Chapter Text
The day has been long. Not that Lando is in any position to complain about his life, but sometimes the endless stream of people congratulating him after yet another successful race, after yet another instance of not ending the race on the top step, gets tiring, even for him.
Walking through the quiet paddock, where only a few people are still out, talking to each other over a beer, his thoughts are with his bed. Lando finally wants to lie down after being awake for what felt like 24 hours of driving, interviews, and partying after it was over. It’s not far anymore, his steps speeding up as his motorhome comes into sight. He takes out his keys from his pocket, fumbling with them at first until he finally finds the right one. His hand brings the key to the lock, trying to turn it around in the lock. But it doesn’t turn, the door seemingly already unlocked. He must’ve forgotten to lock it when he left for Max’ party after a hasty change of clothes, since Max was waiting in front of the motorhome, yelling for him to change quicker.
The door swings open and the inside is dark, only a few streaks of light coming in from outside through the windows. He switches on the light, revealing a living room that looks bland and there’s almost no furniture apart from the bare minimum, because Lando keeps procrastinating the phone call to the interior designer George gave him the number of. Apparently, he’s some elite advisor, since the costs for booking him are horrendously high. So he’ll just have to make do with what he currently has, a couch, a TV, the TV stand with his Playstation 5 on it, an already dead plant (Lando has never understood how people keep their plants alive) and a fuzzy rug, the only thing only remotely comfy-looking in this room, until he finally gets himself to do the dreaded call. Maybe tomorrow.
He pulls off his shoes and puts them next to the other ones he owns, then peels off his jacket and neatly puts it on a hanger. It falls down the second he turns his back to it, and with a groan, he decides the jacket will have to stay on the floor for this night. His gaze lands on the clock hanging above the kitchen counters, its hands showing him that it’s 1:34 am. He originally wanted to go home earlier, but stayed at the party for Max’ sake. It was his party after all, and Max was one of his closest friends on the grid. And maybe Lando was also scared of missing something when not being there. But that’s a thought he shoves down as soon as it comes up, he would never miss anything important. Lando Norris doesn’t miss any funny situations, because he himself is the life of the party. That’s like, natural law number one.
He finally steps into the room, away from the coat rack and the shoes, which are almost piled up on the floor, after locking the door behind him. His limbs feel tired, a bone deep exhaustion which he often feels after being out for so long, and Lando can almost still hear and feel the booming bass in his ears. He’s sure that the club’s speakers had been multiple decibels over the allowed maximum, and while he didn’t notice that back in the club, Lando surely hears it now, an annoying ringing, which feels like it’s in his head, present. Praying it goes away until the next morning, he finally takes the few steps left towards his bedroom, the object of his desire only a door away.
The door squeaks when opened, and fuck, he should oil the doors or something. He mentally makes a note to ask Jon to help him do that. A streak of light comes in from the living room, illuminating a part of his bed, and he freezes when he notices something - someone - asleep there. Lando frowns, cautiously stepping closer to his bed that has been seemingly occupied by someone else.
He feels his heart fall down to his knees when he notices who it is, his mouth dropping open in a silent curse. After retracting as quick as light from his own bedroom, almost falling over his own feet in the process, he shuts the door behind himself, because, laying in his bed, passed out, is no other man than Oscar Jack Piastri, his long time rival, no less.
With the frown still on his face, he pulls out his phone from his pockets, dialing Max’ number with angry taps. There couldn’t have been any other reason for this happening than Max somehow having his treacherous hands involved in this. Lando puts the phone to his ear, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, one hand on his arm, playing with the skin there. He waits as his phone beeps. Once. Twice. Thrice. He pinches his arm. This can’t be real. Oscar on his bed, the boy curled up into a little croissant-like position, can’t be happening.
Finally, finally, the other side of the line cracks and Lando first hears bass and voices coming through the speaker. He must still be in the club, the one right next to the paddock, where they’ve all been together a few hours before. Then, the music slowly fades out, with Max probably having moved to a quieter spot.
“Lando! What a surprise hearing from you at… 2 am!” Max’ voice sounds a little raspy, and Lando can exactly picture him in front of him, the shit-eating grin he has on his face right now evident in his voice.
“Explain yourself. You know exactly for what.”
“Well...” Max begins, but Lando already interrupts him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And it better be a good explanation. How the fuck did the pastry boy end up in my motorhome. In my bed.” He whisper-screams this, because as much as he’d like to actually scream right now, Lando doesn’t want to risk an awkward situation with Oscar.
“I promise, hear me out, Lando.” Max sighs. “Oscar was at the party too, you see, and he drank alcohol, and you know he’s a lightweight.”
Lando shakes his head, wishes Max could see him right now so he’d be able to glare at him. “I actually don’t, jokes on you.” He answers, a snappy undercurrent in his voice. Because why would he know the drinking habits of his rival?
“Anyways,” Max continues, quickly continuing his explanation to not anger Lando further. “He had a bit too much than what he’s used to. Oscar looked really sick; you have to believe me! That poor, poor boy was looking close to throwing up, so I brought him to the paddock, then I remembered that you oh, so conveniently once gave me the second key to your motorhome.”
