Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Can we try to have an optimistic outlook, huh?
Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart?

Lando Norris is nearing the end of his second year in Formula One when he hears the name Oscar Piastri. It’s a passing comment from one of his engineers, about this kid who stormed the F3 season. How he will be one to watch in the future. He shrugs it off, forgetting the brief interaction as soon as the engineer walks away.

Lando considers it no further, until nearly a year later

‘He drives for Prema in F2, Arthur respects him a lot,’ Charles answers, when Lando asks why the name rings a bell. ‘It’s a shame that there is no seat for him in Formula One this year, it looks as though he will win the F2 championship.’

Again, Lando considers the faceless boy for barely more than a couple of minutes before the name falls back into obscurity.

Another year passes before Lando finally has a face to attach to the name. Pale, with waves of messy hair and dark, serious eyes. Logically, Lando knows that Oscar is young, probably the youngest person currently roaming the paddock. Yet every time he sees the Australian, he carries himself with such self-assurance, such poise, he looks as though he belongs on the grid. Unlike Lando, who is fuelled by nervous energy and a perpetual belief that he doesn't quite fit in. He finds himself struck by a wave of pure envy, despite the fact he has never exchanged a word with the boy. 

Lando hears almost nothing about the reserve driver until the summer break. From one day to the next, the Australian rockets from obscurity to infamy. With a single tweet, Oscar Piastri becomes the name on everyone’s lips. He is the talk of the paddock, everywhere he turns Lando hears the name on the wind.

He should have guessed. The signs were there, glaringly obvious once Daniel gives him the context, on a flight from Monaco to Belgium for the next race.

Lando has his head buried in his phone, texting his sister intently when Daniel brings it up.

‘So, erm, we haven’t really had a chance to speak.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lando laughs. ‘We literally spend half the year together. I think we’ll have time to talk.’

Daniel remains silent for several minutes, before he says the two words which send his life into a tailspin. ‘I’m leaving.’

Lando hums, not processing the meaning for a second before it finally sinks in. ‘Holy shit,’ he drops his phone, uncaring of where it lands. ‘What do you mean, you’re leaving?’

Daniel’s smile is small, resigned. ‘You knew it was coming, Lando. We all did. This car… this team… I don’t know why it didn’t work, and I don’t think I ever will. But I knew it was coming.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s right,’ Lando protests, feeling hot tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes. ‘I don’t know why they’re giving up. You’ve won a race, and, I mean, it’s not like you’re crashing every weekend.’

‘I need to go, Lando,’ Daniel says softly. ‘The decision was McLaren’s to make, but right now I don’t want to be here. I’m not happy anymore. Racing doesn’t bring me joy. I can’t continue to put my life on the line every weekend for something that doesn’t fulfil me.’

A single tear slips down Lando’s cheek, and he scrubs it away furiously. ‘I’m not saying this is the end of my F1 career,’ Daniel says gently. ‘But it needs to be the end of my McLaren career.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Lando whispers softly. He knows there is nothing to be done, nor anything he could have done to prevent this from happening, but the dawning realisation that he is losing his teammate hurts none-the-less.

‘Here’s hoping you get on with your next Australian as well as you did this one,’ Daniel quips, winking as Lando furrows his eyebrows in confusion. ‘Ah,’ Daniel winces. ‘You hadn’t figured that one out yet.’

Understanding dawns on him. ‘Oscar Piastri is my new teammate.’

‘Zak is going to be so mad at me for spilling the beans before he has been able to,’ Danny grimaces.

‘He’ll live,’ Lando grumbles. ‘God, I can’t believe I’m getting a rookie teammate,’ he wrinkles his nose.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Danny chuckles. ‘Who knows, come this time next year you might be glad this happened. Oscar Piastri might change your life.’

‘Fat chance,’ Lando groans. ‘From everything I’ve seen he’s an uptight, boring prick. Plus, you’re Daniel Ricciardo. How can he ever hope to replace you?’

Danny just laughs, rubbing a hand across Lando's messy curls as though he’s petting a dog, the Brit grumbling despite making no attempt to move away from the contact. ‘I’ll miss you too Lando.’

They settle back into their seats, Daniel slipping his headphones over his ears as Lando takes a moment to consider the bomb that just imploded on his life.

He joined Formula One a needy, impressionable kid, full of hope and hero worship for drivers who went from role models to peers overnight. Carlos was the perfect teammate for that, pulling Lando under his wing and becoming the big brother he never knew he needed. The Spaniard became one of his best friends, holding a place in his heart that Lando never knew could be filled by someone he was competing against.

And then he left, spurning future years at McLaren as Lando’s teammate for Ferrari. He understood. He did. But it hurt like hell. Seeing Carlos connecting with Charles, watching the Monegasque take his place… Every part of it felt like a slap in the face. That Carlos' new teammate came at the detriment of their bond. 

Until he gained Daniel Ricciardo as his teammate. Even Drive to Survive couldn’t make it look as though they had a rivalry. Danny Ric is the closest thing to sunshine Lando thinks it is possible to be. They laughed together, teased one another, learnt together. Danny didn’t treat Lando with the kid gloves Carlos had, not seeing him as the nervous kid he had been when he first entered the sport. He treated Lando like an adult, allowing him to grow the confidence he needed to survive in this sport.

For the second time, Lando is losing his teammate. Logically, he knows that both Daniel and Carlos had chosen to leave the team, not him. But he can’t help the insecurity that swells within his heart. The feeling that this is a recurring pattern which will only continue.

He doesn’t know if he can do this again. Build a bond with a teammate that will only be broken in two years, when they move on taking part of his heart with them.

