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Chapter Text

“I’m starting to think you’re just here for the chocolate muffins,” George had settled down in the seat across the table and was frowning at Lando’s plate, brow raised and nose scrunched in something near disgust. “How are you allowed to be eating that?” 

Lando, mouth stuffed full with the infamous Olympic chocolate muffin, looked from George, down to his plate stacked high with four other muffins, and finally to his hand where he was holding a fifth mound of chocolatey goodness. “I don’t compete for four days, let me have this,” he slurred around the muffin in his mouth. 

George’s look of absolute disgust only worsened. “Close your mouth when you speak.” he grumbled.

“What?” it was Lando’s turn to glare at him, brows crunched in confusion because how the hell was he supposed to do that. 

George rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.” 

Lando hummed, announcing that he had something to say before George started talking nonsense again while he finished chewing. Maybe he should perhaps cut down on his chocolate muffin intake for the next couple of weeks, it was only his third day here, after all.

“I’m not here for the muffins, they’re just a really, really good bonus. I am here, like most other hot Olympians, to find love among my kind.” except he wasn’t entirely done chewing yet and bit of chocolatey goodness flew from his mouth, landing on the white table top between them. They both stared at it before George gingerly covered it up with his napkin. 

“You’re disgusting, mate.” George did not understand Lando’s plight.

He had, in fact, found Olympic love three years ago when the two of them had competed in the 2020 Tokyo Olympic games. Thailand’s best (and only) men’s freestyle swimmer Alexander Albon had, somehow, fallen in love with British Olympic show jumper, George Russell. They’ve been dating officially for two years and yet Lando has been miserable officially for all three that they’ve known each other. Speak of the devil, Alex sets his plate of breakfast down next to George and Lando sets down his muffin, getting ready to leave.

Lando doesn’t often enjoy hanging out with the duo. Because they’re a couple, yes. They often have a tendency to gang up against poor Lando Norris, mock him mercilessly all the while sitting basically on top of each other and acting exactly like every other couple Lando knows and hates. But also because they’re both over six feet tall and Lando does gymnastics because he’s finally able to feel like he’s tall, he doesn’t need the sore reminder that he’s barely 172 centimeters on a good day. But before Lando can make his escape, George opens his mouth and begins once again to verbally attack him. 

“You already found your hot Olympic man anyways. Is Carlos here this year?” It sounded innocent enough but George’s smile was teasing and anyone who knew the story he was referring to would know that it was something out of Lando’s nightmares. 

“Yes,” he grimaced and Alex snickers. 

Carlos Sainz was a Spanish golfer that Lando had made the very accidental mistake of seducing at the opening ceremony in Tokyo. He’d followed Lando around for a week before he finally gave in, a bit desperate because Carlos seemed to be inadvertently chasing away all the other hot athletes Lando had tried to pursue.

But Lando is just too amazing, it seemed, because what was supposed to be a one night only special turned into Carlos getting his number from George (so yes, this is George’s fault, he has nothing to laugh at) and texting him and calling him nonstop for the next three months. It was even more upsetting when Lando finally worked up the courage to tell him to bugger off and he didn’t even seem upset as if losing Lando wasn’t the most devastating thing that could happen to anyone. 

“There’s some new swimmers hanging around the pool this year during practice, some of them are pretty cute,” Alex announced, ignoring the small glare George shot him at the description. 

Lando wrinkled his nose. “No offense, swimmers are weird.” he mumbled, taking another probably way too large bite of his chocolate muffin. 

“Offense. That was offensive. I’m taking a lot of offense to that.” Alex scoffed, affronted. “As if men’s gymnasts are any better.” Lando huffed, mostly annoyed because Alex was mostly right. He did like to think that he was the exception. 

“You literally have your qualifying rounds tomorrow, put those back you greedy arse,” George was scolding him now as Lando set down the wrapper for his first chocolate muffin and moved on to his second. He threw the discarded muffin wrapper at George’s face. It flopped unceremoniously into his yogurt. Alex snickered. 

“What do you think is going to fuel me through all around qualifying? Motivation and grit?” 

“Yes?” George said it like it was a question but the only thing he should be questioning right now is how he manages to be so wrong all the time. 

“Wrong,” and Lando had no problem telling him just that. “Losers are powered by motivation. Winners are powered by Olympic chocolate muffins. It’s what makes Olympians Olympians. We’re the best in the world for a reason.” 

“Because our cafeteria has unlimited chocolate muffins?” Alex raised an amused brow in Lando’s direction, spoonful of his own yogurt waiting to be put into his mouth. 

“Exactly.” 

Lando did plan on taking the remaining chocolate muffins back to his room with him. He had mega plans tonight to sit in his anti-sex cardboard bed, rewatch Emily in Paris because where better to watch Emily in Paris than in Paris and stuff his face with chocolate muffins.

With a long day of the opening ceremony followed by one last gym practice to gear up for qualifying, Lando figured he would use his time tonight to really rest and relax. He would resume his hunt for an Olympic village hottie after qualifying when he had a clear head and was sure he was a shoe-in for finals. 

“Can I try a muffin?” 

“Get your own! I’m not a charity for crying out loud!”

Chapter Text

Lando was miserable. It was pouring rain outside and everyone was shuffling their juvenile bomber jackets and polos into rain ponchos before climbing out onto their boats. Representing his country was well and good but he was going to spend all week representing his country and wasn’t sure why he was being forced to do so in the pouring rain. Wasn’t working his ass off everyday to do a few flips in the air more than enough? 

Lando wasn’t even sure how he ended up here, to be honest. He had been asking himself since he got word that he had been selected to participate in the Tokyo Olympic trials how in the hell he managed to pull this off. When he was three, allegedly, he had seen his brother and his friends in a bounce house doing flips and Lando had, allegedly, declared that that was what he wanted to do. For the rest of his life. Allegedly. 

Promptly, Lando was placed into classes at the top gymnastics academy his parents could find. The pros and cons of having rich parents, you get the best of the best traded in for a lifetime of suffering, broken ankles and endlessly sore arms. The only thing gymnastics is really for are party tricks. When someone said “Do a flip!” Lando does a flip, and everyone cheers.

It turned out that, allegedly, Lando was actually incredibly skilled when it came to gymnastics and the older and better he got, the less inclined he was to find a new hobby and completely start over. So he was stuck.

 And he went to some American college and did gymnastics. He competed collegiately, nationally, and internationally, won medals and championship titles and was happy and miserable and confused all at the same time for years. He was confused when he was invited to the Great Britain Olympic trials, confused when he qualified for the 2020 Olympic games. He was confused during qualifying and confused after qualifying. He was confused participating in team all around finals, confused in individual all around finals, in pommel finals, parallel bar finals, and vault finals. And he was confused standing on the podium for three out of five of his events. 

Sometimes, even now, he’ll stare at his three bronze medals and wonder how they got there and why they belong to him and if it’s too late to quit. Needless to say, Lando is not someone easily motivated by joy or adrenaline, rather the impending doom of failure. And he was certainly not motivated by this. 

“These things are so ugly,” he mumbled, mostly to himself and most certainly not to George who was standing right beside him, poncho on and ready to take on the rain.

And yet, because George has a strange and unexplainable disease that won’t allow him to mind his own business no matter how much Lando wants him to (especially when Lando wants him to) he responds anyway. 

“Would you rather get rained on? I don’t think you want to mess up your precious curls.” he was rolling his eyes but he was also absolutely correct so that wasn’t even a jab. 

“I was talking about the outfits, but thanks.” and George scoffed, looking down at him as if George had been the ones that designed them and Lando’s distasteful comment was a personal offense. 

“These are Ben Sherman and are designed with incredible thoughtful detail. How dare you insult our great country.” George was so British and Lando wanted to slap him a bit. Just a bit. 

“Bite me,” Lando rolled his eyes and moved away from George to finish pulling on his poncho. 

Of course, angling his body away from George meant angling his body towards the garish green of the Australian Olympic team, several of them huddled not far from where Lando and the rest of the team from Great Britain were huddled. They seemed to be having a rather light hearted conversation, heads thrown back in laughter, hair flopping over foreheads, though one stood slightly off to the side, smiling along though seeming rather absent with his hands tucked in the pockets of his awful khaki shorts and his foot tapping nervously against the ground. 