“So you brought him here.” Lando states drily, shaking his head in disbelief at the sheer audacity that the older man had. “I’ll kill you, Max. You know that we don’t get along! Pastry boy and Lando Norris? Nuh-uh. Besides, why didn’t you bring him to your motorhome?” There’s a brief moment of silence on Max’ end, one too long for it to be conversational, and Lando groans when he realizes what the Dutchman is implying by his silence. “Oh my god, you’re planning on taking Charles home, aren’t you?” He scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re making me take care of your precious child so you can-”
Max squeals and interrupts this sentence before he can finish it, then quickly cuts in with a “You should go to sleep too, Lando. It won’t kill you, it’s only one night, isn’t it.”
“You’re kidding me, aren’t you-”
“Good night! And don’t murder him.” The other man replies, cutting Lando off again, way too enthusiastically for his taste.
The line goes dead before Lando can say anything more, and he slowly moves the phone away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief. The audacity this man has. Winning a world championship three times apparently makes you a douchebag that drops people off at the doorstep of their rivals’ motorhomes.
He sighs and opens the chat with “max (the f1 one)”, then types out “You owe me big time” with swift fingers. After sending the text, he puts his phone into his pocket, then inhales deeply, holds his breath and lets it out, his body deflating together with his lungs. He peeks into the bedroom, where Oscar is still sleeping, curled up in a position that can’t be good for his back. Lando notices a little drool running out of Oscar’s mouth and cringes when he sees it landing right on his pillow. The younger man is also still wearing his outside clothes, with which he touched God-knows-what things back in the club. Whatever. He’ll have to wash his sheets anyways, or rather, beg someone to do it for him.
Lando can’t exactly kick him out now, can he? Because Max was right, the Aussie doesn’t look good. He’s wasted, dark eye bags under his eyes, which he is able to see even from the door. Kicking him out and making him go to his hotel room would be dangerous, and as much as Lando loathes Oscar, he doesn’t exactly want to see his rival dead.
The Brit quietly moves away from the doorframe again, walking over to his kitchen, where he searches the cabinets for the paracetamol he knows he keeps somewhere - just not where exactly - until he finds them behind the spices. He doesn’t know how they had ended up there but shrugs it off. He takes one pill out from the bottle, contemplates for a second, then takes out a second one. The two pills he just took out end up on the counter, almost rolling off of it in the time where Lando is filling up a glass of water. After the near tumble the pills faced, he picks the medication back up from the counter with one hand, the glass in the other. He carries them to the bedroom, hesitating in the doorframe, before finally walking in, the first time after he noticed the intruder occupying his bed against his own will.
After Lando put down the water and the medication on the nightstand, his gaze lands on the sleeping man next to him again. The way he’s sleeping could almost be considered cute, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s drooling all over Lando’s precious pillow, that he’s still wearing his outside clothes - God, don’t him started on that - and oh, that the Aussie’s kinda the biggest rival he’s ever had. The Brit contemplates putting the blanket, which had slipped off of Oscar’s shoulders, back over him. But that would be too much, wouldn’t it? They’re still rivals, after all.
Eventually, Lando rips his gaze, with whatever feelings it may have been laced, off of Oscar and drags himself out of the room, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him. His hand finds the light switch, which he hesitantly turns off. He finds his way through the dark to the couch, the luxurious couch that cost too much for what it offers in terms of comfort, and lies down on it. Trying to make up for the lost comfort, he pulls a soft, fluffy blanket over himself. The Brit eventually falls asleep, the tiredness and wear of the day finally catching up to him, even if his mind was racing with thoughts of the boy in the room next to him.
After what feels like five minutes of sleep, Lando wakes up, not knowing what exactly disturbed the deep slumber he normally has. He moves himself to an upright position, looking around the dark living room, confused as to why he was sleeping on the couch. Right as his memories start coming back to him, he begins to notice noises coming from his bedroom, where he now finally remembered Oscar is in. He tries to identify the sounds, stretching his neck and not moving at all so the room is dead silent except for the noises - sobs, Lando realizes - coming through the door. They’re muffled, but still loud enough to apparently have woken him up.
As he gets up from the couch, with great efforts to not make it squeak, he glances at his phone. Bright digits glare back at him, showing him it’s barely two hours later than when he went to sleep. His foot cracks when he takes a step, and he silently curses his joints, which are apparently the ones of a sixty-year-old man. Hopefully, Oscar hadn’t heard anything, or if he did, the unwavering quiet sobs didn’t let anything show - or better, hear. Lando moves to the door of the bedroom, putting his hand on the handle after trying to see anything through the keyhole, but not being able to since it's pitch dark inside the room.
And Lando hesitates. He almost never does that, but supposedly when it comes to Oscar Piastri, that suddenly changes. Something about him causes Lando Norris, a man prone to making quick and irrational decisions, to struggle with a task he normally does very easily.
Should he open the door? Or should he just pretend he hadn’t heard anything?
It’s strange to hear Oscar cry, and Lando has to admit to himself that it tugs more on the strings of his heart than he’d like it to. His curiosity and nosiness don’t help the case at all, making him even more interested in what’s happening behind the door. He’d like to just turn around and go back to sleep, but his hand acts before his brain, pushing the door open. The door doesn’t creak for once, and just opens normally, revealing a sobbing Oscar inside.
The younger man is curled up in a ball, sheets tangled with his arms and legs, quietly crying and shaking in distress. He has his back turned to the door and he doesn’t seem to have noticed the door opening nor the presence of another person in the room. Lando is frozen in the doorway, he wants to turn around and leave again, because this is none of his business, he’s not close enough to Oscar for him to see the Aussie like this. It feels like a violation of trust - a trust that has probably never been there before - and privacy. Lando also doesn’t know how the younger would react to the Brit seeing him cry. They very infamously aren’t the best of mates, after all.
