Chapter Text
Oscar smiled in satisfaction as he scrolled through the photos on his camera screen. Each one looked perfect—the way the sunlight hit, the composition, the life captured in still frames. He looked up, eyes wandering around the college park.
Students filled the open space with their laughter and chatter, their lives overlapping like little bursts of color. Some were reading, revising for tests. Others were lying on the grass, sharing snacks and secrets. A few sped past on skateboards and bicycles.
The air felt alive—a little noisy, a little chaotic, but warm. Oscar lifted the camera hanging around his neck again, pressing the viewfinder to his eye.
His fingers moved on instinct, clicking the shutter once, twice, again and again, until he felt that familiar flicker of satisfaction in his chest—the kind that only came when he captured something beautiful.
Oscar.
A second-year photography student at the college. Twenty years old. Admired by many. Liked by even more.
Even now, Oscar felt quietly grateful for the life he had. He had been adopted at twelve, after spending his childhood in an orphanage. His adoptive family—kind, well-off, and endlessly warm—had treated him as if he were their own blood, even though they already had an older son.
They respected his choice to keep his original surname—Piastri.
He still carried the faces of his first family in his heart. They had died in a car accident when he was eleven. The grief had once consumed him, but being taken in by his new family changed everything.
Life had become gentler. Sweeter.
He wanted to follow in his brother’s footsteps—the older boy who had already made something of himself in the world. Oscar wanted that, too. To make his adoptive parents proud, to prove that everything they’d given him was worth it.
He’d chosen to study something he loved—photography. The way a camera could freeze time, how it could hold emotion in silence. That was his language.
Oscar flipped through the photos again, smiling to himself as pride swelled in his chest.
“Charles will be so jealous when I show him these,” he said under his breath, standing right in the middle of the park. He kept scrolling, admiring each photo again and again, his smile growing wider with each one.
Until it stopped.
The smile froze on his face as his thumb hovered over the screen. He went back to the last photo, zooming in. His brows furrowed in confusion, a small chill running down his spine.
“Eh…? What is that…?”
His head lifted slowly, eyes darting around to find the exact angle of the shot he’d just taken. He scanned the campus buildings, each rooftop and window, his heart starting to beat faster for no reason he could name.
Until his gaze stopped.
There—on the rooftop of one of the buildings.
A boy stood at the very edge. Someone Oscar didn’t recognize.
The student’s posture was tense, his face shadowed, his eyes lost on the ground below. There was something deeply unsettling about the stillness of it—the way he stood, the way his hair moved faintly in the wind, like he wasn’t really there anymore.
Oscar’s breath caught. The world around him went quiet.
📸
Lando inhaled deeply, the breath trembling in his chest before it escaped in a shaky exhale. His body slumped against the cold metal bench on the rooftop of his college. There was no one else there—there never was. He didn’t know why. Maybe because most students preferred the park below.
Down there, it was freer. Louder. Happier.
But up here—it was quiet.
Lando’s eyes drifted down to the sketchbook resting on his lap. On the open page was a drawing of the sky—blue streaks and clouded brush lines that he’d once thought looked beautiful. Now, he could barely stand the sight of it.
His fingers tightened around the pencil, pressing hard until the wood dug into his skin. Then, with one long breath, he dragged the pencil violently across the paper.
Once. Twice. Again and again.
Until the sky he’d drawn disappeared beneath dark, messy lines. Until the colors turned into chaos.
His chest ached. His head spun. The sound of the pencil scratching against paper became too loud—too sharp—until he finally dropped it, breathing unevenly.
He hated this feeling.
He hated this weight pressing on his ribs.
He hated this life that felt too cruel to understand.
Why him?
Why did fate choose him to carry this pain?
The tears that he’d been holding back finally slipped down his cheeks, warm and silent. He tried to breathe again, but each inhale shook his shoulders harder.
He was so tired. So impossibly tired.
All he wanted was a normal life—like the others, laughing somewhere below, free from this suffocating heaviness.
He tossed his sketchbook and pencil gently onto the rooftop grass, the thud echoing too loudly in the quiet air. His eyes scanned the space around him—empty, still, and distant.