He stood away from the crowd so naturally, he was the first to draw Lando’s eye. Lando adjusted the sleeves of his poncho as he looked on. He had mousy brown hair that seemed to flop unintentionally across his forehead, curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck.

He didn’t look much taller than Lando which was always refreshing, especially at an event surrounded by athletes whose heights always seemed to shrink Lando down to nearly miniscule. He somehow managed to pull off the horrible green that Australia insists on making their competition colors and even coupled with the poncho still looked fine. It was a feat, truly. Lando was almost jealous. 

One of his teammates gestured to him as he spoke and the entire group broke out into laughter, including him. His head was thrown back in joy as he stepped back into the circle, getting pats on the back from several of his teammates. It was cute, a rather heterosexual show of comradery, but still cute.

Lando couldn’t help but observe the guy as he laughed, his smile almost making the corners of Lando’s own lips twitch up in response. He had the cutest teeth, Lando noticed, two almost bunny-like front teeth that Lando would love for him to sink into his-

“Fancy yourself a swimmer, eh?” 

“GOD!” Lando nearly jumped ten feet in the air and Alex stood back, cackling, both hands on his stomach and everything. “What the- bloody hell, Alex!” Lando groaned, rubbing a very stressed hand down his very stressed face. Alex wiped a tear from his eye that Lando was pretty sure wasn’t actually there.

He looked around quickly to make sure he hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention with his small, sort of scream. The Australian guy was looking at him. How absolutely mortifying. Lando looked away quickly before he could hold eye contact. 

“I thought you said swimmers were weird?” Alex scolded, raising a brow as if to say he had caught Lando red-handed. And in a way perhaps he had. 

“I didn’t know they were swimmers, mate,” Lando grumbled, turning away now fully from the group of alleged Australian swimmers. “And I don’t fancy ‘em.”

“Why were you staring?” Alex cocked a brow at him. 

“I dunno. I wasn’t.” Lando lied through his teeth and apparently it wasn’t a very good lie because Alex was cackling again. 

“That one there,” he wheezed between his waning laughter. He was referring to the lad Lando had very obviously been looking at before. “Oscar Piastri. Super decorated junior world champion. A fair podiums in worlds. First time in the Olympics though. A shoe-in for a podium this year.” 

“Great.” 

“He’s single too.” Alex winked at him. Lando rolled his eyes. 

Chapter Text

Those chocolate muffins really must have been magical, qualifying had gone nearly ten times better than Lando had expected. Though not the first time performing these specific routines, this was the first time since the trials that he performed them for an audience and the audience at the trials hadn’t even been this huge. The stands and bleachers were packed to the brim with fans. Lando even had his own section, a huge banner hanging from the guard rail with his name scrawled in red, white, and blue paint. 

He knew he was growing a steady fan base due to his increased presence on social media. He had several hundred thousand followers on TikTok, which was ridiculous because his content wasn’t even that good. He mostly made ridiculous videos, usually involving George and Alex, filmed randomly and without much thought. 

He had recently started a rant series, usually filmed from the comfort of his bed, where he would lie in bad the camera awkwardly panned on his face, the angle horrid, and he would just talk for like five minutes. He sometimes (usually) would scream into the camera when he hit a topic that was particularly frustrating. Like when George made him put his three uneaten chocolate muffins back yesterday because some Norwegian swimmer also really liked them and was calling himself the muffin man. 

“Are you a swimmer?” the guy in front of him was regarding him rather judgmentally, with a raised brow and a scrunched nose, his two front teeth poking out adorably behind a curled lip. 

It was the guy Lando had seen earlier at the opening ceremony, Lando almost hadn’t recognized him without his garish green get up. What had Alex said his name was again? Oliver? Olsen? 

He was wearing a speedo, which Lando promptly ignored because if he thought too hard about it he would probably start to find the guy unattractive. And he wasn’t. He was standing just to the left of Lando, bare chest on shameless display and broad shoulders glistening with pool water. Lando shoved another bit of chocolate muffin into his mouth before he started salivating or something equally as gay.

He shook his head and then, because he wasn’t sure he got his point across he slurred a “No,” around his chocolate muffin. 

The guy looked at him again, head cocked to the side before his face broke out in an amused smile. Lando decided he liked making this guys smile. And then he mentally slapped himself in the face because who was he having gay thoughts over a swimmer. That’s like George having gay thoughts about Alex and Lando would rather not have thoughts like George. 

“I didn’t think so,” he muttered, still mostly amused. Honestly, if Lando had been sitting here chatting with anyone else he would have clocked that comment as judgement. Especially as the guy looked back and forth between the chocolate muffin in Lando’s hand and the two sitting beside him on the bench. But for some reason, with this guy it wasn’t judgement, just an observation.

No, Lando was not a swimmer, and he probably didn’t look like one either, sitting on a bench beside the pool with three chocolate muffins in a pair of shorts and a hoodie. “Are those good then?” the guy was asking him and Lando just absolutely adored him accent. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, almost fervently and the guy chuckled. And then, because Lando is a kind and generous soul in the face of a hot guy, he reached for one of the muffins beside him and extended a hand out to the guy. “Want one?” 

The guy chuckled again but shook his head. “No thank you,” he politely denied. “All yours.” And Lando shrugged, setting the muffin back down onto the bench and digging back into the one in his hand. “So not a swimmer then? Do you just like the smell of chlorine?” The guy was now towel drying his hair, something which Lando probably shouldn’t find as attractive as he does.

“No,” and then because Lando actually does like the smell of chlorine he corrected himself and said, “Well, yes. But I’m waiting for a friend. Alex Albon?” 

The guy hummed in acknowledgment, dropping the towel from his hair to sit around his shoulders. When he didn’t say anything else, Lando decided he didn’t like the silence. 

“I’m Lando, by the way. I’m here for gymnastics finals,” he added because why not. The guy raised his eyebrows in recognition.

“You’re Lando Norris?” he asked, seeming a bit mystified though Lando had no idea why. “I’ve heard of you, I think I watched you a few years back at the last Olympics during finals for some event. The one that’s like, you know, the balance beam with the handles?” 

He seemed far too excited and Lando couldn’t help the probably very unattractive snort he let out at the guys enthusiasm. But also, he had fallen face first during the routine at Tokyo, that’s probably the only reason he remembered it. “Pommel horse?” he clarified, just to say something. 

“Sure, yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t know but I believe you,” the guy nodded several times, a bit too aggressively. Lando worried he might give himself whiplash. 

“I think I fell during that routine,” Lando added gravely, just for the hell of it.

“Oh.” the guy looked genuinely surprised. “Did you really? Huh. Sorry then, mate. I don’t remember that though, if that’s worth anything.” 

It was worth everything coming from the adorable lips of this guy. He was bashful and sheepish and Lando wanted to smother him with a blanket. Or ride his di-

“Oi! Oscar!” and someone was calling him from the other end of the pool and Alex was approaching Lando from the right. Sadly, he realized that the conversation was over. The guy, Oscar, smiled at him one more time before darting away towards his teammates, three other guys, all in speedos. It was seriously ridiculous Lando needed to get out of here. 

Chapter Text

Lando hated practicing. Especially when it came to his high bar routine. He loved high bar, but practice always left room for overextension and overexertion and he often overshot his marks. He thought this as he lay on the mat below the bar, flat on his face after he tragically missed the bar during a straddle tkatchev. He lay there, still mid straddle, questioning his choices as he often does. It had hurt. Like a lot. 

During run-throughs before all of his qualifying rounds he had done the same thing, missed the bar on the same move, but then, he didn’t have time to contemplate. He had to dust himself off, clear his head and move on. Now he could contemplate. 

He was looking forward to the team finals on Monday. He quite liked his teammates and they were all good athletes. They had taken home a bronze medal in Tokyo, the same group of guys. They were the best male gymnasts in Great Britain. Lying there on the floor, Lando suspected that there had to be a whole team's worth of other gymnasts in Great Britain that were better than him. 

