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"Does today's result have you worried about the race?"
Max can see how Lando's jaw clenches at the question. He's trying to focus on his own press questions, but it's hard to take his eyes off his friend. It's just the two of them in the media pen at the moment, and Max can't help how he wants to gravitate towards Lando. Wants to make the younger man smile after such a hard day.
He gives some half-assed answer about how yes, of course he misses home. Yes, the break will be relaxing. But as soon as he can, he drifts over to Lando.
"Hey, Lando. Your questions seem more fun."
The look he's met with is an undeniable pout. Glaring doesn't suit Lando, Max thinks. It just makes him want to ruffle the younger's hair.
"They're all yours."
So they divide the work. The shift from 50/50 to this new flock of reporters mostly badgering Max happens quickly. He can see some of the tension melt out of his friend's shoulders, but it's short lived. Some jerk makes a jab at Max's performance at quali and Lando's spitting venom before Max can process it.
"That's not even a question, that's just rubbish."
Okay.
So they're there.
He can tell Lando's rearing up for more. He speaks up before that can happen.
"It's a very technical track. I push the car the best I can." Is all he has to offer. Some other journalist cuts in.
"Are you two close off the track?"
"Max is my friend." Lando says, petulant. "We play games together."
This is spiralling.
"Lando and I have streamed together. We are good friends."
He wants to drag his good friend away from the media pen. He wants to call Daniel for some sort of emergency backup, because God this is not his business. Good friends sure, but he's still new to knowing about this whole dynamic and he's not sure he can handle a slipping Lando by himself. Especially one so irritable and upset after a long and hard day on track. Max takes a half step back and places his hand on Lando's arm. The little shit is speaking again before Max can pull him away.
"These questions are annoying."
Max looks to the side and can see the frustration written all over the face of Lando's handler. He flashes her a sympathetic smile and quickly rattles off some thanks to the rabid media as he drags Lando away. When they're out of immediate camera view, he asks;
"Is it okay if Lando and I have some time? I'd like to talk with him."
The nod looks almost relieved. He can't blame her, as fussy Lando is proving incredibly difficult to deal with. As soon as he has the confirmation he's quickly steering his friend through back halls. He isn't even particularly sure where they're headed, his focus mostly just set on getting them somewhere quiet before Lando goes into a full tantrum.
"Walking too fast." Lando whines, tugging his arm that Max still has a firm but gentle grip on.
Sighing, Max nods and slows down. He shifts his grip from Lando's arm to his hand, figuring they're far enough from prying eyes for now, and it seems to be the right move based on how his charge relaxes.
"Sorry, jochie." He attempts to soothe Lando. His Dutch may not be the same as the Flemish that Lando's used to from his family, but he hopes the sentiment carries over at least.
Imagine his surprise when instead he sees tears welling in his friend's eyes.
"Oh, hey, no no no, Lando, what is wrong?" He's maybe a bit frantic. God, he's the worst big brother. "I'm sorry, do you not like the pet names? I can--"
"No."
"No, you do not like them?"
The tears are flowing now, and Lando is glaring at him.
"No!"
There may be no winning this. He really can't have Daniel thinking he made Lando cry. It's been hard enough convincing them that he doesn't mind, that this doesn't bother him. That Lando is safe with him. He forces a long, anxious exhale from his chest. Right. He's got this. His hand slips from Lando's, and he can see the panic building immediately behind the younger's eyes. Before it can go too far, Max is pulling him into his arms. It seems like a decent gamble.
His hold is hesitant at first. Light. He isn't sure if this is even a good idea, but that doubt quickly fades as Lando melts into the touch. The younger driver shoves his face into Max's chest, his hands fisting into the RBR racesuit. So he holds tighter. He pulls the boy in as close as he can and pushes his own face into the messy curls.
"Want..." Lando trails off, wobbly voice muffled in the racesuit material. Max hums.
"Whatever you want, Lando. Just tell me." Okay, maybe he's a bit whipped. He just really can't handle more tears. Lando mumbles a reply that sounds similar enough to 'Danny' for Max to roll with it.
Unfortunately, Max doesn't have his phone on him, and he's pretty sure Lando doesn't have his either.
Fine. Okay. He pets at Lando's curls and pulls back just enough to look at the boy's teary eyes. There's an almost terrifying level of trust in those eyes, maybe undercut by the very clear exhaustion. Qualifying was shit for his friend, the media were vultures, and the brief tantrum on top of all that couldn't have helped. So now Max is being trusted with this. To make things better. He can do that, but it does mean one thing;
"Let's head to my trailer."
"Your..." Lando looks completely lost for a moment, clearly trying hard to figure his words out. Eventually he continues; "Reb'll? No, can't go there, Max."
"Who says?"
That seems to throw the younger. Max bites his lip to hold back the laugh just behind his teeth. The way Lando's brows furrow together in confusion shouldn't be this endearing.
"Um... 'claren." Lando reasons, freeing one of his hands from Max's racesuit to grab at his own, holding out the blue material.
