Chapter Text
It was halfway through pre-drinks when Lando first felt the pressure behind his eyes.
It was a Friday night. Lando was leaning back against the kitchen cupboards with a cup of some fluorescent yellow toxic concoction of vodka and whatever mixers he could find, held loosely in one hand. He was in the middle of a conversation with some guy who had taken one look at Lando before openly letting his gaze roll over him in a way that made Lando feel dirty. He’d introduced himself as Chris. Or Chad? No, it was definitely Cody.
As Chris-Chad-Cody was intimately describing his top 3 indie films, Lando had started to feel the nagging dull ache in his forehead begin to make itself known. It hadn’t clicked immediately. He’d first blamed it on the conversation he was trapped in, which was increasingly growing more and more unbearable.
After escaping, he’d blamed it on the music: a questionable playlist that had undoubtedly been curated by Alex and then hijacked by the rest of their friends. Alex had added all the catchy overplayed pop songs, while George pretended he wasn’t the one who had added half of Taylor Swift's discography, all mixing unpleasantly with the aggressive house remixes that Pierre was enjoying a little too much. All of this clashed harshly with the bright white fluorescent lighting of the kitchen, and it was all too easy for Lando to continue to blame his surroundings rather than to think about the inevitable.
He really should have listened to the signs then, should have swapped his drink for water, should have said his goodbyes and gone back to his room, where he could have swallowed some painkillers and slept it all off.
Now, hours later, at the only half-decent bar in their small uni town, Lando had nothing else left to blame except himself and the reality; he was having a full-blown bad migraine in quite literally the worst place possible.
They’d been at the bar for almost an hour before the pain became too much for Lando to ignore any further. The bar was busy- it always was this time of year- exams were over, and summer was ever approaching. People were dancing in groups, while others weaved through them in desperate attempts not to spill their freshly bought drinks. The air was thick with the cloying combination of sweet perfume and cologne, cheap beer and sweat.
Lando had his head down, pillowed on his arms on the sticky tabletop of the corner booth, littered with empty glasses and was trying his very hardest not to throw up. On a typical day, he would have been in his element, would have been the first one out there dancing with a drink in hand. Normally, by now, he would have found some girl or guy to end the night with, would have let himself be dragged to the nearest corner to make out sloppily, whilst George rolled his eyes and Alex whistled badly.
Yet here he was, miserable and pathetic, glued to the same spot he’d been in for the last forty minutes. The music thumped through his skull. Every bass drop felt like someone was pounding a hammer against the inside of his head, and the coloured lighting flashed like a knife behind his eyes, even as he had them scrunched closed in pain. Lando knew migraines; he’d been having them since he was a child, but this one was especially brutal.
“Hey.” Fingers lightly skimmed the back of his neck, cool and gentle. Charles.
Lando forced his eyes open and raised his head blearily. The room swam as he blinked, and another jolt of sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes. The neon signs above the bar split into three sets of blurry letters. Charles was leaning over him, his dark hair damp with sweat, shirt unbuttoned low in the way that granted him hungry stares everywhere he went, looking unfairly effortless. His hand moved in slow circles, fingers drifting into the short-cropped curls at the base of Lando’s skull.
“Are you ok?” Charles asked, leaning over further to be heard over the music. “You look like shit, mate.”
Lando let out a laugh that came out more like a groan. “Thanks.’’
“He’s dying,” announced George from the other side of the table, sounding far too cheerful about it. He stood, sleeves rolled up, dressed in his usual white trousers that were miraculously unstained, looking far too put together for the time of night. He was half turned, as if ready to go back to the dance floor, where Alex had managed to pull a reluctant Esteban to dance with him, shouting loudly along to the lyrics of the newest Chappell Roan song. “Cause of death, Alex's singing.”
‘Oi!” Alex yelled in reply, from the middle of the bar, now half on Esteban’s back, who was graciously letting him use him as a climbing frame. “You love my singing!”
“Nobody loves your singing,” Pierre called, weaving through the crowd with two drinks in hand, making sure to ‘accidentally’ spill some on Esteban as he passed, who swore viciously at him in French in response.
Lando scrunched his eyes again. The lights were too bright, and the smell of beer was starting to get to him. His stomach rolled in warning. The hand on his neck pressed a bit harder, thumb working through the tightness gently. “Is it getting worse?” Charles asked, close enough now that Lando could feel the words against his curls.
“Mhm,” Lando managed. Talking made the pain spike, a hot surge right behind his eye. “Feels like- like bleh.”
“Very eloquent,” said George with a smirk, but his eyes gave away his concern. “You should go home, mate.”