But also, leaving Oscar like this would be cruel. And Lando is everything but cruel.
He slowly takes one step closer, the floor creaking under his foot. Oscar freezes, then looks up at the older boy, quickly wiping his tears, trying to make it seem like nothing happened. Lando stares back. His gaze flicks over the face in front of him.
The Aussie looks pitiful, a little angel crying beautiful tears, which are running down his rosy cheeks. The tears reflect the light of a street lamp outside the trailer. His nose is irritated and slightly red. A truly divine sight. A sight that makes boiling hot feelings curl up in Lando’s gut. His rival, normally so collected and calm, now completely weak and defeated on his bed. An eyebrow raises on the older’s face as he pushes those feelings down. His mouth opens to speak, but his voice cracks at the first attempt. Lando clears his throat, then tries again, forcing his gaze away from the man in front of him.
“Are you alright, mate?” The Brit mentally slaps himself across the face when he sees Oscar’s brows furrowing, noticeably thrown off by what he said. He did not just call his crying rival “mate”. Already planning his emigration to another country - New Zealand, maybe, he’d heard that they have great golf courses there - he doesn’t notice Oscar staring at him and gets ripped right out of it, as soon as his thoughts reach the house he was going to buy, by the Aussie starting to talk with a monotone voice, unusually collected for someone who just sobbed their heart out.
“I’m fine.” Oscar states, matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? I mean, I’m in my rival’s trailer after passing out and crying in front of him, or what do you think?”
His voice had turned more sarcastic and sour towards the end, and Lando’s still able to see the tear stains on the younger’s cheeks. He’s overwhelmed with the situation, just as much as the Brit is, but Lando’s able to play it off better. And play it off he does, since it’s what he does best, sitting down next to Oscar, so that they’re on an even height. Well, almost. He’s still slightly smaller than the younger man. Lando lets out a little chuckle, before he turns his body towards the Aussie a bit more.
“Come on, Oscar. Don’t be so negative.” His eyes are searching Oscar’s face for any kind of confirmation that this is not too much for him, but he finds nothing. The younger’s face is void of any trace of emotion, the tears the only evidence of them even existing. They’re just not for him to see, Lando muses. And it makes sense. They aren’t friends. He lowers his gaze down to his hands, fiddling with his loose sweatpants, his favorite ones. They suddenly don’t feel that comfortable anymore.
“I know we’re not the best of friends.” He breaks the tense, uncomfortable silence again. “But I’d be here if you want to talk.”
“Since when were you so nice, Lando? Or do you just want the satisfaction of me crying in front of you?” Oscar crosses his arms in front of himself, a blatant display of discomfort and insecurity. He stares at the Brit, his dark eyes narrowing.
Lando smiles at him, wanting to make the situation less awkward. “Maybe both, pastry boy.” His hand moves up to touch the scar on his nose, the one he got just a few weeks ago, which is clearly still visible, then further up to thread his hand through his curls. He seems to have succeeded in making Oscar feel less anxious, watching some tension leave the Aussie’s shoulders.
“I should’ve known that you would be sadistic and evil.” He answers, half joking, half serious, after rolling his eyes at the ‘pastry boy’ comment. “Just go ahead and tell everyone on the grid that I was crying in your bedroom and you saw it.”
Lando keeps his gaze trained on the younger man as he speaks, notices that he’s trying to act tough and put together, even if he’s not. He’s trying hard to keep up his façade, the one you know from him. Oscar Piastri, probably the most quiet and calm driver on the grid, known for not showing many emotions. It’s almost painful for the older one to see him like this, because he feels sorry for the Aussie, because he shouldn’t have to hide his feelings. Lando should just leave him alone.
But still, he stays, his mouth doing the talking before his brain even realizes. He’s just making this situation worse and worse for both of them, and he knows.
“Maybe I will, actually. It wouldn’t be that hard to believe for them, would it?” Lando pushes out under his breath, and wow, why must he always be so sarcastic, even in tense situations? “You seem like the type of guy to cry in his rival’s bed in the asscrack of night.”
That comment is what earns him a glare, and he understands, because what he just said was complete bullshit.
“Maybe I should just tell them you were nice to me for once.” Oscar retaliates, rolling his eyes. Lando shrugs, then hums.
“Seems like we both have leverage on each other, huh?” The Brit glances at the man in front of him - who is now staring at him in complete disbelief at his almost unfittingly humorous way of trying to make the situation less tense - and scratches his neck.
Oscar’s shoulders sag further down, and Lando asks himself if it would be humanly possible for them to sag down even more. He doesn’t answer for a while, rubbing his eyes, which are still swollen from crying. The younger’s gaze flickers around the room, as if he’s currently thinking hard about what to say, then finally settles on his socks.
“Can you just not tell anyone?”
Oh. There’s that vulnerability in his voice again, even if it’s just a hint of it this time. And Lando soaks right up, his next comment already on the tip of his tongue.
“It would kill your emotionless robot image the public has of you, wouldn’t it?”
There’s a small smirk on Lando’s face as he says it, his hands still on his thighs. He treats this like a competition, he’s not a racing driver for nothing.
And Oscar seems to finally crack, or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore about what the Brit sees, since he already saw him crying. He sighs, exaggeratedly, while he finally moves his gaze to Lando. And Lando feels his heart skip a beat, not having been prepared for the heaviness the gaze of his bears.
“I don’t know why I’m being so vulnerable with you, of all people.” The Aussie mumbles into the room.
