Work Text:
Oscar knew she shouldn't have worn the damn uncomfortable heels today. The important meeting was important— of course it fucking was, but did she really need to sacrifice her feet for the sake of looking put together? It wasn't fair that she needed to look her best all the damn time when presenting, and really, the shoes should have been the least of her concerns. They tied the outfit together nicely, but were just too small, pinching in all the wrong areas and squeezing her toes together.
This whole beauty was pain statement felt like bullshit. She did not feel beautiful, she did not feel good, her feet hurt, and this presentation was only half an hour long, and there was no way she was going to make it to the end of the day.
"Hey, are you okay?"
She blinked, the computer screen had been staring back at her hauntingly for the past ten minutes, no progress on the report she was meant to be doing. Instead, she had been too focused on trying to alleviate the ache somewhat, but it would be nowhere near appropriate to take her shoes off in the office, so she had sealed her fate, scowling at the screen.
Turned out someone may have noticed.
George had her head resting on the cubicle divider; if it were any other day, Oscar would have taken the chance to pounce into a conversation— perhaps too eager, as her other colleagues might say.
Though who could blame her? George was stunning— as soon as Oscar met the woman, she was aware of the fact, and now that they had been working for almost half a year together, Oscar couldn't help but fall head over heels (pun very much fucking intended). George was beautiful, always pristine in the way she dressed, slender legs hugged by tights and a pencil skirt, blouse elegant and slightly loose, tucked in the way that showed she knew how to be chic and fashionable even in the workplace. Her soft features, rounded cheeks, framed by the bouncing curls that cascaded down past her shoulders in waves, a glossy auburn brown. Her pale complexion was always accompanied by a charming blush, the faintest rosy pink that skimmed against her cheeks, blue eyes sparkling. Not only was she outwardly stunning, but she was one of the smartest people Oscar knew, always quick-witted and sarcastic. Never one to say no to a challenge, and providing excellent work, showing why she was one of the most valued members, having served the company for years now.
It would have been foolish for Oscar not to fall in love. George was perfect in every way possible. She was the sun on a cold day, bringing warmth and golden rays that spread the comfort of a close embrace. She had developed the crush fairly quickly, hopelessly falling for her coworker, but she was an adult— she could be appropriate and not at all obvious about this.
Turned out, Oscar had been extremely obvious.
"You like George?" Lando mused from her seat. They had taken a corner booth in the bar downtown. Alex and Charles had gone to get the round of drinks.
Oscar felt her cheeks warm. She wished she had a glass in her hands to busy herself with, anything that could act as a small distraction, so she didn't have to have this conversation with Lando.
"Osc, it's okay!" Lando reassured, but her tone was teasing, far too amused for Oscar's liking, "Everyone's had a crush on George at some point."
"That doesn't comfort me in the slightest, Lan," she mumbled, deciding to trace a finger through the wood grain of the table instead, anything to divert her from her best friend's watchful eyes.
"No, I mean it— George is so fucking hot, so I get you! We all had a crush on her at some point, some of us were certainly more down bad than others," she pointed out, "but really, it's par for the course."
"Well— yeah, have you seen her?" Oscar pointed out. At the same time, Alex and Charles returned.
"Oh, are we finally talking about Oscar's crush on George?" Charles immediately picked up the conversation, sliding in beside Oscar, smiling as she handed her the drink.
Oscar decided to down half of it all at once. "Does everyone know about this, because I thought I was being subtle?" Oscar grumbled as the glass knocked back against the table.
"Oh, half the office has given you the nickname 'Love eyes Piastri'," Alex giggled, handing Lando her drink too as she settled, "it's pretty damn obvious."
"I am going to quit, and you're never going to see me ever again. I'll flee the country, start anew, change my name—"
"Osc," Alex cut in, "chill. Breathe. Take a moment. Look, everyone has a crush on George at some point—"
"I told her that!" Lando cheerfully blurted out the exact same time Oscar whined: "That isn't helping!"
"—but George has only ever reciprocated those feelings towards you." Alex finished, smugness radiating off of her.
Oscar blinked. "Huh?"
"I mean it, she's as hopeless as you, you know? When you first joined, she would ramble on and on and on about the newest hire and how much she adored you and cherished your hard work."
Next to her, Lando was giving her the look— the 'I told you so' look— which wasn't even fair because Lando hadn't informed her that George might be crushing on Oscar as well! George, forever perfect, may like her back. George— with her immaculate hair, pristine fashion, cute smile, pink lips that would definitely feel soft against Oscar's.
"I'm a ruined woman," she muttered under her breath before taking her drink and downing the rest.
"No, Osc, this is brilliant! You have a chance," Alex tried.
"As if I'm going to attempt to woo my coworker," she deadpanned.
"Wait, but I have a plan—" Lando started.
