When I drive, I always check over the seat
I could see you right there, waiting on me
I pull on the string that binds me to memories of
The way I loved you

glory of the snow • clairo

PLUNGE
Volume 1.1    Wake

June 14th, 2024

"Mate, nooooooo shot!" Lando squeals from his place behind Oscar, the smile on his face bright.

Oscar's brows are furrowed in concentration, eyes stuck to where he's nearly completed the final line of icing. His cupcake isn't perfect, but compared to Lando's, it looks like the model for all cupcakes thereafter. Oscar pulls away with a huff and a little triumphant smile.

The two of them are in a random kitchen in the MTC during one of the longer breaks between races. They're live on the McLaren Instagram channel, and have been for the past hour as they attempt to decorate cupcakes and answer questions simultaneously. Key word being attempt. For Lando, at least.

"Whatever!" Lando puts his hands up indignantly. He scans the chat, most of which is praising Oscar's performance, and smiles to himself. "No, guys, you don't see the vision. Mine is just more creative."

"Sure, mate, more creative," Oscar snorts. He finishes his last touch and stands up to admire his work. Lando is rolling his eyes at Oscar's side.

"You all are just haters," Lando insists. A woman in her mid-30s wearing an orange shirt speaks lowly from behind the camera and when the two of them look up, a giant smile erupts across Lando's face. "Sprinkles!?"

The woman nods with a soft laugh and places the containers onto the counter in front of them, her red nails coming into frame for just a moment. A few other McLaren employees are sitting in various places either behind the counter or around the room; most of them are from the PR team.

Lando is first to go with the sprinkles, diving in enthusiastically. He rips the plastic off of the container of orange sugar and dumps an ungodly amount onto his designated cupcake. Oscar is suppressing a smile from behind him, muttering increasingly disbelieving "mate..."s as he looks on.

"Alright, okay, that's enough," He finally intervenes, after Lando has already dumped the third thick layer of clashing colors onto his sweet. Oscar reaches for the container that Lando is opening and nips it out of his hand with faux sense of disappointment, a look you might see from a teacher. He receives a frown in response, but Lando does back up to let Oscar perfect his work even further.

As Oscar meticulously places the multi-colored decorations onto the white icing and addresses the camera every so often, Lando takes a break to scroll his phone. He receives a glare from one of the PR managers, but doesn't relent. Flo has sent him an article of some British diver who had made it through trials to the Olympic team. He sends back a question mark and recieves, didn't oscar used to b friends with him, in response. Huh. Before he can look up more context, Oscar's phone lights up, buzzing next to him on the little side table by the door. Doesn't Oscar always have his phone on silent? He looks at the screen and his eyebrows immediately shoot up with shock. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe Flo is a magician.

Disregarding his suspicions of Flo's ability to manifest things, he clicks his own phone off and puts down his arm, not turning away from the image that's displayed on Oscar's screen (they look so happy; Oscar looks so young) as he speaks. "Oscar."

"Yeah?"

"Your phone's ringing."

"Nah mate, it's off. Should be." Oscar responds absentmindedly, pausing to gauge his work so far.

Lando swallows thickly as Oscar's phone goes dark only to start ringing again a moment later. He goes with his gut. "Oscar," he repeats, more urgent.

Oscar turns to him with a furrowed brow. Lando picks up the buzzing phone, tilting it slightly, and Oscar takes a step back so he can see the screen but the camera can't. The Aussie's eyes go impossibly wide, staring at the text wordlessly for a few long moments. The smile on Lando's face is growing more smug by the second. Oscar, usually extremely put together, looks up his teammate with a look that says 'I seriously think I'm dreaming right now and you're going to have to convince me otherwise'. Lando feels just a tiny bit bad. He shoves the phone into Oscar's hand, springing the younger into action. Lando ushers him out, ignoring the panicked looks from the entire PR team, and shuts the door behind his teammate, though not before Oscar's desperate and somewhat breathless "hello?" sounds out.

"Alright!" Lando calls out with a clap of his hands, facing the camera. He grins selfishly at the speed of the chat going by, seeing enough question marks to please the Riddler himself. "Shall we ruin Oscar's cupcake, or what?"

The PR lady who handed them the sprinkles seems relieved at Lando's save, but there's an unmistakable twitch in her right eyebrow now.

✥✥✥

"Hello?"

"...Oscar! Hi."

. . .

"Sylas. You- this- oh my God."

"Jesus, I'm sorry, Osc. I should've texted or something. This is so stupid."

"Stupid? Are you... oh my God. Sylas, oh my God."

"...Are you okay? Did I call at a bad time?"

"No, no, no, I was just doing something for McLaren with Lando and-

"Oh no! Go back if you're busy, I'm so sorry, Osc. . . -should've known. . ."

"No, Sy, it's fine, I promise."

"But you're at work. I'm interrupting you at work."

"Sy, you don't understand. I would forfeit a 25 second race lead if it meant I got to talk to you again."

. . .

"Oh."

"Fuck, sorry, I just- Jesus, mate. I've waited for this for so long, you have no idea."

"...I might be the only one who does have an idea, Osc. It took me far too long. You know it, and trust me, I know it. Better than anyone. I just- Christ, I can't even express how- -orry I am. Truly. You have the complete and total right to refusal right now, you know that?"

"Are you joking?"

"...No."

"Then you must have gotten too much water in your head at trials. I have missed you... so much."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Uh, I jus- -uh, thought you would be more mad at me. I suppose."

"No, no, Jesus, I could never, Sy. We can talk about it all later. Right now I just, oh my God, when can- when can I see you?"

. . .

"See me?"

"See you! Yes, see you! You don't... God, you don't get it do you?"

. . .

"Sylas. I have spent the past four years in waiting. Every day, every minute. And now it's finally- God, it's finally happening. I will drive to London right now. When can I see you? I want to t-hug you. So bad."

"Hahhhhhhokay. Uh, I. Hold on."

. . .

"Tomorrow, if you're free?"

"Yes! Yes. Absolutely."

"But, Osc- you have to understand. I'm coming to apologize. You have to hold me accountable. It was so beyond shitty of me to-"

"Sylas, stop. Seriously. I'll be mad at you later. Just let me... just let me have this."

. . .

"Okay. You have this. You have me. I'm right here."

"Hm."

"Right here. For good this time."

"...Promise?"

"Promise."

🏊‍♂️

hi im late (whats new)

glory of the snow was written for them prove me wrong

legit in my final year of my phd program and so caught up in lab work that i forgot i had a paper that my prof gave us like 5 weeks to complete lmaooooo

anyway!

thank god for gavin lux