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Clarkson: So Daniel, you've cycled through different teams, teammates at this point. You've been with Vettel, your relationship with Max Verstappen is well-documented, but can we talk about how your time at McLaren was shaped by your match up with Norris?
Ricciardo: [exhales] Before that, I just really wanna say this. Lando's a fantastic driver, and I think that in a—well, when he one day gets to a point where he's in a top team, he could really be a rockstar. The kid's good. He's really good. Lando’s WDC material. He made all the internal and external struggles I had, all the troubles, bearable while I was there.
Clarkson: How much of that animosity was real, and how much of it was manufactured by things like the media and, say, Netflix?
Ricciardo: None of it was real. I mean, sure, okay, we didn’t really click immediately, but I think that growing pains in general happen whenever new people have to become reacquainted as teammates. [laughter] Actually, it's something that used to bug both of us, honestly, the whole animosity thing that people kept pushing.
Clarkson: How do you mean?
Ricciardo: I just mean that I think everyone had these expectations of the both of us when I signed with McLaren where, because he's a goofball and I'm a goofball, that it would be instant magic, and when that wasn't the case, it took everyone off guard.
Clarkson: Did it catch you off-guard?
Ricciardo: [small laugh] A little. But yeah. I say that it bugged us both because we really did get on better than what we let on. We found the like, yeah, we found the intersections of our interests. As people know, he’s the reason why I decided to pick up photography as a hobby.
Clarkson: Ah yes, with the matching Instagram accounts to boot.
Ricciardo: Yeah, haha, exactly.
Clarkson: Well, what do you think contributed to you two not getting on so well at the start?
Ricciardo: There was a lot riding on both our shoulders then. I mean, it's no secret at all that your teammate is your biggest rival. I also think that coming on the heels of say, Carlando, or me and Max, I think it was a little confusing for the both of us—our humor is different, what we expected of each other was different. But I really like Lando. The cameras picked up a lot, especially in the last couple of months, but definitely not the whole picture. And that was a little intentional. At least on my part.
Clarkson: Why do you say that?
Ricciardo: I mean, I'm taking a year off, there's no point in me hiding much of anything anymore at this point, yeah? We got to a point where we would hang out a lot. Either kicking back in the paddock or even in our apartments in Monaco. Even if in public we were always talking about how different we were, the fact of the matter is that I enjoyed taking the time to get to know the person he was beyond the grid--hey, did you like my little segue there? [laughter]
Clarkson: Clever little podcast name drop you did. [laughter]
Ricciardo: But yeah, anyway, all that to say really that taking the time to get to know who Lando was outside of racing made me appreciate him so much more as a person, and a friend, and I don't think I ever got to express that to him.
Clarkson: Is it safe to say that you miss Lando?
Ricciardo: Oh come on, how is that even a question? Of course, I miss him. I just haven’t—[laughter] I usually don’t express myself this much!
Clarkson: It's an honor then that you're using this avenue to express that, then.
Ricciardo: Yeah, thanks for that. [laughter] Ohhh my God, my face is so red right now, hoooooly nutsack. Oh, shit, am I allowed to say that? Oh, man--
Clarkson: I think we'll make a concession for you, Danny.
Ricciardo: Thanks, man. [more laughter]
-
It's crazy how small the F1 world is, how quickly word travels around the paddock, within Lando's circles, among his friends. He’s rarely ever kept out of the loop when any new hot gossip is dropped.
He groans when Jon presses the heels of his hands into the small of Lando's back, touching at a tender spot that took a beating while he tried to get the fucking car to respond the way he wanted to at quali earlier.
He had a shit time at pre-testing. He had a shit time in Bahrain. The car doesn't feel right. It feels like every improvement they tried to work into the three months, and even in the previous season, has only served to set them back further and further.
He may not be worrying about any porpoising this time, not too much, anyway, but still, unbidden, he closes his eyes, rests his forehead on his folded arms, and hears Danny Ric’s voice in his head, an echo of a memory of every frustrated debrief they had.
Daniel did his best with the feedback he could give. He’s driven a Red Bull, for fuck’s sake. Lando can’t even begin to imagine how frustrating the last two years were for Daniel.
Jon presses again, hard, his lumbar spine smarting. He hisses through his teeth.
“Sorry, mate,” Jon mutters. “Breathe through it.”
The muscle spasm is an irritating reminder of how rough the day was. P fucking nineteen. Worse than Bahrain.
Lando hears his phone ping, the vibration of it muffled through the foam of his massage table.
MaxF: Mate i think danny ric has a crush on u
MaxF: u better not me cheating on me w him lol
Lando frowns just as Jon tells him to turn over so he can do a quad stretch. He takes his phone in both his hands and holds it over his face, squinting against the too-bright light of both his screen and the white LED that fills his driver’s room.
LN: Watr u on about mate
Max responds instead with a link to a Beyond the Grid episode, and the message preview says ‘Daniel Ricciardo: life in the slow lane’.