Oscar was up before Lando could finish, shuffling past Charles and almost tripping over how quickly she tried to flee the booth. "I'm getting another drink."
The news that she hadn't been as discreet as she'd hoped had not been great to hear. Alex was trying to tell her that George liked her back— well, that made everything feel complicated. On one hand, the thought made her giddy; her heart would leap at the prospect of someone so perfect and amazing as George being interested in the half-coherent, mess of a woman Oscar was. Though a part of her was cautious, Alex and Lando, sometimes Charles as well, were all known for messing around and pulling jokes. Oscar thought her friends wouldn't be so cruel as to give her false hope, but she was still wary.
Besides, stuff like this didn't happen in real life. Falling in love with the immaculate coworker and it turning out all to conviently fit with one another— stuff like that was reserved for fictional stories only.
"Oscar? You with me?"
She tilted her head up, tried to force out a smile that she knew did not look genuine in the slightest, "Yeah, all good. What can I do for you?"
"You sure? You've been— well, I don't exactly know how to say this, but you've been glowering at the screen pretty intensely for quite some time now." George was slow with her words, careful and calculated as a way not to offend Oscar.
"Oh," Oscar squeaked— a highly embarrassing noise if she were being honest. "I, erm, it's nothing. Don't worry."
"Well, it's not nothing, since you seem uncomfortable. I won't push, but if you want to talk, I'm happy to listen."
"I— it's stupid."
"Try me, I'm sure it's not."
Oscar attempted to steady herself, sweat prickling the nape of her neck; it was a pretty futile effort. "My shoes… are really uncomfortable."
For a second, George said nothing, and Oscar felt the panic rise as she realised how ridiculously stupid her complaint was, how childish it made her sound. But then George shocked her by stepping around the office cubicle wall and slipping off her own shoes, a pair of simple flat leather pumps.
"What?"
"Let's swap," George offered, as if it were any normal conversation, as if that gesture alone hadn't collided with Oscar and sent her mind spinning.
"No, George, I couldn't ask that of you, then you would be stuck with my uncomfortable—"
"Oscar," she cut in softly, "you're not asking, I'm offering. I don't mind."
Slowly, as if it were a dream and sudden movements would flick this all away, she unclipped the buckle of her heel and slipped her own shoes off. George took them, not complaining once as she put them on, and Oscar was certain they were a size too small for George, considering they were already uncomfortably tight on Oscar, and yet she never grumbled.
"These are cute," she said instead, pointing her foot down and admiring the shoe.
George's pumps were comfy, soft and moulded as Oscar put them on, a welcome change to the stiff heels. "George, are you sure? If they feel bad, let me know. I don't want you to suffer because of me."
"That's very sweet of you, Oscar, but don't worry, they're fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Oscar, stop worrying. I swear they feel fine," George reassured.
"Alright," Oscar nodded.
To prevent Oscar from any more attempts at getting her to back out, George smiled and turned, "See you later!"
Oscar could focus now that her feet weren't in agony, though it was an almost Herculean task with the way George filled every space in her mind now instead. The fact that she was wearing George's shoes did not help; whenever she managed to hop onto a line of concentration, her mind would wander back to pearly blue eyes, a tender smile, and a generous heart.
She managed a semi-good hour of work when Lando walked past, and immediately stopped in her tracks, turned to do a double-take over Oscar, eyes landing on her shoes.
"Those are different," she commented.
Oscar tried not to react, humming, "Yes, maybe I brought two pairs of shoes with me. Ever thought of that?"
"No, doubt it, you suck at the whole fashion thing—"
"Okay, rude."
"And besides, you always go for the easiest option when it comes to clothes," Lando powered on, disregarding Oscar completely. "You were wearing the cute heels that looked about two sizes too small for you. What happened to them?"
"How do you even notice that shit? Maybe if you put that amount of effort into your actual work instead of my shoes, then maybe the bosses wouldn't be on your ass for always slacking."
Once again, she was ignored. Lando just rolled her eyes playfully. "You can try and divert the conversation all you want, Osc, but just know I will not stop harassing you until you tell me where or how you got those shoes."
Lando stared, unmoving, when Oscar tried to level her with a glare in return. She knew it was futile, and Lando would stay, as stated, until Oscar finally gave in.
"George let me swap into her shoes," she mumbled.
Lando's face lit up at the information, "No way! George doesn't even let 'Lex borrow her shit, and they're flatmates, I need to tell—"
"No one." Oscar cut in quickly, "You do not need to tell anyone at all about this. It doesn't mean anything, okay?"
"It means everything, actually," Lando replied, matter-of-factly.
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does," she beamed, turning away, "I need to update Charles and Alex, they'll love this information!"