“Probably it’s because I’m so amazingly persistent.”
Oscar chuckles, to Lando’s surprise. It’s the first sound from the younger he hears that’s not a sigh or a sob. The Aussie keeps staring at him, or more, through him. Lando watches him rub the back of his left hand with his thumb.
“This won’t happen again, I promise.”
Lando wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind, but as he opens his mouth, Oscar abruptly stands up from the bed, stretching. He looks up at the man, now standing in front of his bed, eyebrows raised in a silent question.
“Can you help me find the bathroom, I really gotta piss now.”
And the Brit can only shake his head in disbelief, a smile broadening on his face against his will at the absurdity of the moment. He pushes himself off the bed as well, then passes by Oscar to walk into the living room. The other man follows him through the living room like a puppy, keeping some distance, until Lando opens a door for him.
“There.”
He can barely finish his word, since Oscar already bolted past him to lock the door behind himself. Shaking his head again at the behavior of the younger, he decides to sit down on the couch, pulling out his phone to check the time after sitting down. It’s already 4:17 am, his phone tells him, warning him that he should go back to sleep if he wants to get enough of it that night.
The bathroom door opens again, and Oscar lets out a sigh as he steps out. “I can’t believe I let my guard down in front of you. Now you’re going to mock me forever.” He pushes his hands up against his forehead, and Lando doesn’t answer, for once. He only quietly eyes the Aussie, how tired and beat up he looks from all the crying - which he still doesn’t know why it happened - and how he’s still in his outside clothes from last evening.
Lando gets up from the couch without saying a word, disappearing into his bedroom, and leaves Oscar just standing there, waiting awkwardly in the middle of the room. He digs through his drawers, taking out a plain black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which are slightly too big on himself. As he walks back into the living room, the two pieces of clothing in his hands, he finds the Aussie standing in the exact same spot as before. Hesitantly, he stretches his arms with the clothes out towards him, offering them to Oscar.
“Sorry, they’re probably too small for you.”
But Oscar just shakes his head, wordlessly takes the clothes from him, then gives him a small smile. “That’s very kind of you, Lando. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
While the Aussie turns around to go back into the bathroom, Lando feels his cheeks heat up. This interaction was surprisingly sweet, and he doesn’t want to admit it, but it had caught him off guard. He just wasn’t prepared for such a reaction from him, he tells himself. Because there’s no other reason for him to be blushing over his rival like that.
Now alone in the living room again, he sits back down on the couch to scroll on social media for a while, until the Aussie would be done changing. He opens Twitter, which he rarely uses, but he’s sure it’ll take his mind off of the pictures in his mind - Oscar changing behind the door right next to him - and scrolls through his timeline. His eyes widen, though, when he comes across a video of the younger leaving the club, where they all were at last night, slumped all over Max, barely holding himself up. Lando tries to zoom in to get a closer look at him, since the video had been taken from a distance. Oscar looks wasted. And it’s untypical for him, because Oscar never drinks.
Lando mentally slaps himself for that thought, because why would he even know about the drinking habits of his rival?
He remembers how Max had told him how drunk Oscar was when he brought him here, and he begins to worry, asking himself what could’ve been wrong. But he doesn’t get far, because the door of the bathroom opens again, and the Brit flinches at getting ripped out of his thoughts.
His gaze lands on the other, the first thing he notices being the first hint of facial hair on his chin, a detail he only seems to notice now.
“You gonna send me away now?”
Lando barely registers the words, gaze still stuck to the man in front of him. He stares at how the black shirt clings to his frame, accentuating his waist. There’s freckles and moles all over his arms and neck, perfectly placed, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and had drawn them all over his body with great care. Getting used to that view wouldn’t be hard for him, certainly, because his rival is anything but an eyesore.
There’s an awkward moment of silence after the older man’s gaze is ripped off Oscar, because the other cleared his throat after not getting an answer for what he deemed was too long. The Brit clears his throat as well, finally answering with a slightly shaky voice, but he tries to pull himself together. “Why would I send you to your hotel room now, in the middle of the night, even after I gave you clothes?” He searches the younger’s face with desperation, as he talks, trying to search for any reaction. But the other must’ve been able to pull his act back together inside the bathroom, because there’s no trace of emotion visible again.
“Especially looking at the state you left the club in, you must’ve had a rough night.”
Oscar tenses up at the mention of the club and the state that he left it in. And then, his expression changes, almost too quick for Lando to process it, from calm and collected to something with an underlying feeling of sadness. As the Aussie’s gaze lowers to the floor, he realizes he must’ve scratched a barely healed wound back open again, the blood already beading at the skin, threatening to start flowing.
“Yeah, it’s been a rough night.” The other man’s voice has become even more quiet than normal, as if there were thoughts in his head that he doesn’t dare express yet.
It would be a lie to say that Lando wasn’t surprised by the sudden somber and heavy implications that were now floating around the room. He was caught off guard, because it’s still so unusual for him to see his rival so dejected. Seeing him like this feels even more depressing and somehow intimate, than seeing him actually cry. And Lando doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand the enigma standing in front of him, and it makes him feel frustrated. But he knows it’s not right for him to feel like that, because he would normally not even be in a position to see all of this.
Still, Lando waits, stays quiet. He gives Oscar the chance to talk, if he wants. If he feels that the Brit is worthy enough to hear the troubles of an angel, a divine being. As he waits, he longs, looks at the man in front of him, scanning his face. Besides the hints of facial hair, he now notices moles and little scars on his face, and tries to take it all in at once, memorizing every single one.