Besides, he thinks restlessly, who does Oscar Piastri think he is, replacing Daniel Ricciardo?

Maybe this year, we decide
We're not giving up before we've tried
This year, we make a new start

Belgium, August 2022

Lando is called into Zak’s office an hour before the press conference begins.

‘Hey mate,’ Zak greets from behind his desk, uncharacteristically quiet as he settles in the chair opposite.

‘Were you going to wait until I was asked about Oscar Piastri by reporters? Or were you just hoping I’d never find out?’ Lando cuts to the chase, allowing frustration to bleed into his tone.

‘Daniel told you,’ Zak sighs wearily, scrubbing his hands over his face. He looks exhausted, drawn and pale, but Lando refuses to allow sympathy to soften his anger.

‘Thank God he did. It didn’t seem you were ever going to.’ He retorts.

‘I’m sorry, kid,’ Zak apologises. ‘It all happened so fast. Oscar signed the contract, and two days later Alpine announced him as their driver for 2023.’

‘You mean he didn’t tell them?’ Lando demands, unimpressed.

‘Oh, he told them,’ Zak chuckles drily, unimpressed. ‘Verbally, over email, in writing. Believe me, they were informed, I’ve seen the correspondence for myself.’

‘And they just announced him anyway?’ Curiosity temporarily overtakes anger.

‘They did,’ Zak affirms.

‘Hence Oscar's Tweet,’ Lando surmises. ‘What do we do now?’

Zak sighs wearily. ‘That’s what we need to talk about. Alpine aren’t exactly jumping for joy at the news.’

‘Of course they’re not,’ Lando rolls his eyes. ‘They’ve just lost a junior champion because of their own ignorance. They’ve been made to look the fool.’

‘And they’re suing both McLaren and Oscar in recompense.’

This takes the wind out of Lando’s verbal sails because, what the hell? ‘You’re kidding right? They were stupid enough not to lock him down with a contract, what else is there to it?’

‘They’re saying that he had a contract in place with them. That by signing with McLaren, he has breached the existing contract.’

‘Are they right?’ He asks, eyebrows raised.

‘Not from where I’m standing,’ Zak answers. ‘Our legal team have looked over all the paperwork, and his contract was for a year as reserve driver, with an option to place him in Alpine or Williams in 2023 if either seat became available.’

‘But no concrete spot, which is why he signed with us.’

‘Precisely. The case is going to the CRB and they will make their decision in due course. Until then, we need to control the media narrative. Daniel will be releasing a statement tomorrow, before practice one, announcing that he is leaving McLaren. Later, Oscar will be announced as the second driver for 2023.’

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with me,’ Lando frowns. ‘Even if the media have gotten wind about this somehow, I have nothing to do with the contracts. I can just plead innocence.’

‘It’s more complex than just the contracts,’ Zak admits. ‘They’re going after his character. Saying he should have acted with integrity, that he’s betrayed them.’

‘For securing a seat when they weren’t guaranteed to offer him one?’ Lando laughs. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘I agree. But he’s taking some pretty heavy fire from it, from the French media particularly. No one is looking favourably on a young driver acting so ruthlessly.’

‘Intelligently you mean,’ Lando huffs. ‘Okay, I get it.’

He stands, assuming the meeting is over. ‘One more thing, Lando,’ Zak hesitates as he retakes his seat.

‘I’m sorry. I know you’re close with Daniel. But this season has been difficult for all of us. If I thought there was any chance of this working, I would be willing to try, but even Daniel can see there is just something fundamentally wrong here.’ Lando cannot even deny the words, because in his heart he knows they are true. Daniel never should have left Red Bull, and everyone believes it. ‘I hope you trust that if there was anything we could do for Daniel, we would be doing it,’ Zak looks into his eyes imploringly. ‘The best thing, for him, and for McLaren, is to move on.’

Lando takes a deep breath, fixing his gaze on Zak. At the sincerity in his brown eyes and the actions he has seen from every member of this team over the last two seasons. ‘If I didn’t believe you, I wouldn’t have re-signed.’

Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook
Another stumble as I'm reaching for the right thing to say

Zandvoort, September 2022

The first time Lando Norris meets Oscar Piastri is at Zandvoort.

Belgium was a disaster from start to finish, neither of them scoring points and then the announcement of their driver changes sending shockwaves through the paddock. He had spent the entire weekend being hounded by journalists, shoving microphones in his face and demanding to know how he feels about losing Daniel, and the addition of his new teammate.

‘I’ve never even met him!’ He wants to scream into every camera. ‘I’ve never even met him, but he is stealing Daniel away from me!’

But he does none of those things, giving mundane answers about Oscar’s rapid rise through the junior ranks, and sincere ones regarding his misery at the thought of Daniel leaving.

He tries to convince himself that Zandvoort will be better.

So far, the weekend is living up to those expectations. He made it through to Q3, qualifying seventh on the grid, which is a vast improvement from the prior race. Lando is almost to debrief when he stops.

His future teammate is sheltered in a nook between the McLaren and Alpine motorhomes, the two buildings awkwardly situated considering the current circumstances. The young man is huddled in a crevice so small, Lando barely spots him as he crosses through the shortcut at the back of the paddock. He is eye wateringly late, but the sight of the Australian with his elbows on his knees stops him in his tracks. Lando glances briefly at his watch, weighing up how angry Zak will be.

Fuck it, another five minutes won’t make it any worse.

‘Hey,’ he calls, Oscar’s head snapping up immediately, making Lando’s own neck twinge with pain at the speed.