"Lando—"
But she was already rushing away, work forgotten. All Oscar could do was refocus on the task at hand and feebly attempt to ignore the way her cheeks warmed considerably.
It was as if the world hated her, to be honest. She was sure that in some past life, she must have done something atrocious to be treated this way. Maybe in a past life, she was a man— that felt like a big enough crime to have all these little unfortunate circumstances hit her.
It shouldn't have been a big deal, not really, since the headphones were cheap and nothing special, but Oscar loved wearing them to and from work. Whenever she would go shopping, it was always nice to listen to her music, and she'd planned on going straight after work, considering her fridge was half empty.
Though it was a big deal to her, her headphones had snapped in her hands, the wire now broken.
It was nearing the final minutes of the workday too, and she desperately wanted to shop— but she couldn't recall the last time she went shopping without music to keep her company, and so she continued to stare at her headphones forlongingly. People passed her desk, muttered goodbyes as they went, and Oscar could pay no mind to any of them, just trying to figure out the nearest store that would sell cheap headphones that were within decent walking distance.
"Oscar?"
The voice cut through the static that filled her mind. Oscar would recognise it anywhere, and so she wasn't surprised as she looked up to see George gazing down at her, a worried expression plastered on her face.
"Sorry, I am going home soon, I swear," she hadn't realised how empty the office had become, "I am just… well, I'm mourning the loss of my headphones."
"Oh, I can help with that!"
Before Oscar could ask what that meant, George was rummaging through her bag and fishing out a small pack of unopened headphones.
"Here, I don't need them."
"Why do you have a new packet of headphones in your bag, completely unopened?"
George shrugged, "You never know when you might need all sorts of things. Alex likes to make fun of me for it, but who was laughing when Charles needed blister plasters and ibuprofen the other day, and I was the only one who had them? I like to be prepared for any scenario."
"And what scenario involves spare headphones?" Oscar asked.
"Look, did this not just prove my point?" George shot back, smirking.
"I mean— yeah, you're not wrong. Are you sure you don't want them?"
"Oscar mine are fine right now, those were cheap as chips anyway, so take them. Enjoy listening to music as you go shopping."
"How did you know I was going shopping?"
Under the office glare, Oscar could have sworn she saw George blush, ruddy against pale cheeks. "Well, you always go shopping on a Tuesday. I mean— sorry that sounds awfully creepy, I swear I don't stalk you or anything! I just noticed you always leave the office with spare shopping bags, so I just thought your allocated weekly shop day was a Tuesday."
"You would be correct with that assumption," Oscar tried not to crumble under the weight of George's comment. George noticed all the little things. "Thank you, I really did need this."
"Any time," George offered, "hey, when you listen to music, just think of me, okay?"
It was a teasing comment, a passing joke said in the light of the moment, but as Oscar went round the aisles filling her trolley with the weeks nessesities, she couldn't even pay attention to the music.
She just missed the bus; in fact, she watched the rear lights flash tauntingly as the bus pulled away. Around her, the rain poured; it had been bad weather all day, and she planned her rush to the bus stop at the supposed perfect time. If the schedule was right, she would spend very little time outside getting drenched. But it seemed her calculation was wrong.
Instead, she was now stood shivering, the clothes she had worn today nowhere near appropriate for the weather. It certainly hadn't predicted it would be this cold and drizzly, but she did know how unpredictable British weather could be. She missed the Australian heat; she missed the sun beating down on her as she walked to work, not the dreary, grey mornings with overcrowded buses, a stranger breathing down the back of her neck.
This was a bus stop without a shelter, just the pole and sign, out in the open on the pavement. Nowhere to hide from the rain that continued relentlessly.
"Fucking buses," she mumbled to herself, not aware that anyone would be in the vicinity to hear her.
"Oh— Oscar? Are you alright?"
She was a mess right now— her short, choppy hair that she liked styling into a shoulder-length bob, side fringe clipped out the way behind her ear, was slick to her forehead, dripping with water. The last thing she needed was George Russell to see her like this, and yet there she was, looking cosy under a spacious umbrella, thick coat (appropriate for the weather, Oscar thought half-amused) wrapped around her.
She could only offer a half shrug, dampened mood and wet clothes, "The buses are fucking me."
George chuckled, "That does not surprise me in the slightest. The buses around here are horrendous. So, do you have to wait out here for the next one?"
"I do, yeah. Don't remind me," she shot back, tone grim.
"Well, how about you come back to mine for a little bit?" George offered immediately, "At least that way you can stay out of the rain."
"No, it's fine, honestly. It was my own fault for not being prepared enough for the weather. I should have known not to trust the weather report this morning."
George scooted further. The umbrella covered them both. "Come on, Oscar, I don't mind. You can wait it out inside where it's warm, rather than out here, where you could freeze to death."