Seconds pass, with Lando just staring at him.
Oscar doesn’t look back, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground.
“Can I tell you something?” He says, as he finally looks back at the Brit, the first time in what felt like hours. “Just...” The younger hesitates to continue talking, the room falling silent. There’s a group of people outside, their yelling and laughing getting louder as they pass by the motorhome, their noise eventually fading out again.
“Don’t judge me, please?”
And it feels like behind those four little words, there’s so much more than a simple request to not be judged. It’s a beg for acknowledgement, for finally being perceived, the way he actually wants to show himself to the world, and for someone to understand.
Lando takes the leap of faith into the deep, unexplored waters that are Oscar Piastri and promises himself that he’ll try his best to understand any new species he finds deep down, where the waters get colder and more dangerous, if only they let him dive that deep.
He nods.
As he does so, some tension leaves the shoulders of the man in front of him.
“Well,” Oscar begins, taking a deep breath, his chest moving up as the air fills his lungs. “The reason why I got so drunk last night is because I’ve been questioning something.” He swallows dryly. “About my sexuality, I mean.”
For the first time probably ever, Lando sees a hint of fear in his expression, as the other waits for his reaction. Now, Oscar doesn’t remind him of an angel anymore, but more of a deer. A little fawn, without its mother, without guidance, stumbling through scary, unexplored parts of the woods all on its own. And the Brit wants to tell him everything’s going to be alright, but he knows it’s not that easy.
Lando slowly nods, because he noticed that Oscar had opened his mouth to talk again, giving him a silent confirmation to continue.
“I never showed an interest in girls in the past. Never had a girlfriend. Never even been on a date.”
And it feels so strange, learning all of this about him, even though they’ve never been friends, never interacted much, except for podiums they stood on together. Oscar on the top step, Lando on either of the others.
He wants to write everything down, so he doesn’t even have the chance to forget any little piece of information about Oscar, when he finally gets it, for the first time.
“And I thought that was normal. I didn’t understand why everyone around me cared so much about dating.” The Aussie fiddles with one of his bracelets. “I just thought I was a late bloomer or just didn’t have the time for all that stuff, with spending so much time on track and in the sim while growing up.”
Keeping quiet to not interrupt Oscar when he’s finally sharing something, Lando just nods.
“But a couple of months ago, something woke up inside me. And I know it sounds cliché.” He chuckles, a short, but genuine one. “All of a sudden, I started noticing men. Really noticing them. More than I probably ever noticed women in my whole life.”
The younger man sighs, and Lando nods again. He doesn’t have anything to say to help Oscar right now, he realizes, still needing some time to find the right words. And he feels sorry, wants to apologize, but the Aussie is faster, already talking again.
“I know you probably feel very awkward about this conversation but just let me finish, okay?” He pauses, gathers the strength to continue talking. “It just felt like everything I ever knew was wrong. I started noticing boys in the locker rooms back in school, and men in the garages and around the paddock nowadays. Suddenly I began noticing beautiful, interesting faces I hadn’t appreciated as much before. And women started to just be objectively pretty.”
Lando watches Oscar’s face, sees how his eyes are still focused somewhere else, just not on him, not daring to look anywhere close to the older’s eyes. He feels sorry for the other, because he’s never seen him look this insecure before. The words hit like bullets on skin, leaving behind burning wounds.
Finally, he looks up from the floor into Lando’s eyes, holding his gaze.
“And it just hit me all at once. This realization that my life was going to be harder. I was going to have to hide this part of me from everyone, pretend that I fit the standard. I started to live with the knowledge that if anyone finds this out about me, there will be the chance that they hate me after.” His voice had gotten gradually quieter throughout the last moments. He clears his throat, eyebrows furrowing, then continues to speak with an even quieter voice, almost whispering. “And the FIA, oh my god, if they found out...”
It’s dangerous to tell anyone about this part of himself, but Oscar still decided to share it with him. Lando doesn’t know if he should find it touching, if he should find the Aussie’s actions extremely stupid, or if he should just be confused as to why the other had started opening up to him so suddenly. He decides on no particular answer, guesses it’s probably a mix of all of them.
When Lando finally talks again, his voice cracks at the first attempt. He tries again after taking a deep breath, because it’s time to share something as well. It’s an incredibly risky action, but he decides that the balance should be equal. Oscar deserves to know that he’s not alone. Because he’ll never be.
“I know how you feel, Oscar.” Oscuh. “The fear of someone finding me out is the biggest fear I’ll probably ever have.”
It’s sad that he has to call it “being found out”, as if being queer is something bad. As if you were a fraud, an actor, only playing the role of someone that’s “normal”, always one step away from being exposed and forcefully outed to the whole world. It leaves behind a bitter taste in Lando’s mouth as he speaks the words.
But the effect of his words on the younger man are immediately visible. His eyes soften around the edges, as if he’s looking at Lando with a newfound trust and respect now. Maybe there’s even a hint of affection there, in a way that one would assume he’s suddenly seeing him in a different light.
“You get it?”
“Yeah, I’m bi. At least.” A small smile makes its way onto his face as he looks at Oscar. “I don’t really know yet. But I know for a fact that there’s no cell in my body that is entirely straight.”
And Oscar laughs at the joke. Finally, he’s able to witness a genuine laugh from him, and it makes him feel all giddy with happiness inside, knowing that he was able to brighten the Aussie’s mood a bit, if only for a short time.
