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He did it. He finally did it. He has won a Formula 1 Grand Prix. A real one, and not a sprint. Everything he has ever dreamt of as a kid. Everything he sacrificed his childhood, his family life, his home for. Everything he has ever worked for. It all came true as he saw the chequered flag first out of all the twenty drivers (nineteen, as he would find out later, since Pierre retired in about the middle of the race).
All the nights he spent laying wide awake, scared that everything he did up to this point would just go to a waste. These happened at each point of his career. Formula 3, when his car wasn’t working for half of the season, and he couldn’t do anything about it but keep failing. Formula 2 when it went down to the last race. Formula 1 when he couldn’t match Lando’s performance. All the times he felt like he was a disappointment to his family, his team. All the gym sessions he overworked himself at, his muscles screaming at him to finally stop. All the warm hugs from his dad and encouraging words from his mother he had to miss when he lived alone in the UK. They all paid off. He did it. He had something to prove that it wasn’t all for nothing.
So why did it feel so sour?
When driving the cool down lap, he felt his heart clench in his chest, tears filing his eyes. He didn’t want to do it that way. It wasn’t supposed to be one that way. Was he even a real race winner now? Trying to push his worries away, Oscar mustered up some strength to sound at least somewhat optimistic on the radio. He thanked the team, his engineer. He was just about to shut up, but he needed to do the last thing.
Apologize.
It did feel a bit embarrassing to do it over the radio for the whole world to hear, but he was not beyond that. Lando’s race was just ruined, his championship fight with Max was made even harder for him, and Oscar felt guilty of it. Even though he didn’t once ask for the position change, he still felt like it was all his fault. Because it probably was. Somehow, it was always his fault when McLaren destroyed his race with their strategy. There was always something he could do better to avoid it. He quickly muttered some apologies, before turning his radio off and slowly driving the car into parc fermé.
Right, now he had to face Lando. Sweet.
As he took his time to get out of the car, he couldn’t help but feel a bit terrified of what was to come next. He knew they promised each other to not let the on-track action affect their private life, their relationship. Still, he felt… insecure, about it, for the lack of a better word. Their relationship was still young and he didn't want their first big argument to be about racing. He feels like he had seen this film before (and he deffinitely didn't like the ending).
He knew what happened today was not fair for Lando. He deserved that win, he deserved many others. He also needed it way more than Oscar. For the championship fight, and all. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be fair to Oscar if Lando didn’t let him pass. It was his place, he earned it with racing, and not a better pit stop. Truthfully, after that wrong strategy call that allowed Lando to undercut Oscar, there was no positive outcome.
Yet, he felt like maybe they chose the worse one out of the two that were possible.
Of course, Oscar would be upset if a victory that was so close had slipped out of his hands again, but maybe it would be better if Lando had kept his position. Lando was in for the championship fight, at the end of the day, he kept telling himself. And it wasn’t his fault the pit wall fucked Oscar’s strategy (it wasn't oscar's fault easier, but it was easier to not think about it).
Now Oscar had to live with the feeling that his maiden win was gifted to him. He had to live with everyone remembering his first grand prix victory as unfair, unearned. His post maiden-win radio message would always have that pathetic apology in it. Still, somehow all the judgment of his skills, all the looks he would get from his team and other drivers, all the doubting of his worthiness of that top seat, they weren’t the things that bothered him the most.
What couldn’t stop bugging his mind was all the ‘what ifs’ about him and Lando. He usually wouldn’t be one to let emotions get the upper hand on him, and would rather opt for analysing the situation rationally, but that didn’t seem to be in store for him today. His brain felt fogged, and he couldn’t think straight now, as he felt a panic attack slowly creeping on him. God, not now.
He didn’t even register if it was Lewis or Lando who came up to congratulate him, but it was a sign for him – he needed to get out of that damned car. With shaking hands, he removed his steering wheel, and shuffled himself out of the cockpit. Big breaths, Oscar, you can do it. No amount of waiting would save him from the eventual confrontation, so, better to already be over it, and at least be certain of how Lando feels about this whole fiasco. Even if he is furious with Oscar, the guessing game of ‘how will Lando react’ is going to be over.
