Chapter Text
Another rainy day. Lando woke up in the cold morning haze of his room. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, the sheets pooling at his waist. The sudden feeling of the warmth slipping away made him shiver.
It was a school day, so he got ready really quickly. He plastered a smile on his face. He had a lot of friends, he had a crush and actually probably a chance with the most handsome boy in the school. His life was so fuckin great! Wasn't it?
He stepped on the bus, reaching for his friend George, who promised he would have kept a seat for him this time.
George looked at him with an apologetic expression. Alex was already sitting next to him, probably there was no room left for him either when he jumped on the bus so George had to give him that place. It was okay. He grinned at them grating them with one of his best hugs. Lando was just like that: bright, affectionate, lovely.
He stood near them, talking quietly about the game he was obsessed with during that period. They politely acted all interested. Their stop was forty minutes away from his stop. When they reached it they got out and almost got lost in the tide of people going in different directions.
Lando reached for them by a thread, walking right behind them as they talked about what class they had to attend that morning. Nobody asked about his, but he told them anyway. It was automatic, what you talk about something it's just natural to share your opinion too.
He unfortunately had no classes with them.
«Well guys, since we can't spend some time together this morning, why don't we have lunch together? I'm going to take something at the cafeteria» they nodded along smiling. George talked first.
«We have our own food today but sure, I'm texting you where we are later!»
«Yeah! So you pick some takeaway and join us!» Alex added. That seemed to satisfy Lando, Who gave them a warm and bring smile that made his eyes shine.
As he reached the class a little subtle thought had already peeped up in his brain “They don't give a fuck, they don't want you, they are just too polite to say that in your face” he sighed, plastering a smile back. It was just his self destructive mind.
He mindlessly scratched his upper arm, feeling the familiar sting of reopening something already too fresh. You can do this, Lando!
In one of the last rows sat his other friends Charles and Pierre. He grinned at them, placed a few jokes, had a chat before the class could actually begin. He sat on Charles' right side.
During the whole lesson Charles kept looking at him sideways. When he thought nobody else was watching, Lando's mask fell. He looked small, tired, but restless somehow. He slipped a little note on his friend's notebook “Are you okay?” Lando started at it.
“Yes, I just hate waking up at 5.30” he heard his friend chuckle. He almost fell asleep twice. The lesson was so boring his eyes watered with the effort of staying awake.
At the end of the endless two hours long boredom P.E. waited for them.
It was one of his least favorite classes. Sometimes he just wished to be ill, sick, hurt or whatever just to skip it. He was always the last one to change, trying to cover his scars. He had plenty of them in places no one would ever watch. He hid them well.
But it wasn't really for the scars, the real thing was that he couldn't hide the truth from himself in that fucking place.
You know, it's not the great things that hurt. It's the smallest, ever repeating, things. Never being waited for, not being acknowledged, always a step back but nobody cared enough to wait for you to catch up. P.E. always made him feel uncomfortable. It was stressful in ways far beyond the normal competition. It was a constant test. If you can be the best, maybe they'll chose you. One mistake and you are out. He was always the last to be chosen. It was a metter of a fact to this point.
Just like that, as I said, what hurt the most are the little things: no matter how hard you try, you won't ever be someone's first choice. Lando was used to it. Still it hurt like hell.
Because day after day, time after time, you're never the first one to be chosen, never someone's focus point: your friends don't notice if you are gone, they never wait for you on the bus, they just forget to tell you where they're having lunch to join them, it takes group photos while you're not there and don't even acknowledge your absence in it, you're always the last one to be taken in group work, in PE lessons, in everything. As if you're gonna be part of them only if there is no one else available to pick.
So he smiled every day, he got to his friends, trying to have conversations with them, trying to keep up with what they like, forcing himself to like whatever they're obsessed with in that period just to be part of them; just because, maybe, if you concentrate enough on whatever they like, if you prove them that you are actually like them, maybe you will be part of something for once, and not because there is nothing else available, but because they actually understand you're not all that different. Except you are. And nobody will care enough to make you think any different about yourself.
He changed in the small bathroom stall, swallowing every little joke and jab from his friends about him hiding he's indeed a girl. He sighed, joked back, laughed.
When he went out from the changing room, heading to the gym.
