Chapter Text
Miami, Florida — 6th May.
05:23 — LOCAL TIME
———
A SEAT AT THE TABLE;
McLaren’s Oscar Piastri and The Amazing Spiderman.
Everyone wants a big love story. A love story that hits the streets and makes an impact — but when you’re already famous enough to be recognised by name? Dating a superhero might not be the best choice.
Though, that isn’t the case for McLaren’s Second Driver, Oscar Piastri, who — as of the Miami Grand Prix Weekend — has been rumoured to be dating none other than the Amazing Spiderman.
Neither of the public figures have made comments over this, and neither has Oscar Piastri’s team, but in a recent press conference, interviewers asked Piastri’s teammate, Lando Norris, on his thoughts about the rumours, his response included the words; ‘Not something I expected, but Spiderman’s a good guy, not surprised Oscar’s into him.’
As of this article being published, neither Spiderman nor Piastri have been seen together in public, but we suspect their relationship won’t stay hidden much longer. — To the newest and boldest couple of the Paddock, congratulations, we wish you well.
———
“Spiderman! What the hell are you doing here?” The glass door slides open as Lando lands on the metal railing—Oscar’s frantic. “They’re speculating—they think—“ “You expected them not to?” His feet touch the concrete of Oscar’s balcony. “I kissed you.”
“That—“ Oscar takes a breath. “No. Go, get lost—you can’t be here.” Oscar shakes his head, hands reaching to push against Lando’s shoulders. “—Go,” he chokes on his own words, bites his lip. “Spiderman. You need to—“ “Go, I get it,” Lando grabs Oscar’s wrists, nodding as his brows furrow under the mask. “Tell me what’s going on first.”
“No,” Oscar shakes his head, throws a glance inside. “No, I can’t—not now.”
“So when?”
“When I’m not being hunted.” Oscar’s brows furrow, his wrists shift in Spiderman’s grip.
“Excuse me?”
“Ever since that damn article came out, people keep thinking we’re dating—a-and it’s horrible timing because you’re investigating Pierre,” Oscar rips his hands from Lando’s grip, immediately running them through his hair. “—half the drivers think I’m giving you inside information, half the drivers don’t trust me anymore!—George has yelled at me four times already and that article has been out for a day. Spiderman—god!” He groans, his fist collides with Lando’s shoulder—taps once, taps twice—his head finds home against Lando’s neck.
“Spiderman. You cannot be here. Not now.”
Lando sighs as Oscar shakes his head. “I understand that,” his voice is soft, dancing on the line of uncertainty as his hand trails through Oscar’s hair. “But tell me what’s going on—what has George said?”
“Threats, warnings—anything that would scare a man shitless.”
“And you?”
“Scared shitless.” Oscar’s brows furrow, he buries himself deeper. “—But I can’t be seen with you, not now—and not when my roommate could walk through the door at any given moment.”
“Roommate?”
“As shitty as George is, he’s made everyone stay with someone—I now have a roommate.” Oscar sighs, removing himself from Lando’s shoulder. “Fuck—just—meet me at the rooftop, ten p-m tonight—I’ll—“ “In public?”
Oscar shakes his head. “On the rooftop, we’ll be fine—people won’t find us.”
Lando’s brows furrow. “Positive?” Oscar shrugs. “As positive as I can be right now.”
Lando nods, his arms folding over his chest. “Alright,” his fingers tap his bicep, he takes a breath. “I’ll meet you on the rooftop.” Oscar nods, his hands holding neatly in front of him. He takes a step back, then a breath as he looks off.
Lando’s brows furrow, he climbs onto the railing and jumps. Swings himself across town until he finds a rooftop deserted enough for a break. He taps his watch, Max’s ringtone dials.
“I think Oscar should have more security.”
‘Good morning to you too,’ a sigh echoes against Lando’s ear. ‘Aren’t you his roommate?’
“I mean when I’m not there,” his finger mindlessly scrolls against the holograms of his watch—articles, Pierre’s vitals, everything of utmost importance. “I just visited him, he was frantic.”
‘And you visited him, why?’
“Wanted to make sure he was doing okay—the article is freaking out the best of us.”
‘Even you?’
“Yes! I make one move and I’m being watched and documented—the eyes have doubled with the recent attacks on the drivers.”
‘And you still kissed him.’
“I figured I could get away with it.” Lando’s brows furrow, his finger stops. “He wants to talk later, on the rooftop.”
‘About?’
“I’m not sure,” Lando takes a breath. “He said he couldn’t tell me anything because people could see us on his balcony so I’d have to wait until later—but he told me the important stuff, anyway.”
‘Are you still going?’
“Just in case. What if it’s more important?”
‘And what if it’s a setup?’
“Oscar wouldn’t do that,” Lando shakes his head. “I’d be worried about a setup if it was any other driver, but Oscar—“
‘You’re right,’ Max takes a breath. ‘What are you going to do until then?’
“Keep my eyes on George—he’s half of Oscar’s problem right now.”
‘Excuse me?’
“George doesn’t like Spiderman or the police, that article came out and now he’s threatening Oscar.”
‘Maybe I will get more security on Oscar.’
“I just want him safe.”
‘He will be.’
———
George’s life is busy to say the least.
Half the day was spent running around the chaotic Miami Paddock, talking with interviewers, chatting with friends—conspiring against the authorities. Lando heard half of a conversation before having to run for cover.
“Spiderman, show yourself.”
Now, George stands in a Miami alleyway, clearly aware of the Spider peering over his shoulder.
Lando lands in front of him. “Russell.” The smile on his tone is nothing more than fake. George sighs.