It felt like even the world had stepped back, leaving him alone with his pain. His hand moved to his chest, pressing tightly over his heart as if trying to keep it from breaking apart.
He shut his eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness, whispering under his breath.
“It hurts… oh God, it hurts so much.”
Slowly, Lando pushed himself off the bench. His legs were unsteady, but he walked toward the edge of the rooftop. The faint wind brushed through his hair.
From where he stood, he could see the entire campus below—students walking, laughing, calling out to each other. The sound of their joy drifted faintly upward, like a world that didn’t belong to him anymore.
He heard laughter.
He saw smiles.
He saw life.
And for a moment, it felt like all of it was happening far, far away.
He didn’t even realize what he was doing until his fingers wrapped around the edge of the rooftop barrier. His heart was racing, but not from fear. Slowly, one foot lifted, then the other, until both sneakers rested on the narrow ledge.
For a second—just one—he felt weightless.
The wind hit his face, cool and soft, brushing against his cheeks like a whisper. His eyes closed. For the first time that day, he felt something that almost resembled peace.
The sky above looked infinite. The air tasted like freedom.
When Lando opened his eyes again, he saw the world in full color— the clouds drifting lazily, the trees swaying, people walking in patterns below.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Barely there. Fragile.
Then his gaze dropped down—to the ground far, far beneath him.
He wasn’t afraid. Maybe he should’ve been, but he wasn’t. The thought that filled his head instead was quiet. Curious. Almost tender.
What if I fell?
What if my body hit the ground?
Would it hurt? Would I still be able to breathe? Or would it finally stop—all of it?
Would I disappear from this world? From all this pain?
He didn’t move. He just stood there—thinking, wondering, lost in that terrifyingly calm space between staying and leaving.
Time stretched. The world below went on living.
And Lando stayed frozen—his breath shallow, his heart heavy—as if even gravity was holding its breath with him.
“Nice weather today, isn’t it?”
The sudden sound broke through the silence like a small crack in glass. Lando flinched slightly, blinking as if woken up from a dream. His body went still.
Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes landing on a figure standing a few feet away—a boy he didn’t recognize. He didn’t want to recognize him either. Strangers weren’t supposed to find him up here. Strangers weren’t supposed to see him like this.
Oscar.
He was the stranger. The one who had just arrived, breathing heavily, pretending to look at the open blue sky above them. Oscar acted as though he had come to enjoy the weather, but the truth was far from it.
Oscar was tired—chest rising and falling quickly after sprinting up flight after flight of stairs. Somewhere below, his camera was being passed from hand to hand among his classmates.
He had left it behind without care. Nothing else mattered now. Not the photos, not the assignment, not the rest of the world. The only thing on his mind was the boy standing dangerously close to the edge.
“What are you doing here?”
Lando’s voice came out quiet, almost a whisper. He didn’t turn fully toward Oscar, his eyes still fixed on the skyline ahead. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, twisting together.
Lando wasn’t used to being approached, especially not in moments like this—moments where he thought he was completely alone. No one ever came up here. No one ever asked questions.
The weather… Lando looked up at the sky. It was beautiful, a soft shade of blue scattered with thin, glowing clouds. For a moment, it almost fooled him into thinking peace was possible.
“Nothing much. Just getting some air,” Oscar answered with a small smile, his shoulders lifting slightly as if to prove his nonchalance.
He glanced up at Lando—the boy now stood taller on the ledge, wind brushing against his hair—then turned his eyes back to the open space above. The silence that followed was heavy, stretching between them like an invisible wall neither dared to cross.
Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind, brushing softly past their faces, and the faint song of birds flying overhead.
Seeing Lando still standing on that edge, refusing to move, Oscar exhaled slowly. He could feel his own pulse racing. Then he finally spoke again.
“I have a question.”
Ocsar’s voice wasn’t loud, but it reached Lando clearly. There was no answer, not even a glance back—but Oscar knew Lando could hear him. The boy’s shoulders stiffened slightly, as though the sound of another person’s voice was enough to disrupt the fragile thoughts running through his mind.
“Do you have a family?” Oscar asked.
Just one question—but it was enough to slice straight through Lando’s heart. His hands clenched tighter. His jaw tensed. The word alone—family—sent something twisting deep inside his chest. His throat ached. His vision blurred with heat.