Everything from getting out of the car, through the post race interviews and the cooldown room, to the podium; it all felt as if he was on autopilot during that. He tried to unfocus as much as he could, tried to keep up the act of happiness, not let himself show any weakness. He usually wasn’t the greatest with processing his emotion. Putting on the cold, calm and collected demeanour was simply a way to cope with what he was feeling at the moment. Now, however, that he was torn between being just so incredibly happy about his win, guilty and ashamed because he didn’t deserve it, as well as scared of Lando’s reaction (even if he did appear calm and genuinely happy for Oscar, it could just all be for PR) – he had no idea what to do with himself. So, he simply forced on a smile, and fulfilled his media duties.
Oscar tried to distract himself with the aftertaste of champagne sticking to his throat. The Pirelli cap for the winning driver that was squeezing his forehead a bit too tightly. The confetti sticking to the back of his neck. Nico Rosberg playing with the ‘sky-sports’ branded microphone as he waited for Lewis to come up for the interview. The roaring crowd already waiting in front of the podium. The swarm of McLaren crew in the papaya team wear waiting at the barriers. Anything, but not the panic rising in his chest. It seemed to work well enough. For just a moment, he could push the worries to the back of his head.
But, as Oscar was left alone in his driver’s room, he felt so hopeless. He had already forced out Kim and anyone else that would dare to follow him in there with the excuse of needing to process it on his own (‘introvert stuff. I’ll be alright in a few, mate’, he said). He sat down on the massage bed, trying to make himself as small as possible, as he brought up his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, and hiding his head there. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at once, and he could no longer fight the tears that were threatening to escape. He started full on sobbing into his hands, his body trembling slightly. Not really how he imagined his maiden win celebrations, huh.
As he heard the door slightly squeak as someone opened them, he desperately tried to muffle the sound of his sobs. He didn’t even look up at whoever it was that had the audacity to interrupt his self loathing, and just hoped they would take a hint and leave him alone. It seemed, however, that he had no luck now, as they sat down next to him. They put a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles on the fireproofs that were sticking to his skin. He knew exactly who came here. And it was the person he felt the least ready to face.
“I’m so sorry, Lando” Oscar whispered, still not moving his hand from where it was covered by his biceps. Not yet. He didn’t have the courage to. “I– I stole your win today.”
“You didn’t steal shit, Osc” Lando snapped back almost immediately, his voice hoarse and tired, yet still firm, with no room for Oscar to argue. The small bit of reassurance was enough for him to raise his head slightly, staring at his boyfriend with watery eyes, as he tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Lando stopped him, gently wrapping his fingers around Oscar’s wrist, bringing his hands away. Instead, he wiped Oscar’s cheeks with his own thumbs, keeping his right hand on the side of Oscar’s face. “I’m sorry, I– I shouldn’t be so harsh. But I’m just upset. Not at you. At the team. Still, I shouldn’t take it out on you, I’m–”
“Don’t say sorry” Oscar managed a dry laugh, which caused Lando to smile softly as well. Maybe they were okay. Maybe they could be okay. “You know you have every right to be mad at me? You had to let me through even though you had better pace and– If not the team orders, you would have won…”
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t have lost your lead if they hadn’t allowed me to undercut you. If Max was here, you know what he said. It’s always ‘if, if, if’”
“If my mum had balls, she’d be my dad” he finished, the shy, small smile staying on his lips.
“Exactly.”
They both laughed quietly, and Oscar’s heartbeat started to slowly slow down. Comfortable silence filled the space between them, as Lando kept caressing Oscar’s cheek. He could feel the stress of his boyfriend being mad at him slowly leave his mind. They were fine, Lando didn’t put the blame on Oscar (even if Oscar still thought he had all the right to do so), he wasn’t upset with him.
People could call him a fraud, belittle his victory by deeming him unworthy of it, but he still had Lando. That’s all that mattered to him.
And as they sat here, he realized how much have they overcome during that few months since Miami. How much better were they at communicating their emotions already. They were nowhere near having perfect communication skills, but they were improving. Oscar was improving. He didn’t feel nearly as self-loathing as he did back then. Not now, at least. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the fact that he had just won a race stopping the nasty thoughts from creeping on him. He even seemed to just trust Lando when he said he wasn’t upset with Oscar. Well, he should be, but Oscar knew that Lando really had a vastly different perspective on Oscar and all the things he did, for some reason. And he was getting better at trusting Lando that he wasn’t lying when he said kind things about Oscar. It was an improvement!