Lando exhaled slowly, trying to focus on his breathing the way that his Mum had taught him back when he was eight and the headaches started getting bad. In for four, hold for four, out for four. It didn’t help much.
‘Yeah,” he mumbled without lifting his head, “Probably should.”
He really should have left hours ago, when the warning signs had really made themselves obvious. When his phone screen had started to go blurry, and he’d first heard the low, persistent whine. But everyone was here, and it was their first big night since exams, and Lando had been looking forward to it for weeks. He hadn't wanted to be the one to ruin it for everyone else. He’d told himself it would go away.
Of course, it hadn’t.
“I can call you an Uber,’ Charles offered, hand still in Lando’s hair.
Lando winced, not from the pain this time. Getting a taxi in their uni town this time of night was a nightmare, especially on student nights. It was a miracle if you got one at all, and even then, the prices were ridiculous. Lando’s thoughts drifted to his ever-drying bank account and the last scraps of his student loan.
“Nah,” he forced himself to raise his head further, immediately flinching at the brightness. “I’ll just get the bus,” he mumbled, words slurring. “Or I can walk, it's only like… like twenty minutes.”
“Not in this weather,” George cut in, pointedly nodding towards the window, which was being pelted with rain. People were tracking in soggy footprints every time the door opened, and outside, the rain had gone from an annoying drizzle that they had all groaned at when leaving to practically a downpour. They could hear it hammering on the roof when the music lulled.
“You’ll get soaked. Plus, you can barely stand as it is.”
“I can stand,” Lando protested, mostly because he loved to disagree with George. He tried to push himself upright, but the room tilted sharply, and he flopped back down in his seat immediately, the motion sending another sharp surge of pain through his skull. “Ok, maybe not,” he forced out reluctantly.
“Exactly,” George said, leaning in. Even with his eyes closed, Lando could picture George’s exact expression, the little smug smile that he always wore when he was proven right. Which, unfortunately for the rest of the group, was most of the time.
“Let someone drive you,” George said, “we’ll sort it.”
Lando opened his mouth to argue, mostly because he did not trust any of his friends besides George to sort anything in their current states. He squinted at Alex across the room, who was now enthusiastically showing the bartenders photos of his many pets. Before he could get his brain to work long enough to form a rational enough argument, a familiar arm wrapped around Charles’s waist from behind and tugged him a step backwards.
“Hi, baby,” Max Verstappen’s voice was warm at the edges with alcohol. He buried his face into the side of his boyfriend’s neck, clingy in the way they always were in public, a fact that the friend group resented.
“Come back,” Max insisted, a slight whine present in his voice that he’d deny with murderous intent if any of them dared to point it out.
Charles laughed softly and tilted his head so Max could press a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I’m just making sure Lando isn’t actually dying.’’
Max peered over Charles’s shoulder, frowning at Lando like he’d only just noticed he was there. His hair was a mess, flattened by the rain, and his damp shirt clung to his chest. “He does look a bit dead, yeah,” he replied thoughtfully, as if Lando wasn’t literally in front of him listening.
“Wow,” Lando muttered, mildly offended.
“George thinks he should go home,” Charles supplied, fingers still carding through Lando’s hair absentmindedly. “The migraine is getting worse.”
Max’s face softened immediately, eyebrows furrowing as he fully took in the state of Lando. Despite his reputation, Lando knew how protective he could get over his friends. “Shit, mate. Yeah, no- that’s awful. You should definitely go home. Has anyone called a cab?”
“Impossible tonight,” George cut in, “It’s pissing it down. We’re trying to figure-”
“Oh!” Max’s eyes widened as if he’d just come up with a great idea, which was always dangerous. He turned his head wildly towards the bar, one hand still idly resting on Charles’s waist. “My mate- from the team- he’s heading back now. His mate has drunk way too much, and he's driving him home.”
He lifted his arm and waved towards the crowd. “Oi, Matthew!”
Lando blinked. The name meant nothing to him. Max had lots of friends, a mix of flatmates, guys from the e-sports society, and rowing teammates. Lando had met a few at various parties, but ever since he’d started dating Charles, Max had spent most of his time with their group instead.
A tall guy in a flannel shirt looked over from the bar, eyebrows raised in question. His hair was light and still dripping from the outside torrent, curling lightly at the ends. He was in the middle of wrestling a beer can from a shorter boy, who was laughing delightedly like it was a game, who had clearly had several drinks too many.
Max beckoned them over with the pure confidence of someone who had never once considered the possibility of being ignored.