Lando can’t help himself, can’t help clicking on the link to see the episode description.
He won’t be racing in 2023, but Daniel Ricciardo is thinking further ahead, it starts. It describes Daniel’s plans for the year with Red Bull, and it mentions his time at McLaren. Of course it does. Lando kind of doesn’t want to hear it, but Max’s message has, unfortunately, also piqued his interest. It’s weird that Max said that. He didn’t even say that when they were still teammates.
Weirder still because Lando kept such a tight lid on his small crush on Daniel in the previous year that he hadn’t even told his best mate about it.
Jon is doing something complicated to stretch his left leg into a shape that he's pretty sure legs aren't supposed to form, and he genuinely doesn't have the time to listen to anything later, so he moves his thumb over to the big green play button, and sets his phone beside his head.
Tom Clarkson's voice comes on to give a little intro to Daniel, as if listeners don't know who he is. Lando doubts that anyone who's gotten into F1, even in the latest season, doesn't know who his ex-teammate is. The music plays in the background while they splice in audio of the commentators the day they won Monza.
"It was a challenge I took on," Daniel says. "And it didn't work out how I had hoped."
Daniel sounds so much more solemn in it than Lando's used to. It’s then that Lando realizes he’s barely spoken to Daniel since last year, since they parted ways in Abu Dhabi, and now there’s an entire podcast of him playing from Lando’s phone speakers.
Jon doesn’t comment on his choice of audio, simply focusing on bringing his knee to his chest while Daniel details the year he’s just had.
“Obviously the McLaren one, even with the win, like, the win was a high and I can’t remove that. Like, that was-- I can’t ignore that, but yeah, I could--I could look and say, ‘yeah, I tried as well with this one, yeah, didn’t quite work out, so, you live and you learn. But I don’t look back with regret.”
Lando exhales, his hands on his abdomen, breathing through the cramp that’s threatening to form in his right gastrocnemius, and also the burn of knowing that despite Daniel saying this about McLaren, he’s sure that there is a hefty amount of regret that sits in his stomach for having signed with them at all.
He still doesn’t know what the fuck Max was going on about, and it’s only when Jon gets Lando on his side to stretch his adductors does the moment come.
It’s a long stretch of Daniel talking about his time with McLaren, but more importantly, talking about him.
He’s never heard Daniel this expressive about him. Sure, he’ll wax poetic about Max Verstappen for hours, but this? This is new. It makes his face heat up. It’s not just the wording either, but how he says it—sincere, without much of his usual humor that’s meant to cover up his insecurity.
Of course, I miss him.
It’s a sucker punch right through him, now that Daniel’s said it. Lando’s been so swamped, so busy even with the break, that he hasn’t realized just how empty and quiet things feel now that Daniel isn’t around. Even when Daniel was still at Renault, Lando could count on knowing that Daniel was somewhere wreaking havoc in the paddock.
Jon pulls him out of it, quite literally, when he nudges Lando to reach his arms up and help him get upright on the table. Lando’s legs are straight out in front of him, and Jon guides him so he can stretch forward to touch his toes. Lando’s still not as flexible as he or his trainer wishes he was, but Jon is patient and firm, regardless.
“Weird without him, huh,” Jon finally mutters, just as Lando groans from the release of the stretch.
“Yeah,” Lando replies, distracted now, tuning out Daniel’s voice while he goes on about his plans for the rest of the year.
His mind keeps looping, “Of course, I miss him.” He ignores the ache in his chest. That’s not something that Jon has any stretches for, anyway.
-
Lando doesn’t speak to anyone.
He climbs out of the car and gets pats on the back that he doesn’t feel like he deserves, and absolutely doesn’t want to deal with. He keeps his helmet on.
People clear the way for him. They know what he’s like. They know how he can get. He waits until his driver’s room is completely empty before he unclasps his helmet, pulls it off, his balaclava following suit, and he cries.
He hunches over, sure that his face and his neck are fully red from the force of his sobs, from his attempt at keeping quiet, from his attempt at trying hard to not throw anything across the room.
He’s so frustrated that his body aches with it. A bloody fight for P16. That’s what he’s left to contend with, in the end. He wants to leave Saudi Arabia. He wants to crawl into his own bed and scream until his throat is raw. He wants to not have to deal with this bullshit every other weekend.
His body is coiled so tight that his phone ringing makes him jump. His irritation flares tenfold, ready to throw his actual phone across the room, too, but when he picks it up, the caller ID throws him in for a loop.
Danny Ric, it says on his screen, with a stupid close-up of Daniel’s face appearing behind it.
He stares and stares at the caller ID, unsure if he’s just in the middle of like, fucking disassociating right now, if he’s starting to hallucinate things, or if Daniel Ricciardo is actually calling him. They haven't spoken directly to each other in months.