“You alright there, mate?” and because Lando was not alright, all the newcomer received was a grunt in response. There was an awkward shuffling of feet and followed by a quiet “Erm..”

And then because the longer Lando considered it the more he realized he didn’t know anyone in the gym with that accent so who in the hell was talking to him right now. He turned his head to the other side where the voice was coming from, squinting open his eyes before quickly closing them as he was visually assaulted by a pair of green Asics sneakers. 

“Is this a bad time?” Now that Lando was actually thinking he figured he recognized that voice from the day before. And it definitely belonged to that hot guy from the pool yesterday. 

“Maybe,” Lando mumbled, cheek still pressed into the probably disgusting gym mat. He opened his eyes though, glancing up at the figure that stemmed from those horrible asics shoes. And yep, it was definitely the Australian swimmer guy. 

Oscar Jack Piastri.

Not that Lando had looked him up or anything. Never. 23, an Olympic first timer. He was competing in men’s swimming events that year for Australia including the 4x100m medley relay, the 50m freestyle, the 100m freestyle and the 200m backstroke in the qualifying rounds. He was pretty amazing apparently and had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere in the professional divisions in recent years. Again, not that Lando had looked him up. Certainly not last night in his anti-sex cardboard bed with Emily in Paris playing in the background and a delicious chocolate muffin in his hand. 

Maybe he did have a problem with those. 

“Well, your friend, Alex, asked me to bring these to you,” Lando pushed himself up onto his knees, reaching a hand out expectantly for Oscar to help him up. The swimmer looked taken aback for a moment but Lando raised both brows at him and gave his outstretched hand a little shake for him to get the message.

Oscar’s hands were only slightly smaller than his, fingers a little more delicate and a little less calloused where they met Lando’s own. His grip was strong though and Lando found he barely had to do any work on his own, Oscar simply pulled him to his feet. And god was it attractive. Lando would let this guy manhandle him anytime. Especially in bed. Maybe in his anti-sex cardboard one. He was getting ahead of himself. 

“You didn’t see that, did you?” Lando asked, sheepish as he tried to dust the chalk from his wrists and hands off on his shorts. He fiddled with the straps on his grips as he tried to remove them. Out of the corner of his eye, he clocked Oscar wiping the hand he had helped up Lando with on his own shorts and he belatedly realized his hands were white with chalk. He grimaced. “Sorry. I always forget I have chalk on my hands.” 

“S’fine, nothing to worry about,” Oscar says and Lando warily eyes the giant white chalk streaks left behind on the black athletic fabric of Oscar’s shorts. “Uh, yeah, right. These are for you.” 

He shoved a ball of clothes towards Lando that Lando recognized to be the hoodie he had left in Alex’s room the night before. Lando reached for it gingerly. 

“Thank you.” 

“Uh-huh,” Oscar’s hands flopped back to his sides once they were free of the hoodie and Lando almost wanted to laugh at how awkward he was all out of his element. Shorts instead of his swimsuit, a t-shirt to cover his chest, in a gymnastics gym instead of an aquatic center. “I did see that, by the way. I wasn’t gonna say anything though. It looked painful enough.” 

And Lando laughed at this. Of course Oscar seemed way too polite to laugh at a mistake like that. If George and Alex were here, they would be rolling around on the floor cackling and wheezing within an inch of their miserable lives. This was a welcomed change. Saved Lando some dignity. 

“I appreciate it,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s okay, though. Happens all the time when I do that skill in practice.” 

“That doesn’t worry you?” Oscar was looking at him rather incredulously now. 

“Worry me like how?” 

“Like, that you might fall like that when you’re competing.” 

Lando shrugged. “Not really. I’ve nailed it every time I compete it, you always push the limits in practice, of every skill. And if you fall during a competition it’s the same, you just get up, get back on the bar and keep going.” 

“But you didn’t get back up.” Oscar deadpanned and Lando scrunched up his nose at that, rolling his eyes in a way he hoped was coming across as playful. 

“I’m tired,” he sniffed, turning away to hide his grin. 

“I’m sure,” and Oscar sounded so genuine that Lando wanted to cry. “I don’t understand how you do what you do.” 

“Me either,” Lando said, looking back at Oscar. “I don’t understand how you do what you do, I mean.”

It was Oscar’s turn to shrug this time, all bashful and blushing and Lando wanted to cry. “I mean it’s just- like.. Can you swim?” 

“No,” lies. Lando has been in swim classes since he was five. “Maybe you’ll have to teach me sometime.” 

And Oscar was really blushing now and god was he so damn handsome. 

“Maybe,” he was trying to hide his smile behind a bitten bottom lip and Lando couldn’t help but crack a shy smile as well. “Maybe, for now, you could show me your routine up there?” 

“Well,” Lando grinned, refastening his grips. “Only for you.” Lando didn’t know someone could turn such a violent shade of pink.  

Chapter Text

“You compete tomorrow, don’t you?” Lando groaned, falling face first on the tabletop before him, right next to his daily plate of chocolate muffins. He was pretty sure he had gotten on the bad side of the muffin man because some blond Norwegian athlete in a hat had started giving him incredibly dirty looks. 

“Don’t remind me,” he mumbled into the table. If he had had his eyes open he would have noticed Alex plucking a chunk of muffin from the muffin he was currently working on, or perhaps Australian swimmer Oscar Piastri passing by his table, letting his eyes wander over Lando with a small smile. 

“You’re always so down about gymnastics. I think inside, you secretly love it.” George was absolutely right. Not that Lando would ever admit that. Sometimes he won’t even admit it to himself. 

“Fuck you, I hate it,” Lando grumbled, not because it was true, just to argue. 

“Did you get your hoodie?” Alex was looking at Lando rather conspiratorially, like he knew something Lando didn’t. Which he didn’t, by the way. He knew that Alex had sent Oscar and he knew why. He just couldn’t quite figure out why the two were seemingly becoming such fast friends. Lando was beginning to wish that he was a swimmer so that he would also have an excuse to talk to Oscar everyday. Not that Lando was into him or anything. That would be crazy. And super gay. 

“Yes, I got my hoodie,” Lando grumbled, shooting Alex a glare. Alex only grinned and Lando flopped back down onto the table. Alex took another chunk of his muffin. 

“”You know,” Alex started around the food in his mouth that had just now realized was his muffin as he looked up again.He shot Alex a glare but he kept going. “Men’s one hundred meter freestyle is on Tuesday.” and then, because Lando just can’t catch a break when it comes to these two, he unhelpfully added, “Oscar Piastri and I are in the same heat.” 

“Great,” Lando grumbled. Outwardly, he could not give less of a care but inwardly he was kind of grateful they were doing the same event, it gave him an excuse to watch Oscar under the guise of watching Alex. “I hope he beats you.” 

Alex stuck out his tongue at him. 

Competitions never freaked Lando out. His teammates were standing in the waiting room, jumping around and shaking out to keep their muscles warm and settle their nerves. Lando sat in one of the chairs, hands folded in his lap, eyes on the TV mounted on the wall that displayed the live broadcast of their event. Canada walked out, then Switzerland, then the Ukraine, blah blah blah. 

When they were called, they gathered together, making their way to the entrance. 

“Ready?” his teammate was asking. There were several deep breaths, several last minute shake outs and a shrug from Lando. They walked out. The crowd went nuts.

Sure, perhaps this was the first time Lando had competed with such a massive live audience. Tokyo had been a massive audience, without a doubt, but Lando wouldn’t know the extent because they were all hidden away safely at home behind their TV screens. Other competitions tended to be smaller in scale, thousands of people attending, sure, but not nearly as many as the Olympic games attracted. 

They each took turns stepping forward and waving to the crowd. Lando felt ridiculous in his get up, stirrup pants—footie pajamas, according to George and Alex—tight around his waist and sort of riding up his ass, his skin tight uniform shirt tucked in nice and secure. Overtop he was wearing his Great Britain zip-up, matching with his four other teammates like school children. He was uncomfortable, to say the least. And was wearing offensive amounts of red for someone who didn’t look great in red.