Matthew leant over to his swaying friend and told him something, gesturing at Max and using the distraction to grab the can and set it on the bar behind them. They both started to pick their way through the crowd, the drunker of the two shouldering his way past people with Matthew closely following behind and apologising for him. It was clear in the way that Matthew’s friend moved that he was drunk in a way that meant he would not remember any of this in the morning.
“Max..” Charles started, an uncertain line appearing in his brow as he observed the incoming duo.
“It’s ok,” Max replied quickly, immediately reading Charles’s concern. “They live close to Lando’s, and Matthew owes me for when I helped him move out of his flat last year. He’ll be cool with it.”
When he didn’t look any less worried, Max ran his hand up and down Charles’s side consolingly, fingers slipping under the cool, silky material of his shirt and settling on the bare skin of his stomach. “Trust me, Matthew’s cool. He’s such a bore, honestly, always following the rules- he’s almost as bad as George. He’ll take care of Lan.”
Lando shifted, trying to get himself somewhat vertical. The motion made the room blur, but he managed to brace his elbows on the table. He didn’t love the idea of getting in some random guy's car, but he liked the idea of staying even less. Each beat of the music felt like it was physically slamming into his head.
Matthew reached them, up close, and Lando could see his eyes properly, a bright blue that shone despite the clear exhaustion that was ever present in all third-year students at this time of year. He had a friendly smile, warm even in the harsh lighting. A bit of Lando’s anxiety eased; Matthew seemed… safe somehow.
“Hey mate,” Matthew greeted Max with a smile, “what’s up?”
“This is Lando,” Max launched into explanation. “He lives near yours. He’s got a migraine and needs to go home. You're heading back right? Mind if you take him with you?”
A small part of Lando’s pride protested about being talked about like he was a child getting dropped off at school, but the rest of him was already imagining himself in bed, lights off, curtains drawn, pills taken. He could deal with being looked after for tonight.
Matthew squinted at Lando, a sympathetic wince taking over his handsome face. “Oof, bad one, eh?” he said. “I get them too, sometimes. Fucking sucks.”
Lando managed a weak smile. “Yeah. Bit rough.”
“I can drop you off, no problem,” Matthew said easily. “We’re leaving in like five minutes. I haven't been drinking; I’ve got to be up early tomorrow for a job interview. Plus, someone has to be the sensible one.” He jerked his head towards his friend, who was trying to fit multiple lime wedges into his mouth.
Rolling his eyes, Matthew scoffed fondly. “That idiot is Aaron. I’m taking him home before he ends up upside down in a bush again.”
Aaron, with ginger hair sticking up in messy spikes, eyes bright, and freckled cheeks flushed pink, looked over with a wide grin. “I’m sensible,” he declared, immediately ruining it by giggling at his own words. “Sooooo sensible. The most.”
The back and forth made Lando’s chest unclench even further. They seemed normal. A bit ridiculous, sure, but Lando couldn’t pass any judgment when his own friends were currently learning the HOT-TO-GO dance from Alex meters away on the dance floor. Lando himself was no stranger to making questionable decisions on a night out; in fact, the migraine had at least saved him from the many he would have made tonight alone. Matthew’s eyes were sharp, his voice clear. He didn’t seem drunk.
“See,” Max said smugly, squeezing Charles’s waist. “Problem solved.”
Charles exhaled, visibly torn. He looked at Lando, at the greyish tint to his skin, at his hands that had started trembling ten minutes ago. Then he looked at George, who shared his worried look but gave a small shrug.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Charles asked Lando directly.
Lando nodded, then immediately regretted it as the motion made the lights smear and his head pulse. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing against a wave of nausea. “Yeah, it’s fine. Thanks. Appreciate it, really.”
“I can come with you, if you want,” George offered, voice softer. “Make sure you get home okay,”
Some part of Lando wanted to say yes, but he could hear the conflict in George’s tone. The genuine concern overlapped with the equally genuine desire not to abandon what was supposed to be a fun night. George has worked so hard for exams, he’d been buzzing for this night out for weeks.
“It’s fine,” Lando answered quickly, forcing his face into what he hoped was a reassuring expression. He knew that if he said the word, any one of his friends would take him home without complaint. But he already felt bad enough for making George and Charles babysit him at the booth for as long as they had. “Seriously, mate. Go have fun. I just… just need a dark room. No noise.”
“Text us when you get back,” Charles ordered firmly. “Both of us.”
“I will.” Lando pushed himself to his feet slowly, using the table as leverage. His legs shook, but thankfully, he avoided further humiliation, and they held.
