observation towers.
There was nowhere else to go. So they waited. And listened to the fight happening below. The sound of metal colliding with concrete travelled all the way up the tower.
Then came a familiar thwip.
Oscar looked up. Spider-Man swung past the windows. A couple minutes later, he appeared on the platform.
"Okay," he said, looking around at the group. "Everyone alive?"
A few people nodded.
"Brilliant."
He pointed towards the edge.
"I'll get you down."
The first student went easily. Then the second. Then Logan.
Spider-Man wrapped one arm securely around him, firing a webline towards a building across the street. Logan looked down. His entire body went rigid.
"Oh."
SpiderMan glanced at him.
"Don't look down."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Logan squeezed his eyes shut. SpiderMan laughed softly.
"You're fine."
The web pulled tight.
"Don't look down. You're fine, you're fine."
Something about the way he said it made Oscar smile. His voice was still deeper than usual beneath the mask, but there was nothing mocking about it. Just calm, reassuring. Logan nodded stiffly.
"Okay."
They swung.
Oscar watched them disappear towards the neighbouring building. A few seconds later, Spider-Man returned.
One by one, the others went. Until only Oscar remained. Spider-Man landed in front of him.
"Your turn."
Oscar stepped forward. Spider-Man caught him around the waist, one arm firm around his middle as the web shot out. They swung. This time, Oscar didn't feel nearly as startled.
Maybe he'd had practice. They landed on the roof. Spider-Man didn't immediately let go.
"You alright?"
Oscar nodded.
"Yeah."
SpiderMan paused.
"Pretty sure this is your second time getting saved by me."
Oscar laughed.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
Oscar looked at him.
"You always ask twice."
SpiderMan went still for half a second. Then he gave a tiny shrug.
"I suppose I do."
The two of them stood there while the sounds of the fight continued somewhere below. Oscar glanced over the edge.
"You scared?"
"Not really."
SpiderMan looked at him.
"You're supposed to be."
Oscar laughed again.
"Sorry."
"No, that's alright."
There was something almost amused in Spider-Man's voice. As though this was just another evening. Another person to rescue. Another rooftop. Another fight.
Oscar looked at him more carefully. The suit was torn across his back.
Several long scratches had ripped through the fabric, revealing patches of tanned, irritated skin underneath. There was blood near his thigh too. One leg seemed to bear slightly less weight than the other.
Oscar frowned.
"You're hurt."
Spider-Man glanced down at himself.
"Hm?"
"Your leg."
"Oh. Nothing I can't handle."
His voice was light. Oscar didn't believe him. He looked at the torn suit again. Then back at the mask.
"Do I know you?"
Spider-Man froze. Oscar watched his shoulders still. For one second, neither moved. Then Spider-Man looked away.
"Hold on."
That was all he said. He fired a webline. Oscar barely had time to grab onto him before they swung. The building rushed beneath them. A few seconds later, Spider-Man released him safely onto the pavement.
Oscar stumbled once, caught himself and turned around. Spider-Man was already backing away. He lifted two fingers in a quick little salute. Then he jumped. A web snapped into place above him. And he was gone.
Oscar stood there for a moment. His eyes stayed fixed on the empty space where Spider-Man had disappeared.
Do I know you?
Spider-Man hadn't answered. Somehow, that felt like an answer anyway.
The apartment had gone quiet hours ago.
Oscar sat alone on the edge of his bed, freshly showered, his hair still damp enough that the ends curled slightly against his forehead. The room was mostly dark, lit only by the small lamp on the desk and the faint orange glow coming through the curtains from the street outside.
He should have been asleep. Instead, he kept thinking about the tower, about Spider-Man's voice.
You always ask twice.
The words had come out before Oscar could stop them. And the reaction afterward, that pause. That tiny, almost imperceptible stillness.
Oscar frowned. He'd spent the entire walk back trying to convince himself it meant nothing. It probably did. There were thousands of people in London. Thousands of voices. Thousands of little habits that could overlap.
And yet.
Do I know you?