He didn’t look at the trees below anymore. His eyes were distant, unfocused, his mind already somewhere else entirely. A memory. A voice.
“Good morning, sweetheart. Time to get up.”
His mother’s voice echoed gently in his head. The sound of soft laughter filled the air, the familiar scent of breakfast wafting from the kitchen. He remembered how she giggled when he refused to get out of bed, the way she tugged on his blanket like she always did.
Lando’s breath came uneven now, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He tried to hold it together, to stop the tears that pricked behind his eyes.
His mind wandered further—to the morning table, to his father walking in with a newspaper and a kiss pressed to his hair. Lando could still hear their laughter, the warmth of it echoing like sunlight in a house that always felt too small for so much love.
Oscar noticed. He didn’t miss the way Lando’s posture changed—how his shoulders trembled just slightly, how his breathing became shallow. Still, he spoke again, softly, carefully, as if testing the edge of something fragile.
“Do you have a best friend?”
Another question. Another wound.
The words echoed inside Lando like a knife being turned slowly. Best friend. He did. He always had. Since they were kids, through everything, through every smile, every laugh, every stupid argument—until this morning.
“Lando, stop it! I don’t wanna hear it. Just go away, alright?”
George’s voice. Still fresh, still clear in his ears. His best friend. The same boy who had laughed right after saying it, brushing it off before they went their separate ways for class. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but somehow it did.
He could still hear that laughter—George’s and his own—blending together like it always did. For a moment, he remembered how good it felt to have someone who understood him.
It was beautiful. All of it.
Every memory, every echo.
So beautiful—and that’s what hurt the most.
Lando’s breathing was no longer steady. Each inhale came sharp and uneven, each exhale trembling through his chest. His tears finally broke free, spilling down his cheeks in helpless streaks.
The sound of his sobs echoed faintly in the empty rooftop air—raw, unfiltered, real. Lando lowered his head, his shoulders shaking. The weight of everything he’d been holding in was too much now.
The dam had burst.
Lando forgot where he was. He forgot the ledge beneath his feet, the drop below him, the danger he was standing in. All he knew was the ache—the heavy, suffocating ache that had been clawing at his chest for far too long.
Lando’s knees began to give out.
He swayed forward, his balance slipping—and for one terrifying second, the world tilted.
Then came a sudden grip.
Oscar.
Acting on instinct, Oscar rushed forward, heart lurching in panic. He grabbed Lando’s arm, fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist. The force of it spun Lando around just enough for Oscar to pull him backward—away from the edge, away from the fall.
In that desperate motion, Lando collapsed against him. The impact sent them both stumbling, knees hitting the soft fake grass of the rooftop. Lando’s body trembled as he fell into Oscar’s chest, and for the first time that day, he let himself fall—not from the rooftop, but into someone’s arms.
Lando didn’t think anymore. Didn’t fight. Didn’t speak. He just cried.
His sobs broke and cracked, the sound muffled against Oscar’s shoulder. His tears soaked through the boy’s shirt. He could feel a pair of hands holding him firmly by the shoulders, grounding him—warm, steady, and real.
Lando lifted his eyes slowly, glassy and red, hazel blue-green meeting the stranger’s brown gaze. Oscar’s face was pale from shock, but his eyes were soft, filled with a quiet worry that made Lando’s chest ache all over again.
“Hey… it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Oscar whispered the words again and again, his voice breaking slightly each time. He didn’t know what else to say—only that the boy in front of him needed to hear something, anything that sounded like hope.
Lando’s fingers clutched the front of Oscar’s shirt tightly, knuckles white. He held on as if that fabric was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
Lando wanted the pain to stop—the noise, the ache, the heaviness in his chest. Everything.
But it wouldn’t. It stayed. It pressed down on him until breathing felt impossible.
Lando tried to take another breath, but the air wouldn’t come. His chest constricted, trembling violently. His gasps turned shallow, uneven. Breathe, please breathe, he begged himself silently. Please.
The world blurred.
The last thing he saw was Oscar’s face—the panic in his eyes, the way his mouth opened to call him—before everything began to fade.