Her brain short-circuited, too close, mingling in each other's space, so all she could do was nod.
George grinned, "Great!" She hooked her arm in Oscar's, starting to walk away from the bus stop and down the road, "Let's go then."
It wasn't long until they got to the apartment complex, George having filled the quiet for both of them, Oscar dumbly nodding along to the one-person conversation. She was too worried that if she opened her mouth, she would say something incredibly stupid, considering her mind was a constant cycle of, "Oh my fucking God, George and I are sharing an umbrella."
It felt a little like a cliché you'd see in a romance film. That did nothing to help Oscar calm herself down— thank God she was a woman, she couldn't imagine how horrifying it would be to experience all of this whilst desperately trying to fight down a stubborn boner that would not listen.
They went up three flights of stairs, stopping at a door with the number 23 pressed into the wood. Outside was a small table with a potted plant, little cats painted along the terracotta, a colourful array of coats as they swirled around in a circle.
George unlocked the door, stepping inside and holding it open for Oscar, "Just wait here for a moment, I'll grab you something," she said before disappearing off into the apartment.
Not only had she managed an entire walk back with George under a single umbrella (honestly, it was a miracle she hadn't spontaneously combusted from the proximity), but now she was stood in her flat, soaked and looking like a complete and utter fool.
Oscar was standing in George's apartment.
Okay, maybe this was also Alex's apartment, but that was beside the point. Alex wasn't Oscar's crush. Oscar's crush had insisted she return here with her, and now that the door shut behind them both, she wasn't entirely sure what to do with herself.
What did not help was that the door promptly opened up behind her, not even two seconds later, and Alex crashed into her back.
"Oof— what the fuck, George? Why are you standing at the door like some madwoman— oh. Wait. Hi, Osc," she greeted, not even attempting to hide her smug grin.
"Don't you dare say anything," she muttered under her breath.
Alex held her hands up, a sign of faux resignation. "I wasn't going to, but the fact that you mentioned it first, it really makes me wonder what you're even doing here."
"I— George saw me and didn't want me to have to stand outside in the freezing rain. She kindly offered me her umbrella and walked me here since it was convenient."
Alex gave her the look.
"Stop that."
"I didn't even say anything—"
"Didn't need to. Did Lando tell you about the shoe thing? Is that it? I swear, George is just being nice—"
Oscar was cut off as George reappeared, clothes cradled in her arms, "Oh, hello 'Lex, you just got back?"
"Yeah, I was asking Oscar if she wanted to stay for some food," Alex, the prick that she was, grinned innocently.
Oscar couldn't even get the words out, stumbling over whatever her mind had tried to get her to say. Though George seemed unfazed, rolling her eyes, "Stop teasing, she has a home she probably wants to get back to, so leave her be."
She refused to voice the small, sparking thought that said I would love to have some food with you, becuase she would not say it out loud with Alex beside her. If she did, she would never hear the end of it from Alex— then Charles and Lando would also never let it go too. Oscar wouldn't be surprised if the three of them were all in some group chat where they gossiped about Oscar's awkwardness when it came to trying to act nonchalant around George.
Alex giggled, snaking around Oscar and stepping into the apartment, but when she decided to lean up against one of the doorframes, watching, Oscar felt her cheeks flush.
"Here," George took no notice, most likely used to her flatmate's (and best friend's) antics. Instead, she offered the clothes, a hoodie and some jogging bottoms.
"What?"
"Change into them—" George's expression flickered, uncertainly surfacing just for a moment. "I mean, if you want, you know. You don't have to, if you think it's weird."
Behind her, Alex chuckled, eyes glued to her phone (totally messaging that groupchat Oscar was certain existed).
"Shut up, Alex," George chastised lightly, not even looking back. "Oscar, if it's weird, you can say no. But I thought it might be nicer to wear these instead of the wet clothes as you wait for a taxi."
"Oh, I'll get the bus, don't worry."
"I," George swallowed slowly, Oscar could see the gears turning, the words coming in through a gentle flow. "Well, I called a taxi, hope you don't mind. If it's a money thing, don't worry— I paid for it!"
"How do you know where I live?"
"Lando told me, hope that's alright," She blurted out.
Behind her, Alex was in hysterics.
"I— that was very sweet of you. You didn't have to," she pointed out.
"How many times do I have to say this?" George seemed to have reeled in her compusre, smiling gently, "I want to, okay? Listen, I can call it off if you really want to hop on the bus, but the weather is so terrible that I thought a taxi would be more comfortable for you?"
"Urm, yeah, okay. Yeah. Okay."
"Yeah, okay?" She echoed.
"Yeah…. okay. That's fine. Good, actually! I will take you up on that offer," Oscar decided the floor should open up and let her fall all three stories down, and then the ground could swallow her whole. She was cringing internally at how awkward she sounded.