The announcers moved on to yapping about something in French and as they made their way towards the pommel mat Lando scanned the stadium, his teammates chattering beside him about one of the competitors, some American guy who was apparently some sort of legend on pommel. On the jumbotron the camera panned across the crowd, landing on several hordes of cheering British fans.

It landed in the “Lando” sign before panning to some little kid in a Union Jack bucket hat and then to George Russell, sitting there, pearly white-toothed grin on display wearing a shirt that said “Team Norris” in horrible hand printed letters. Lando groaned as it zoomed out to include Alex in the frame who was waving a small British flag excitedly, also in an “Team Norris” shirt, handwriting significantly worse. 

Lando probably would have appreciated this, found it cute, even. If not for the camera zooming out further to reveal a slightly unsettled, awkward looking Oscar Piastri who was fidgeting in his seat beside Alex looking as though he wasn’t quite sure why he was there. And Lando knew Alex and George were to blame for the poor Australian man getting drowned in a sea of British Olympians. To George’s right was a group of divers, Tom Daley with his knitting in hand. On Oscar’s left was Great Britain’s women’s artistic gymnastics team. The lone green and gold in a sea of Union Jacks would have made Lando laugh if he didn’t feel so horrible for the guy. 

But as the camera got bored of the show and panned back onto the entrance stage, a part of Lando, mostly his heart, fluttered at the idea that Oscar came to watch him. Australia did not have a team competing in the team all-around. Lando was competing in the team all around. He hadn’t seen Oscar chatting with any other gymnasts, least of all from his team that he would be sitting beside George and Alex and the rest of team GB. So far outside of his comfort zone just watch Lando. The thought made him giddy with anticipation. 

Lando had begun to enjoy his interactions with the Australian swimmer more and more over the weekend. Every time they ran into each other it would be all small smiles, charged eye contact, blushes and bitten lips. The guy was handsome, alright? Screw Lando for trying to find gay love among an unprecedented ton of hot gay athletes. Seriously. Screw him. But Oscar was handsome and he got all shy if Lando flirted with him. 

Lando was brought back two days prior when Oscar had asked to see his high bar routine. With shaking hands he took off the springboard and caught the bar. Under Oscar’s gaze he executed the routine to near perfection which Lando felt would have been a waste since there were no judges to see it had Oscar not been so genuine and attentive in his compliments when Lando was done. 

When it came to Oscar, the only reason Lando was unsure in his pursuit stemmed from the fact that Oscar was so polite. This was not a man that Lando could see once and then forget about. This is a man that would absolutely adore and revere Lando and Lando wanted to get to know him, to like him. 

Lando made a small promise to himself as he marked his pommel routine.If they medaled that day he would have a proper hang out with Oscar, get to know him outside of World-Champion Olympic Swimmer Oscar Piastri. 

Chapter Text

Lando was a man obsessed. 

It was needless to say that they did not medal in the team all-around final. They were forced to settle for fourth, which was fine, a bit of a let down but Lando had been more than happy with his performance so there was nothing to beat himself up over. A 15.333 on pommel was nothing to sneeze at, after all. 

Except for the little promise he had made to himself before the event. 

Yeah. Lando was a bit disappointed that he could no longer justify acting on his little gay olympics crush. Realistically, he knew it didn’t matter whether he medalled or not. But it was the principal of the whole thing. 

And it didn’t help that Lando was, at heart, just a scared little 24 year old boy. He needed the booster of confidence, the little wind in his little sails to hype himself up to make a move. Instead, he was reduced to this. 

“This” was sitting in a corner of the dining hall angrily eating a chocolate muffin staring very pointedly at the table of Australian swimmers and trying to also very pointedly not make eye contact with the Norwegian swimmer at the table in front of him was also very angrily eating a chocolate muffin. Yes, perhaps George had started posting pictures to document Lando’s egregious chocolate muffin consumption and yes, perhaps the Norwegian swimmer had been a bit angered, his bit a bit threatened. But this wasn’t about that. 

After he had competed the day before he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to anyone, trudging away from the victory ceremony and retreating into the locker room where he showered and changed and then proceeded to trudge back to his room. He still had three more events to focus on in the coming week including the all-around final so in terms of medals, all hope hadn’t been lost. 

He huffed, taking another bite of his chocolate muffin and glaring at some Australian girl who was laughing at something Oscar had said. 

Seriously, how did he get here? He placed full blame on George and Alex, mostly Alex. They had mocked him into having a crush on a swimmer. That had to be some form of psychological manipulation. This really was Alex’s fault. When Lando had been in his room a few nights back he had been talking about Oscar.

Apparently they had been competing together for a few years now on their national teams and Alex deposited onto Lando a truck load of unsolicited Oscar Piastri fun facts. They were horribly endearing fun facts. And then Lando just started thinking about him. And he just didn’t stop. And it was all Alex’s fault. 

Swimming might actually be much more interesting than Lando had previously given it credit for. Really, what was not to like about a bunch of mostly hot, definitely shirtless men. Lando was having the gay time of his life. 

George had made them wear homemade “Team Alex” shirts like he and Alex had done for Lando. Lando faintly wondered what would have happened if he had shown up in a team Oscar shirt. Would Oscar like it? Did Oscar even like him? Was Lando freaking out and obsessing over a guy who wasn’t even interested in him? Not that he was freaking out.

Lando was sure that this was a mere infatuation. A convenience crush to get him through the grueling weeks of competition. Lando could do anything if he had a crush on somebody there and this was no exception, apparently. 

“Alex is next,” and then, because Lando can’t catch a break, “And Oscar.” He rolled his eyes but it was just for show, to keep up the facade that he was annoyed by this whole thing. He felt giddy. 

“I hope Alex does well,” was all Lando offered George in response, not willing to dignify his teasing by acting like it annoyed him. 

“Me too,” George said and Lando thought he might finally drop it. But of course, you can’t have anything nice with George Russell as your best friend. “Do you think Oscar will do well?”

“I’m sure he’ll do fine.” Lando tried his best to keep his voice firm, not betray any of his excitement. George scowled at him. 

“Seriously? We drag him to your final, you don’t even thank us. Don’t even talk to him. Alex thinks you guys would be really cute together and don’t pretend we haven’t all seen your staring, mate. The least you could do is wish him good luck.” he grumbled but honestly, disappointed, Lando’s ears only caught part of his rant. 

“You had to drag him there? Why would you do that?” he was frowning now, and only realized a moment too late that he maybe sounded too upset, looked too disappointed. That he had maybe hoped for too much. Hoped that maybe Oscar’s being there hadn’t been a poor attempt by his friends to set them up and had rather been a gesture because he was just as interested in learning more about Lando as Lando was about him. 

And of course, George was quick to pick up on this disappointment and even quicker to squash it. “He was going to go anyway. He told Alex you showed him one of your routines and he was curious.” 

“About me or my routine?” there was no point in trying to hide it anymore, George was already trying to comfort him, this situation couldn’t honestly get worse for Lando. 

“Both, probably. You, mostly.” Perhaps George was a good friend when he needed to be. 

Lando settled back in his chair feeling slightly more, well, settled. The jumbotron flashed the Australian flag, the announcer said some indiscernible French words and out walked Oscar Piastri in all his green and gold glory. He was wearing his swim cap like the other competitors, goggles resting on his forehead, warmups on and Lando couldn’t help but giggle at the look. At least he wasn’t wearing a speedo this time. 

Lando Norris Attends Men’s Swimming Semifinals, Learns How to Knit, and Cheers for the Wrong Team

image1.png Team Great Britain’s Lando Norris and Tom Daley sit beside each other at the Paris Olympics 2024 Men’s Swimming Semifinals and Norris seems to be learning a thing or two about knitting from the diver. 

image2.png Australian swimmer Oscar Piastri wins the first heat of the semifinals, beating Norris’ long time friend Alexander Albon of Thailand and Great Britain’s own Matt Richards. The gymnast seems ecstatic anyway. 