Lando’s eyelids grew heavy. His body weakened. The sound of his own heartbeat echoed faintly in his ears, then slowed.
And then, silence.
Lando’s head fell backward, limp, caught quickly by Oscar’s trembling hands.
“Hey, hey, no no no—”
But there was no response.
Everything around them fell still—the wind, the birds, the hum of the world below.
Lando’s fragile body lay motionless in Oscar’s arms, his face pale and tear-streaked. The world that had felt so big just moments ago now seemed impossibly quiet.
Oscar held him tighter, his heart pounding, fear flooding through every part of him.
Please… please stay.
But Lando didn’t answer.
The rooftop went silent again—a silence heavy enough to swallow the world whole.
📸
Lando’s eyelids fluttered open, slow and uncertain, as if his body was struggling to remember how to exist again. His vision was blurry at first—only flashes of light and white, the faint beep of monitors cutting through the silence.
It took Lando a few seconds to understand where he was, his heart picking up speed as his brain caught up. Hospital. The same dull walls, the same sound of soft wheels moving outside the room.
He was back here again.
Lando exhaled shakily through the oxygen mask pressed over his nose and mouth. Every breath rasped against his throat, heavy and uneven. His hand twitched on the blanket—and then he felt something warm.
A hand. Someone holding his. Not gently, but tight. Lando’s fingers shifted weakly in that grip, his head turning just enough to see who it was.
And there—right beside him—sat George. His best friend. His expression wasn’t relief. It wasn’t calm. It was fire.
George’s eyes were sharp and glossy, jaw locked so tight that Lando could see the muscle tick. George didn’t say anything—not yet—but his stare said everything.
Before Lando could even open his mouth to speak, George’s palm came down on his arm with a loud smack.
“Ow—!” Lando flinched, his voice coming out hoarse and small. He winced, fumbling to push the oxygen mask off just so he could yell properly.
“George! That hurts! Can you not? I’m literally half-dead right now!” His voice cracked midway, somewhere between a whine and disbelief.
George rolled his eyes so dramatically that it almost hurt to watch. He didn’t look impressed—he looked seconds away from exploding. And then, without missing a beat, he hit him again.
Lando yelped louder this time, curling slightly away. “Seriously? Again?! What is your problem?!”
But George’s anger wasn’t the kind that burned bright and vanished—it was raw and panicked, carved out of fear. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stepped closer, his voice breaking as it grew louder.
“MY PROBLEM?! I TOLD YOU, LANDO! I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUSH YOURSELF LIKE THIS!” The words were too big for the room, they bounced off the white walls and into Lando’s ears until his head rang.
Lando rubbed one ear, half-glaring, half-dazed. “You’re shouting right in my brain right now, can you—”
“I don’t care!” George cut him off, his voice trembling. “If you’re in pain, you tell me! You call me, you scream, I don’t care! But don’t—” His voice faltered.
George’s throat worked to swallow the crack threatening to escape. “Don’t you ever do something like this again. Don’t make me think I’m going to lose you.”
That last line landed differently. Lando blinked, taken aback, guilt climbing up his chest like something alive. George’s hand was still shaking against his shoulder—his anger dissolving slowly into panic, into helplessness.
“You even realize where you passed out?!” George snapped again, his voice quieter now, but every word hit hard. He pointed at him, eyes wide. “The rooftop, Lando. The rooftop!” George’s words stung more than the IV needle in Lando’s arm.
Lando lowered his eyes, staring at the blanket. The memory flooded back—the rooftop, the wind, the way his legs had given up beneath him. He could still feel that rush, that fear, and then—that boy.
George ran a hand through his hair, pacing the side of the bed. “You’re so lucky someone saw you up there,” he muttered, voice shaking slightly as his anger cracked into something softer.
“If they hadn’t—” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence. His eyes softened for the first time, and that silence said more than anything he could’ve screamed.
Lando didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His throat ached with too many words that wouldn’t come out. He just nodded, small and heavy.
George sighed, finally dragging a chair closer to the bed. “Doctor said you’re fine,” he mumbled, trying to sound casual again, though his voice betrayed him. “Your parents are freaking out. I told them I’ll take you home once they let you go.”