It opened in a huge space at the end of the corridor where the changing rooms stood. Behind two heavy fire cutting doors, that where now left open, was his hell.
It was an enormous room, with the ceiling so high he wondered how many busses could be piled up in there, big steal fans that looked like Boeing 737 engines were attracted on the roof, secured by heavy and strong metal chains. Neon lights lit the space in a painfully bright light compared to the dull grey one from outside. He preferred the natural one, it didn't give him an headache at least.
He was entering the space from under the infinitely ample bleachers. That covered one wall entirely. Inside, everything was white and yellow and harsh to his eyes. The coach yelled at them to actually start warming up instead of chatting.
They ran around the space, then finished their warm up exercises with what they preferred between three given choices. Lando chose the crunch, which he was really strong at.
After some stretching came the worst part.
«We're playing volleyball, line up to this wall, the four captains are choosing their own team. I'll name them now: Sainz, Verstappen, Guanyu, and our new transferred student, Piastri. Have fun guys!» oh, new. So maybe he won't be left as a last choice. Or maybe he will... He's too short to actually be useful in volleyball. Even the few girls in his class were more likely to be chosen before him, and they were actually better at it.
He stood in his place, not actually talking to anybody. More than half of the class was already picked, he detached from the calls, thinking of anything else. He closed his shoulders, seeking comfort as the familiar shame filled his stomach. He was slumped against the end of the wall bars. Then someone shouted "1vs3!" and he got back to the real world.
Everybody else got to the bleachers to watch the game. He sat near Yuki, a Japanese classmate he had talked to maybe a couple times. He didn't really had any of his friends in that class, which was part of the problem for sure.
«Yuki, I spaced out... What team am I supposed to be with?» Yuki shot him a look. «Oh so you wanna play? Ehm... Actually we thought you didn't. Sorry» it sank like a blow in his guts. Lando laughed, feeling the hot shame tickling in his body.
«I was zoning out» he laughed again «Who was left with one player less than the other teams?»
«Nobody, remember? One new guy. But I think you can just play with us. Team 2, if you want»
«Oh yes, thanks mate» and he smiled. Inside he was screaming, laughing, crying. The last thread of hope he had was gone. He wasn't even necessary to reach the number of players anymore. He kept smiling.
They played. He was so nervous, what if he did the wrong move, losing points? So he gave it all, he played at his best, putting all his effort in being good at it. He even managed to get 8 serve perfectly done in a row, some confidence coming back to him. But the ninth was unsteady, his wrist was raw red with the weight of the game over his not fully healed cuts.
It gave the other team space. He hit wrong again, passing it slightly higher than expected to his teammate, than the ball completely slipped and he lost the point. Everyone yelled at him in disappointment. He let it sink.
At the end of the match his hoodie was starting to stick slightly to his skin. Another hit, a little red spot appeared on the hem. His blood ran cold.
He got distracted, the ball fell right beside him. The other team winning, his teammates shouting he was useless. The captain, Verstappen, complaining and asking why he was in their team, saying he didn't chose him for sure. He mumbled a sorry on repeat, someone shoved him. The teacher yelled not to fight and got back reading his newspaper.
After the tournament was fortunately over, he knew that the class could pick an activity for the rest of the time. Which always ended up to be dodgeball. The teams were the same.
He was good at dodging so that was what he did for the most of the game. At one point through, someone shot a ball that could resemble a bullet to his direction. He was already avoiding another one so he got hit on his jaw and neck. «Head, doesn't count!» someone shouted as the game went on, as if his head wasn't spinning from the impact. He tasted blood from his lip. He was catching his breath, another came to his stomach. He couldn't catch it. He was out. He was breathless. He got up from the ground with all his might and stumbled towards the bathroom so he could vomit. It hurt in a way it was clear it would have left a big dark bruise.
After he emptied his stomach he washed his face and mouth and got changed slowly, using the benches for once, as he was alone. He wetted the hem of his t-shirt and whipped carefully the blood that stained his reopened cuts.
When he was all done he actually let himself crying.
Ten minutes later the door opened and he jolted, afraid it might already be the end of the lesson. The new boy appeared on the doorstep. Alone. He got in and took a gulp of water, his muscles flexing in a way that hypnotized Lando.