His shaky thumb catches on the green icon, and the next thing he knows, he’s bringing his phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Heya, muppet,” Daniel says quietly.
Lando can’t keep it in, can’t control himself, doesn’t have the fight left in him right now. It’s like his body remembers when Sochi was over and Daniel came into his room and refused to leave until Lando stopped crying, until his limbs stopped feeling so much like causing destruction.
“Danny Ric,” he cries, pressing his left hand to his eyes, feeling the heat of his tears slip between his fingers while he curls in on himself on the couch, his knees pressing to his chest. He hasn’t even unzipped his fucking race suit.
Daniel doesn’t say anything besides, “Let it out, mate,” and he stays on the line while Lando digs his nails into his forearm and contains his scream inside the cavern of his mouth.
It takes a few minutes before Lando can finally breathe again, straightening his back out and sniffling futilely--his nose is so clogged up right now.
“All good?” Daniel asks in that wry way he used to, back when they were teammates. Back when Danny Ric was just a room away from him.
“All ways, mate,” Lando replies, his voice nasal. It startles a laugh out of Daniel. Lando’s skin feels enveloped by warmth that doesn’t come from the temperature around him. He truly didn’t realize how much he missed Daniel’s presence until just this moment.
“It’s gonna get better, yeah? You’ll be getting upgrades in Baku, and hopefully Oscar’s car stays intact next time,” Daniel says. It’s quiet on Daniel’s end of the call. Lando doesn’t even know where he is, or what timezone he’s in right now. “You’ve always handled the car better than your teammates. This is just a bump.”
Lando doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t know if he can keep his media-trained expressions and responses intact anymore. He doesn’t know how many times he can keep being asked about the car and his performance and repeating the line of it being early days yet, and that there were still positives to the weekend.
“Why’d you call?” Lando finally manages to ask. “We haven’t spoken in forever, mate.”
“Cos I’ve been where you are,” Daniel replies. “I know how rough it can be. Anyways, I’ll see you around, buddy bear. Take care of yourself.”
The call ends before Lando can say anything else, and he’s grateful for it, too. That Daniel called, that Daniel hung up before Lando had to flounder for more words that he doesn’t have the energy to search for at the moment.
He cleans himself up eventually. He splashes water over his face and stares at himself in the tiny mirror, watching the rivulets fall over his cheeks, his chin. He wonders how many times Daniel had to go through this. He wonders if Daniel ever wished that he had come to him, too.
-
Lando hadn’t really thought much about the Australian Grand Prix until his flight out of Saudi Arabia, until he settled into his plush seat and pulled his phone out and was reminded that just the day before, Daniel called him.
That’s when he remembers that Daniel will be in Melbourne. That’s when he remembers that it will be the first time in months that he’s seen him, and once again, an ache lances through him at realizing Lando’s probably the reason why they haven’t spoken in forever.
The truth of the matter is that Lando worked very, very hard to compartmentalize his emotions. He’s gotten into enough trouble over the hears for running his mouth. He’s been in this sport all his life—he knows the mess, the politics, the confusion.
Having romantic feelings for a teammate is not unheard of, especially in Formula One. It’s one of those open secrets that often goes untalked about. God forbid anyone shows up to the paddock with a boyfriend or a husband. Lando’s fully aware that there’s only ever heartache that lies down that road. So he held it down, deep, deeper inside of himself.
When Zak called him to tell him they were signing Piastri instead, Lando didn’t put up a fight.
He barely even reached out to Daniel, then. What was he supposed to say? He just tries to make the most of the time they had left as teammates.
He pulls out his headphones and plops them over his ears, a clear sign that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. The team knows this, anyway.
He finds himself toggling back to Daniel’s Beyond The Grid episode, playing it back from the beginning so that he can properly listen to it again, full focus.
Daniel’s asked about his new role at Red Bull, about how right it feels to go back to the Red Bull family. Lando does his best to not take it personally, tries to not take offense on behalf of McLaren. This is racing and sometimes, it just doesn’t work out. Hell, Fernando jumped from team to team before Lawrence decided to build him and Lance a green Red Bull.
But considering how much Lando out-performed Daniel, especially in the last season, and more importantly, considering how right now he’s at the bottom of the grid in standings, it does make Lando wonder just how miserable Daniel truly was in his two-year stint with them. With him.
We really did get on better than what we let on.
Lando didn’t know what he meant to Daniel. He knew that they got on well, especially towards the end. Daniel would tell him about home, about his mum’s cooking and his dad’s racing, about his niece and nephew. Daniel would talk about his merch, his new plans for his wine collection, to which Lando would wrinkle his nose at. Daniel would make him laugh for minutes on end, tears in his eyes, fallen on the ground, unable to get up.
But they never really talked about the things that dug deeper than tidbits of information about their lives outside of racing. Lando never asked Daniel the big questions--what are you most afraid of, the kind of bone-deep fear that keeps you awake at night. He never asked Daniel if racing still made him happy.
