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Lando’s always been sort of obsessed with George—ask anyone and they’d all agree. For Lando, it’s been so long that he doesn’t even remember the first time they’d met, probably because George had been Olly’s friend first—a consequence of being in the same year together. But George was cooler than his brother, obviously, and even though he looked a bit weird, he was kind of pretty too, in an odd, all-angles sort of way.
It only really became slightly strange the older they got, and especially now that George is what the law considers to be a fully-fledged adult and Lando is barely fifteen. It’s an oddly aged friendship, and they’d both be lying if they said they hadn't noticed a slight fracture ever since George went East to London for university last September.
George looks rough when Lando sees him again for the first time since the weekend he’d come back for in June, but his eyes are still freakishly blue and he seems happy enough, so it’s sort of like old times again. Olly says hello but doesn’t seem all that interested in sticking around to hear about George’s first year at uni, which is sort of sad, Lando thinks, because he’d been one of George’s biggest supporters for pursuing medical school. It’s an odd sort of night, though, and it doesn’t really take long for the actual adults to lose interest in George’s ramblings about his clinical placements when he reveals his lack of exciting anecdotes either.
Aside from George and his family, Olly’s girlfriend and a few of his sisters’ friends, his parents have invited people from all over the place for their annual Christmas party. Max was going to come and keep Lando company, but his parents changed their plans a week ago, and now he’s spending Christmas and New Year’s in Singapore—hot and sticky and not at all like the breezy temperatures in England at the moment.
“Hey,” Lando says a little while after he and George have been abandoned for more exciting conversations elsewhere in the house. “I got a new helmet; you wanna see?”
George takes the stairs two at a time and purposefully steps on Lando’s heels more than once, snickering as he follows him up. There’s chatter and music coming from the other end of the hall, and Lando rolls his eyes but resists the urge to bang on his sisters’ door and interrupt their fun.
His room is neater than it used to be, which George comments on as soon as he’s through the door, grinning as he glances around. What he doesn’t know is that it’s started to become a condition of being able to continue karting, and Lando bites his tongue and shoves his head into his wardrobe instead.
George’s eyes light up when he turns around with the helmet cradled between his hands, and Lando drops down in front of him, sitting cross-legged with it in his lap. It’s fluorescent green and has a silver four on either side where his ears would be, outlined in black and in the centre of a blue circle. Thick lines run symmetrically over the top and around the chin into the circles, the same dark blue, cutting out just enough of the fluro green to strike a good balance.
“Nice,” George says. He sits down and leans against Lando’s bed, holding his hands out and peering at it. “Can I have a look?”
Lando rolls it over and purses his lips, watching George immediately flip it and shove it onto his head. His eyes are hidden for a moment by the visor, and Lando really can’t tell if it makes his head look in proportion to the rest of his body or not.
“You’re gonna mess up the foam with your fat head,” he pouts, gently whacking the side of George’s outstretched leg.
George laughs but pulls it off, and then Lando laughs at his messed-up hair and the surprised expression on his face, unable not to. “It’s hot in there. Dunno how you enjoy that, mate.”
Lando shrugs. “You get used to it; I guess.”
He takes the helmet back and taps his fingernails against the top, almost caressing it. There’s a deep pit down in his belly, and it feels like it’s expanding, chewing away at more and more of him.
“I…” Lando swallows, his eyes fixated on the tiny chip of paint. “I think I need to tell you something.”
George’s attention is trained on him, a tiny frown creasing the centre of his otherwise flawless expression. “Yeah?”
Lando looks up but stares past George instead of at him, his vision unfocused and his brain already kicking into overdrive. Surely George is going to think that it’s something to do with his racing, especially after showing him the helmet. Expecting to be invited to a race, maybe, something that’s out closer to London, easy for him to make it to if he can spare a few hours over the weekend.
“I think I’m gay,” he whispers.
He’s pretty sure his voice cracks, but maybe George didn’t even hear; maybe he’s too distracted by being caught off guard to hang onto something so minuscule to tease him for. Lando tucks his lips together to try and hold back the tears he can feel forming, the thick lump in his throat that he can’t seem to breathe around. George doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Lando can’t even look at him, too worried by what he’ll see. He’s taken a gamble; what if George goes sprinting downstairs to tell everyone, the person Lando trusts most and is closer to than his own brother?