“You know, Lando, you’re the last person I expected to be so understanding and relatable about this.” He pauses, glancing over the Brit’s face. “You usually seem so relaxed and carefree. You don’t seem like the type of guy to understand what struggling with gender and sexuality is like.”
Lando grins awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck, feeling the soft fabric of his shirt there to calm himself down a bit.
“I do struggle. I just do it holed up in my room during the winter breaks.”
Oscar sits down next to him on the couch, then pats his shoulder. It’s a quiet understanding that they’re both going through the same things, sharing the struggles of being in a world that was not made for them, but rather, against them.
“I don’t know, I always thought you were some spoiled rich straight playboy.” He leans back on the couch, his touch lingering on Lando. “I didn’t think you’d be so relatable.”
With his shoulder tingling from Oscar’s touch, he shrugs, then grins cockily, revealing the small gap between his front teeth.
“Maybe I’m just a slightly fruity playboy, still rich, but a bit more relatable.”
The Aussie laughs softly again, his nose scrunching up a bit. “Well, I gotta be honest, mate, you do give off a rich playboy vibe.” He leans in closer to Lando, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I mean that whole pretty boy thing you’ve got going on.” One hand points at the older’s hair. “The expensive clothes, those curls, and that pretty face of yours…”
The Brit squeals, then smirks. “Really, Oscar? You think I’m pretty?” He leans back on the couch, spreading his arms on the backrest. “Who would’ve thought?”
Oscar hesitates for a brief moment, not more than the blink of an eye, then softly hits the shoulder of the older man. “Now we’re getting into cocky bastard territory, but yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ll admit, you’re slightly handsome. But don’t go around expecting to hear that too often, I’d hate to inflate your ego even more.”
After that comment, Lando rolls his eyes. “You’re not too bad yourself, pastry boy.” His gaze is back on the Aussie’s face, sometimes flicking down to his lips. He forces himself to look at his hands, fiddling around with some bracelet, then hums. “I still don’t understand why you shared this with me. Are you still drunk?”
Biting his lip while seemingly deep in thought, Oscar shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe it’s because I’m still drunk. Maybe it’s because it’s nighttime and I’m feeling sentimental. Maybe it’s because I needed to tell someone and you’re the only person on the grid that already hated me, so it couldn’t have gotten worse.” He shakes his head. “I honestly don’t really know. I didn’t plan on telling you this.”
“Me neither.” His fingers play with a bead on one of his bracelets. “Humans work in weird ways. But I’m glad you felt comfortable here.”
“I just didn’t think you’d be so understanding, really. Everyone has a picture of you in their head. The fun party guy, the hot guy everyone wants to hang out with.” The way Oscar’s gaze shifts to Lando’s eyes makes him shiver, the shiver running down from his spine into his toes. “But it’s like there’s a whole other side of you that no one sees. One that actually cares.” Now he’s staring. But there’s some sort of admiration in his eyes, one that the Brit had never seen before. And it feels good to be admired, to finally be looked at as an equal, not having to worry about being found out and judged.
So, he smiles at Oscar, not having expected those words from him. “Thanks, mate. This really means a lot to me.”
The other smiles back, before his lips part into a yawn. He stretches all over the couch, biceps flexing and Lando can’t keep himself from ogling. Hoping the other won’t notice anything, he keeps staring. You have to let him have this at least, he’s only appreciating a fine specimen.
“But honestly, I don't know about you, but I’m way too tired for this. I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours and I’m on the verge of passing out right here.” Oscar tries to find a clock somewhere in the living room, but isn’t able to see one anywhere due to the darkness. “What time is it even? 4 am? 5 am?” He asks, not really knowing.
Lando checks his phone, then looks back up at Oscar. “It’s 4:56 am. It’s gotten so late so quickly.” He says, after which he pushes himself off the couch, opening the bedroom door for the younger. “Go to sleep, mate, you deserve it. It’s been a hard weekend, and your life and your mind have been crueler to you than you deserve.” He points at the nightstand next to the bed after the Aussie stepped next to him in the doorframe. “There’s water and a Paracetamol for the hangover tomorrow.”
Oscar hums appreciatively, glancing over the king-sized bed, which looks more inviting right now than it ever has. He slowly walks - drags - himself to the bed and falls right down on it, spreading his limbs out like a starfish. The Brit finds it cute.
“Thank you. For everything. For the clothes, for the water, for the paracetamol and, most of all, for being the first person I ever told about this.”
A soft smile broadens on Lando’s face as he listens to him talk. “Same goes to you, thanks for listening.” He slowly turns in the doorframe, pulling the bedroom door closed behind himself.
“You’re not gonna sleep on the couch, are you?”
He stops, then sticks his head back into the bedroom, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re not gonna sleep there, you won’t fit. There’s enough room for both of us and you’re not sleeping on that shitty couch.” Oscar pats the pillow next to his own, and Lando can imagine him smiling in the dark.
“You sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m positive. Besides, what’s more uncomfortable? Sleeping alone on that couch that looks hard as a rock or sharing the same bed as me?”
Lando sighs, then slowly moves the door open, walking into the room. Cautious to not trip over anything in the dark, he waddles over to the bed, then slips under the blanket on the far left end of it.
“Don’t call my couch shitty, by the way, you muppet. She's a legend.” He says into the darkness of the room, his eyes already shutting on their own.
Oscar laughs when he hears that Lando’s couch is apparently a she and has status in this household.
