Chapter Text
Lando has always been very particular about the things that he likes. This list includes the following: singing loudly to trashy pop songs when no one’s around (even though his voice vaguely resembles that of a dying animal), playing FIFA with his friends and subsequently kicking their asses, and golf. There’s nothing he loves more than spending a nice afternoon out on the green.
On the flip side, he’s also very particular about the things that he doesn’t like. Right there, at the very top of his Things I Absolutely Cannot Stand list is asking for help.
It’s not that he’s got a superiority complex or anything; it’s just that asking for help means being vulnerable , and he’s never really been great at that sort of thing. Just ask Carlos.
However, Lando is well aware of the fact that at this exact moment, he’s being backed into a corner, where he’s got no choice but to ask for help. The thing is—in exactly six weeks, he’s got to attend a wedding. More specifically, the wedding of his ex.
He’s not exactly sure why he’s even invited to the wedding (if Carlos is trying to prove that he’s moved on, he’s doing a shitty job of it; why would he invite Lando if he really, truly moved on?), but that’s the least of his concerns.
No, the real problem lies in the fact that he’s got absolutely no idea how to swim.
Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Carlos is getting married on a cruise, so it’s not a stretch to assume that swimming will be involved. Granted, sitting out is always an option; he could just watch from afar while making good use of the open bar, but Carlos always said that Lando was too uptight around new people, that he needed to learn to loosen up.
So, Lando wants to use this wedding to prove a point. Unfortunately, that point requires him to partake in all the activities, even in the water-based ones.
After all, what better way to prove him wrong than show up at his wedding, with a whole new attitude? The second Carlos sees Lando letting loose and having fun with everyone, he’ll realize that he made a mistake in leaving him.
This is why, on a blistering May afternoon, Lando finds himself standing by the information desk at the local gym, waiting to speak to the personnel. He figures it doesn’t bode too well for the gym if the front desk has stayed empty for the past half-hour. Not that he’s been waiting that long; he needed that half-hour to work up the courage to even enter the building.
He’d stood outside, trying to talk himself into this, until the excessive heat had become absolutely unbearable, and he’d had to resign himself to his fate.
It’s telling that, the one time he’s willing to ask for help, no one’s around. Go figure.
Lando awkwardly shifts his balance from his right foot to his left as he waits for someone—anyone—to show up. He knows the gym is open. He checked the hours online at least thirty times before he came here and he can hear the sound of children screaming from the pool area. Still, the front desk remains empty for the next fifteen minutes.
This only increases his annoyance.
After another five minutes, he mumbles a simple “fuck this” to no one in particular and makes the executive decision to leave. Clearly, there’s some divine intervention at play here. Maybe he’s just not meant to be a swimmer.
Before he can leave, a man appears from the hallway to his right, breathing heavily as if he’s just run a marathon. He’s taller than Lando by quite a few inches, but the most noticeable thing about him isn’t his height or his thick eyebrows. It’s the frown on his face: the narrow slant to his eyes and the downward curve of his lips.
This man hates his life.
Or at the very least, he’s not having a good day.
“Hello,” the man—Lance, judging by his name tag—says with a gruff, slightly breathless voice. “Sorry for the wait. We had an issue with scheduling today, so we’re understaffed. I’ve been running back and forth between here and the pool area. I hope you weren’t waiting for too long.”
Lando is many things, but he’s not an asshole, so he smiles and shakes his head. “No, I’ve only been here for a few minutes.” The security footage would beg to differ, but no one’s going to be subpoenaing those anytime soon.
“Great.” Lance slips behind the desk, plopping himself down on the chair and letting out one long exhale. “What brings you by?” He speaks in a business-like tone—short and clipped. It leaves no room for awkward small talk or bad jokes, two things Lando excels at.
Lando lets out a sigh. Here goes nothing . “I’m looking to take swimming lessons here.”
He braces himself for the judgment that he’s sure will be in Lance’s eyes. After all, most people react like he’s some alien whenever he mentions his lack of swimming ability. He’s surprised when his words elicit absolutely no reaction.
Although, he supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising. Lance works at a gym; he’s probably seen tons of grown men come in looking for swimming lessons.