But Daniel would try, in between the laughter. Now that Lando is thinking harder about it, staring out the window while the plane coasts in between clouds.
Daniel liked to ask him things about what food he liked, why he enjoyed running Quadrant so much. Daniel used to ask him about Max, and how it was like to live with your best mate. Daniel used to ask him what drove him, what really still drove him to keep showing up every other weekend.
Lando feels shame bubble up to the surface. Daniel cared enough about him to ask, but Lando didn't really much give him the chance to talk in turn about the bigger things.
When Daniel says, “Of course, I miss him,” Lando plays it back thrice, if only to hear Daniel’s voice again, closes his eyes, and thinks ahead to how he’s going to see Daniel again soon.
-
Lando knew that Melbourne was going to be sort of pandemonium given that it’s Oscar’s home race, but the energy of the crowds when Lando finally arrives at Albert Park is exhilarating in a way that he almost forgot could happen outside of the USA.
There are heaps of fans dressed in papaya and sky blue, cheering for him and for Oscar when they swipe their cards through and make their way towards the McLaren motorhome, but there’s a real swell of noise and activity on their slow walk over (while they both get hounded for selfies and signatures) that happens shortly thereafter, and even without looking, Lando knows that Danny Ric has just arrived.
Lando turns around and sees Daniel approaching the entrance and he gets the rockstar treatment, people clamoring to take photos with him while he beams around, fully decked out in his Red Bull navy shirt and the tightest jeans Lando has ever seen him wear.
Oscar laughs beside him. “That’s our superstar,” he says. Lando might not be best mates with Oscar yet, but he’s good. He’s kind. He’s humble, despite what the media and Otmar says about him. He keeps his gaze on Daniel and there isn’t a hint of animosity or resentment directed at the other driver. “I’m glad he’s here.”
Lando is, too, and there’s a small part of him that wants to say fuck it, run over to Daniel to say hello, but he and Oscar have a briefing to attend before their media duties kick into high gear. He takes one last look over his shoulder at Danny, surrounded by three kids and an excited-looking dad taking their their photo, and tells himself: later. You can say hello later.
-
Lando gets his chance after they finish in the media room, and he’s walking back to hospitality, his stomach growling because he skipped breakfast.
He's walking with Jon next to him when he hears someone call his name out, and when he turns around, Daniel is already bounding over to him like an overexcited golden retriever. Lando barely has any time to catch his breath and say hello before Daniel is hauling him up in a spinning hug that makes Lando freak the fuck out, his feet suddenly off the ground.
It lasts all of three seconds before Daniel is laughing in his ear and giving Lando a bear hug and Lando sinks into it, relief and joy filling his veins as he hugs Daniel back.
“Hiya, stranger!” Daniel chortles and Lando steps back to look at him properly for the first time in months. Daniel is radiant in the sunlight, cheery and all smiles, and so many teeth. Lando can’t even help himself. He goes in for another hug.
“I fucking missed you, mate,” Lando says, his voice muffled in Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel claps him on his back hard, and Lando holds on, trying to catalog the fact that Daniel feels softer around the middle.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Daniel says. Behind them, Lando hears the click-click-click of a camera shutters going off. He can feel how warm his face has gotten, and he’s sure that his ears are glowing red, undoubtedly getting picked up by the crazy lenses the F1 photogs use, but he can’t even be bothered to care.
“Not so sore, I think, what with all your downtime and travels,” Lando says. He knows that Daniel’s been busy--he went through Daniel’s Instagram accounts last night enough to know he’s been doing a whole lot of the things he said he wanted to do this year.
“Aaah well, yeah, I’m having my fun,” Daniel replies. “And I get to do FP1 tomorrow so that’ll be a blast.” Daniel’s phone pings, and he glances down at it momentarily before be gives Lando a sheepish smile. “Okay, duty calls—but hey, d’you wanna maybe you-know-what tonight or before you fly out? There’s a great seafood place—”
Lando wrinkles his nose at the mention of seafood before Daniel’s stupid, booming laugh takes over. “Mate, you shoulda seen your face. I kid, I kid. I know you hate it. It’s a burger place, one of my favorites that just opened up. Better than the last one I took you to. Let me know!”
And like the wind, Daniel’s running off to the Red Bull paddock.
Lando’s left a little perplexed, a lot giddy at the prospect of being able to just kick it back with Daniel again. It buoys him so much that he doesn’t even think twice before he’s pulling his phone out and opening his messages with Daniel. He pointedly ignores that the last conversation they had on there was the day Daniel flew out from Abu Dhabi, and types out:
LN: Dinner’s on u mate? Lol
-
The reply comes an hour later.
Danny Ric: dont worry sweetheart ill wine and dine you and ill even drive you around 😜
He forgot how much of a fucking flirt Daniel used to be. He can’t help his stupid fucking smile as he replies with an emoji flipping Daniel off, and a “see ya later.”