“Fine, let’s have a moment of silence for the legend of a couch. But if we can agree on one thing, it’s that you fit the bed better than that couch.”
The older man hums at that, then shrugs under his side of the blanket. “Whatever, mate.” His hand reaches out, placing his phone on the nightstand on his side. Eyes already falling closed, he realizes how long he and Oscar have been talking for already. It makes a soft smile spread on his face, one that the other can’t see through the dark.
“Good night. I hope tomorrow treats you better.”
There’s no answer from the right side of the bed, and Lando assumes the Aussie must’ve already fallen asleep. It’s dead silent in the room, save for the quiet noises of the blanket when he shifts under it, not finding a comfortable position. When his mind finally starts to calm enough to doze off, he hears the soft voice, so quiet he might’ve just imagined it, coming from behind his back.
“Hey, Lando?”
The man in question freezes up in his position, muscles tensing. His back is still turned to Oscar, and he could easily just pretend to be asleep.
The Aussie is quiet again, and he assumes the other is probably waiting to see if the Brit will react to what he said.
“Lando? You awake?”
And there it is again, the fear in his voice. Maybe he’s afraid to be alone right now. His assumption gets confirmed when breaks the silence again, after he sighed when getting no response.
“I don’t know if you’re asleep or not.” He says, voice even quieter. Lando hears him take a deep breath. “I know I’m being kind of a pussy, but I really don’t want to be alone right now.”
The Brit’s thoughts start to race. Oscar has been so vulnerable with him tonight, it’s the least he could do to show him his support now. And he turns around, now facing the other man. He tries to see anything in the dark, but the only thing he can roughly make out is the shape of his nose and cheeks.
“What’s going on?”
Lando watches as the Aussie’s body relaxes, hears a breath that the other’s been holding leave his lungs.
“I don’t know, it’s just…” He hesitates, then shimmies around under the blanket again. “It’s probably just the alcohol, but I’m suddenly feeling really vulnerable and scared. It’s dark in here and my thoughts feel really loud. I know it’s stupid, but maybe some company would help. Just something so I know you’re there.”
“Should I talk a bit, so you know I’m here?”
Lando’s surprised by the shy touch of the younger’s hand, which feels like he’s searching for some reassurance in any way.
“Please do. You have a calming presence, you know that?”
And that throws him off completely, considering that probably both of them would’ve laughed at someone a day ago if they told either of them that they would be in this situation just a few hours later. Blood rushes to his cheeks, and they burn, like fire. Lando reaches his hand, the one that is not currently held hostage by Oscar’s, up to his left cheek, trying to cool it a bit. He’s annoyed by the stupid grin that is broadening on his face, just because of one nice thing the Aussie said to him.
“Thanks, Osc.”
There’s a brief moment of silence, and Lando thinks he can make out a small smile on the other man’s lips after he says his name.
“You know, I’ve never really had someone to talk about stuff with. I’ve always kept my thoughts to myself.”
“Yeah, I get it.” The Brit replies, his voice calm.
“Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.” Oscar’s thumb begins to slowly move back and forth on the back of Lando’s hand, probably unconsciously. His heart rate shoots up when he realizes, and he retracts it quickly, almost too quick, as if he’s been burnt. To play it off, he turns onto his back and puts both his arms behind his head.
“I party much more often than you though.” The older man says into the dark room, trying to keep his voice calm, even if his heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. He’s just talking to help Oscar keep his mind off of his thoughts, after all.
“You’re right, but I would expect nothing less from the legendary party boy Lando Norris.” His words are gradually coming out slower, quieting down towards the end of the sentence. And Oscar’s teasing him, Lando realizes, and he can’t lie, it catches him off guard. He feels like he’s wide awake again. His head turns to look at the other man, to give him a cheeky answer, but he notices the Aussie has put down his head onto the pillow again, his eyes closed. It’s cute how fast the other man fell asleep, just talking to him about nothing.
As Lando finally shuts his eyes again, he hears a murmured “I like talking to you.” from his side. And he smiles, almost giggles, at the words, because it’s cute. Oscar’s cute, surprisingly so. Something the Brit wouldn’t have expected from the younger after what he knew of him before tonight.
The breaths coming from the man next to him begin to even out as Lando listens attentively, and he opens his eyes, just a little bit, to take a glance at the sleeping Aussie next to him. His eyes have gotten used to the darkness of the room, and he can make out the soft shape of his cheeks, his nose, sculpted by the gods themselves, and his jaw, which has gotten sharper over the years since he’s known him. It’s a sight he’d never dared to hope to see one day, but he’s glad he does have it, now.
Lando’s relieved the younger is finally getting the rest he deserves, because the dark rings under Oscar’s closed eyes tell him he doesn’t get enough sleep on a regular basis. You don’t get a lot of sleep as a F1 driver overall, except if you really pay attention to it, like Charles does, but the Brit has seen the man in front of him napping every free second he has, even in the garage and around the paddock.
He reaches out to stroke a loose strand of brown hair away from his face, notices how the Aussie’s unconscious body almost leans into the touch, as if that’s exactly what he needs right now. And he can’t help but feel guilty. Maybe Oscar needs someone to care of him too, sometimes. Someone who makes sure he eats properly, that he hydrates and sleeps. Someone who will just be there for him.