«Are you okay?» he spoke with a strange accent. Not entirely foreign, not entirely British either.
«Yes, just... I think I'm done with the game » Lando shrugged, trying to sound casual and failing as his voice cracked.
«Your lip is split, go to the infirmary » his tone wasn't cold, but it wasn't soft either.
«It's just a small cut don't worry ...»
The door flew open with more force now. Logan stood in the doorway, not acknowledging Lando a bit, his eyes fixed on the new guy «Oscar, it's our turn! Come on!»
«I was just drinking some water Logan, I'm coming!» the other replied, running to catch up with his friends pace.
«That boy has a split lip» It sounded more practical than worried.
«Who?» plain.
«The team 2 boy you hit»
«Oh well, he now has another excuse to be pitiful. He'll be okay » playful, light, as if he hadn't just stabbed Lando's heart.
Lando overheard that conversation as they walked down the alley. He covered his eyes with his hands, crying in them. He took a deep shaky breath. He'll be okay. He has his friends, he knew Logan had no filters and was little bit of a bully, he shouldn't take it too personally.
He got out, choosing to go buy himself lunch and texting the group chat to see where they would meet. No answer ever came. He didn't push, he didn't want to annoy his only friends.
He sighed. He felt slightly shivering, his skin a little bit too hot. He curled up on the bench he discovered the previous year, under an abandoned porch at the far end of the school garden, hidden by some overgrown plants. He got a call from Charles.
«Charles?»
“Hey Lando, where are you?” his voice was soft. It made Lando wanna cry.
«At our porch... Don't bring the others please...» his voice was so quite the microphone almost missed it.
“As always. Don't worry, it's only me» understanding as always.
Lando waited, they stayed on the phone all the time that took Charles to get there. They didn't really talk, but he stayed there, because he knew from his voice that Lando had one of his episodes even if it hadn't fully started yet.
On the other end Lando was silently crying, gradually feeling more and more numb as the minutes ticked down relentlessly.
He was staring at nothing, scratching mindlessly his wrist, drawing blood even if he wasn't registering the pain at all.
His breath was picking up to a faster pace, his heart pounding, his throat closing. He gasped for air, asking for help in pitiful whimpers. Charles started to run, better than expected, worse than what he hoped. He thought he would just dissociate, that he would have just had to take him back slowly to the realty.
But this was worse. The ragged breath signaled a full blown panic attack. He run faster between the low branches of the abandoned garden.
As Charles arrived there, Lando was a mess, pulling his hair, his shirt, scratching his throat hard, trying and failing to breathe. He crouched down and slowly took his hands in his, breathing slowly and telling him to mirror his pace. He put one of his hands on his pulse.
Lando started to try, to regain control, Charles asked him for 5 things he could see.
The wooden floor.
The ruined handrail.
The bushes.
His hands.
Charles.
4 things he could touch.
The bench.
The floor.
The fabric.
Charles hand and pulse.
3 things he could hear.
The wind between the bushes.
The creaking of the old wood.
Charles voice.
2 things he could smell.
Rain.
Resin.
One he could taste.
Blood. His split lip was open again.
He could finally breath normally. He put his head on his best friend's shoulder sighing as his body relaxed slightly.
His right arm and leg were numb. He couldn't remember anything other than a distant image of Charles taking his hand and starting to talk.
He couldn't remember what had just happened, and that was how he knew it was some dissociation episode or a bad panic attack. From the numbness in his right hand he would say the second one.
«Feeling better?» Lando couldn't look at him in the eye right now, but he knew they were soft.
«Thanks... You are always here to take me back» his voice was hoarse and tired, Charles gave him a bottle of water.
«It's my job, I'm a full time best friend you know?» he winked. «Lunch break is about to end, do you feel like attending? What subject do you have?»
«Thermodinamics, I should attend but I'm so tired, and my head hurts.» he touched his belly and winced in pain from the forming bruise.
«We got the same class, if you feel like shit I can take you to the nursery. How does it sound?» he earned a nod in response. He didn't rush him, they reached the classroom slowly, in the silence of the rainy day.
As soon as the lessons were over he bolted home, wanting to just disappear in the soft fabric of his sheets.