-
Lando was worried that he was going to be awkward, that he forgot what it would be like to occupy the same space as Daniel, but on the drive to the burger place and even as they settle in a booth, Lando finds that that isn’t the case at all.
Being with Daniel is easy. He always made it so easy, even when he probably wasn’t having the easiest time around Lando.
They joke around, and Lando fills Daniel in on the things he’s been doing. He tells him about how he chanced upon Lewis at the golf course and how Lewis invited him to play along with him and his friend. He tells Daniel about his new ideas for LN4 merch, and asks him about what his next drop is going to be.
Their burgers arrive and they’re massive, so much so that Lando’s sure Jon would never approve this. It’s piled high, served on a brioche bun, and despite it being a turkey burger that Daniel ordered special for him, it’s still juicy and seasoned to perfection. He can’t help the moan that escapes him when he finishes chewing. He hasn’t had a burger this good ever.
“Good, yeah?” Daniel laughs. There’s some sauce on his beard and Lando throws the folded paper towel at him. Daniel ignores it and simply takes another bite of his burger.
As the dinner progresses, Lando thinks about how Daniel was so candid about him on the podcast, how free he was with his admission, his admiration of Lando. It’s about time that Lando gave as much back.
“You look good, mate,” Lando says, halfway through their meal. “You look happy.” Lando swallows. “Are you happy?”
Daniel's eyes meet his, and there’s the slightest twitch, the tiniest furrow of his brow. Lando does wonder. He sees the comments, he’s heard the running gag that Daniel’s been the biggest winner in this entire McLaren debacle. He wonders, with the smallest hint of bitterness, if it’s actually true what they say--that Daniel is watching the races with relief, with joy that McLaren is doing so badly this year.
“I am happy,” Daniel replies. He takes the napkin to his mouth, wiping around the corners before setting it down. “I’m spending time with family, I’m enjoying my 110 with Scotty, just…” He gestures vaguely with his hand, and smiles. “Just reminding myself that there’s more to life out there.”
“Must be nice to see McLaren in the shitter, huh?” Lando looks down at the table, at the stray chips left on his plate. “Must be nice to not have to drive this bullshit car, haha.”
But Daniel doesn't laugh. His mouth twists into something downturned.
“You deserve better than what McLaren’s been giving you, mate,” Daniel says quietly. “You deserve a car that can show people exactly what you’re capable of.”
Lando looks straight at him. He traces his gaze over Daniel’s nose, over the jut of his jaw. Handsome, as ever. Lando swallows. “As do you, DR.”
Daniel just smiles, and shrugs. He lifts his bottle of beer and clinks it to Lando’s can of ginger ale. “Here’s to us both getting what we deserve, then.”
-
The drive back to the hotel has them settling into a companionable quiet, so comfortable that Lando can almost imagine it’s the previous season again, when they used to spend more time together.
-
When Lando finally settles in bed later that night, he scrolls through his Instagram feed and sees that he’s been tagged in several photos from earlier in the day, but he finds the shots of Vid Vorsic and it’s… they're beautifully colored shots of his reunion with Daniel at the paddock.
Lando doesn't recognize the person Daniel’s talking to in the photos. He lingers on one where Lando’s looking at Daniel, his laugh immortalized on the high-res image.
It’s the happiest Lando has looked all season.
-
If Lando thought that there was electricity in the air for media day, it’s nothing to the energy in the stands and at the garage when Daniel Ricciardo walks through the pit lane dressed in his Red Bull kit.
The fans are shouting from where they’re seated, roaring to life when Daniel waves up at them, and smiles. Lando hears the resounding “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oy, oy oy!” when Oscar, Mark and Daniel stand and pose for a photo op. It almost feels like a race Sunday instead of FP1.
Lando tries to pull his focus back, tying his race suit’s arm around his waist. He’s sweating through his fireproofs, and he can feel the trickle of it down his temple since he’s standing half in the sun while one of his race engineers guides him through one of the changes they made overnight to his front wing.
“You reckon Oscar’s side of the garage will make sure his stays on this time?” Lando jokes, and the race engineer—Elliot, he thinks his name is, laughs with an, “I really hope so, mate.”
About fifteen minutes later, Lando’s just about to climb into his car when another round of cheering makes him glance over at where the Red Bull garage is, and he looks in time to see Max’s car drift out of the garage and properly onto the pit lane before it speeds off onto the track.
He doesn’t even need to be told. He’d recognize that exit anywhere, madman that Daniel is.
For the first time in what feels like months, Lando’s properly excited to be on track again, even if his car is probably going to to let him down this time around.
Except that somehow, he drives better today than he has since the season began. The car feels right, responding to his brakes and his choices in a way that he’d been hoping would come back to him.
Feet on the pedals, hands braced on either side of his steering wheel, Lando sets up for his first flying lap of the day and he actually feels like he does just that: he flies.