“The team debrief is scheduled for when we are back at the MTC. The higher-ups collectively decided it’s better if all of us calm down. We shouldn’t be brining emotions into this. They also want you to celebrate” Lando spoke up after a moment. Oscar nodded his head softly in response, feeling as if he were to talk now he would break down again. He still wasn’t ready, and he didn’t want to be on a verge of a panic attack again. He needed a moment of muteness to fully calm down. And Lando understood, somehow. He always understood. Somehow. “So, how about we do go out and celebrate?”
Oscar only laughed quietly, getting up from the massage bed. God, Lando was such an idiot sometimes.
But he was his idiot.
***
“Oscar, please tell me you are not seriously thinking of wearing that to your maiden win celebration!” Lando exclaimed, as he entered Oscar’s room. Oscar, who had the audacity to be wearing team wear right now. “No, nope. We are getting you changed.”
“You know, I’m having deja-vu” Oscar rolled his eyes, without further complaints taking the polo off. “Enlighten me, Norris. What should I wear?”
“Well– uh– I think– yeah, the Ferrari was looking stronger than the past few weekends– wait, what was the question?” Lando stuttered, studying Oscar’s body. The tight abs and arm muscles, a bit red, probably from Oscar running a too hot shower. As always. God, he looked delicious.
“Lando! I'm getting deja-vu again!” he burst out with laughter, as his boyfriend quite shamelessly stared at him. “You see me shirtless, like, every day. Can you at least pretend to have dignity?”
“What? No, of course no. Dignity? I hardly even know her. And, not my fault, you are drop-dead gorgeous.”
They kept the banter up for pretty much the entire time Lando was choosing Oscar’s outfit. During that, Oscar sat down on the bed, carefully examining each of his boyfriend’s moves. He couldn’t help but focus how his curls looked flawless (he assumed Lando took that much time to come to his room simply because he spent and ungodly amount of time after his shower putting on all the different creams, and gels, and conditioners, or whatever, to make them that way), how his shirt perfectly lined his body, how he smelled so bougie and fancy. And how much Oscar loved all of these little things about his man.
In the end, they managed to leave the hotel earlier than he had previously assumed they would. They were aware that someone could notice them together as they walked to the club together, take a picture of them hanging out outside the track – something they usually avoided happening. Still, they didn't care. They decided earlier, that McLaren would count them being seen celebrating together after that race as ‘a good PR move’ on their side, and not ‘a potential risk of outing their relationship’.
The loud music deafened him more and more as they approached closer, and as they finally walked through the door, Oscar’s vision was quite quickly obscured by the fake smoke and bright lights. It took him a moment to adjust his eyes to the harsh environment he normally didn’t enjoy, but he did it just in time to see Daniel approaching them.
“Tough luck today, Lando. Second one is coming soon, though, mate” the older Aussie smiled with his usual brightness, clasping Lando’s shoulder. Oscar felt a small pang at the fact Daniel decided to say that before congratulating Oscar, his fellow Aussie, on his first win, but he tried to not be jealous. Daniel was closer with Lando than he was with Oscar, after all, right? Besides, he would congratulate Oscar in just a second, and everything would be fine. Oscar was just being dramatic, once again. Or at least he thought that would happen. But, as quick as Daniel appeared, he disappeared a second later, saying something about going to look for Max.
Ouch.
Oscar felt Lando squeeze his arm gently, and he smiled as truthfully as he could. No need to make his boyfriend worry now, not over something as silly and unimportant as that. It was his fault for doubting himself, for needing praise and acknowledgment from every person on the grid. It wasn’t Lando’s business, and he shouldn’t force it to be Lando’s business. He just had to suck it up and not make his distress visible. And, preferably, get over it. At least try. Even if he knew it would keep him awake at night today.
“There you are!” Max came next, as Daniel dragged him towards them. Oscar managed to bring his hand up to greet Max, but as Daniel did earlier, he seemed far more interested in Lando. He hugged his friend closely, leaving Oscar having to awkwardly drop his hand, pretending like it never happened. “Tricky for both of us today, aye? Next week battling at the front at home, I hope?”