“You’re following me, why?”
“Keeping you safe,” he says. “With the recent attacks on the drivers, I’m doing my part and doubling it, making sure everyone is safe while they’re out and about.”
“Yesterday was me,” George says. “So was today.”
“Everyone else—aside from Mr. Verstappen—has been inside, there’s security details in the lobbies of their hotels, and outside their doors,” Lando takes a breath. “You are the only one in public, and because of that, I am keeping my eye on you.”
George’s brows furrow. “Everyone has taken to staying indoors unless absolutely necessary, per the warning I gave,” Lando repeats. “Except for you.”
George’s arms fold over his chest. “If myself and Max are the only ones out, why aren’t your eyes on him? If you’re keeping us safe, shouldn’t you watch the most recent victim?”
“On the contrary,” Lando shakes his head. “The last few attacks have been simple, Max’s was the same—they get attacked, injured, and then they’re left alone,” he takes a breath, steps to the side to let George pass. “Max has doubled his security detail, I know I can trust his team—but you? You don’t even have a single bodyguard, you—“
“I do not need your protection, Spiderman,” George shakes his head as he steps past. “I can handle myself—if you need to be protecting anyone, it’s those two McLaren drivers—they’re trouble waiting to happen.”
“Oh?”
“You and Oscar,” George says. “Perfect time to get together, with Pierre under watch—and god, don’t get me started on Lando.”
“Myself and Oscar?” Lando crosses his arms. “You’re reading it wrong.”
“You kissed him, the article said—“ “The article is exaggerating,” Lando groans. “Why would I get with a driver the moment after an attack? How stupid do you think I am?”
“You could’ve been with him before that.”
“I wasn’t—we aren’t together, Russell. I am no idiot.”
“Sure,” George shrugs. “Tell me again when you’ve solved the case.”
Lando steps back this time, and George turns to watch his back hit the wall. “You can play your dress-up games, play the role of superhero,” George pockets his hands, the toe of his shoe draws against the concrete. “But half of the drivers don’t trust you—and frankly? You’re ruining Oscar by doing this.”
Lando wants to bite back and agree, but all he can do is glare. He can’t say anything that won’t throw him under a bus.
“I’ll see you around, Spiderman.”
George steps from the alleyway, hums at passing citizens and shoots a glance over his shoulder as Lando slings a web skyward.
———
“You’re late.” Oscar doesn’t look over his shoulder as Lando’s feet pad behind him. Lando nods.
“I’m a busy spider,” Lando finds space next to the takeaway at Oscar’s side—carried up from the hotel room not even five minutes after it arrived. “—you bought dinner?”
“Figured you could eat,” Oscar shrugs, his hands busying themselves with a set of chopsticks he can’t quite balance right. “Ordered extra.”
Lando takes the takeaway box closest to him and cracks it open. “Tell me,” he says. “What’s your roommate like?”
“Loud, obnoxious,” Oscar shrugs through a mouthful of food. “Fun to be around; someone who’s presence is good enough to be calming if you let it.”
“Good enough?” Lando questions.
Oscar nods. “He can be a lot, but he’s Lando, it’s just who he is,” Oscar shrugs, and for a moment, just stares into the horizon. “He’s a good guy, and he can be a calming presence when it matters—at least, for me, he can.”
Lando nods, he wasn’t expecting a full run down on how Oscar sees him, but it’s better than nothing.
“Why’d you wanna know?” Oscar hums.
“George mentioned him earlier, figured if he mentioned him and you, the pair of you were some sort of package deal.” Lando shrugs.
“I suppose some drivers would see it like that,” Oscar says. “The pair of us are close, we’re close with the rest of the grid, too, but stressful environments call for people who you can back up and rely on,” he shrugs again, this time swirling the noodles in the box with his chopsticks. “We’re both McLaren drivers—we fell to each other for support.”
“No one knows what you’re going through as much as your teammate, right?”
“Right.” Oscar nods. “Even then, he doesn’t know the full extent of it.”
“He doesn’t?”
“No,” Oscar shakes his head. “I didn’t want him worrying about all of my drama, so I didn’t tell him.”
“What haven’t you told him?” Lando leans forward, trying to reach Oscar’s gaze.
“Haven’t told him about George, or about this—I’m half sure he hasn’t seen the article, and I’m praying he doesn’t.” Oscar barely turns to look at Lando, he chews his bottom lip.
“Tell him,” Lando says, because despite the fact that he knows everything, he knows everything under the mask, and pretending he knows nothing is easier said than done. “You’re roommates, there’s no point keeping each other in the dark.”
“It’s dangerous,” Oscar insists. “What if George harasses him?”
“He already has,” Lando says. “When I was talking to him he bad-mouthed the both of you—if you’re in this, so is your roommate,”
Oscar’s silent for a beat, and Lando takes a breath. “Think about it, it might be the safest option—having each other’s backs is safer than dancing in the dark.”
“Poetic.” Oscar hums.
“I try.”
“Is it a good idea… telling him?” Oscar’s brows furrow.
“Definitely not,” Lando admits. “But it’s the safest option you have,” Lando takes a breath. “If you keep him in the dark, he could get hurt—you don’t have many options, but this is your safest.”
Oscar nods. “Guess I’ll tell him.”
“Tell me how it goes?”
“Maybe.” Oscar drags himself to his feet, collects the rubbish into a plastic bag and takes a breath. “I hope you’re right about this—if I lose him because I told him you kissed me, I will personally hunt you down and kill you.”
“I’ll wait for the results.” Lando hums as he stands.
“I hate you.”
“Sure, you do.”