He’s not quite sure what it is that’s changed, though there are too many variables that run through his head in the split seconds he allows himself some thought that isn’t full focus on the ground beneath him. It’s the weather, it’s the tyres, it’s the track surface, it’s the change in the circuit layout, it’s how much he spent on the simulator in between Jeddah and now.
And it’s Daniel, too, most likely. Lando feels energized, feels like somehow his good luck and good sense has come back to him tenfold. He breezes through and finishes his lap, and over the radio, Will exclaims, “P4 at the moment, mate! Excellent work!”
Lando whoops like it’s quali, relieved that it seems like a good start to the weekend.
“Woohoo, thanks boys, good, good,” Lando says calmly, but he can feel his face scrunch into a smile, despite being impeded by his helmet. “Who’s P1 for now?”
Lando already knows, but he needs to ask, anyway.
“Perez, P1, mate,” Will replies. “Ricciardo P2.”
Ricciardo P2. Lando grins to himself, remembering their conversation from last night.
A car he deserves, Lando thinks to himself.
“Thanks, William,” Lando replies, and finishes his cool-down lap.
-
Free practice ends with the Australian sun high overhead and a P4 finish for himself, a P14 for Oscar, and Daniel in the McLaren garage.
Daniel’s there chatting with some of the mechanics, his race suit undone, sleeves dragging on the floor from where he’s crouched down. Lando climbs out of the car, handing his steering wheel over to Jon, and he pulls off his helmet and balaclava with gratitude. It’s really fucking hot out today despite it being spring.
“Intruder alert! You’re not supposed to be here!” Lando calls out with his hands cupped around his mouth. Daniel looks up at him with all his teeth out, smiling like he’s won the fucking grand prix. Daniel claps the mechanic on his back and says, “Well, give my love to the missus and the kids, okay?” over his shoulder before bounding over to Lando.
“Yes, I am absolutely here decked out to spy on you specifically, Lando Norris,” Daniel laughs. “I just wanted to say hello to my old mates. I’ll get out of your hair now.”
Daniel starts to back out of the garage and Lando doesn’t quite know what compels him, especially since they have quali tomorrow, but now that he’s here, now that Daniel’s here, it’s like Lando cannot get enough of being around him.
“Danny Ric,” Lando yells his name and chases after him. Daniel stops, and turns to glance over his shoulder and Lando feels like he’s caught in a movie scene, feels like it happens in slow-motion when Daniel casts his smile in Lando’s direction. “Should we…?”
Daniel waits for him to finish his sentence until it finally clicks. This is what Daniel wrote on his helmet, the one he gave Lando, a nice little call-back to Lando’s own you-know-what from the day before. He chuckles and says, “Just name the time and place, mate.”
Lando didn’t have any plans, and doesn’t know the area well. “Well, uh, d’you—you can come to the hotel?”
Daniel’s smile grows impossibly wider. “You inviting me back to your room, Lando?”
And Lando is used to this. He knows how to ride along with it. He knows that it won’t ever amount to anything, anyway. “Yeah, mate, I want you all to myself tonight,” he replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes, but fond, regardless. With Daniel, he’s always fond.
Daniel clicks his tongue against his teeth twice, flashes him a wink, and says, “See you at 8, then. I’ll text you when I get there.”
Over the roar of the engines all around him, Lando can hear the shutters going off again.
He finds that he doesn’t mind too much. He’s learning to find that these moments are ones that he wants to be immortalized for himself, somehow.
-
All in all, it’s a good day for Lando. He feels like he actually has a fighting chance at making it to Q3 the next day. But when he gets back to his hotel room, he stares in dismay at how messy it’s gotten despite having spent most of the week outside of it.
He showers quickly, trying to be efficient with his time. Daniel’s set to arrive in roughly thirty minutes and Lando still needs to put things away, or at least shove them into the cabinet. He washes the sweat and gasoline scent from his skin and steps out of the shower sopping wet.
He wraps the towel around his waist and reaches for the smaller towel to take to his hair when he remembers that Daniel taught him how to stop mucking with his curls that way. Lando pads out onto the carpeted floor and pulls out one of his fresh black shirts, bringing it to his hair to gently squeeze the water out instead.
He’s weirdly excited, buzzing like this is a date and not just… two old mates hanging out. It’s kind of pathetic if he lets himself think about it too hard, so he doesn’t. He instead throws himself into shoving his clothes into his suitcase and zipping his suitcase up.
Which, in hindsight, after he’s cleaned up, makes him feel fucking ridiculous. He and Daniel have spent time in each other’s driver rooms, and hung out enough in each other’s hotel rooms—and even in Daniel’s apartment in Monaco—to know what their spaces look like in their downtime.
But somehow it’s almost like he wants to make a good impression. He wants to show that he’s grown up a little, that he’s matured enough to maybe even stop Daniel from seeing him as a kid.