*image description: Lando with two hands over his mouth which is clearly wide open as grins from ear to ear, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement*

Chapter Text

“Hey, good luck today, mate,” Lando nearly jumped out of his skin. 

He was sitting in the dining hall, like he usually is honestly, munching on a bowl of yogurt, like he never is. He had decided to take a break from the chocolate muffins due to the having of some unpleasant bowel movements that could likely be directly linked to his poor diet. The yogurt was healthy, at least. Lando felt skinny every time he ate healthy. Good luck finding his waist after this meal. Ozempic skinny yogurt. Lando was pretty sure the Olympics were sponsored by Ozempic. He wondered if he could get his hands on some. Anyways.

It was startling for two reasons. The first was that Lando hadn’t been expecting anyone. George was still asleep when he had left (Lando was seriously beginning to wonder when this man was going to compete because all he did was sit around, bother Lando and sleep) and if George wasn’t coming to breakfast yet then Alex probably wasn’t either. And, realistically, Lando had no other friends in the village. The second reason was that when he looked to see who it actually was, he was greeted very startlingly by the color green. 

“Oscar! Hey, thanks,” Lando sat up in his chair. “Uh- good job, yesterday ‘n stuff. Second fastest overall, not too shabby. That’s a silver medal waiting for you.” 

“Heh, thanks. I didn’t realize you were there,” and Lando’s heart did sink a bit, not even helped by the fact that Oscar had been focused on competing and it was perfectly reasonable for him to have not seen Lando.  

“Yeah,” Lando paused. “Good luck in the finals today. And in the other semifinal.”

“Thanks,” he was wearing a hat today and Lando found himself missing the untamed waves of hair. He at the same time figured it was for the best because it made it much easier to pretend that he didn’t want to run his fingers through Oscar’s mousy brown hair. God, why couldn’t Lando just be normal about anything. “No muffin today?” He raised a teasing brow at Lando. Huh. 

Lando giggled. “Figured I should cut back, no?”

Oscar chuckled too, face broken out into a shy, reserved little smile. “Maybe four was just a bit excessive.” 

“Just a bit,” Lando grinned. “Sit?” it sounded a bit desperate, Lando only realized after he had said it. He had been going for a casual invitation to sit, to join Lando for a meal. Oscar glanced at the chair across the table from Lando and then back over his shoulder. Lando looked too. The usual group of friends Oscar hung around were sitting at a table not too far from his. Only one of them was looking in Oscar’s direction with an expression so smug it was almost scary. Lando momentarily observed that the guy wasn’t part of the Australian team actually at all, rather sporting the red white and blue stars and stripes of the American flag. 

Maybe Lando should start paying more attention to the people Oscar hung around because, as a matter of fact, there was not an Australian among them. Beside the American sat a guy in glasses sporting the red and white flag of Monaco, the guy beside him wearing the same. Across the table were two guys sporting blond hair, one curly and the other neat and close cropped wearing the flags of Estonia and the Netherlands, respectively. Somewhere in the back of his mind Lando was curious as to how they all knew each other. 

“Uh-“ Oscar looked rather conflicted, like he wanted to accept Lando’s invitation but also Lando understood. His American friend was looking at him as though he was expecting him to turn around and return to their table at any moment. 

“You don’t have to, not if you don’t want to. Just thought I’d offer,” Lando wanted to slam his face into the table. 

“Yeah! Yeah, no I uh-“ 

“Oscar!” The American called and Lando suddenly felt incredibly small as the whole table turned to look at the pair. 

“I’ll sit,” Oscar seemed to decide, setting his plate down across from Lando, a bowl of oatmeal and a coffee. Lando wondered if Oscar had a diet or something or if this was just how he ate. 

“Abandoning your friends for little old me?” Lando teased, unable to help his grin as Oscar slid into the seat, watching him as he did so. Oscar laughed, a full grin splitting his face as he raised a brow at Lando from beneath the brim of his hat. Which could mean nothing. 

“I think they can survive without me for one day,” he said. “Plus, I’m starting to like your company.” 

“Starting to?” Lando gasped, pretending to be affronted and Oscar chuckled again, looking away from Lando as he said 

“I like your company.” 

Which could mean nothing. 

“What the fuck!!!” Lando nearly screeched as his final rotation score flashed onto the screen above. 14.500 on the horizontal bars. He’d fucking done it. What the fuck.

There were hands on his back, someone was hugging him  and cameras were being shoved into his face. He might’ve been crying. His face was wet. Someone else was hugging him.

His face lit up the jumbotron and he was definitely crying, eyes wide with joy and red with tears. He was smiling though. Grinning, really, like he had just fucking won something or something. He had. 

The crowd was going insane and Lando felt absolutely euphoric. Someone was hugging him again, one of his trainers and Lando hugged them back, tight and anchoring. He felt like he was floating, like there was no way this was actually happening. Like one second he would be here,

camera’s in his face, hands on his back, teammates hugging him and congratulating him, the crowd roaring for him, and the next second he would wake up in his shifting Olympic village anti-sex bed and go down to the dining hall for a chocolate muffin like nothing had ever happened. 

But it wasn’t a dream. 

Someone shoved a large square of fabric into his hands. Lando almost went to wipe his tears with it when he realized it was showing the Union Jack. The flag of Great Britain. His fucking country. He had won an Olympic gold medal with the flag of Great Britain on his chest. What the fuck!

Primetime in Paris: An Overview of Today's Olympic Day

…

“Two time Olympian and three time bronze medalist Lando Norris took home the gold today at Bercy Arena in the men’s Individual All-around Final. A massive upset after a phenomenal performance from Shinnosuke Oka of Japan, who was forced to settle for silver at this year’s Olympic games. The podium was rounded out by Zhang Boheng of China, last year's top two Xiao Ruoteng and defending champion Daiki Hashimoto settling for fourth and sixth, respectively.”

…

“And last but most certainly not least in tonight’s coverage of swimming, we have the final of the men’s 100m freestyle. China’s Pan Zhanle was our gold medalist this year with a new record breaking time of 46.40. His medal is followed by Australian swimmer Oscar Piastri, a first time Olympian and favorite to win here settled for silver with the bronze medal going to David Popovici of Romania.”

Chapter Text

“Why are you still wearing that mate,” George rolled his eyes as Lando entered their shared room in a t-shirt, shorts and his Olympic gold medal.

“You wouldn’t get it,” Lando sighed as he flopped onto his own bed, all breathy and dramatic as if speaking to George was such a bother. It was, really. “Maybe if you had one, you would get it. But, you know, you don’t. So.” 

“Prick,” George grumbled.

“Yeahh well. Someone has to keep you humble, Georgie,” Lando mocked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and a chocolate muffin from his secret chocolate muffin drawer. He had seen the Norwegian swimmer do the same on TikTok. Maybe they should join forces instead of remaining sworn enemies. They really were so alike. Lando had also officially given up on the yogurt. Though Ozempic, it was also disgusting.

“You’re the one that needs humbling, mate,” Maybe George was a little right, not that Lando would ever admit it. “That medal’s gotten to your head.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” it was Lando’s turn to roll his eyes.

“For you? Yes.” 

Grumbling, Lando shoved another bite of chocolate muffin into his mouth. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” it seemed that despite his disguise, he might still be slightly too distinguishable from the crowd. That, perhaps, and he was surrounded by hordes of other GB Olympic athletes and the curly dark hair sticking out of the front of the hood of his Team GB hoodie probably did not help. 

“George,” Lando acknowledged, not turning to look up at his friend who was just joining him in the stands. Lando would never tell him but he was still wearing his gold medal underneath his hoodie. “Don’t mind me, please.” 

“Yeah, sure mate. But what are you doing?” Of course, George could not follow simple directions because who was he if not an annoying pest. He was also starting to get all cocky today after successfully qualifying for the show jumping team all around final. There was a good chance he was going to win gold too. Lando was preparing to sabotage his horse to keep that from happening. He should be the only one allowed to gloat. 

“I’m hiding.” Lando stated. It should be obvious, really. He was wearing a huge pair of sunglasses his sister had lent him when they had met up for coffee the evening before. Well, okay. He had stolen them from her purse, but what difference did it honestly make? Flo had been avoiding the Olympics altogether, disappointed to have not been invited to trials alongside George.