"I know you're McLaren, sweet boy. But I'm with Red Bull, and I'm saying it's okay. Once we get there I can tell Daniel where we are, yeah?"
Thankfully, this line of logic seems to work on his charge. He relaxes when Lando finally nods and tries not to think about how, yeah, he's Red Bull's main guy, but the FIA wouldn't necessarily look kindly on bringing the McLaren driver into their area. Worries for later. For now, he dis-entangles them enough to get them moving again, Lando holding onto one of his sleeves like a lifeline. There should be enough of a back route to get them to his trailer without being in view of the media, but his gaze still darts around as they move. Shifting constantly between their surroundings and the nervous boy holding onto him. He'd have a hard time ever forgiving himself if he was the reason a little Lando got confronted by the media.
"Max? Why is Lando with you?"
There's a distinct feeling of ice being dumped over his head, freezing the pair in place, but still he turns to the voice. They're decidedly in Red Bull's area now, so it shouldn't be too much of a surprise to see;
"Hi Checo." Lando greets his teammate, voice small and light.
"Hey Lando. Is-- oh."
It's clear when Sergio realizes what's going on. Well, Max isn't exactly certain what it is Sergio thinks is happening, but he does know his teammate has walked in on him caring for Lando before. He was nice enough then, simply offering his charge a snack cake before wandering off once more. Still, the knowledge that Sergio can tell something's up just by looking at Lando has him even more on edge. Maybe this wasn't the best plan. Shit. He should--
"You need to get to the trailer?" Sergio asks, and his smile is small but kind. "I can help."
"Please."
Max sighs into the wave of relief rolling through his body at tidal force. Sergio is going to help. Sergio knows the team, knows the route, and he is going to help. God, he's gonna owe him after this one.
The older Red Bull driver walks off ahead of them, the pair waiting a short while before following. It's... impressive. Max isn't certain what exactly the man's tactic is, but by the time they come to the short hallways and few rooms needed to get to the trailer, they're either blessedly empty or the only people left are thoroughly distracted with race data. By and large, only clean air greets them. Max almost wants to shout in celebration when they find the door to his private room. Instead he quickly opens the door and ushers Lando inside, earning am indignant little huff from the younger. He closes the door behind them and wishes it had a lock.
"Go sit while I call Daniel, sweet boy."
Sweet might be a stretch. All the walking and rushing has soured Lando a little, clearly. He sits on the small sofa and crosses his legs, watching Max. The look on his face can only really be described as 'brat.' Max can't help his chuckle as he grabs his phone off the side table. Bitter looks like that are hard to take seriously on a very tired curly-haired boy. He's got Daniel's contact pulled up in no time, and the dial tone playing in his ear right after that.
"What's up, super Max?" Daniel chokes out the end of his name in the most grotesque attempt yet at Max's accent. He sighs, listening to his friend giggle at his own joke.
"Hello, Daniel. I've got Lando here, in my trailer."
"Really? I thought you were fucking--"
"He got overwhelmed by the press. There were insults involved. And tears."
It isn't hard for Max to picture Daniel scrambling into action and starting towards their direction. He can hear part of the rush over the phone, which gets him his own little laugh.
"Shit. I should've... it wasn't great for him. Should've known. I'm on my way, thank you, Max."
"You're my friends. It's nothing. If anyone tries to give you shit about coming to us--"
"Fuck 'em."
His laugh is louder this time. He doesn't think anyone will actually bother Daniel. People tend to stay out of the way when the most relaxed guy on the grid is clearly on a mission. The call ends, leaving Max and Lando to themselves once more, the former now giving the latter his full attention again.
He's pretty sure Daniel wouldn't be thrilled about the way Lando's got a thumb jammed in his mouth, clearly stressed and trying to self-soothe, but given their time together so far Max isn't sure he wants to correct this one himself. Besides, it's... endearing. A bit gross, yeah, but endearing. He can only guess how disgustingly fond his own smile is when he looks at his friend. Tries not to think too hard on just what sort of emotion seeing Lando this way pulls out of his chest.
"Do you like cats, Lando?"
---
They're about seven cat videos deep when a knock at the door interrupts them, quickly followed with:
"Max?" Called through the thin wood. Unmistakable accent, but the boy next to him seems entirely oblivious. Too captivated by the combination of silly cats and his own thumb.
"Come in!"
Daniel steps in quickly, shutting the door behind himself. That seems to be enough to finally get Lando's attention. Max can see the exact moment his little friend's brain processes the situation, eyes widening and his thumb slipping from his mouth, a wrinkled thing. Lando is off the couch and throwing himself at Daniel just a moment after that, with a clear shout that makes Max wish the walls were thicker.
"Daddy!"
And, well, Max doesn't ask much. Just knows what they've told him and what he's gathered himself based on observation. But he's pretty certain based on the look on Daniel's face that that title is decidedly new. He feels like he's intruding, sat in his own room. Seeing something he shouldn't in the way a million emotions pass over his friend's face before settling into some sort of wonder. He thinks that's fair. That that's relatable.
Lando is sort of wonderful.