Once again, George, with the patience of a saint, seemed to find it endearing— maybe? Oscar couldn't exactly read the expression; she just knew that Alex was having the time of her life watching this unfold, and George seemed content, maybe happy.
Oscar took the clothes, followed George's directions to the bathroom and changed out of her wet ones. George had thought of everything, even providing her with a plastic shopping bag to dump the sodden clothes into. She managed to ignore Alex, even though she was sure Alex snapped a picture of her (the group chat— it had to be) and headed straight to George.
"The Taxi is early— surprising for them, but hey, I won't complain. They're outside right now." George prompted, going to open the door.
"Thank you again," Oscar repeated, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you, hopefully the weather is a little kinder next time."
The door shut behind her, and Oscar was left standing in a soft hoodie, a little too long for her but reasonably fitted considering the difference in their frames, and a pair of plush joggers. She was wearing George's clothes and was going to take a taxi back that George had paid for.
When she got to the taxi, sat in the back, she looked down at her phone and saw an unusually high amount of messages. The first one she clicked on consisted of too many emojis from Lando, with just the words, so when's the wedding? beneath it.
She groaned, leaned her head back against the rest, and clicked her phone off as she slipped it back into the hoodie pocket.
"Ah, fuck, ow!"
Oscar had a slight predicament (when did she not? It felt as if every day she was being forced to face a new struggle. Nothing major, just small inconveniences that she really did not need to be experiencing right now).
The coffee she had been very excited to drink, considering she needed it to fuel herself through the rest of the day, was now down the front of her blouse after someone hadn't looked where they were going— bastard didn't apologise either, too in a rush as they pushed past Oscar, ignoring the curses as the scalding drink spilt onto her work clothes.
Fucking great.
Now she had only a sliver of coffee left, a glaringly obvious stain across her chest and a dentist appointment she was meant to be going to after work. There would be no time to go home and change, since she was leaving work a little early to get to the appointment on time, so she would have to show up looking like an idiot with stained clothes.
"Oh, what happened?"
Oscar blinked, turned away from grumbling at her computer. She hasn't bothered flicking it on since returning from her break, still too annoyed by the stranger (who, again, did not apologise to her!) and the coffee that was now dry against her shirt.
"Some cunt didn't look where they were going," she blurted, not even looking before spitting out the insult and realising too quickly she should not have done that. When she glanced over, she was horrified to see George standing there, "I'm so sorry! That was inappropriate to say, forget I said that—"
"Oscar, you're fine," George chuckled lightly, resting her cheek against the divider. Oscar was always in awe of how elegantly tall George was, easily peering over the screens. "It looks like it was a bad encounter."
She looked down at the seeped-in coffee, a hazelnut splodge against the white. It would be a bitch to clean out, too, and Oscar wasn't looking forward to attempting that.
"I have a dentist appointment," she mentioned absentmindedly, "I'm going to look so stupid."
"Oh wait, I might have just the thing—" George darted off before Oscar could ask what, returning far too quickly (as if she sprinted across the office), something wadded up in her hand.
"Take this," she thrust it forward, and Oscar accepted it, unfolding the fabric to reveal that it was a t-shirt.
A McLaren t-shirt.
"Oh?" Oscar blinked down at the clothing, perturbed. "I thought you were a Mercedes fan?"
She looked up to George, who was blushing, a cute pink flush across cheeks. "I am! I, um, bought the wrong one?" She didn't sound too sure of herself. "Yes. Yes. That is what definitely happened. Silly me, and now I don't really know what to do with it!"
"Its okay, it happens to the best of us… I think?" Oscar realised she also didn't sound certain, because how George managed to accidentally order from a whole different team, Oscar wasn't sure. But she didn't want George to be all flustered over it. If she could reassure George, then maybe she wouldn't feel as embarrassed.
"Yeah, a silly mistake, and I know you like McLaren."
"You do?"
George had mentioned F1 before, citing she was following Mercedes and hoping for a resurgence of victory after Red Bull took centre stage. Oscar didn't really get involved in those conversations, even if she was really into the sport and extremely keen on the engineering side of things. She didn't want to seem like some obsessed nerd, even if that was the truth.
"Well, you have a photo there," George pointed over to the desk to where the signed driver's card was. Oscar was lucky when she managed to get her hands on it (and had to fend off Lando, considering every time she walked past the desk, she tried to steal it).
"Oh. I erm— yes. I do." She stammered, realising she hadn't been as discreet with her hobby as she thought.
"I'm not stalking your desk or anything, I swear!"
"No, no, I umm, you don't think I'm weird for having this up for you?" Oscar asked cautiously.
"Not at all," George responded immediately. "So many of us here enjoy F1, and now that I know you like it, you should come over to mine when the next race is on, and we can watch it together!"