The world rushed in louder as he stood up. The press of bodies, the heat, the stale smell of beer and sweat, all felt too much. Someone bumped his shoulder as they brushed past, and he flinched, biting back a groan as the movement sent a jolt of pain to his skull.
“Easy,” Matthew muttered as Max glared at the offending figure. He stepped into Lando’s side as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his other hand clutching Aaron’s wrist tightly. “We’ll go out the side door, it's quieter.”
Max caught Lando’s shoulder gently as he passed, squeezing. “Text,” he reminded him. Then, softer, “feel better, Lan.”
He said hurried goodbyes- George clapping him on the back, Alex yelling something unintelligible that Lando decided to interpret as supportive, Pierre and Yuki waving from the dance floor without fully understanding what was going on, Esteban giving him a sympathetic smile over the rim of his pint glass. Then he was following Matthew and Aaron through the crowd, looking back once to meet Charles’s eyes before he was out of sight.
The outside hit him like a wave. Cold wet air flooded his lungs, an immediate shock after the sticky heat of the bar. The rain was coming down hard in sheets, large droplets pounding against the concrete. Deep puddles had formed in the uneven pavement, reflecting distorted neon colours.
The noise was different out here, the music muted, while the hiss of rain was interrupted by excited shouts of groups of students on bar crawls. The decrease in noise and cool air should have been a relief. It was, for a second. But the harsh contrast of environments made Lando’s head pulse angrily, as if his brain was protesting the adjustments.
“Fuck me,” Lando muttered, hiding his face as best he could in the collar of his thin jacket. The wind cut right through him. He wrapped his arms around himself and squinted through the raindrops on his lashes. The three of them were soaked already.
Matthew hunched his shoulders and dug in his pockets for his keys. “C’mon, my car is just over there.”
They splashed across the car park quickly. Lando’s focus was on putting one foot in front of the other, on not slipping. The rain felt like needles on his overheated skin. Matthew’s car was small and blinking impatiently as he unlocked it.
“Aaron, you in front,” Matthew directed, already moving to open the door. “Lando, you take the back. Lie down if you need.”
“Thanks,” Lando collapsed into the seat, immediately turning sideways and resting his head on the cool glass of the window, seeking out any ounce of relief. The rain blurred the world into streaks of muted colours.
In the front, Aaron has hauled himself inside with a considerable lack of grace. He was complaining about something- Lando only caught a few words. “I could totally do it.. I’m a good driver, okay? …perfectly fine.”
“You’re not driving,” Matthew said firmly, sliding into the driver’s seat with the patient tone of someone who’d had this argument before. He leaned down to grab a water bottle from the floor of the car and tossed it into Aaron’s lap before glancing up at the rearview mirror, making eye contact with Lando and smiling softly.
Lando closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. The low thrum of the engine became almost soothing in its consistency. The wipers squawked to life across the windshield, trying to keep up with the sheer volume of the onslaught. The car heater wheezed as it blew lukewarm air that smelled faintly of damp. Landos’s wet clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, but he was too exhausted to care. Lights blurred past as they pulled out of the car park and made their way onto the winding country road that headed back to the student part of town. The motion of the car added a new element to his migraine, as if he could feel his brain sloshing in his skull with every turn. He tried to concentrate on the rhythm of his breathing again.
In for four, hold for four, out for four.
The sound of the rain on the roof was almost white noise. The conversation up front became a low, distant murmur. He let himself drift, not quite asleep but not fully awake, thoughts dissolving at the edges. Time blurred. They left the town behind, trading it for fields and trees. It was dark, the bright headlights reached across the road ahead and reflected sharply in puddles.
Lando was pulled back to reality by a change in volume from the front of the car.
‘...mate, seriously, it’s fine… just let me… I’m fine. I can drive…”
Lando frowned with his eyes still closed. It took a moment for his brain to process the words. He forced his eyes open, a creep of unease spreading low in his stomach. The inside of the car swam into focus slowly.
Matthew was still driving, eyes stubbornly glued to the dark road ahead of them. But one of his arms was not on the wheel anymore; it was braced against Aaron’s chest, pushing him back into his seat. Aaron, who had one of his own hands on the wheel, leaned over the gear stick precariously as he tried to take control from Matthew. Distantly, Lando noticed that he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.
Matthew’s face was tense in a way that Lando hadn't seen from him before. He was trying to push Aaron off of him, glancing sideways at his friend in short bursts that made Lando’s heart quicken with anxiety.