“You won’t be able to battle me if you’re just going to be struggling to catch up” Lando laughed quietly, which earned him a similar reaction from both Max and Daniel. Oscar giggled quietly himself, not wanting to seem out of place.
“Let’s go, Lando. We already ordered for you. But, we left the drinks unattended, so, if we don’t want them gone, or spiked, we should move from the entrance” Daniel offered, already walking away once again.
What the actual fuck , now? Was he invisible, or what?
“Hey, Osc” Lando tugged at his hand, and Oscar blinked a couple of times. “Coming with us?”
“I’ll– I’ll join you in a second, if that’s okay?” he said quietly, not sure if Lando could hear him over the loud music. He did nod his head with a compassionate smile, though, and just like that he was gone towards the booths with Max and Daniel. Oscar was now alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of a slowly forming crowd, tears burning in the corners of his eyes yet again.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, but by god , it did.
For a second there, he felt as if he didn’t exist. As if he was only a spectator. He didn’t expect any of them to be overly affectionate with him, but a ‘congrats’ wouldn’t really hurt, would it? Did he really ask for so much?
His memory flashed back to Miami. How before Lando even started his post race interviews he was already swarmed with every driver wanted to congratulate him. He was the man of the hour, the day, the fucking week. On the stupid yacht party, everyone wanted to desperately talk to him, praise him. Even when he left prematurely because of Oscar (which he still felt sorry for), during the few hours time he was drowned with praises and kind words. The media were full of appreciation for him as well, it was all everyone focused on for a good while.
Maybe because, contrary to you, he actually deserved it the thought filled his head, refusing to go away. And Oscar couldn’t really argue with that.
The only people who told him he did a good job were Lando, Lewis, Charles, and Nico. Nico didn’t really count, though. He kind of had to, as the interviewer, didn’t he? Lewis and Lando had to do it as well, considering they were on the podium with him. The media would eat them alive if they didn’t. Only Charles coming up to him on purpose, congratulating him, made him feel a bit better. At least someone cared, right?
If he didn’t want to end up crying in a middle of a random club in Budapest, that had to be enough for him. He could consider what he had done wrong for no one to even notice him later. Now he had to do everything he could to not worry Lando. At least, since no one else even looked for him, Lando was the only person he would have to convince he’s fine. Small victories, right?
Oscar quickly pushed his way towards the bathrooms, letting out some air from his tightened lungs when he noticed they were empty. He walked over to one of the sinks, clutching it tightly until his knuckles glowed bright white. With his hands shaking once again this day, he opened the tap to splash his face with some water. When he noticed he got a few droplets of it on his shirt, he winced slightly. It clung to the skin around his collarbones uncomfortably, leaving an unpleasant feeling behind. He pressed his fists into his eyesockets for a brief moment, until he could see flashing lights appear in his vision. He brought his hands down, adjusting his sight as he stared at them. He felt far too aware of each nerve and muscle in his body, the overwhelming senses definitely not helping him to calm down – something he needed to do desperately now.
As he heard the bathrooms' door open, he flinched slightly. Fuck, could his luck get any worse today (he really would never assume he would be thinking this way on the day he got his first victory)? Keep calm, Oscar, he tried to tell himself, you’re supposed to be good at it.
“Oscar? Oh dear, are you alright?” Charles’ concerned voice broke the silence between them, and Oscar only sniffled, feeling the first tear flow down his cheeks. Wow, again? “Hey, easy. Easy. Do you want to go outside for a moment, maybe? The fresh air should help” he offered gently, earning a few frantic nods from the younger driver.
He didn’t really notice when did they get outside. All he knew he was now sat on the pavement, Charles right next to him, rubbing his arm gently, a reminder of what Lando did earlier today when he came into his driver’s room. He still felt his mind spin, and the panic didn’t want to leave him, as if it never did in the first place. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he just fooled himself that it did.
“Should I go get Lando?”
“No!”
“Okay, okay, I won’t” Charles assure him, as Oscar blushed heavily with embarrassment. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that. “I just thought you’d prefer him over me, since you are– you know. Close.”