“How would you describe your swimming ability?” Lance asks, in that serious tone of his. This conversation feels more transactional than anything, and Lando can’t tell if it’s because Lance is naturally cold and distant or if he’s just a busy guy who’s stressed about the staffing situation. Considering he’ll be spending the next few weeks here, he really hopes it’s the latter.
Lando lets out a slightly staggered laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Nonexistent. I, uh—I can’t swim. Like, at all. If you were to put me in the deep end, I’d go down. Kicking and screaming, of course, because my mom didn’t raise a quitter.”
He doesn’t know why he says the last bit. Probably because he’s stressed and nervous and maybe the heat has gotten to him and made him crazy. Either way, he manages to inspire some sort of reaction from Lance: discomfort.
“O- kay ,” Lance says, directing his gaze to the monitor in front of him. “So, we offer basic group lessons—”
“Perfect,” Lando interjects. “Sign me up for that.”
“—But I wouldn’t recommend that,” Lance finishes, eyes darkening at the interruption. “Typically, the beginner class consists mostly of children. If that’s not an issue, I can sign you up, but the older people usually take one-on-one classes.”
Lando bristles at being called older, but then realizes he’s being compared to literal children—which, fair . He can’t be mad about that.
“Yeah, okay, that’s fine with me.”
Lance talks him through the schedule, but he’s only half-listening. He does remember hearing that his teacher is the best lifeguard they’ve got at the gym, but aside from that, nothing else really registers. He’s too distracted thinking about the upcoming wedding, so he misses his instructor’s name, but he figures he’ll meet him soon enough.
Lando’s never been crazy religious or anything, but he’s always believed in karma. He always thought that if he did enough good, he’d see that paid back to him. And he had—done good, that is. Not anything crazy like solving world hunger, but enough good that he figured he wouldn’t find himself in a situation like this.
His morning had started off like normal—maybe a little stress at the prospect of his swimming lessons, but nothing that would lead him to believe the day would end horribly. He went to work, went through the motions of the day, and received a pep-talk from Pierre, who told him he had nothing to worry about, that things would be okay. It was surprisingly effective, so by the time he showed up to the gym, he was feeling pretty good about the lesson—excited, even.
Until he realized who his teacher would be.
Standing right in front of him is Daniel Ricciardo. As in, the Daniel Ricciardo, the same guy who, back in primary school, picked Lando last in dodgeball, which then sent off a chain of events that solidified their fourteen year rivalry.
Granted, they haven’t seen each other since they left for university and have therefore not been in contact with each other in years (unless you count obsessively stalking each other’s social media, but Lando doesn’t).
Still, the hatred burns bright in the pit of Lando’s stomach.
“Please tell me this is a joke,” Lando says, the words coming out through gritted teeth. Just being in the mere presence of Daniel is enough to spark an immense amount of rage in him. It’s as if they’ve traveled back in time and they’re still twelve years old and sworn enemies.
Daniel groans. “You’re not my six o’clock, are you?”
Lando doesn’t say anything, but that’s enough of an answer. Daniel opens his mouth, probably to say something unnecessarily bitchy, because that’s the only thing he’s good for, but he thinks better of it, opting to keep shut instead. Lando’s surprised. He didn’t think Daniel was capable of shutting up.
He also didn’t think Daniel was capable of looking that good while in a swimsuit, but that’s a thought he tucks deep into the recesses of his mind.
“If I’d have known you were the new client, I never would have taken you on,” Daniel finally comments, arms crossed.
“Yeah, well things aren’t looking too good on my end either, asshole,” Lando retorts. “You think I’m happy that you’re my instructor? I’d rather drown than be taught by you.”
Daniel gestures towards the pool, a satisfied smirk on his face, and all Lando can think is fuck you . “Be my guest, then.”
Lando is stunned into silence. What a dick. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”
He’s more than aware that the two of them are acting like children, but there’s something about Daniel that brings out the worst in him. He can’t help it.
Daniel scoffs. “Wow, I forgot how annoying you are.”
“Likewise.”
Daniel opens his mouth and Lando braces himself for an incredibly scathing remark, but instead Daniel lets out a sigh, running a hand through his dark curls. He seems tired, but Lando can’t find it in him to care. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t have time to deal with this right now. Let’s just get this over with.”