‘Oh, um, hey,’ he offers quietly. Lando perches opposite him, their knees almost brushing with how tight the gap is.

‘Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about this whole Alpine thing. It isn’t fair.’

Oscar surveys him for a moment, a blank expression on his pale face before he lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, dropping his head back against the corrugated metal of the motorhome. ‘It’s fine. I did what I had to do; they did what they had to do.’

Lando frowns, because for all he’s heard, Alpine have handled the situation appallingly. ‘It sounds like they’ve been publicly slagging you off, mate.'

Oscar considers his words for a few seconds before answering. ‘I got a seat, which is what I wanted.’

Lando frowns at the easy dismissal of what has been a witch hunt of his character, but decides he does not know the man well enough to further pursue the point. He doesn’t want to scare Oscar off before he’s had the chance to properly acquaint himself and his unpleasant habits with his teammate-to-be.

‘Well then, it sucks that your first F1 seat has been marred by this shitshow. It should be exciting, not whatever mess this spiralled into. So, congrats, I guess,’ he finishes, awkwardly scratching at his curls.

Oscar lifts his head from the wall, finally looking him in the eye. Lando has stared at many pairs of brown eyes in his life, including his own in the mirror, but never until this moment has he understood how people can wax lyrical about their beauty. Oscar’s eyes aren’t mud brown, they’re dark chocolate at the very centre, with a sheen of honey at the edges. They are deep and so warm Lando feels he could wrap himself up in them. Oscar’s eyes, Lando realises, are the only expressive part of an otherwise perfectly controlled expression. He sees grief at the team he has lost and a twinkle of excitement at the team he stands to gain.

‘You know, you’re the first person to congratulate me.’ Lando watches his expression remain entirely inscrutable, but his eyes lighten, making the chocolate melt and the honey spread further.

‘Hey, no worries, man,’ he says, scrambling to his feet before he can embarrass himself further than he imagines he already has. ‘I’m late for a meeting, but I’ll see you around, yeah?’ He doesn’t wait for a response, backing out of the niche and booking it into McLaren.

If he mentions to a few of the drivers that they should congratulate Oscar on his seat, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

It is only months later that he finally realises why Oscar was sitting outside the garage that day. Drive to Survive premieres three months into their tenure as teammates, and for the first time in his career, Lando actually makes an effort to watch the show. One particular episode, anyway.

He watches Daniel qualify P17 in Zandvoort, and the cameras cut to the Alpine garage. ‘Good luck to Oscar,’ Otmar sniggers cruelly, the pit wall and garage bursting into uproarious laughter. Oscar is sitting only three seats from the team principle. They know he hears every cutting remark, every laugh at his expense, every glare in his direction. His face remains stalwart, but he disappears from the shot as soon as he can. Lando knows precisely where he reached.

I'm kinda coming up empty
Can't find my way to you

England, January 2023

Following their interaction in the Netherlands, Oscar Piastri slowly falls into anonymity again. Lando has the best of intentions, meaning to speak to the younger man several times. But Oscar has pulled some kind of disappearing act. Lando sees him maybe twice before the end of the season, and each time, Oscar looks so downtrodden, he renews his resolve to speak to the younger man.

Except then Lando is bidding goodbye to Daniel, the factory is shutting its doors, and somehow, without him really noticing, he has missed his chance.

Christmas passes in the flash of an eye, feeling like mere days until he is sitting in Zak’s office, the man standing to pull the door shut as he wraps Lando in a warm hug. ‘How was your Christmas?’

‘Short,’ Lando quips, grinning.

‘Isn’t it always,’ Zak smiles kindly. He doesn’t bother with anymore small talk; they will have ample time together over the season to have those kinds of conversations. ‘I need you to look out for Oscar.’

Lando’s instinct is to deny him the request. To remind Zak that Oscar isn’t even two years younger than he is. That he is a grown man who has spent the last twelve months in the paddock, and he can look after himself. But a flash of a memory ignites. Finding Oscar outside the Alpine hospitality. The stoic expression masking bewildered desolation. And suddenly, the request does not seem so ridiculous.

Lando’s own rookie season had been high-pressure, tumultuous, and frankly exhausting. Oscar is going to be feeling all of these emotions, on top of the pressure which comes from being one of the best pedigree of rookies ever seen. That’s without even considering the Alpine catastrophe.

‘Okay,’ Lando agrees softly, Zak’s expression imploring. ‘Okay. I’ll make sure he’s coping.’

‘Good lad,’ Zak grins widely.

‘Woah,’ Lando intercedes. ‘I’m now the senior driver here now thank you very much. I’ll hear no more of this lad or kid bullshit.’

‘Lord help us all,’ Zak chuckles, having the audacity to lean over and ruffle Lando’s curls before he gets to his feet. ‘Now, that teammate of yours gets here in ten minutes. I think your job as mentor starts now.’

Lando rolls his eyes but protests no more. ‘Where shall I meet him?’

‘First stop for him is here,’ Zak answers with a smile. ‘So maybe hang around.’

Lando pulls his phone out to distract himself for ten minutes. He should open his emails, they have piled up over Christmas, reaching an almost unbearable level of disorder. Instead, he trawls through some of his burner social media accounts, using the time he has to find out whatever information he can regarding his rookie teammate.

It’s research, he tells himself as he watches some of the old Prema marketing videos. It’s still research when he clicks on a compilation of Oscar Piastri best moments. The statement has turned into more of a question when he clicks on Oscar Piastri thirst clips.