George kicks his knee, and Lando winces, averting his eyes. “Oi,” he says, doing it again. “Lando.”
Lando looks up at him, keeping his hands wrapped around the helmet, squeezing so hard his fingertips go white. His heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest, the same adrenaline rush that he gets sitting in his kart.
“Is this the first time you’ve told anyone?” George asks gently.
Lando nods silently, his tears dropping onto his cheeks as his head bobs, salty in the corners of his mouth. It’s more terrifying than he’d expected it to be, worse than anything else, ever. He feels petrified to the spot, like he’s going to turn to stone and be stuck holding the helmet forever.
“I don’t… know,” he mumbles, frowning over what to say. “If I am.”
At least George hasn’t run away yet. He draws his knees up and scoots to sit up a bit more, no longer touching each other, seemingly to get more comfortable. Lando isn’t sure if he’d like George to kick him again or not.
“You like guys?” George asks. Lando tentatively nods his head, fighting back a grimace. “I reckon you probably are then, mate,” he says lightly, a little smile in his voice.
Which, well—it’s easy for George to say, isn’t it? You probably are, like it doesn’t fracture Lando’s entire life apart.
George is far from improper or lewd, but Lando can’t imagine he’s particularly starved for attention while at uni. He’s a good-looking guy, is smart and nice, though not as funny as he thinks he is, which greatly amuses Lando whenever it comes up. He’s available, is the point, and would probably be a good boyfriend for any girl able to get over his freakishly long legs and bright blue eyes.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lando says quietly, dropping his gaze again.
Even though they’re both sitting on the floor, the weight of George’s eyes makes it feel like he’s towering over him and looking down his nose. Even though Lando is used to George towering over him usually, this feels like something different and less stable.
George shakes his head, and Lando sees the movement in his periphery. “Don’t think you have to do anything, really.” He pauses for a moment, taking an audible breath as he crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap. “Lando… I—I won’t tell anyone, yeah?”
Lando wipes his cheek on his shoulder and fights back a shiver, sniffling. “’Kay.”
There’s a lapse of awkward silence, and Lando knows that George is staring at him—can feel the eyes on him, making his skin crawl and his stomach churn at the barest thought of being seen. He feels sick, ashamed that he’d even bothered to bring it up. Why would George care anyway? It’s not like he’s around anymore. He’s off back to London the day after tomorrow, only sticking around long enough to have leftovers for Boxing Day breakfast. Lando wonders if they’ll ever properly talk about why George has always seemed so eager to leave or if maybe he’s too much of a kid to be considered for that.
George clears his throat. “So I’m really the only person?” he asks. “Not even Olly?”
Lando bites back a scoff, but half still escapes, a broken noise in his throat that just sounds like a sad laugh. “I don’t think anyone would like it,” he says.
George hums, sounding more like he agrees rather than anything thoughtful. “Probably best not to mention it then,” he says.
“Mhm,” Lando mumbles, slowly releasing the grip he has on the helmet, flexing his fingers to get the colour back into them. “Yeah, probably.”
new things coming soon i promise!! idk when tho :')
So I cant stop thinking about a friend I met on here.. I can't find him, no contact.. his name is trevor, and he lives in Canada... please reblog this so we can reconnect.. if you see this Trevor I'm sorry we stopped speaking... I've thought about you a lot over the past couple of years.. there's so much I want to tell you..
So I spent a great deal of time this morning combing this entire sideblog and appealing what I could. Quite a few pieces should be back in my art tag now, but of course many are lost to the algorithm forever. I did save a bunch, I’m going to post a lot for my Patreon supporters, not sure what to do with the rest. Some may pop up on my pillowfort once the domain changes, esp in the ignoct community board, but a lot are already on my Twitter, too.
Thanks again for supporting my spicier content here, everyone who was able to find me before this purge. I’m sorry things turned out like this, but I’ll keep you abreast of my goings on across my various social media sites as best I can so you all can find the one that suits you and your comfort zones.
You have all my love this Christmas Eve ❤️ Be well, my darlings.
so apparently tumblr is going down, if staff decide to off me for whatever reason. y'all can find me on twitter ( @solarsawyer ) and on instagram ( @soytaire )