Lando tries so, so hard to keep his mouth shut and not respond with something that’ll only make the situation worse—after all, Daniel’s words are essentially a temporary truce—but he’s never been good at self-restraint. At least around Daniel. “Oh, wow. The Daniel Ricciardo is taking the time out of his busy schedule to teach me how to swim. I’m honored ,” he blurts out.
Once the words leave his mouth, he realizes how bitter he sounds. It’s too late, though. The damage has been done.
“Lord, give me strength,” Daniel mutters, so quietly that Lando can barely hear him, but he does and it brings a small smile to his face. It’s good to know that even after all these years, he’s still able to get under Daniel’s skin.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so proud of this, but it is what it is.
It does dawn on him that he is essentially paying Daniel to teach him how to swim, so he figures he should cut the guy some slack, if only to get his money’s worth. He’s not here to antagonize Daniel, no matter how much fun it may be; he’s here to learn how to swim. “Okay,” he says, holding up both hands in surrender. “I promise, for the rest of this lesson, I’ll behave. Just teach me to swim. That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”
Daniel rolls his eyes, but nods nevertheless. “Alright, fine. Let’s get in the water.”
They’re standing right by the shallow end of the pool, which is fairly empty—thank god for that. He doesn’t have a crowd to embarrass himself in front of.
Daniel gently slides into the pool, gesturing for Lando to do the same. The second he’s partially submerged in the water, it hits him just how cold it really is. He crosses his arms, trying to keep warm, but the action does absolutely nothing.
“Go underwater,” Daniel instructs.
Lando blinks. “What?”
“If you’re cold, you need to put your whole body under the water, so it can adjust to the temperature of the pool. It’s common knowledge,” Daniel says, like the know-it-all he is. Lando has to suppress the urge to punch the guy.
“I’m not cold. When did I ever say I was cold?” Lando retorts.
Daniel rolls his eyes in response. “Okay, fine. Stay cold for all I care. It’s only going to affect you.”
Lando clenches his hands into fists. Has Daniel always been this terrible? It’s not like him being a dick is new knowledge, but Lando didn’t remember him being this obnoxious.
Not wanting to stare at that smug asshole anymore, Lando ducks his head underwater for a few seconds, before coming back up for air.
(To be clear, that’s the only reason he does it, not because of anything Daniel had to say about adjusting to the water temperature.)
“Okay. Now we can get started,” Daniel says, clasping his hands together. “The first thing you need to learn is how to float.”
Lando scoffs. “Floating? That’s easy. I can do that in my sleep.”
He has actually never floated in his life, but he figures that it can’t be that hard. He just doesn’t want Daniel to see how lacking he is and give him more ammunition to use against him.
Maybe this is why the universe seems to have beef with him. He’s too prideful.
“Go ahead, then,” Daniel responds, with a smirk. “I’d like to see you try.”
Lando leans back, trying to float like he’s seen countless others do. It always seems so easy, so he figures he should be able to do it, no problem. But then, he sinks , and all he wants is to disappear into thin air, so he won’t have to see Daniel’s disgustingly smug expression.
“Floating is easy, huh?” Daniel’s voice wavers as he speaks, as if he’s holding back laughter, and the tips of Lando’s ears redden in response.
“Are you kidding me?” Pierre asks, looking absolutely delighted at the latest of a long line of misfortunes in Lando’s life. “Daniel is your instructor? God, I love your life.”
Lando glares at the floor. “I don’t.”
He and Pierre have been friends since they were in diapers, so if anyone should understand the animosity that exists between him and Daniel, it should be Pierre. That being said, his friend has always been one to find amusement in every single unfortunate situation Lando has ever faced, always saying “what are friends for?” when confronted about it.
“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. I mean, you guys haven’t seen each other in years. You’re both probably over it now.”
It’s embarrassing to admit that they’re actually not. That despite the years, they’re still exactly the same around each other. All those years of so-called growth? Gone.
“You know, I never understood why Daniel had you so pressed,” Pierre is saying, taking a sip of his coffee. Every Wednesday, the two of them congregate at Caffeinated , their local coffee shop, during their lunch break to grab some coffee and gossip. It’s one of Lando’s favorite rituals. “He’s just a guy.”