He pulls on a deep blue hoodie, soft and well-worn over the years, and his black sweats. His hair is still a little wet, but his curls seem a little tamer than they’ve been in a while, so he twists some of them, pats some moisturizer onto his face, and smacks himself lightly on his cheeks.
“This isn’t a date, you muppet,” he mutters to his reflection. “Fucking calm down.”
The doorbell rings and Lando’s hands go cold. How the hell did Daniel get up here? They needed keycards to use the elevator.
He pulls the door open and Daniel’s stood on the other side of it, holding up a sixpack of what looks like bottled beer.
Lando gawks a little. Daniel’s dressed in an old Enchanté sweater, the navy blue one that Lando remembers because it’s what he wore during one of his last days at the MTC. His hair’s gotten longer now. Distantly he wonders if he’s going to grow it out the way Seb did. Hopefully, that doesn’t mean that Daniel’s set on retiring from the sport, either. Maybe he’s just going to get implants, too.
“Will saw me at the lobby and let me up,” Daniel shrugs. “Gonna let me in or are we doing dinner in the hallway?”
Lando pulls his eyes from where they were tracing over Daniel’s softer jawline and steps aside.
Daniel walks in and sets the bottles on the coffee table by the couch. Lando already set the menu for room service out and Daniel pulls it closer to him as Lando takes a seat next to him.
The air feels different and Lando knows it’s because he’s making shit fucking weird. It’s like he can’t figure out where his limbs should go, where his attention should be. Why is it that this was so easy last night but so strange to him now?
“Is everything okay?” Daniel asks. He sets the menu down, frowning at Lando.
“I forgot that you used to be able to do that,” Lando says quietly. He rests his right elbow on the arm of the couch, his fingers fiddling with his lower lip, his knee bouncing a little.
“Do what?”
“Like, know immediately if something was wrong,” Lando replies.
Daniel’s expression softens, and then he reaches out to rest his hand on Lando’s jiggling knee. “You kind of make it easy, mate.” The jiggling halts. Lando swallows.
The thing is, Lando doesn’t like to be touched, not very often, not when it’s someone he isn’t comfortable with.
But suddenly it’s like all he wants is for Daniel’s hands on him the way he used to give so freely when they were still on the grid together. Daniel’s easy, reassuring pats. His stupid hugs where he would slap Lando’s ass like bongos when Charlotte used to pass them by. He isn’t even thinking about Daniel kissing him, or touching him anywhere else that would be classified higher than PG.
Lando doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns his body to face Daniel and all but dives into the other end of it and into Daniel’s arms that go around him almost immediately. Lando closes his eyes, adjusts himself so his body is sat closer, twists so that he can wrap his own arms around Daniel’s torso and bury his face in Daniel’s neck and breathe.
And then Daniel doesn’t ask him what’s wrong anymore. He just slips his fingers into Lando’s curls and rubs the pads of his fingertips on his scalp. Soothing. Necessary.
Lando didn’t realize how touch-starved he was, how much he needed this, how much he fucking missed Daniel, how much he had shoved into his Pandora’s box of frustrations and loves lost and anger in order to keep functioning properly.
He holds on to Daniel and listens to the way Daniel’s heart beats—a little faster, most likely from the shock of Lando clinging on to him so suddenly. Lando can empathize. His heart’s going a mile a minute right now. But he also absolutely refuses to let up.
He feels Daniel’s hand roam down his back, gentle ups and down strokes that make Lando feel very much like a cat, and he feels the tension leave his body in increments.
He listens to Daniel’s soft inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Steady, steadfast.
“I missed you so, so much,” Lando whispers. “It really isn’t the same without you around.” He sniffles, nosing at Daniel’s sweatshirt. “I’m so angry all the time. I don’t know how you did it.”
Daniel holds on to him a little tighter. “You were around to take my mind off it.”
Lando hears the Daniel on the podcast then. He made all the internal and external struggles I had, all the troubles, bearable while I was there, he’d said.
“I never—I never really talked to you about what you were going through,” Lando says. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, bud,” Daniel replies. He sounds so placid, so content. “It’s been a blessing in disguise, you know? I have time to breathe, for the first time since… I got behind the wheel of anything, really.” Lando squeezes his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s going to cry again, but it’s a near thing. “But I did miss you, too.”
“I heard,” Lando says. He eases up a little, mostly just leaning on Daniel now, the menu long forgotten, now falling off the sofa. “I listened to your Beyond the Grid episode.”
“I thought you didn’t care for podcasts,” Daniel laughs softly. Lando feels the breath over his forehead.
“Max sent it to me, Fewtrell, I mean.” Lando swallows. “He said he thinks you have a crush on me.”
Daniel’s hand stills for a moment, and then returns to rubbing over his back. Lando tenses again, somewhat, worried that he revealed too much. Worried that he’s crossed a line, somehow.
“He’d be right,” Daniel says. “Though being a thirty-three-year-old man saying he has a ‘crush’ on someone makes me feel like kind of a twat.”