"Oh yes, that sounds good." If the group at the office all met up and watched races together, Oscar supposed she would join in as well. It sounded nice, and the fact that George invited her made it even better, even if there would be others around— Oscar could hold on to that fragment tightly, no matter how delusional it felt to search for a deeper meaning within the invite.
"Perfect, next race I will message the details and you can come round!" George said, then, before turning around to leave, she added, "Also, keep the t-shirt, okay? I think it will suit you."
"Wait, George, no offence, but I think your size is going to be far too small for me—"
"Nope," Goegre cut in, the blush suddenly back, "I ordered in the wrong size too! How silly of me!"
Then, before Oscar could question how George could even make that many mistakes in one order, she was gone.
Today was a day full of meetings. Usually, that would not be a problem, but she'd been surviving off the slightly burnt toast she made that morning and was really looking forward to sitting down and having lunch, considering her stomach twisted painfully every few seconds.
Though the problem surfaced when she realised her meeting before lunch overran, pushing into her break. In fact, it lasted so long that by the time she was out of it, a handful of people were rightfully complaining under their breath that it was too lengthy, she only had five minutes until the next one. It wasn't as if she could skip the meeting; she was meant to be presenting one of the data reports, and she also wasn't about to bring her lunch into the conference. She was aware that some people had done it in the past, but Oscar would rather save herself the embarrassment than having to stop mid-chew and hastily swallow after someone asked her a question directly.
She would have to persevere, even if her stomach was protesting. Her schedule showed she had back-to-back meetings for the rest of the afternoon, her shoulders sagging at the blocked-out timings; all the bright colours mocked her.
She would have to skip lunch then and eat after work.
At least, that was what she thought would happen, but as she headed to the next meeting, she was stopped by a soft tap to her shoulder.
She twisted around, George behind her.
Don't fucking do anything stupid, Oscar, she reprimanded herself. I know you are hungry, but don't be a fool right now.
"Oscar, glad I caught you!" George said cheerily, "I actually was looking for you—"
"I'm so sorry, George," Oscar couldn't believe she was turning down an opportunity to talk with her, but the meeting was closing in, and she really should be going. "I have a meeting in like—" she glanced down at her watch, "two minutes."
"Actually, you don't."
"So I can't talk right— wait, what?"
"You don't," George repeated, "I cancelled the next one. Or, well, I asked Lew to rearrange it."
"Oh." Oscar blinked, swallowed, and really hoped her stomach would not growl in the next few moments. "Why, everything okay?"
"Oscar, your schedule shows you are in meetings all day with no time for a break. Charles just came out of the last one, complaining it took up her entire lunch."
"Oh." It was all she could muster.
"Yeah, that is not fair, you've already missed your lunch, so there was no way I was allowing you to come to the meeting," George explained. "But I know you also wouldn't just not show up because you're an excellent and loyal worker. So I asked Lewis if we could move it, and she, of course, said yes."
"Why would you do that? All just for me?"
George seemed taken aback, surprised Oscar even had to ask, "Because I care about you. I'm not letting you starve yourself for these meetings; the bosses can wait another couple of days to get the data reports back. You need to eat."
"Oh, thank you."
"Of course," she said earnestly, nodding. "Any time. Now, I couldn't move all the meeting of course, so you still have the one in an hour, but that should be enough time."
"I— how can I thank you?"
"You don't need to," she reassured, "just knowing that you actually get to sit down and enjoy lunch is enough."
Really, if Oscar hadn't already fallen in love by now, she certainly would have fallen today. As she sat and ate her lunch at her desk, headphones in, a YouTube video played— she paid no mind to the content on her screen.
"So you're telling me all that happened in the past few weeks, and you are still certain she doesn't like you," Lando deadpanned.
They'd found themselves in the bar again; their corner booth was free, so they settled into the familiar spot. Oscar decided to relay all that had happened to her recently— all the misfortunes and the coincidence that George was there to help out every single time.
Oscar shrugged, "She was just being nice. There really isn't much else to it."
"Osc you cannot be serious," Lando whined, pitching her voice higher as she stretched out the vowel in Oscar's name. "George would never do any of that for me. In fact, she would laugh at me instead."
"But you two are good friends?"
"Exactly," Alex piped up, "look, I know for a fact if Georgie saw me all soaked in the rain, she would never offer me her umbrella. Okay, maybe after laughing, she would. But she would make sure to tease me first."
"I once fell asleep at the desk, and she decided to balance as many office supplies on me as she could," Charles added, "I think she still has the photos."
"Yeah, but you have to admit that was funny," Lando giggled. "We all got involved in that one."
"I didn't," Oscar pointed out.
"That is because you are much sweeter than these whores," Charles mused, ignoring the mock gasp from Lando and the teasing 'you slut' from Alex.