Spider-Man hadn't answered.
Oscar leaned back against the wall and rubbed a hand over his face. He glanced towards the bottom bunk. Empty.
Lando still wasn't back. Oscar checked the time. Late. Later than Lando usually stayed out, anyway.
He told himself not to worry. Lando was eighteen. He was an adult. He could go wherever he wanted. Still, Oscar found himself staring at the window.
Lando was exhausted. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been replaced with wet cement. His shoulder throbbed. His thigh burned every time he moved it. Something along his ribs complained sharply whenever he took too deep a breath.
And he'd lost her. Again. He'd tracked her across half the city, followed the trail he'd managed to piece together from the attack, finally cornered her on the roof of an abandoned building—
And she'd jumped. Again.
He'd gotten information, at least. Enough to know this wasn't random. Enough to know there was someone behind the machines. Enough to know he was getting closer.
It just wasn't enough to make the bruises worth it.
Lando swung one last time through the night, landing awkwardly against the side of the apartment building.
He caught himself against the brick with both hands.
"Ow."
His voice came out muffled beneath the mask. He stayed there for a second, forehead resting against the wall. Then he pushed himself upwards. His window was dark.
A faint strip of light spilled through the curtains.
Lando frowned.
Oscar’s probably asleep.
He didn't think much of it. He was too tired. He pulled the window up and slipped inside. The room was quiet. Lando immediately climbed onto the wall. The ceiling. Much easier.
He moved across it slowly, careful not to make a sound. His backpack hung loosely from one shoulder, threatening to slide off every few steps.
The bedroom door was still slightly ajar. Lando reached the corner. He stretched one hand down towards it. The door shifted silently.
Click.
Closed. Lando sighed.
He let himself drop from the ceiling. His trainers touched the floor with barely a sound. He reached up immediately, fingers finding the edge of his mask. He peeled it away from his face with a tired breath, curls flattened messily beneath it.
"God."
He rubbed at his eyes. Then turned around.
Oscar was standing there, hair still wet. His usual oversized hoodie hanging loosely around him, one hand resting near the desk behind him.
His lips were just slightly parted. He was staring at Lando, at the suit, at the mask hanging loosely from his hand.
For several seconds, neither of them moved. Lando looked down at himself. Red. Blue. Torn in several places. Blood smeared across one sleeve. Then back at Oscar. His brain, despite everything he'd done tonight, could apparently only produce one coherent thought.
"...Well."
A beat.
"This is awkward."
Oscar didn't move for several seconds. Then, slowly, he pulled the desk chair away from the desk and sat down. The wheels made a quiet squeak against the floor.
Lando watched him.
He looked tired now. The adrenaline that had carried him home seemed to have finally burned itself out, leaving something quieter behind. His shoulders had dropped. His eyes looked heavy. Even the usual little spark of amusement was missing.
He let the backpack slide from his shoulder. It hit the floor with a dull thud.
Lando's eyes never left Oscar. Oscar folded his hands loosely in his lap.
"You turn nineteen in two days."
Lando blinked. For a second, he genuinely looked confused. Then his eyebrows pulled together.
"How the hell do you know my birthday?"
"Doesn't matter."
Oscar shrugged.
"George was planning this whole thing. You turn nineteen in two days."
Lando stared at him.
"I do."
A pause. He looked down at the floor, as though this was somehow the least important part of what was happening. Then he crossed the room and sat heavily on the edge of his bed.
Oscar watched him. His gaze moved over the torn suit again. The scratches. The blood. The way Lando was holding one side of his body slightly differently.
"How badly are you hurt?"
"Not too bad."
"You are."
"I'm tired."
Oscar sighed. He stood. Lando watched him cross the room and crouch beside the small cabinet beneath the desk.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the first aid kit."
"I'm fine."
"You've said that twice."
"Because I am."
Oscar pulled the kit free.
"Lando."
A pause. Lando looked at him. Oscar raised an eyebrow. Lando sighed.
"Fine."
Oscar sat beside him on the bed.