‘Having fun there?’ Lando realises far too late that Zak is peering his phone screen. He feels his cheeks growing a deep shade of scarlet when there is a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Zak calls after a second, giving Lando a wink as he does so. Dying is an option, right? His boss just caught him looking at thirst traps of his teammate, there is no coming back from a level of shame such as this. He is still making plans to hang himself from the ceiling, when Oscar makes his way inside, decked head to toe in the same McLaren merchandise Lando himself is wearing. The natural waves in his hair as unruly as ever, large brown eyes red ringed with exhaustion.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologises breathlessly, the Australian accent less jarring that it would have been before two seasons with Daniel.

‘Kid, you’re early,’ Zak grins jovially. ‘Besides, no way can you be a worse timekeeper than your teammate over here.’

‘I’m not that bad!’ Lando directs the exclamation toward Zak as he shakes Oscar’s hand. The younger man takes the seat beside Lando, opposite Zak at the desk.

‘Oh, you are,’ the American chuckles. ‘But it’s fine. We don’t hold much to formality here, Oscar. We might come across as a little bit of a rag tag operation at first, but there is method behind the madness, I promise. We just prefer to have a little fun while we work.’

Lando watches Oscar for a smile, a witty comment, some indication of bemusement at the explanation Zak has just given. Nothing cracks Oscar’s solemn demeanour; he just smiles and offers a small nod. Zak doesn’t let it dissuade him, ploughing on, unconcerned with the lack of reaction he receives.

‘We don’t want to compile pressure with any kind of goal or number in your first year for what you need to achieve, so we want you to make some targets for the year. Share them with your performance coach; if you’re satisfied that you’re making improvements, I’m sure we will be too.’

‘I’ll make sure to share the targets with you sir, and progress made toward them.’

Zak frowns slightly, the first sign of him noticing that something isn’t quite right. ‘No, kid, I’m sorry I must not have made that clear. You are required to share them with your performance coach to ensure that you are both working toward the same goal, but there is no need to tell us or update us on anything. If you are satisfied with your rookie season, I know we will be too,’ Zak’s smile is reassuring, trying to promise the Aussie that he will do nothing wrong. Oscar doesn’t let on anything, just nods slightly, and begins taking notes on a pad which materialises from nowhere.

‘Ahh, a note taker, you’re already my favourite child,’ Zak winks as Lando rolls his eyes. If Oscar is surprised by the turn of phrase, as with everything else, he doesn’t let it show. ‘One more thing, at McLaren we have a tradition that we like to do something weird and wonderful for a driver’s first podium. I have absolutely no doubt that there will be many to come this season, so let me know as soon as you think of something,’ Zak smiles, tugging up the sleeve of his papaya polo. ‘Though, for the sake of my marriage, I do ask that a tattoo isn’t it.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Oscar’s face is impenetrable as ever. ‘When do I need to have this to you?’

‘Preferably before the start of the season, so we can have anything prepared which we may need. One last thing, kid, don’t call me sir,’ Zak’s smile is wide and generous. ‘Like I said, we are something of an informal outfit here. Only ever Zak.’

Oscar nods wordlessly.

‘I look forward to racing on the sim with you,’ Lando offers an olive branch. ‘Your speed is impressive. I’m interested to see what data we can get together.’

‘I look forward to learning from you,’ Oscar agrees, that same polite but impassive expression on his face. Lando exchanges a glance with Zak, who appears equally concerned.

‘Okay, well, thank you for coming in Oscar. I have no doubt I’ll be seeing more of you. Let me look up your schedule for the week to see where you’re heading next,’ Zak turns to his computer, shaking the mouse to wake it.

‘I’m heading to try on my race suit and film a few promo videos,’ Oscar offers softly before Zak can go any further.

‘Officially my favourite driver,’ Zak tries for the joke again. The smile he receives from Oscar is tight and drawn, but it is progress from the politely neutral countenance.

‘Come on,’ Lando stands and stretches. ‘I’ll show you there.’

Oscar follows his lead, leaning over the desk to shake the hand Zak offers him. ‘We’re really pleased to have you here, kid.’ For the first time since the start of the meeting, Lando sees a crack in the otherwise impenetrable exterior. Oscar’s eyes glisten with an emotion he cannot quite place, but if pressed, he would guess resembles longing.

‘I assume you’re going down to media for the interviews and stuff?’ Lando asks as soon as they exit the room.

‘Yeah, but don’t worry, I know where it is,’ Oscar assures him.

‘Oh, it’s fine, I really don’t mind walking you there.’ It will make him late for his first meeting, but as Zak so helpfully pointed out, that will hardly be out of the ordinary.

‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ Oscar smiles gently, already making his way down the corridor.

‘See you for lunch then?’ Lando calls after his retreating form, realising he has just experienced an exceptionally polite and baffling rebuff. He shakes his head, pivoting on his heel toward the first of many meetings.

He manages to distract himself from thinking about his illusive teammate for most of the morning, but as soon as he heads to lunch with Andrea and Jon, the Aussie is back to haunting the recesses of his mind. He watches jealously as Andrea takes a plate of the non-driver approved meal, looking down at his own regulation chicken and vegetables.

‘I miss Christmas,’ he grumbles to Jon as they sit down together.

‘Me too,’ an unfamiliar Australian accent says from above them. Lando looks up, eyes landing on a familiar face, but one that he cannot place.

‘Kim, hey,’ Jon gestures for him to sit. ‘Where’s Oscar?’

Lando realises this must be Oscar’s trainer when he takes a seat at their table. Andrea has abandoned them, leaving Lando at the mercy of the two fitness freaks.

‘He was still doing some media thing. Told me to come and grab lunch with you guys,’ Kim shrugs with a small smile. ‘Something about me needing more friends.’