“Mate, seriously, get off.” His voice was tight, close to shouting. “This isn’t funny, Aaron- fuck-”
The car drifted slightly towards the centre line, the tyres hissing as they were tugged in two different directions. Oncoming headlights bloomed too brightly in the rain, haloed and smeared. Matthew overcorrected with a sharp jerk of the wheel.
Lando’s nausea changed instantly from migraine-sick to adrenaline-sick.
“Hey,” he said, sitting up fully now despite the burst of pain that the movement caused. The seatbelt cut across his chest at an awkward angle, and he fumbled it into place with trembling fingers. “Hey- stop, what are you doing?"
“Lando!” Aaron slurred, hand still gripping the wheel. His body twisted backwards towards Lando, and he beamed at him widely, eye unfocused and manic. “Lando- Lando! Tell- can you please tell Matty here that I can drive? I am perfectly capable-”
Another car passed them cleanly, headlights blinding for a split second. Aaron’s pupils looked blown in the reflected light. “Look, see, everything is fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Matthew replied, voice tight. He grabbed at Aaron’s wrist tightly, trying to pry him off the wheel whilst still keeping his eyes on the road ahead. Aaron swatted him away, laughing and leaned even more of his body into the driver’s side of the car.
“Mate, stop, you’ll make us crash if you keep doing that,” Matthew complained. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”
The road outside was a tunnel of black and silver, and rain slashed violently against the windshield. The wipers strained, barely able to keep up. The surface of the road was a patchwork of slick reflections.
Lando’s stomach knotted. Each time the car hit a puddle, he felt it, that slight unsettling looseness under the wheels. His migraine slammed back to the forefront, but now it was intertwined with something sharper- fear cutting through the cotton wool that was his thoughts.
“Can we-” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we maybe… slow down a bit?”
They weren't going especially fast, not really. But it was dark, and the rain was heavy, and Lando was not enjoying the current fight for the steering wheel that was still happening in the front seats.
“Aaron, maybe you should let Matthew get us home, yeah?” Lando’s voice wavered as he addressed Aaron directly.
“Oh, but Laaaando,” Aaron replied, elongating his name with a whine. “Matthew doesn’t believe me when I tell him I’m a good driver. I just need to prove it-”
He emphasised this by tugging the wheel sideways, causing the car to swerve slightly before Matthew adjusted with a curse.
Lando’s pulse thudded in his ears.
“Matthew,” he said, addressing the only person in the car he trusted to get them home safely. “Mate. Seriously. Please, let's pull over or something.”
Matthew’s eyes flicked up to the mirror, catching the panic reflected in Lando’s. That seemed to settle something in his mind, and he turned his attention back to Aaron, jaw clenched, forcefully prying his fingers off the wheel, gentleness gone.
“Stop it. Now,’ he ordered, low and dangerous. “I mean it. This isn’t funny.”
“Relax,” Aaron started, rolling his eyes and leaning even more into Matthew’s space, almost in his lap. “You worry too much-”
Matthew fully turned his body to face Aaron.
The front wheels hit a stretch of deeper water mid-corner.
Lando felt it more than he saw it; the sudden lightness, the way the control of the car seemed to surrender itself to the elements. The engine’s pitch changed to a weird hollow whine. Tyres hissed.
The car floated.
Not for long. A second, maybe less. But in that second, Lando understood, deep in his body before his brain caught up. They weren’t in control anymore.
“Shit,” Aaron breathed. Lando saw his eyes for a flash; they were sober with fear.
He looked young.
“Whoa-” Matthew’s hands jerked on the wheel, instinctively trying to correct. It only made things worse. The back of the car spun, the world outside the windows lurching violently. Headlights from an oncoming car glared too close, white and all-consuming.
Time fractured.
Lando’s migraine vanished, wiped clean and replaced by pure, animal terror. Every sense sharpened to painful clarity.
His hands locked around the seat belt strap, breath caught somewhere in his chest. Outside, the world narrowed to reaching tree branches, the dark mass of hedges, the deep black beyond.
Someone shouted wordlessly. It might have been him.
The tyres screamed as they finally found purchase again, but at the wrong angle. The car snapped sideways, the force wrenching Lando against the seatbelt. Pain flared across his chest and shoulder.
There was a moment- a single, razor-thin moment- where he thought, wildly stupidly: I should have walked.
Then the world detonated.
The side of the car met something immovable with a sound like tearing metal and breaking glass, a violent, bone-deep crunch. The impact slammed through Lando’s body, flinging his head sideways. His skull hit something hard, hard enough that light burst behind his eyes.
The last thing Lando registered was the rain, still hammering on the roof. He felt it on his skin, cold and indifferent. His awareness slipped away as easily as water from his lashes.