For a moment, neither spoke. Lando hadn't really known what he'd expected when Oscar found out. Panic, maybe. Questions. A thousand things at once. Not this. Not Oscar sitting quietly beside him, opening a first aid kit like this was something that needed dealing with before anything else.
Oscar reached for his arm.
"Here."
Lando let him. His head lowered slightly. Oscar's fingers were gentle. Far gentler than Lando expected. He cleaned the blood from the smaller cuts first, working carefully around the torn fabric. Lando barely felt it. His eyes started to drift closed.
"Don't sleep yet."
Lando hummed.
"I do want you to wake up tomorrow."
Oscar dabbed antiseptic directly onto one of the cuts. Lando hissed sharply through his teeth.
"Seriously?"
"Sorry."
There was absolutely no remorse in Oscar's voice. Lando gave him the faintest, sleepiest glare.
Oscar's mouth twitched. Then his expression softened again. He continued. The room was almost completely silent except for the occasional rustle of the first aid kit.
Eventually, Oscar sat back.
"How long have you..."
Lando's eyes opened halfway.
"How long have I what?"
"Been SpiderMan."
Lando stared at the ceiling.
"A year and a half. About."
Oscar nodded slowly.
"Who else knows?"
"Max. And my older brother, but he doesn't matter."
Oscar frowned.
"Max of all people?"
Lando let out a tiny breath that might have been a laugh.
"Long story."
"Uh huh."
Oscar glanced down at the supplies in his lap.
"And—"
"Osc."
Lando's voice was quieter this time.
Almost pleading.
"Tomorrow, please?"
Oscar stopped. Whatever question had been forming died immediately. His expression softened.
"Yeah. Of course."
Lando nodded.
"Thanks."
He reached down, grabbed a sweatshirt from beside his pillow and pulled it over himself. The movement made his shoulder wince, but he ignored it. Even exhausted, apparently, he wasn't planning on waking anyone up in the morning still wearing a SpiderMan suit.
He settled back against the pillow. Then looked towards Oscar again.
"And, Osc?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't tell anyone."
Oscar didn't hesitate.
"I won't."
Lando nodded. He turned onto his back. For a while, he just stared at the ceiling. Oscar remained sitting at the edge of the bed. He could see Lando thinking. His eyes weren't quite focused anymore, exhaustion making them dull around the edges. Eventually, Lando sighed.
"The transformer."
Oscar waited.
"Now this one."
He swallowed.
"They all come from the same place."
Oscar tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
"There was a woman."
Lando rubbed a hand over his face.
"I don't know if you were there. The campus fire, like... a month ago?"
Oscar nodded.
"The person who was watching from the roof."
"Yeah."
"She jumped off the building afterwards."
Lando's eyebrows drew together.
"Just disappeared."
He stared at the ceiling again.
"She's the main part of all this."
Oscar stayed quiet.
"All the machines. The monsters. Whatever you want to call them."
Lando's voice was getting softer.
"They're people she hires."
A pause.
"Suicide missions."
His face twisted slightly.
"I don't get it."
Oscar watched him.
"Why would anyone do that?"
"I don't know."
Lando groaned quietly and covered his face with one (still spidermaned) hand.
"That's the problem. I don't know what she wants. I don't know why she'd sacrifice that many people. I don't know how many more she's got."
For the first time since Oscar had walked into the room, Lando sounded genuinely helpless.
Oscar considered him for a moment.
"We'll figure it out."
Lando lowered his hand.
His frown deepened.
"You shouldn't know."
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't end well for people who know."
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
"Never?"
"Never."
"Max is fine."
Lando stared at him. Oscar stared back. For a few seconds, neither said anything. Then Lando's shoulders dropped. He scoffed quietly and looked back at the ceiling.
"Yeah."
His voice was barely audible.
"Unfortunately."
Oscar smiled faintly. Lando closed his eyes. He didn't say what he was thinking. He didn't have to.
He really, really didn't want anyone else getting hurt because of him.
Least of all Oscar.
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