Lando allows the two trainers to begin an in-depth conversation about their various fitness routines, unlocking his phone and, after taking a fervent glance around him, goes back to his prior fact-finding mission. He trawls through old F2 videos, with his headphones in this time. He takes it in roughly chronological order, watching the oldest videos, where Oscar is quiet and reluctant to offer information about himself. To the newer Prema videos, where he laughs and jokes with his teammates, looking completely at ease. His dry sense of humour is on show at every opportunity, because he feels comfortable enough to showcase it. Unlike the concerning showing of stoicism he had displayed in front of Zak earlier. Oscar seemed to scared to smile, let alone make a joke.

He is watching an old video of Oscar and Logan, F1’s newest troublesome pair, when he sees the photograph. It’s fairly innocuous, the two boys with their arms around one another in their race suits, looking no older than fourteen. But it gives him pause, because he realises for the first time that he has, in fact, met Oscar before. Many times, in fact.

It was the end of the 2014 season with Ricky Flynn. His final season in karts before moving to single seaters. They had just won the cup, mid-celebration when Ricky himself entered their sacred space.

‘Alright boys,’ he called as he enters. ‘Enjoying yourselves over there?’ Lando doesn’t remember what they were doing, only that they were horsing around with the trophy.

‘Course we are,’ Max F winked mischievously, in that way only he could get away with.

‘Hm,’ Ricky’s response was stern, but the grin on his face anything but. ‘Enjoy it lads. We’ll be back to competing for another before you know it.’

They immediately began booing, focused on celebrating the win they just achieved. It’s not like they’re getting drunk, limited to Capri Sun as their drink of choice.

‘Speaking of the next win,’ Ricky continued. ‘I want you all to meet your new teammate. He’ll be joining you from next season, as Lando is moving up the ranks.’ The booing erupted again as he blushed, embarrassed. He was so distracted by his friends that, for a second, he didn’t notice the small boy who appears from behind Ricky.

‘This is Oscar,’ he gestured. ‘He’s just moved here from Australia.’

‘Hey,’ the boy offered, awkward but not nervous.

Lando doesn’t remember what happened next, the memory worn away by the years that have passed. But he remembers that stupid wave of hair falling across his forehead. The Australian accent, so much more pronounced than it is now.

He saw Oscar several times over the years, always from afar, always while he was visiting Max F. They never raced together, Oscar always a category or two behind him, following him through the ranks. And now here they are. About to race together, with a history longer that Lando had imagined.

He is broken from his reverie by Kim exclaiming in his ear. Lando looks up for the first time, tracking Oscar’s entry into the canteen. He watches as the Australian takes the long route around the room, greeting those sat down at the tables and shaking hands with others in the queue for lunch.

‘He’s making friends quickly,’ Jon comments, watching the rookie do his rounds of the room.

Kim’s smile is full of pride as he takes in his young charge. ‘Oscar has been looking forward to joining McLaren for months now. Let’s just say he’s done his homework.’

Lando finds himself watching Oscar, engaging mechanics with his deadpan humour, charming the serving ladies with that easy smile and navigating the chaos that is McLaren with an ease which makes Lando want to roll his eyes and smile at the same time. It is a complete 360 from how he had been with Zak.

So much for looking out for his rookie teammate.

Does anybody have a map?
Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?

Bahrain, March 2023

Bahrain rolls around all too rapidly, and before Lando knows it, he and Oscar are each preparing for the first race of the year.

In previous years, Lando has long awaited the first race of the season. All the drivers agree that testing is necessary, but fundamentally dull, so usually he is chomping at the bit to be allowed to race. Except it has long since been proved that the MCL60 is nowhere near competitive.

Testing was, in short, painful, as their hopes of a positive season were repeatedly dashed.

‘Upgrades will come,’ Zak promises Lando and Oscar every time. ‘By mid-season, the car will be performing.’ Personally, Lando thinks it’s bullshit. He thinks it’s going to be a bloody long season, and Zak is just saying whatever he must to appease the drivers, the sponsors and the fans.

‘How are you feeling about the car?’ Lando asks Oscar, the two of them waving to fans idly in the driver’s parade.

‘I’m looking forward to getting to drive,’ Oscar answers, lips barely moving around his wide smile.

Lando snorts inelegantly, his own expression doing nothing to disguise the conversation they are having. ‘The non-media approved answer, please.’

Oscar freezes for a moment, and Lando cannot help the small glint of pride which rushes through him. At having caught the stalwart rookie off his guard. ‘I think there’s a lot to look forward to this season.’

‘Like getting lapped,’ Lando rolls his eyes. Why won’t Oscar speak to him like a normal fucking person?

Oscar glances at him out of the corner of his eye, choosing not to respond. Lando examines his face closely, trying to make out whatever the young Australian could be feeling. But there is nothing. The smile is still affixed to his face, but those deep brown eyes give nothing away.

‘Hey mate,’ a loud American drawl drowns out their conversation as Logan Sargent approaches them.

‘Logan,’ Lando thinks he detects a hint of relief in his teammate's tone. He takes his leave, joining Alex and George in place of Oscar.

‘How’s your rookie?’ He asks Alex, hoping to share his woes with someone understanding.

‘It’s great,’ Alex grins. ‘It’s nice not being the junior teammate for once. Logan is surprisingly lovely as well; I think we’re going to have a good season. I hope he’ll succeed.’

Lando cannot suppress the groan at Alex’s over enthusiastic words. George barks a laugh at his misery. ‘I told you he’d be terrible at this!’