Slowly, to not wake the other, he turns around to grab his phone from the nightstand. He opens the camera, then turns back around to face the younger again. Oscar’s like an angel, his hair falling onto the pillow, spreading out, too ethereal for Lando, a mere mortal. He at least has to take one picture as evidence that he actually saw this angelic being in front of him, that this night actually happened. Just one thing that he’d be able to hold on to, if he woke up tomorrow and the Aussie was already gone, never talking with him about this ever again, simply going back to being rivals.
The younger’s breathing continues as Lando takes a picture. He almost feels bad for disrupting this moment of purity, but he just has to have at least one thing to confirm all of this didn’t just happen in a dream he had. Maybe it was even just a silly thing he imagined in his delusional mind.
After putting his phone back onto the nightstand, he lies down on his back, staring at the ceiling, which is now being painted by a few beams of the already rising sun. He knows what he’s just done is weird, but the Brit promises himself he’ll never show it to anyone. His thoughts stay on the man next to him, even as he desperately tries to fall asleep.
Why were they even rivals? Are they still? Was this night just an exception, out of desperation?
There’s only silence in the room, apart from the breaths of the two men, sometimes in sync, sometimes conflicting. As he listens, he can only think about how strange this feels. In this moment it’s like there’s no rivalry, no bad blood, no jealousy, no envy. For the first time ever, it feels like they’re just two people laying next to each other.
And he lets his mind wander, lets himself wonder what could’ve been if they would’ve met under different circumstances. Not as rivals, not as drivers, but just as two normal boys. Maybe they could’ve been best friends. Maybe even more.
Lando thinks back to the jealousy and envy he felt towards Oscar just a few hours before. How he has everything he’d ever wanted. Talented from birth, destined to be an F1 driver from birth. Meanwhile, the Brit had to work his ass off for everything he has, and he still feels like he’s nowhere near where he should be after almost four years in the sport.
He realizes that that was it. Jealousy. Oscar hasn’t been in the sport for half as long as he’s been, but still, he’s gotten his first win already. Lando hasn’t. The rivalry was born from contempt and envy, without knowing who the real person behind the man named Oscar Piastri was. He’d just seen him as a target for all the frustration inside of him, the frustration with himself, his inability to do anything right, his inability to communicate properly, his inability to win. And he feels sorry, now.
The clarity that there’s an innocent soul behind the famous name, the pretty face and the millions of dollars has been building up throughout the whole night, to hit him like a truck all at once. All this time he’s been trying to hurt Oscar, to bring him down, to get everything he has. Just now, he recognizes that he’s taken it too far. The younger is a human being who can be hurt like anyone else. Not some target for all of his frustration and anger.
Because everyone has their challenges, Oscar as well, and he knows now, because the other had shared them with him. The Brit still doesn’t know why, maybe it was just a drunken confession, like they had already assumed. Those challenges, which can’t be compared to each other, are different for everyone. Feel different for everyone. It’s not fair to the Aussie, because he hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not Oscar’s fault that he’s good.
In that moment, it feels like Lando’s found a new respect for the other. He’s the same as him in many ways. Maybe the younger’s just the one who got a little bit luckier. More privilege, more support. But they’ve both worked hard to get where they are. And it’s not right to hate him for being dealt a better hand while growing up. None of this was his fault.
Lando bites the inside of his cheek, because his thoughts are drifting off again.
Because now he wishes that they could’ve met under different circumstances, yearns for a universe where they could’ve been two normal boys, who met on the playground, who then grew up together. Two boys who knew each other the best. In an alternate universe it could’ve just as easily been the two of them karting together as kids, then move up to F1 together. In that universe it could’ve been Oscar who hated Lando, because he’s better than the Aussie, getting the better team, winning more races than him.
And he realizes that he couldn’t bear to be hated by the younger one anymore. Because he’s precious, a serene being, almost incapable of expressing any feeling that remotely resembles hate. For Oscar to have been so bitter and sour towards the Brit, even then, must mean that he’s been a terrible person.
Maybe he’s been a selfish person in the past few years, trying so hard to bring the other man down, that he didn’t care if it was a fair game or not. Maybe he let jealousy take over his actions and instead of working harder on himself, he focused on trying to make sure it was as hard as possible for Oscar to succeed. And now he was faced with the consequences.
The Brit hopes they’ll be able to fix this mess, sending silent prayers to any deity that’ll hear him out. Because he enjoyed the Aussie’s company like he never expected he would. He thinks back to when he found him passed out on his bed, how he wanted to make him leave.
Why did he not do it?
It probably was the vulnerability. How he finally heard the true Oscar, unfiltered by the still lingering alcohol in his system. How he finally dared to share something - even if it didn’t make sense for him to suddenly do that. How he saw that even the pretty boys with millions of dollars in their bank account get just as lonely, just as scared and just as vulnerable as normal people do. Deep down, the Aussie’s a normal guy who just needed someone to give him comfort for one night. And Lando delivered, happily so.
Eventually, he must’ve fallen asleep as well, with the birds outside the motorhome already chirping happily, a few streaks of sun gracing Oscar’s face with its warmth as the Brit looked at his face. It hadn’t taken long after that until sleep put its arms around him.
It’s hours later when he wakes up from a dreamless sleep. The first thing he notices after blinking away the haze is the brightness of the light shining in through the window. It must be noon already, since the sun is high up in the sky. The second thing he notices is the missing feeling of warmth next to him, the bed next to Lando completely empty. It takes a moment before the memories of last night return to his sleepy brain, and he blinks, trying to process it all. He looks around the room, scanning every corner of it.
But the room stays empty except for himself, and the sheets next to him are getting colder by the minute.