Lando gapes at him. “How can you say that? You know what he did! He—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it. He didn’t pick you in dodgeball and embarrassed you in front of everyone in our grade, but that was forever ago. I think it’s time you move past that. You’re a grown man now—with a 401k! You need to act like it.”
When Pierre says it like that, the whole incident seems so trivial, even though it wasn’t to Lando. Before their rivalry started, he was good friends with Daniel. He confided in him, told him about how much he hated always being the last one picked in sports, and then when Daniel had the chance to do something about it, he didn’t pick Lando, leaving him the last one standing, like always.
In hindsight, it may not seem like a big deal, but at the time, it hurt .
That being said, Pierre is right. He should be over it. Lando doesn’t know why it still gets to him, after all this time.
“Can you stop making sense? I don’t like it.”
Pierre laughs.
He’s had a couple of days between lessons to prepare himself for another interaction with Daniel, but it doesn’t prove to be useful. All it takes is one look at his long standing rival by the edge of the pool, donned in a pair of neon green swim shorts, and anger is flowing through his veins.
“Hey,” he says in greeting, curt.
“Took you long enough,” Daniel responds, not even sparing a glance at him. For as long as Lando’s known him, he’s always been tan, but something about the lighting in this gym washes him out, leaving him nearly as pale as Lando. Maybe it’s a weird thing to notice, but it means he doesn’t look like himself.
Not that Lando cares or anything. Especially not when he’s being such a dick. Does Daniel have to be the most insufferable person alive? Can’t he just be normal for once?
“You ever heard of something called traffic?”
Daniel’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything in response—he just starts walking over to the shallow end of the pool, where they’d worked on his floating yesterday. They’d made significant progress; Daniel may be one of the most obnoxious men alive, but he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to swimming.
They both wade into the water, taking a few seconds to get acclimated to the temperature. This time, Lando ducks his head underwater without being prompted to. He doesn’t like admitting when Daniel’s right, but this helps immensely with his shivering.
“Okay, so let’s pick up where we left off last time. I need you to float.”
Lando nods, swallowing a snarky comment in the process. The last thing he wants is to make this experience any more unpleasant than it already is. He leans back in the water, allowing his legs to rise to the surface and keeping his eyes trained on the light fixture right above him.
“Remember what we talked about before? Raise your legs a bit.”
“Okay.” He makes that adjustment.
Daniel makes a tsk noise. “Now, puff your chest out a bit—same way you did in middle school P.E. when you wanted everyone to think that you were tough.”
It takes a Herculean effort to bite his tongue in response to that comment. Honestly, he’s amazed by the self control he’s exhibited today. If Pierre were here, he’d be proud. Neither of them would have imagined him possessing this level of restraint. When he’s annoyed, it’s nearly impossible for him to keep his mouth shut.
“Now, the good part. We can introduce kicking.”
“Great. Am I practicing on you?”
Daniel laughs sardonically. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“Better than you, but I don’t think we can get into that right now. You’re on the clock, after all.”
Daniel glowers at Lando, but he doesn’t feel bad. If Daniel’s going to dish it out, he’s got to be able to take it.
The end of their lesson comes quicker than anticipated, but Lando’s grateful. Having to look at Daniel’s smug face every time he makes a mistake hasn’t been great for boosting his morale. Learning to swim this late in life is hard , not to mention embarrassing and incredibly intimidating. Those feelings are only compounded by Daniel mocking him at any given opportunity—not that he’s been perfect. He’s definitely been making snide comments of his own as well, but still.
Lando wraps himself in a towel, watching as Daniel climbs out of the water. His eyes follow a water droplet as it travels down his chest, before he remembers that Daniel is the bane of his existence, and he shouldn’t be looking at him like that. At all.
Clearing his throat, Lando asks, “When’s the next lesson?”
He’s on a schedule of two classes per week, so his next one won’t be until after the weekend, which he’s grateful for. He could definitely use a break from seeing Daniel. Spending an hour twice a week with someone you absolutely hate can be taxing .
“I have a slot available Tuesday at six. Does that work?”
It’s cutting it a bit close with work; Lando gets off at five-thirty, but he can make it work. His office isn’t too far from here, thankfully. “Yeah, see you then.”
“Can’t wait,” Daniel mutters sarcastically.
Lando grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.