‘What do you mean?’ Lando squawks. ‘I am fucking great at this.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ Alex snorts. ‘You came over here to bitch about your teammate, right?’

‘It’s not my fault,’ he whines. ‘Oscar just… God I don’t even know. I feel like he returns to his flat every night to plug himself in to charge or something. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t show emotion, doesn’t even speak half the time!’ Lando throws his hands up in exasperation.

‘Are you really complaining that your rookie isn’t bothering you enough?’ George cannot suppress the laugh that bubbles out of him.

‘No, I’m complaining that my rookie isn’t human,’ Lando shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what to do with him.’

Alex and George relish in the opportunity to laugh at Lando, while he curses through clenched teeth and waves to the crowds lining the track.

‘Are you done yet?’ He demands as they continue to laugh over his trials. They exchange amused looks before sobering up slowly.

‘Right, sorry, how can we help?’

‘I don’t know!’ Lando cries, running his hands through his curls like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lewis shoot him a concerned look from where he is speaking animatedly to Valtteri. Lando waves the elder man’s concern off, turning back to his friends. ‘I just… God what do I even do with him?’

Alex shrugs, ‘let him come to you. Trust that if he needs you, he’ll ask.’

‘But he doesn’t need me,’ Lando whines. ‘That’s the exact problem. He may as well be the senior teammate at this point.’

‘Just because you believe he doesn’t need you; it doesn’t mean that’s the case. Remember, not everyone is as vocal as you are. He might not need help, or he might need time to warm up to you before he asks. Just be patient,’ George adds.

‘Work on being his friend before you try and become his mentor,’ a voice comes from behind them. Lewis. He must have been eavesdropping on their conversation for a while. ‘If you focus on being friends first, without getting caught up in the senior and junior driver shit, then you have a good chance of working out as teammates for longer.’

‘That… makes a lot of sense,’ Lando admits.

‘Just because I’ve not always had the best relationship with my teammates, it doesn’t mean I haven’t learnt from my mistakes,’ Lewis comments, his mouth pulled into a gentle smile even though his eyes are melancholy.

‘Well, you give better advice than these two fucking muppets,’ Lando grins, trying to coax the misery from those eyes. He is rewarded with a brighter smile and a slap on the back.

‘The fact that you care… Lando, that’s the hardest step to take.’

I don't know if you can tell
But this is me just pretending to know

‘Hey,’ Lando is leaning carelessly against the doorjamb when Oscar finally responds to his knock.

‘Hey,’ Oscar’s smile is small and tired, showing how the race has eroded his enthusiasm.

‘It was a shit race man, I’m sorry,’ Lando returns the attempt at a grin with one of his own.

Oscar chuckles slightly, letting the door swing shut behind him as he steps into the hallway and slides down the wall, resting his elbows on bent knees. ‘Wasn’t the way I wanted to start my McLaren career that’s for sure.’

A DNF in his first race must be painful, but it’s not like Lando did any better, finishing dead last after being lapped by most of the grid. He drops to a seated position, stretching his legs out in front of him so they almost brush Oscar’s side. ‘My first race wasn’t great either, you know. They’re not meant to be.’

‘You got P12, while your senior teammate didn’t finish, I think you did fine,’ Oscar scrubs his hands over his face in exhaustion, and what Lando suspects is more than a little suppressed frustration.

‘Been following my career, have you?’ Lando snorts in amusement. His bemused joy just grows when he watches the colour rush to Oscar’s cheeks in obvious embarrassment.

‘I mean, I guess so,’ Oscar shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant despite the rosy tint highlighting his cheekbones. ‘You were kind of inspiring to all of us F2 boys you know.’

Lando cannot stop the wave of pride which washes over him. ‘I… thanks, I guess,’ he blushes hard and looks at the floor beneath him. ‘Look, the DNF today… it was all the car. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have resulted in a different outcome. No one will hold it against you.’

Oscar shrugs. ‘Logically I know that, but I really hoped that my first race would be different, you know?’

‘I always thought I’d win my first race,’ Lando chuckles.

Oscar gives him a judgemental side eye. ‘That really was optimistic. I was just hoping for points.’

Lando glances over, catching his eye and they each dissolve into slightly hysterical laughter. ‘Look, in all seriousness. I remember how nerve wracking it is being a rookie. But Zak is fair, he won’t judge you on results which are in no way your fault. You haven’t had a chance to prove yourself yet, but when the opportunity comes, I know that you’ll do it, okay?’

He feels vaguely embarrassed at his outpouring of inspirational speech, especially when he feels Oscar’s steady eyes fix upon him.

‘Thank you.’

So where's the map?
I need a clue

Azerbaijan, March 2023

Bahrain was… a weekend to forget all round. Oscar endured the worst considering he had to retire the car before even half race distance had elapsed. But still, finishing dead last and being lapped twice was a bitter fucking pill to swallow.

The problem is, it has been made abundantly clear by everyone that there is no improvement to look forward to. The car is just slow. Zak is talking about the upgrade packages, promising about the difference it will make, but what he gives with one hand, he takes away with the other. Because the upgrade package won’t be ready until Silverstone. At the earliest.

Despite it being the second race of a record-breaking extended season, Lando is ready to just call it a day and head home, ready for 2024.

It’s going to be a long year.

He has a long-standing arrangement with a small group of drivers to meet up after media day, before the true chaos of the weekend can kick in. It is a tradition that started with the 2019 rookies, rapidly expanding to Charles when the Twitch Gang established. Carlos and Max, a little later, when the meetups became official bonding time. Daniel used to come; his absence conspicuous in the new season.