"Yeah, but— well, I don't know! Are you saying George doesn't think we are friends with the way she treats me, because I guess that is a little hurtful—"
"No Osc, I'm sure the teasing will come with due time after you both get your act together and start fucking," Lando cut in abruptly, and Oscar turned beet red at the crudeness of her comment.
"We are jumping ahead, no?" Charles mused, "look she is all flustered now."
"I hate you guys."
All three of them replied with no, you don't at the same time.
Oscar hid her smile behind a sip of her drink.
"Look," Lando picked up where she left off, "George teases us and all that shit because she's at a stage of comfortableness with us. Now before you butt in with a silly argumenst—" she was quick to get out, Oscar shutting her mouth, "she's super careful with how she acts around you because she is madly in love with you."
Alex nodded, fishing out her phone, "Exactly. Just you wait. As soon as you guys start dating, you'll be using insults as a love language in no time."
"I do that with you guys already," Oscar pointed out.
"Exactly. And do you do that towards George?" Lando asked.
"No. Because I don't want her to think I'm being mean, you guys are my friends, so of course I can insult you," she reasoned, "but I don't want to do that to George because what if she— ooohhhhh."
"She's connected the dots! Huzzah!" Lando beamed.
"Never say huzzah again," Oscar shot back. "I'm doing the exact same thing as George. We're being kind and awkward and considerate because— well, you know."
"The words you are looking for are down bad, Osc," Charles added.
"Alright, which one of you taught Charles what down bad meant?"
Lando smirked. Alex was ignoring them. She pressed the phone to her ear, her body turned to the side, leaning into the booth with a hand over her mouth as she held a muttered conversation with whoever was on the other side of the phone. When she hung up, she was smiling widely, and Oscar felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"What did you just do?" She questioned.
"Oscar, my love, you need to get your ass outside because George will be here in about five minutes," Alex informed.
"You're lying."
"All I needed to do to convince her to come out was mention you were here, so are you finally going to listen to us?" She prompted.
"But what if she—"
"Osc, don't you dare say anything, because the way these past several weeks have gone, everyone in the office can tell something is there between the two of you," Lando argued, nudging Oscar with her elbow, "go on. Time to have your dramatic movie-moment."
All three of her friends watched as she stumbled out of the booth, pushing past the crowds of people, and stepping out into the cold night air.
The sky was clear tonight, the stars were brilliant clusters of twinkling dots against the black stretch of the night. The moon, cutting into the darkness with its sliver of silver. She stood under a lamppost, pulling her cardigan around herself a little more to keep away the chill. Lando always made fun of her for the "old woman style" she would always opt to wear on nights out. The cardigan and dress went together well, though. The pastel blues of the soft fabric and the whites of the cardigan, a really simple outfit compared to what the others wore, but Oscar always opted for comfort over style. That included the flat pumps she donned, a crime against fashion according to Charles. But the bows on the pumps were cute, and matched the one she'd tied in her hair to keep her choppy fringe out of the way, bobbed to the side.
Oscar heard the heels first, then saw George second.
She looked beautiful.
Oscar was always captured by George's beauty, but this was the first time she'd properly seen George outside of work. She wore a sleek, tight-fitting dress that hugged her body, silver and glittering like the stars above. Her hair was softly curled, light and bouncy, and she nervously tucked a strand behind her ear as she approached, heels clacking against the concrete.
"You, erm, you look really nice," George complimented, "blue looks good on you."
Oscar didn't want to mention it was George's favourite colour, didn't want to seem so… down bad, as Charles had said. But now they were both stood here, warming light cascading down onto them both, Oscar realised it was Alex who rang George in order for her to show up.
"What did Alex say? You know, to— well— get you to come here?"
George looked away, a ruddy blush spreading across her cheeks before mumbling quickly, "She said you looked really good, and I should come see for myself."
"And that was all it took?"
"I know you think that's creepy!" George was quick to defend herself, even when Oscar thought there was no need. "Listen if you're weirded out—"
"No. No. I erm— I'm flattered. And glad. I'm really happy you wanted to see me because Alex said I looked— what was it?"
"Well, she actually said you were wearing a dress and a cardigan, and Alex knows—" George stopped herself, biting her lip.
"Alex knows what, exactly?"
"Oh my God, this is horrendous to admit," George laughed, strained, "formal attire— like cutesy cottagey vibes, Lando calls it old grandma shit, I think? Well— fuck, okay, here goes— it really, maybe, kind of turns me on."
"Oh. Wait— Alex told me to wear this tonight, that fucker."
George held her face in her hands, "This is so embarrassing, I am so sorry for being like this—"
"Well, really, it seems that our friends planned this from the very start," Oscar tried to reassure George. Her heart was hammering in her chest because not only did George think she looked good, but apparently Alex (even though it was all a setup) made sure Oscar wore something that George was entirely into.