She had made it in time on the counsel of the rest of his immediate family to watch Lando’s all-arounds and had seen him presented with the gold medal. Lando hoped that everyone at home had seen it too. He could now laugh in the face of any gymnast he should come across. Except maybe Simone Biles but that didn’t even really count because Simone Biles didn’t do men’s gymnastics anyways. 

“Yes, I can tell.” George grumbled. Lando had his hoodie pulled taunt around his head, only some of his hair and his round face sticking out, eyes and cheeks covered with the glasses. “But why.” 

“The press found me last time cheering for Oscar. It was so freaking embarrassing, mate. Imagine if he’d have seen that?” Lando didn’t want to. Oscar would probably laugh in his face. No, he’s far too polite for that. It would be worse. He would probably smile awkwardly and clumsily dismiss himself from the conversation and Lando’s life. And Lando wouldn’t even be able to be mad about that. 

“I’m sure he would have been very flattered,” George rolled his eyes, settling down in the open seat beside Lando. He was entirely uninvited but also Lando had no other friends so he supposed it was excusable. 

“He would think I was a creep.” 

“You are.”

“I am not! Is it so wrong to have a small crush on someone?” 

“When it’s you? Yes. And also literally look at you, creep.”

“Why do you always say that!”

“Because it’s always true!” 

Lando huffed, turning to glare at George from behind his sunglasses. When George showed no signs of being phased Lando gave up and turned back to the pool. 

“Why are you sitting with me.” he grumbled. 

“Because Alex is swimming and he’s our only other friend.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“People on TikTok think you’re dating Oscar,” Alex announced as he settled down across from Lando in the dining hall. 

The trio was gathered for dinner having made no other plans besides lazing around their rooms. Well, Lando had had plans to watch Emily in Paris but they were unfortunately interrupted the couple. 

“Ugh, I so wish they were right,” Lando grumbled, ignoring the point and offering himself an excuse to wallow in gay sadness. 

Alex rolled his eyes. “They could be right if you would just, I don’t know, speak to him.” 

“That would be crazy, wouldn’t it,” Lando sighed and George groaned. “Why do they think we’re dating?” 

“The muffin man posted a video and apparently you and him were in the background eating together. That and then the whole article-photo thing. And then also someone posted a video of him at your team finals. The delusional fans are putting two and two together,” Alex explained and Lando sighed. 

“God do I wish they were right,” he groaned.

“Just talk to him.”

“I do talk to him!” 

“Talk to him more?” 

“Wow, gee thanks. I hadn’t thought of that!” Lando was being sarcastic. Of course he had thought of that. He was just too scared to actually try it. 

“I’m just saying,” Alex started, pausing to take a bite of his panini before continuing around the food in his mouth. “All you really do is watch him and, you know, stalk him. Like, it’s a bit creepy, mate. You should really try actually speaking to him before he thinks you’re like, I don’t know, plotting a murder or something else gruesome.” 

“If he was really paying attention he would see that I was looking at him with nothing but love,” Lando announced. 

“Are you saying you’re in love with him?” George snorted. 

Lando might have been saying he was in love with him. But also he was a bit dramatic and the type to declare a new love every other week so they probably shouldn’t take his words to heart at all. Before he could say all that though, Alex was speaking again. 

“Hey! Oscar!” He was sitting up straight in his chair, waving widely at something just behind. Probably Oscar, if Lando had to guess. 

“Hey,” Lando sighed, long and dramatic before turning in his seat to look at Oscar. 

He looked good that evening, well, as good as a guy can look in a dark green hoodie and a pair of black shorts. Basic. But cozy. Handsome. His hair was a bit damp like he had just washed it or, knowing Oscar, like he had just come back from the pool. “Knowing Oscar” as if he knew him that well. It was damp and Lando noticed it was slightly longer than it had been at the opening ceremony, curling around his ears and hanging low over his forehead. He looked really good. If Lando really thought about it, he could imagine the dampness was sweat and then if he really, really thought about it, he could imagine the sweat being a result of activities less than pg and probably less than appropriate for a friendly dinner. 

Good god. Maybe Lando should start seeing his therapist again. I mean really, he hardly knew this guy, what was he doing having thoughts like that. 

“Mate, do you have a minute?” Alex was asking and Lando was pulled from his mind in time to find Oscar’s eyes on him before they flicked back over to Alex. He was standing a bit nearer to the table now. 

“Uhh,” he glanced over his shoulder. The American that Lando kept seeing him with was standing just near the door, watching them patiently. “I’m sorry, Logan’s waiting, but-“

“All good, mate. Super quick this’ll be,” Alex grinned, eyes flicking to Lando, and Lando was sure he liked the look of them. Mischief weaving through brown irises. He wasn’t going to like this, was he. “Just wanted to let you know, as friends and all that, that if you’re single and, you know, ready to mingle, my mate over here, Lando, thinks you’re really fit and definitely wouldn’t mind, you know, mingling.”

“Oh-“ 

“ALEX!” the bastard only cackled as Lando launched across the table ready to play god and take Alex’s life with own bare hands. 

Chapter Text

Lando was drowning himself in chocolate muffins.

Perhaps they were not as good for his health as he liked to think but God forbid a girl has hobbies. 

It was all Alex’s fault anyway as most things that go wrong in Lando’s life are. He had been tragically unsuccessful in murdering his friend and all that was left to do now was avoid and wallow. 

He had spent his morning hiding in his room rather than journeying to the cafeteria where he was guaranteed to experience nothing but embarrassment, suffering and endless pain.

In other words, where Oscar would likely be.

Instead he stayed curled up under his scratchy Olympic sheets, thanking every otherworldly being he could possibly think of that his chocolate muffin drawer was still nicely stocked.

George had rolled his eyes, had laughed in his face but what did George know anyways. He had never been outed by his best friend in front of the very man that seems to haunt the hallowed halls of his very existence. 

He was perhaps having a crisis.

One of existential proportions. 

There had been tears in his eyes when he watched Emily in Paris the night before.

Literal tears.

Because how was he meant to come back from this. 

After Alex had done what was the equivalent of ruining his life, his reputation, stomping all over his future, spitting in his face, murdering him and selling all of his organs online to sketchy mob lords, Lando had had no choice but to run and go into hiding.

He had risen from his seat at the table like Jesus from the dead or an over ambitious mentally ill teenage girl's first successful attempt at sourdough, mortified and absolutely horny with fear.

He didn’t remember saying anything but he definitely remembered wheezing, choking on his own spit before doing a complete 180 and walking out of the room at a pace rivaled only by the Olympic speed walkers. Alex’s malicious evil chuckle echoed in his ears even still. 

He was out to get him. 

Lando had always known he’d make enemies eventually. The price of success. 

He pulled back the wrapper of a third chocolate muffin. Jesus did he have issues. Jon was going to kill him. Maybe he should go to the gym before his training session later. 

That would be a problem for later Lando. A Lando that will no doubt be older and thusly wiser than current Lando. 

In the back of his mind he remembered that Oscar had his finals for one of his events tomorrow. Lando was no stalker so of course, he didn’t know exactly which event it was (Men’s 50M freestyle final at 2:30 in the afternoon) because why would he.

It wasn’t as though he could go.

No.

That would be far too embarrassing. 

As far as Oscar is probably (hopefully) concerned, what Alex had said was a joke. Alex was funny. Sometimes. And he could make jokes. Sometimes. Lando had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe at swim he was a proper prankster and Lando just didn’t know it. But Oscar did and would think it was a joke. 

A smaller and much more unhinged and untrustworthy bit of Lando’s mind had registered the look on Oscar’s face when Alex had said it. Nothing but slightly confused muted shock in his expression. No disgust, though Lando had also registered that Oscar’s expressions did not often offer much to go off of.

This delusional, probably mentally ill part of Lando’s mind was busying itself with conjuring up scenarios. Scenarios in which Oscar would come up to him and say something ridiculous like “I’d love to mingle” and Lando would drool all over himself and die.