Lando never could, or would, blame his new teammate for what happened at McLaren in the prior season. For the utter mess that Daniel’s tenure at McLaren had been. However, that doesn’t mean Lando is particularly keen on inviting him to these bonding sessions. It would feel too much like replacing one Aussie for another.

‘Where’s your teammate?’ Alex asks as soon as he crosses the threshold of the Thai driver’s hotel room.

‘What do you mean?’ Lando is thrown by the question. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Did you not invite him?’ George asks with a frown.

‘Of course not,’ Lando answers immediately, confused when his response garners a collection of frowns.

‘You should have done,’ Max says bluntly, where he is sitting suspiciously close to their resident Monegasque. Carlos is beside his teammate, looking both bemused at the obvious way Max is pressing his thigh against Charles.

‘I… I don’t understand,’ Lando admits. ‘We don’t just invite anyone.’

Carlos rolls his eyes as George and Alex exchange looks. Lando cannot help but feel he has walked into the room and been completely ambushed. ‘Inviting someone once does not mean they are invited forever, Lando. We figured you would want to help him settle in. It doesn’t mean he has to come every week.’

‘But… Logan isn’t here,’ Lando points out in his defence.

‘Logan was invited, but he was seeing Robert and Arthur,’ Alex answers immediately. ‘Which probably means that Logan is with Oscar right now, telling him how he was invited to hang out with all of us.’

‘Well shit,’ Lando curses, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and rather guilty. ‘Why did none of you tell me this?’

‘We didn’t think we needed to,’ Charles chuckles. ‘It’s why Pierre only comes sometimes. He knows he is not part of this group we have established, but whenever he has had a bad day, he asks if he can come.’

Lando groans, having never thought too deeply about the Frenchman’s sporadic appearances within their little cadre. ‘Do you think I should text and invite him?’

‘And make him feel like an afterthought?’ Alex rolls his eyes. ‘Just explain to him tomorrow that you were and idiot and invite him next time, okay? I’ll ask Logan as well, so he’s not alone.’

The conversation soon takes on a wildly different tangent, allowing Lando to slip into anonymity on the sofa. He feels thoroughly chastened, and for the thousandth time so far this season, he finds himself questioning his capability as the senior driver of this team. Oscar is clearly not in need of his help, and even if he was, it seems Lando is entirely incapable of offering it.

“I’ll do better,” Lando vows to himself as he mulls over his younger teammate. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll do better.”

'Cause the scary truth is
I'm flying blind
And I'm making this up as I go

‘Oscar, hey, do you have a minute?’ Lando calls, entering the wrong side of the garage in order to locate his missing teammate. He finds the Australian perched atop one of the cabinets, swinging his legs like a child as he waits for the car to be ready.

‘Erm… sure.’ Lando ignores the deer in headlights expression Oscar presents as they exit the bustling garage.

‘Listen, I’m so sorry about not inviting you last night,’ he cuts straight to the point. He waits for Oscar to dance around the truth, to pretend he doesn’t know what Lando is talking about or divert the conversation elsewhere. But as usual, Oscar does the exact opposite of what Lando predicts.

‘It’s fine,’ he shrugs, tone remaining nonchalant. ‘They’re your friends, not mine. It’s no big deal.’

‘It is a big deal,’ Lando argues. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but to be honest I just didn’t think of inviting you,’ he winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. ‘Shit. That didn’t come out like I meant it to. I mean, we don’t usually invite people to these things, and I didn’t think, but it would have been nice if you were there, and...’ He sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over his face harshly. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I should have invited you, I fucked up and now I’m just making it worse.’

‘It’s no big deal, honestly,’ Oscar deflects.

‘Just… come before Saudi Arabia, okay? We’ll be meeting at six, it’s George’s turn to host. You don’t need to bring anything; all we do is order food, chat shit, play some video games. No pressure. Logan is invited too. Just… consider it, okay? I might not have shown it well, but I want you there.’ He returns to the garage before he can embarrass himself any further, Oscar following in his footsteps after a few minutes.

Lando sighs as they call for him to get in the car. It’s been a poor start to the weekend, and with their current streak of form, he can’t see it taking a turn for the better.

Saudi Arabia, April 2023

Baku was an improvement, in that both cars finished the race. Though it was hardly a performance to write home about for either of them. When they got out the car, Oscar looked relieved to have finished a race, but otherwise the disappointment surrounding both garages was palpable.

Customary of the 2023 season, before they have had a chance to catch their breath, they are shipped off to Saudi. Media day is especially gruelling considering they know they will not be competitive here. If that isn't exhausting enough, Lando and Oscar endure their first teammate bonding activity, a quiz based on the UK driving test. Oscar makes quiet jokes, odd quips, but Lando takes on the brunt of the entertainment burden. Doing media with Carlos was easy, as they naturally bounced off one another. Media with Danny was high energy and high entertainment, leaving his with aching cheeks and desperate for sleep. Media with Oscar is just plain draining.

The part that bothers him? Everyone loves him. Oscar might not be the most entertaining driver on the grid, but he is easy. He says the right things, doesn’t make stupid, inappropriate jokes. ‘I wish you’d been more like this when you first joined,’ Lando’s press officer remarks as they watch Oscar in an interview.

It all culminates into a long, dissatisfying day.

Lando has finally been freed to return to his driver’s room, all but face planting on the small massage bed when there is a faint noise from the doorway.

‘What?’ He grunts, not bothering to turn around and see who is bothering him this time. It’ll be his press officer telling him to be more like Oscar, or Zak raving about how well his rookie teammate is doing, or Andrea coming to wax lyrical about how impressive Piastri is. Lando is trying really hard not to find it irksome.