“We’re dating, Charles” Oscar laughed quietly at the awkwardness of his grid mate (friend? He didn’t know if he could call Charles that). He earned himself a slight smack to his arm for that, as Charles puffed his cheeks. “I just– I don’t want to upset him.”
“Why do you think you’d upset him? He’ll be worried, sure. But I’m sure he already is worried sick, looking for you”
To explain, Oscar would need to describe what happened when they entered the crowd. Tell Charles how he was basically invisible for almost everyone. Even when today was supposed to be his day, no one spared him a second glance. As if he wasn’t even worthy of it. As if he was just a mistake, something to be looked over, brushed under the carpet, unworthy of focus and care. Not worthy of attention, even from Lando, who forgot about him so easily now, who was probably having a great time partying. Maybe it was fine. Maybe it was supposed to be that way.
(Ouch. He was used to his brain not being too kind to him, but that was a bit more than he was prepared for.)
Still, having to say that to sweet, sweet Charles, who so carefully approached Oscar, as if he was as fragile as the Hungarian porcelain trophy, that would judge him from the cabinets at the factory every time he’d walk past them? It felt impossible.
“I– Charles, just–” Oscar sighed quietly, his voice slightly trembling due to the tears that would still occasionally run down his cheeks, tracing the stains left by his earlier sob fest. He was really being pathetic today, wasn’t he? First, he steals a win that should never belong to him from his boyfriend/teammate who has done everything during this race (and during all the previous ones, too) to deserve it. Then, he guilt-trips said boyfriend into being kind to him, telling Oscar it’s all fine, and he did nothing wrong, even when he so clearly did. And now he is ruining Charles’ night by forcing him to sit with a miserable loser who’s crying on the pavement of a street in Budapest. Splendid , really. Anything else he could do to make himself more of a hindrance, a problem?
“Take it easy. We have time”
“No, no, I’m fine” he insisted. No need to make himself more of a burden, right? “Just, felt a bit overwhelmed, I guess” he shrugged, deciding to leave out all the details. Charles didn’t need to know how dramatic and sensitive Oscar could get. He liked Oscar, even if just a tiny bit, and Oscar would like it if it stayed that way. He didn’t need to ruin it with showing just how weak he was.
“Okay, no. I don’t believe you in the slightest. I’m getting Lando” Charles stood up, Oscar following in his steps immediately.
“Don’t–”
“Hush. You obviously need to talk to someone. And– I understand that, it takes a lot of time for you to trust. I understand, same” he laughed lightly, reaching out to squeeze Oscar’s shoulder. “You trust Lando. And– I don’t want you to feel that way. Not after your maiden win, but– not ever, really. Wait here.”
And Oscar couldn’t argue with that, could he? He was helpless here.
“Osc” Lando spoke softly, his brows furrowed tightly, a crease between them indicating how upset he was. Oh god, Oscar interrupted his night, and now he was so pissed off with Oscar he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t any more and– “Darling… why didn’t you come and get me, hm?”
“I didn’t want to bother you” he muttered, fixing his gaze on his shoes. Just don’t cry now. Not now. Not again.
“You wouldn’t be bothering me, hey” his voice was soft and gentle, and Oscar wasn’t sure he could handle soft and gentle right now. Not when his mind was screaming all kinds of insults at him. Insults that were not soft and gentle, not at all. Not when he was sure that if he opened any social media he would find the same – and far worse – words there. “What happened?”
“You– I– Lando, can we please go back to the hotel. I can’t– I can’t. Not here. Please ”
“Oh I– yes. Of course, Osc, yes. Do you want to walk or should I–”
“We can walk.”
***
And so they did.
They spent the walk back to the hotel in silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it was earlier. It was full of questions without answers, concerns that Oscar felt Lando shouldn’t bother himself with, and a ton of self loathing on Oscar’s side. They did make it back though, and Lando, without asking, led Oscar to his own room, where they sat down on the bed, without worrying to change into some more comfortable clothes.
“Can we talk now, or do you need space?”
“Lando, it’s–” Oscar stopped for a moment. To add to everything, Lando had to come here and had the audacity to be so understanding. His kindness countered what was going on in Oscar’s head, making his thoughts an even bigger mess than they already were. “Not important? I guess I just– I didn’t expect my first win to go down like that and– it’s my fault for romanticizing that moment in my imagination, really, I should’ve been more down to earth, but I guess I thought that– people would be happy for me?”