She wasn't sure whether to go in there and demand what Alex was thinking, or go in and thank her for giving them the kick they needed.
"George," Oscar spoke, taking in a breath, "just think about it. Why would Alex want me to dress in an outfit you really like?"
George blinked at her, bright blue eyes sparking like the ocean on a summer's day, streaks of gold shimmering against sea foam waves. "Well, I thought maybe this was Alex's way of getting back at me for replacing her milk with watered-down glue last week.
Now, as entertaining as that story sounded, Oscar refrained from asking about it for now. "Because Alex knows I want to impress you, George."
"Ah." Then a beat passed, "Oh!"
"Have we really been oblivious this whole time?" Oscar chuckled lightly. "I thought they were pulling my leg when they said you liked me back."
"Oscar, I thought I was being obvious!" George gasped, shocked, "I bought a McLaren t-shirt in a size too big for me! Did you really think I did that by accident?"
"Oh— you did that for me?"
"Okay, I may have been a tad worried that you might not like me, but I was somewhat aware of my chances," she reasoned. "How did you not notice anything at all? The shoes? The fact that I let you wear my clothes? Sharing an umbrella?"
"I just thought you were being really kind."
"Oscar, I was trying to flirt with you!"
"Now that does certainly make sense," she thought outloud, then the realisation finally hit, "wait a minute—"
George sighed, something that sat between disbelief and fondness, as she cupped Oscar's cheeks, "I really want to kiss you right now."
All Oscar could do was squeak out: "Okay."
She noted that George's lips tasted faintly of apples, sweet and somewhat crisp, and that felt entirely fitting. They were soft, well cared for, and suddenly Oscar was hyper aware of her own lips, worrying they may be cracked, too dry, against George's. Though George pulled away, did a once-over, eyes roaming Oscar.
"You're overthinking this," she mused, smiling warmly, "I've wanted to do this for so long, you know?"
"Me too," she managed to say, albiet he voice was nothing but a whisper.
"Then let it happen," George reassured, "I've got you."
So Oscar did exactly that. The gap closed again, and lips brushed against one another. George's hands planted on either side of her face, slender fingers cool against Oscar's warmed cheeks. Oscar's hands explored, one finding the base of George's neck, the other pulling her closer by the hip.
They would have gone for longer, she reckoned, if it weren't for the hooting and hollaring from the peanut gallery that congregated at the entrance of the bar. George glared at the trio of Charles, Lando and Alex, who were all happily grinning at the pair, Lando even whistled.
"Will you lot knock it off!" George hissed, but she couldn't hide the smile that graced her face, dimpled cheeks tinted pink.
"Took you long enough. We've been forced to watch you two yearn for each other for too long. We deserve to celebrate," Alex countered, "now come back inside, it's fucking freezing out here."
George looked back at Oscar, "Shall we?"
"They're going to be smug regardless. And besides, if we fucked off to either of our places, they would undoubtedly be asking questions anyway."
"Oh, so tonight is going to end up at your place or mine, huh?" George teased.
Oscar felt her blush deepen, "Shit, sorry, is that too forward of me? I honestly meant it as in a we could chill type of way, not—"
"Osc, listen—" and oh, George never used that nickname, and suddenly hearing it come from her, all thoughts left Oscar, along with her worries, and she felt herself melt slightly. "I'm just messing. I— well, I wouldn't mind, you know, if it does happen to go back to an apartment. I wouldn't be… opposed, if you get what I'm trying to say."
"Oh."
"Is that a good 'oh' or a bad 'oh'?"
"Good," Oscar assured, "Very good."
George smirked, went to say something, but was interrupted by Lando yelling out, "Oi sluts, get your arses in here, drinks are on Charles!"
"No wait, I never agreed to that—" Charles started, following Lando as soon as she raced inside.
Alex was laughing as she pursued them both, gesturing for the pair to tag along.
George slipped her hand in Oscar's, giving it a squeeze, "Is this okay?"
"More than okay," she replied, "in fact, I think I might be dreaming."
"If it is a dream, then I never want to wake up." George said, and her blush instantly deepened, "Oh goodness, that was the corniest thing I've ever said—"
Oscar pecked her against the cheek, smiling into skin, "I thought it was cute. Besides, if we're going to be doing this now, get ready for me to also say the corniest shit ever as well."
"Okay, deal."
"Now, should we go inside?" Oscar suggested, "I heard Charles was buying the next round."
"And who am I to say no to a free drink?" George laughed, and Oscar couldn't help it, but her smile widened. Heart full, cheeks flushed, and hand in hand with George (who reciprocated Oscar's feelings too!) Tonight, here and now, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.