Fics like you’re losing me

Oscar hasn’t seen Logan smile in weeks. Genuinely. Weeks. Not even a fake, half smile. A huff of amusement. Nothing. In all honesty, Oscar hasn’t seen much of Logan at all this season, and as much as he tries to justify it to himself by blaming team duties, moving to Monaco, Lando and the team’s insistence on bonding with each other to wash the taste of Alpine out of Oscar’s mouth. But Oscar has been a shit friend. The shittiest. It really hits him when he opens up his and Logan’s text thread to see he left the American on read six weeks ago, giving himself a heart attack. They had gone bits without talking, sure, especially during the F2 to F1 transitions, but never more than two, three weeks before one of them broke the silence. He should call. He doesn’t. Not that day, or the next, or the next. Not even when he sees Logan’s Williams crash into the Zandervoort barriers. No matter how much his mind screams and pokes, he doesn’t open that text thread or find that number. Not even when the drop announcement hits. Oscar doesn’t call.

Fics like you’re losing me

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