Lando pulls back to look at Daniel properly, to see if he’s fucking with him, if he’s teasing him, but the expression on Daniel’s face is so soft and so fond that Lando feels like his chest is going to crumple in on itself like an empty soda can. It almost makes Lando hope. It almost makes Lando want to believe him.
“Mate, I don’t—I don’t need you to patronize me,” Lando says. He starts to pull away but Daniel holds on. Daniel holds on and shifts on the couch to tuck his leg under himself.
“I’m not, though,” Daniel replies, earnest and sincere. He shrugs, still holding on to Lando’s wrist. “Dontcha just hate it when the love songs are right about not knowing what you have until it’s gone?”
“You—like, you can’t really—you’re straight,” Lando replies, confused, but so desperate for this to be real that it comes out less sure, more like a question.
Daniel shrugs. “I mean, it surprised me too, but I know how I am when I like someone, and being away kinda made me see you in a new light. I don’t expect anything, to be clear. I just—I dunno. I guess I promised myself that I’d be more honest this year about the things I feel, and this seems like a good place to start.” Daniel looks away then, and drops Lando’s wrist.
He misses the warmth almost instantly.
“But anyway, c’mon, I’m starving—”
“Seriously? Right now? In the middle of this?” Lando asks incredulously, his brain still trying to catch up and absorb this new information.
Daniel looks at him like a kicked puppy. “Lando, I don’t know if I just fucked up our friendship right now, so I’m giving you an out here to kind of sweep it under the rug,” he says. He reaches between his knees and picks the menu up, opening it like it’s the most engrossing novel in the world.
Lando shoves at him a little, eliciting a “Hey!” before Lando is back to inching his way closer to Daniel. “What if I don’t wanna?”
Daniel’s expression falls. “Like I said, I’m giving you an out.”
“No! No, I mean, what if I don’t wanna sweep it under the rug?” Lando responds. He knows he sounds small and desperate but his chest feels like a garden coming up to bloom, like air is reaching his little air sacs properly for the first time since Abu Dhabi. “What if I don’t wanna take the out?”
Lando’s in Daniel’s space again, just a breath away. “What if I wanna take it further?”
A calloused hand reaches up to cup Lando’s jaw, warm and careful, like Lando will startle.
“How much further?” Daniel whispers. His eyes flick down to glance at Lando’s lips. Lando’s body feels sure, like the gut instinct that he has when he’s behind the wheel, guided by a lightness and a freedom that he isn’t accustomed to having when he’s outside of his car.
Daniel’s thumb strokes along his cheek.
“As far as you wanna go,” Lando says. He cringes, knowing how cheesy the line is, how charged this moment is, but before he can regret what he said, Daniel is closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Lando’s and oh, oh, this feels almost better than a podium. This feels like flying.
Daniel kisses him gentle and sweet, chapped lips on his, saliva from his tongue slicking the way. Lando pulls away only to take a breath, and then pushes back closer to crowd Daniel’s space, desperate for the warmth of Daniel’s body, the press of his hands on Lando’s cheek, his neck, his arm.
The comedown is slow, the way they both break away from the kiss. Daniel rests his forehead on Lando’s and they breathe in what the other breathes out. Lando is so happy, he’s giddy with it. So giddy, in fact, that he can’t help but laugh, giggling like he’s a blushing bride and not the 23-year-old high-performance athlete that he is, though he supposes, those two things aren’t necessarily exclusive.
“So I take it you wanna know me more beyond the grid too, eh?” Daniel quips, teasing, light. Lando mushes his face into Daniel’s chest while they both erupt into more stupid giggles.
“Yeah, you twat, I do,” Lando says, muffled, once again, by Daniel’s shirt. He breathes in Daniel’s perfume, the underlying scent of Daniel’s sweat, everything that reminds Lando of comfort and exhilaration.
“Well, alright then,” Daniel says. He does a little maneuvering and guiding so that Lando’s sat between his legs, his back to Daniel’s chest. Daniel props up the menu on Lando’s abdomen, his breath warm in his ear. “Now, as much as I wanna keep making out, I’m also really, really hungry, so please for the love of God, choose something to eat so that I can get back to kissing you while we wait for them to bring the food up.”
Lando’s face is starting to hurt from how wide he’s smiling. He bites his lower lip and vetoes every choice Daniel points out, just to be a cunt about it, before Daniel exclaims an “Eugh, fine, we are not sharing. Go order another fucking chicken wrap. I’m having pasta.”
So Lando does, because even with Daniel around, he’s never budged much in the way of food. He has to extricate himself from the cocoon that is Daniel’s limbs in order to call in room service, but the moment he puts the phone back down into its cradle, Daniel’s there, ready to follow through on his plan.
If the room service waiter notices how disheveled he is, and how swollen Lando’s lips are, he doesn’t comment on it.
Lando tips him extra anyway. Just in case.