Lando nodded again, quieter this time. His mind wasn’t here anymore. It drifted somewhere else—back to that moment right before everything went dark. That boy’s face. His voice. The calm in his chaos.
As George kept talking, Lando’s gaze shifted down. A jacket—neatly folded—lay over his legs. He hadn’t noticed it before. It wasn’t hospital property. It wasn’t his.
He lifted it slowly, the soft fabric brushing against his fingers. It smelled faintly of something clean—camera dust, maybe a hint of pine and wind. He turned it around, fingertips brushing the inside collar until his eyes caught something small and stitched in neat thread.
O.P.81.
He whispered the letters under his breath.
His chest tightened without warning. His heartbeat quickened—not from panic this time, but something else entirely. That boy. That stranger. The one who had reached for him in the middle of the storm.
Lando stared at the jacket, tracing the letters again with his thumb. It felt like a clue—or a connection that he wasn’t ready to understand.
George’s voice finally cut through the fog. “You listening, or you’ve floated off to your little dreamland again?”
Lando blinked, startled, quickly folding the jacket against his chest. “I’m listening,” he said softly.
But he wasn’t.
Not really.
Because in his head, he was still there—on the rooftop, in the wind, with that boy who looked at him like he wasn’t broken.
George’s voice cracked through the sterile air of the hospital room, his shout echoing off the white walls —
“DO YOU EVEN KNOW—”
But before he could finish, another voice—calm, deep, and edged with dry amusement—sliced clean through his chaos.
“Don’t you think you’re a little too loud for a hospital?”
The interruption made both Lando and George snap their heads toward the doorway. There, leaning lazily against the frame, stood a young doctor—tall, sharp blue-eyed, with his white coat hanging loosely from his shoulders and a stethoscope looped casually around his neck. His presence alone felt like the kind of silence that demanded attention.
The same doctor who had been assigned to Lando’s case.
The twenty-six years old man pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped inside, his shoes clicking softly against the floor.
George immediately rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath in mock imitation—“Don’t you think you’re a little too loud for a hospital?” His face twisted in exaggerated annoyance.
The doctor—Max Verstappen, as written neatly on his name tag heard him. He definitely heard him. But instead of reacting, he simply ignored it, his expression unreadable, focused only on Lando, who was still half-sitting, half-slumped on the hospital bed.
Lando, managed a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, doctor. My friend, you know him, he’s crazy,” he mumbled just loud enough for Max to hear.
George’s head snapped toward him in disbelief—what did you just say?!—his glare sharp enough to stab.
Lando avoided his eyes, pretending to adjust the oxygen mask that he had already removed earlier.
Max crossed his arms, gaze firm, his expression unamused. “Tell me the truth,” he said coolly. “You didn’t just faint for no reason, right? There must be something.”
His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried that calm authority that made lying nearly impossible.
Lando froze. His fingers twitched at the edge of the blanket. His heartbeat stuttered for a second—the same panic he’d felt earlier on the rooftop creeping back. How could he tell this man, this stranger in a white coat, that he had been standing too close to the edge crying until his legs gave out?
No.
He couldn’t.
Lando doesn’t want Max to be mad at him.
He shook his head violently, waving both hands in protest. “No, doctor! No, it’s nothing!”
And suddenly, as if realizing how formal he sounded, his voice softened into something smaller and polite. Normally, he’d just say Max like he was talking to any other person. But now, under that serious gaze, even Lando Norris—the loud, fearless one—became careful.
“I swear, I just fainted out of nowhere,” he continued quickly, nodding so much it looked rehearsed. “No idea why. One second I was fine, and the next—boom. Gone.”
Max’s eyes narrowed slightly.
He’d been doing this long enough to know when someone was lying.
Max sighed, scribbling something on the clipboard at the foot of the bed.
He didn’t call him out. Not yet.
Max didn’t bother asking another question. The air in the hospital room was already heavy enough—filled with the faint hum of the monitor, the distant beeping of a machine, and George’s restless breathing.
Without a word, Max stepped closer to the bed. His hand moved with practiced calm as he reached for Lando’s wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing gently against his skin. His touch was cool, professional, yet grounding.