His rational mind was actively ignoring this because really it was ridiculous and Oscar would never say that nor did Lando particularly want him to. 

For now, his tactic would be to avoid, avoid, and avoid. 

And maybe go to the gym. 

Lando should not have gone to the gym. 

He had sort of forgotten that all athletes in the Olympic Village have access to the facility and that they were, you know athletes and not afraid to use it. Though, to Lando’s credit, he had not anticipated running into his mortal enemy and bane of his Olympic existence, Carlos Sainz.

Because really, how much of a high impact sport was golf. Did he even need to be here?

”Alex said I might find you here.” He had cornered Lando by the water filling station, the poor suffering Brit clutching his empty bottle to his chest with nowhere to run. 

“He is praying on my downfall, after all,” Lando mumbled, eyes darting to the ceiling above Carlos’s head, refusing to look the Spaniard in the eyes. 

“What?” 

Ew.

Lando always forgot how old Carlos was. It was seriously so difficult to talk to him sometimes, Lando’s admittedly slightly insane vocabulary often going right over his head.

Or maybe Lando was just chronically online and Carlos was really only five years older.

Whatever.

It was annoying. 

“Nothing.” Lando paused, shuffling his feet slightly to the side in an attempt to slide away. 

“I feel like you have been avoiding me, no?” Straight to the point it was then. 

“Nope! No, I don’t- Just a bit busy. Ha. You know how it is. Competing and all,” Lando whipped his hand around the room in a rather vague gesture, clearing his throat and then forcing his best, most civil smile. He felt as though he may look slightly constipated. “I really don’t have long, my trainer is waiting for me and-“ 

“Lando?”

Lando whipped his head towards the sound so fast he was sure he snapped a bone in his neck. 

And yes, his day was about to get twenty times worse. 

Oscar was standing about ten feet away, looking vaguely concerned and incredibly sweaty. Brown hair clung to his forehead, the usual swoop of his hair sloppy and unkept. His skin had a glossy sheen to it and his cheeks were tinged with pink, flushed as if he had just come back from a particularly satisfying round of— never mind.

He was wearing a black compression shirt that clung to his frame in all the right places and Lando had to look away before his thoughts got too out of hand.

Unfortunately, that meant looking right at Carlos.

Who was glaring daggers at Oscar. 

Poor innocent Oscar. 

He was suddenly hyper aware of how incriminating this scene must have been. Carlos was entirely too close and Lando had been forced to press himself against the wall so aggressively it looked as if he was trying to become one with it. The water station was secluded from the main floor of the gym, tucked away in a dark corner that was out of sight from prying eyes. 

Lando wanted to throw up. 

This is exactly why he doesn’t go to the gym. 

“Oscar! Hi!” he croaked, using the new distraction to shove Carlos away, successfully prying himself off the wall. “Wow! This has been so awesome, I so have to go though.” and he scampered past the two of them, out of the refilling station and into the safety of the locker rooms. 

Chapter Text

“Who is Carlos Sainz?” 

Oscar might be a man obsessed but that was neither here nor there. 

Alex looked over at him, frowning as he wrestled his hair back under his swim cap. Oscar cleared his throat, looking away.

If he was trying to be subtle then that was definitely not subtle. He wasn’t even sure why he had felt the need to ask. 

His last interaction with Lando had been lingering at the back of his mind for the past hour or so, tugging at the loose ends of all possible explanations he could think of. His brain was starting to itch. If that was even possible. He didn’t think it was.

Anyway. 

Sure, when Oscar had first taken in the scene he had thought he had walked in on something he definitely should not be seeing.

Neither had noticed him so he had been preparing to force down the strange feeling bubbling in his chest and walk away, pretending like he hadn’t seen anything at all. But something had kept him rooted to the spot. Had compelled him to call out Lando’s name. 

He had looked uncomfortable. He had been practically hugging his water bottle, eyes shifty and unsettled, neck craned as far back as the wall behind him would allow. He had spoken hurriedly and nervously, unoccupied hand waving about with reckless abandon and words laced with a slight undertone of panic.

When Oscar heard the beginnings of an excuse, he realized Lando might need an out and his mouth had moved before his mind could catch up. 

Carlos had glared at him. Like actually glared, lips curling in annoyance and everything.

If Oscar hadn’t been actually worried he would have found it within himself to be affronted because seriously, what was the hate for. But the second Lando saw his out, he took it, glancing quickly at Carlos before elbowing his way past the guy. Oscar could only watch as he disappeared into the locker room.

He had stayed there for a moment, a bit stunned and very confused by the whole interaction. He had quickly realized earlier this morning that Lando might be avoiding him. It hadn’t been that difficult of a conclusion to come to after he had practically run away from dinner the night before. Oscar had not seen him since.

He had lingered around the cafeteria a bit longer than he usually would have at breakfast this morning, just to see if maybe he would come down eventually. He didn’t and Logan was beginning to give him questioning looks so he was forced to move on and go about his day. 

He was slightly confused, to say the least and perhaps a bit tired after staying up for nearly an entire night to ponder. He wasn’t sure if Alex had been serious or not. The guy wasn’t exactly known for being the most sincere when it came to the more trivial things. The idea that he might have been joking was, for some reason, eating at Oscar from the inside out. 

Alex was looking at him still, though now he looked as if he was about to burst out laughing. 

“What?” Oscar asked, looking away and trying to hide the fact that his face was going slightly red at the prospect of being caught.

Being caught doing what exactly he wasn’t sure. 

“Nothing,” Alex shook his head, turning to look out over the pool.

They were sitting on one of the benches and Oscar tried not to think too hard about the fact that this was the very bench Lando had been sitting on the first time they had spoken. Apparently, the cleaners had lamented for hours about having to clean the crumbs of chocolate muffin from the floor and they were now strictly enforcing the “No Food in the Pool Room” rule. 

“He is a golfer. For Spain.” Was all Alex offered. Oscar rolled his eyes. He was being a shit. Oscar already knew that. 

”Okay,” was all Oscar said, not wanting to indulge the guys sick and twisted mind games. He was trying his very hardest to be nonchalant, he wasn’t going to let Alex ruin that. 

Alex was quiet for a moment. Oscar saw he was turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Why do you ask?” he asks eventually, looking away from Oscar again.

He didn’t respond right away because why had he asked? It wasn’t as though he could easily admit to Alex that he asked because he might be mid sexuality crisis and that said crisis was over one of his good friends. Not that he wasn’t previously aware of his attraction to men, just, Oscar was rarely ever in crisis, he wasn’t sure how to navigate these uncharted waters. 

“A friend of his?” Carlos had practically sneered at him. 

Oscar, now slightly scared, had squared his shoulders and offered Carlos the smallest, fakest of smiles.

“Something like that,” he had said and he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to say that rather than just a simple “Yes” or “Just acquaintances” or anything at all that wasn’t quite so implicative.

But he was never sure of what was possessing him when it came to Lando. 

Carlos had glared at him for another moment before straightening up his expression settling on something that was decidedly neutral and only slightly arrogant.

“Be careful, Cabròn. He is a spitfire, that one,” Oscar had fought the urge to cringe or roll his eyes. Why was this guy dragging him into some sort of testosterone-off as if Oscar was some sort of competition. And he was certainly not his ‘cabròn’. “And he does not like little boys. Do not waste your time.” 

Well that. That had just been the cherry on top. 

Oscar had rolled eyes, he could not help himself. He seriously had been failing to understand exactly what this guy's problem had been but he had been beginning to get pissed off. Not that he had been about to let this guy see that he had been getting under his skin.

Instead, Oscar had simply nodded, a singular upward motion before saying “Cheers, mate.” and taking his leave. 

“The guy is intense,” was all Oscar said to Alex. 

Something about that must have been funny because Alex doubled over with laughter. It was so loud that it had Oscar considering a career in comedy. Apparently that had been funny, or something. Can you really be a comedian if you don’t understand your own jokes? 

Alex finally calmed down, huffing out his last bits of laughter before turning to look at Oscar fully now. Oscar turned to meet his gaze.