“Oscar? What do you mean? We are happy for you! I mean the– we talked about it. The team situation, it wasn’t perfect. But of course we are happy for you.” Lando tried to reassure his teammate, who only laughed dryly in response, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“It’s not about the team situation. Even though I still don’t know why you aren’t mad at me–”
“Because I have nothing to be mad for” his voice was as first as it was when they spoke about it before. He was clearly upset that it hasn’t got to Oscar’s head the first time around, and only caused him to get more and more insecure over the hours. “It’s the strategists that should be blamed, not you. Please, Oscar. We have to trust each other, right? If you trust me with your life when we go out on the track, surely you can trust me with that?”
“I– I guess. Whatever you say” he sighed, not fully convinced. The reassuring was nice, though. He did appreciate it. Even if he didn’t really feel like he deserved it. “Still, it’s not that I think people hate me for it or whatever. I mean, maybe your fans do. But the drivers, no, I don’t think they hate me over it. It’s just they– they don’t care about me. At all. And I know it’s my fault for being unapproachable and just– boring, at best. But I still thought that, maybe when I win, they will pay attention to me? Silly hopes, I guess. It’s– it shouldn’t have upset me that much. I’m sorry. I’m being dramatic.”
“Oh my God, Osc… babe” Lando gasped, as if he only suddenly realized that he seemed to be one of the very few people that saw something special in Oscar. Something worth their time, care, focus. As if, he only now realized no one in their right mind waste their time on him if they didn’t have to. “That’s– you– Daniel and Max haven’t said a word to you. I’m– Oh fuck.”
“No, Lan, I’m not mad at them” Oscar tried to sound nonchalant. Sure, it did hurt him, but it was his fault, one hundred percent. He shouldn’t force them into liking him. Into noticing him. He didn’t expect Lando to be upset at them. And he didn’t even want Lando to be upset at them.
“You have a right to be” he insisted. “I– we even talked about how impressive your driving was when we walked away! You didn’t make a single mistake – no, that traffic thing and running of the track is not your fault, hush – and it’s not an easy circuit. I didn’t even realize they haven’t said anything to you. I should have noticed. Shouldn’t have walked away. You only said that, so I wouldn’t worry, didn’t you? God, Oscar, you self-sacrificing idiot. When will you realize that I literally see the stars and the moon and the sun and all the crystals in the world and the sparkels of the water in the seas and the oceans when I look at you? And that I–” A messy kiss that Oscar planted on his lips has promptly shut Lando up, and he laughed awkwardly. “I was rambling?”
“You were rambling” Oscar nodded, smiling softly. “I’ll be honest. I’m still– upset. I still want to lay down and cry into my pillow for a few hours and maybe enough ice cream to get a berating from Kim and– you get the gist. But– thank you. For saying that, for caring, being here with me. I know I’m… difficult. Thank you.”
“None of that” Lando looked at him sternly, kissing Oscar yet again, practically sitting on his lap, at that point. Oscar gladly accepted that, pulling him a bit closer, as he set his hands on Lando’s hips. “You are not difficult. I’m proud of you for trying to recognize this is just your brain being mean and not the truth. I know it’s hard. But I’m here, and I have a lot of words of praise to share. And, not only I think that. A lot of people do”
“Lando, I know you love me and– you idealize me, often, but you can’t speak for others”
“I can. Max and Daniel just didn’t want to fluster you. You get shy easily when people praise you and– they didn’t want to make it awkward. I don’t want to excuse them just– you trust me, right?”
“Of course I do, muppet.”
A moment when none of them opened their mouths, just stared deeply into each other's eyes. Lando tried to see past Oscar’s insecurities, tried to see what exactly his love needed to hear right now. Oscar was trying to find some ground, to stop drowning in his thoughts, and instead drown in Lando’s eyes.
“Then trust me with this. You deserved that win. I love you. There are many more to come. Everyone can see what a great job you have done today.”
“That sounds like a TikTok affirmation tutorial, you know?”
“Oscar!”
“Okay, okay” he laughed quietly, pressing his forehead against Lando’s. “Thank you, Lando.”
“Everything for you, Oscar.”