Max was feeling for a pulse—counting the soft, rhythmic thump beneath his fingers while his eyes flickered to the watch on his other wrist. The seconds stretched, the world shrinking to nothing but the sound of that steady beat.
Then, with the slightest nod, Max released Lando’s hand. Normal. Steady. But his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary—as if still trying to understand this boy who somehow fainted on a rooftop.
He exhaled, and pulled his stethoscope from around his neck. The metal glinted under the fluorescent light. He slid the earpieces in, his every movement precise and smooth.
Lando blinked, unsure what to do—watching as his doctor leaned closer, the cool edge of the stethoscope pressing against his chest. The sudden chill made him flinch slightly, his shoulders stiffening.
“Take a deep breath,” Max said quietly.
Lando did as told, the sound of his inhale trembling faintly.
“Exhale.”
He blew the air out, his chest rising and falling under the doctor’s palm.
“Again.”
Another breath. Lando’s eyes flickered to Max’s face—sharp, serious, completely unreadable. There was something almost intimidating about the calmness he carried. Lando followed his every word without question. It felt strange to be this obedient, especially for someone like him.
When Max was done, he stepped back, looping the stethoscope around his neck once more. His eyes caught something—a piece of fabric crumpled on Lando’s lap. A jacket.
Worn, slightly oversized, and still smelling faintly like the outside air.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “Whose is that?” he asked.
Lando looked down at it like he was only just realizing it was still there. His fingers ran along the fabric, tracing the small embroidered initials near the cuff. He opened his mouth to answer—but no words came out.
His throat felt tight.
Before the silence could stretch too long, George jumped in from the chair beside the bed, raising his hand like he was answering a teacher.
“Ah! That guy who brought Lando in earlier,” George said. “He left right after you doctors came.”
Max nodded once, expression unreadable. He turned his gaze toward George for the first time, eyes cool and steady.
“Thanks,” he said simply—then, after a deliberate pause, added dryly, “But I wasn’t asking you.”
George froze. His mouth dropped open. He blinked twice, the insult settling in.
He didn’t—he did.
The audacity.
“You—!” George raised his fist, pointing at Max’s back as if he could stab him with his glare alone. His sneakers stomped against the floor, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.
Lando immediately grabbed his friend’s wrist, tugging it down before things escalated. “George! Stop, please—you’re gonna make me pass out again!” he hissed, still half-laughing despite how weak he sounded.
Meanwhile, Max didn’t even flinch. He wrote something briefly on the clipboard, entirely ignoring the chaos he left behind. Lando looked between them helplessly—one best friend about to explode, one doctor made entirely of ice—and sighed.
“Sorry, doctor,” he muttered softly, guilt flashing through his tired smile. “Yeah, you do know him. He’s got crazy again.”
Max didn’t answer, but the faintest ghost of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth before it vanished.
After another glance at Lando’s chart, Max stepped back. “Your condition’s stable, for now,” he said, voice even and clear. He looked up, meeting Lando’s eyes. “You can be discharged today.”
There was no hesitation, no dramatic flair. Just a simple conclusion from someone who sounded like he’d seen everything before.
Max turned, hand on the doorknob, about to leave—then he stopped and looked over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to George again.
“And if you make noise like that again,” he said flatly, “I’ll report you to administration.”
Max’s tone didn’t sound like a joke. But the glimmer in his eyes said otherwise.
George’s jaw dropped again. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he shouted, voice echoing through the quiet hallway. But Max was already walking away.
Lando burst into laughter, weak but real. He tugged at George’s sleeve, pulling him back down into the chair before his friend could storm out after the doctor. “George, stop— he’s really gonna kick you out next time!”
George groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “I hate him, always,” he muttered under his breath.
Lando just grinned, shaking his head as his eyes followed Max through the half-open door—watching the steady, confident stride until he disappeared at the end of the hallway.
And then, before the silence could settle—
“BYE, MAX!!” Lando called out, his voice loud and shameless, echoing through the corridor. “SEE YOU AGAIN!”
For a second, there was no response. But Lando swore that he saw Max’s shoulders twitch, as if holding back a laugh, before he turned the corner and vanished from sight.
.