“You’ve had a run in?” he asked, grinning so widely that Oscar was sure his face may splinter. 

Oscar had only seen Smile once but he was pretty sure that if this were a scene from it Alex would have been about to fling himself into the pool and never come back up and Oscar would be cursed into doing the same. 

He shivered. 

Alex was scary. 

“I guess I did,” Oscar confirmed. He still didn’t quite get the joke but he knew it had something to do with Lando. He wants to find out everything there is to know about Lando. 

He is gay. 

Screw him. 

Literally. 

He hadn’t known who the guy had been when he had run into him and Lando at the gym. It had taken a long text conversation with Logan and some serious internet stalking to place a name to the face. 

He had found out that Carlos was a two time Olympian, here to represent Spain in golf. Like, seriously, Oscar had never met a person who watched the Olympics to tune into golf. How was this guy even popular?

He had a ridiculous amount of followers on his socials for someone that made a hobby of posting videos of his practice swings or vlogging his weekly trips to Top Golf. The guy seemed seriously dull. And perhaps the most horrific part was that people actually found him attractive.

Like hot.

Like he was some kind of golf club collecting, polo shirt wearing sex symbol. 

“Lando calls him his stalker now. Basically, they got together sometime during Tokyo. Dunno how that turned out. But Lando does not like him.” Alex explained, chuckling through the entire explanation like the idea that Lando had an actual stalker was the greatest joke he had ever heard. 

”I gathered,” Oscar hummed gravely. 

“Carlos likes Lando,” Alex added. It was almost a warning. He was giving Oscar a knowing look, eyes slightly squinted but brows slightly raised. 

Oscar looked away.

“I gathered.”

Chapter Text

Justin Timberlake really did his big one with Mirrors. The guy seriously knows how to write a crash out song. Why would Lando get a hobby when he can spend the rest of his life in his Olympic anti-sex cardboard bed listening to a Mirrors ten-hour loop he found on YouTube. 

He had eight hours left. 

This is how George found him. Splayed out on his bed like a starfish, face down in his pillow praying that if he stayed there long enough he may suffocate and pass away. 

“The bloody hell is wrong with you,” this is what Lando thought he said. He couldn’t quite make out his words exactly. Justin Timberlake's soothing voice was effectively drowning out any outside noise. 

Thank you, Justin. 

“Oi!” and then the bloke threw a pillow at his head. 

“Aye!” Lando groaned, shoving the pillow to the floor and pulling out an AirPod. “What is it then? I have eight hours left in my loop.” 

“Loop?” George was looking at him like he was crazy. 

Lando deeply resented that.

Perhaps he was a bit unconventional but it was nothing that warranted such judgement. Whatever happened to “we listen and we don’t judge”? George had no principals whatsoever. Seriously rude. 

“Yes, George.” he forced his friend's name through his teeth with a sneer that held no real bite. He rolled his eyes. “My ten hour loop of Mirrors by Justin Timberlake. My ten hour loop of absolute crash out. Leave me alone.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be training?” He was standing in the room, arms crossed, hip popped and brow raised. Like he was Lando’s mother or something. 

After the incident at the gym, he had told Jon that he wasn’t feeling the best. His trainer had huffed but ultimately agreed to move their session to later in the evening and allow Lando some time to rest. But yes, technically he was supposed to be at Bercy Arena right about now. 

“No,” he grumbled miserably. 

He turned back away and shoved his face back into the pillow. 

“Jesus stop trying to smother yourself will you,” George huffed, exasperated as he stormed over to Lando’s bed and rudely ripped the pillow out from underneath him.

His nose collided with the mattress, smushing uncomfortably against the semi hard surface. 

“Ow,” he complained. It wasn’t quite enough to get him to move. 

“It’s time for dinner.” George scolded. And gosh when was he going to give the whole mother thing a rest. Lando seriously did not need two. 

“Are there muffins in my drawer?” he grumbled, though it came out garbled and muffled from where his cheek and nose were squished against the bed. 

“Seriously- Lando get up. You’re eating a proper meal. I will haul you down to the cafeteria myself.” 

Ha. Lando would like to see him try. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Alex greeted. He was snickering around a mouthful of salad and really dry looking chicken. 

Lando slumped onto the bench opposite him and glared. 

Turns out George hadn’t been lying. He had actually dragged Lando from his bed. Like by the ankles and everything.

Lando was fairly certain he may have a concussion from where his head hit the floor and Jon would not be happy about that. Which was fine, he could blame George and let him feel his trainer's wrath. He certainly had a goose egg from where his head had bounced to the floor like a basketball. 

“This is all your fault, don’t laugh at me,” Lando retorted and Alex only shrugged. 

His lack of sympathy was seriously appalling. 

Lando would need to get a rock solid alibi just in case Alex were to mysteriously be murdered. He angrily took a bite of his own chicken, chewing as he glared daggers at his friend. 

“He asked about Carlos today,” Alex announced slightly offhandedly, like he hadn’t just rocked Lando’s world on its axis. He began to choke. Very politely though. Very demurely and super, super mindfully clutching his throat as he hacked up bits of chicken. 

“Jesus,” George was patting his back and that was perhaps the most sympathetic any of his friends had ever been since arriving in the Olympic village. The action was so unreal that Lando would need to get on the phone with the Pope after this. He may have just found proof of God’s existence in this world. 

And then Alex snorted from across the table and everything felt right again. 

Once his coughing fit was over and he had chugged half his glass of water, Lando turned to look back at Alex allowing disbelief to color his expression. 

“What do you mean he asked about Carlos,” he was squinting, confused but also trying his hardest to intimidate Alex into taking Lando’s poor little life seriously for once. 

“You know, he just asked like, who he was,” Alex shrugged, shoving another bite of salad into his mouth. Lando tried not to focus too hard on the bit of dressing that had smudged on his cheek.

George reached across the table and swiped it away with the pad of his thumb.

Nasty.

Gross.

Awful.

Someone call the cops. 

“Why was he curious?” George asked. Lando decided to ignore the way he had sucked the dressing off his thumb rather than wiping it off on his napkin.

He despises being acquainted with couples but unfortunately, he had no other friends in the Olympic village. He was way too intimidated by Tom Daley to call him a friend as much as he would like to claim that title. 

Lando “Tom Daley’s best friend” Norris. 

What an honour that would be. Lando was already preparing his acceptance speech for the title. It would probably feel like how it feels to be knighted. Lando wonders what it feels like to be knighted. They should probably knight Tom. 

“Mentioned something about a run in with him earlier,” Lando gulped. Well. Yes. That had indeed happened. “Said he was quote-unquote"intense "." 

“A run in?” George muttered curiously before turning his gaze to Lando. Lando hummed, grabbing his glass and chugging more water, avoiding eye contact with either. “Could it possibly have happened at the gym?” 

Of course George would pick up on that. He loved acting like Lando’s mother, after all. He probably has some sort of motherly instinct for these things. Like spidey-senses but for mothers. Mothey-senses? No. Motherly-senses? 

Whatever. Lando didn’t know. 

But whatever it was called, George definitely had them. 

“I dunno,” Lando shrugged. 

“Said he gathered that you didn’t like Sainz much, for what it’s worth,” Alex offered and, for once, Lando did find a bit of comfort in that. He didn’t need people going around thinking he enjoyed his run-ins with Carlos. 

“So?” George was poking around where he wasn’t wanted. 

“You know,” Lando paused, pretending to think really hard about it. “Now that I give it some thought, I may have run into those two blokes after my workout.” 

“Did you talk to him?” 

“Him?”

“Oscar?” 

“Uh, yeah, you know. I believe I did,” Lando cleared his throat. “I believe it went something like, ‘Oi, Lando?’ That’s Oscar, by the way. And then I believe I said hi and that it was so nice to see him but I had to be on my way. And then I do maybe recall running into the locker room.” 

“YOU RAN AWAY FROM HIM??” and Alex was cackling again, arms flying to clutch his stomach as he practically rolled around the bench. George groaned, his face coming to rest in his palms in utter disappointment. 

This is why Lando doesn’t tell them these things. 

Seriously.