‘Erm, hey,’ an accented voice speaks from the doorway and Lando turns over as soon as he recognises the Australian lilted tone.

‘Hey Oscar,’ he sits up, leaning against the wall as he waves his junior teammate inside, trying not to appear too irritated by his untimely arrival.

‘You uh, tonight is when you meet up with everyone right?’

Lando nods, wishing for the first time that Oscar would just back off and leave him alone. ‘Yeah, no pressure, but you’re welcome to come!’ He finds himself praying that Oscar will retreat into his cavernous shell. He needs tonight alone, with his friends, to recuperate from a trying day. But if he uninvites Oscar now, he is acutely aware of the disappointed glances they will all exchange in his actions as the senior teammate.

He hesitates for a few seconds, but eventually Oscar nods slowly. ‘I would like that. Thank you. For the invite.’ Lando opens his mouth to say something, anything. But before he can utter a word the rookie is already gone.

He groans into his hands before hauling himself off the bed. He should warn George of the extra company he will be entertaining.

It's a puzzle, it's a maze
I tried to steer through it a million ways
But each day's another wrong turn

Lando knocks on the door to George’s hotel room late. Even by his standards.

‘You’re finally here,’ George crows when he opens the door. ‘We were taking bets on whether you were going to show or not.’

‘Not come?’ Lando asks with a chuckle. ‘Since when would I not come?’ In truth, he spent the last hour debating that exact thing.

‘Since your teammate, who seems to be the bane of your sanity, was invited.’

‘I was the one who invited him,’ Lando grumbles as they enter the living space, finding everyone sitting there waiting for them. Everyone except their illusive rookies.

‘I mean, I think we were more the ones who invited him,’ Max points out with a chuckle. ‘You didn’t seem best pleased about it.’

Lando doesn’t answer, taking a seat beside Carlos as the rest of them pick up from where they were before he entered.

‘You are worried they will not come,’ Carlos speaks up softly, not turning to look at him. ‘Or you are worried that they will come.’

‘No, no. Just waiting,’ Lando denies immediately. Carlos chuckles in his ear.

‘You are not very subtle, Lando. You never have been.’

He hesitates, debating whether to ask his question. ‘Was it hard?’ He asks, trying to keep the note of vulnerability from his tone. ‘In my rookie year. Was it hard being the senior teammate?’

Carlos looks at him, deep into his eyes, before bursting out laughing. ‘Of course it was hard. You were a nightmare, and you were also my friend. I cared about you a great deal, and I wanted to be able to help you through all of it.’

‘Which is exactly what you did,’ Lando shrugs. ‘You didn’t seem like you struggled at all.’

‘I was making it up as I went along,’ Carlos chuckles. ‘Every part of your rookie season. I was faking the whole thing. Pretending I knew what the hell I was doing in the hopes that you wouldn’t notice.’

‘I had no idea,’ Lando whispers, struggling to reconcile the man he knew with the picture Carlos is painting.

‘That’s the big secret, Lando. To driving, to relationships, to life. We’re all just faking it, and praying that one day we make it along the way.’ Carlos claps him on the shoulder as though he hasn’t just stripped away Lando’s view of about half the grid. He has hero worshipped these guys for years, Carlos at the very forefront of them. He overcame the admiration within their relationship years ago, but he still remembers what it was like, being that nineteen-year-old kid looking up to his teammate.

And he was just faking confidence the whole time?

Lando is interrupted by his swirling thoughts by a final knock on the door. ‘That will be Logan and Oscar,’ Alex calls as he makes his way to the door. You just need to fake it, Lando thinks. Just fake being the confident one. The happy, in control, extroverted teammate that everyone wants him to be.

‘Hey mate,’ he calls as Logan walks in, Oscar trailing behind him.

‘Hey,’ the young Aussie offers a small smile. ‘You said not to bring anything, but, uh, my grandma just sent me some baking, so I thought I would bring them with me.’ There is a tin in his hand which Lando had not noticed. ‘They’re, uh, a little crushed because they came in the mail.’

‘Honestly, Mrs Piastri’s cooking is worth it, slightly crushed or not,’ Logan offers with an easy smile as Charles all but snatches the container from Oscar’s hands, ripping the lid off and sighing deeply when the contents are revealed to contain chocolate.

‘I needed this,’ Charles sighs, already shoving one of the squares into his mouth. ‘Ooh, this is tasty.’

Max follows suit, taking one from the tin and biting into it deeply. ‘These are really good mate,’ he says sincerely, and Lando can see the praise calm his teammate, even if the only indication of it is a slight dropping of tension from his shoulders.

‘You can come more often,’ George grins, handing both Oscar and Logan a drink before motioning for them to take a seat in the now crowded hotel room. ‘The others scrounge food off of me, they never give any back.’

Oscar offers up another smile as he settles down onto the floor beside Lando. It is the first time he has ever seen Oscar outside of their team branded clothing he realises. It’s not exactly anything thrilling, a simple charcoal grey t-shirt and skinny jeans, but it does something odd to Lando’s stomach.

He wracks his brain for something to say. Something safe and easy that will make him seem like a good teammate. ‘I’ve never seen those chocolate things before. Are they Australian?’ Is what exits his mouth. Christs sake, could he have asked anything more stupid? Are they Australian Of course they’re fucking Australian!

However, while he is busy spinning out, Oscar is polite enough to answer the inane question. ‘Yeah, they’re called lamingtons. Probably the most famous dish in Australia other than Tim Tams. Or, I guess, fairy bread,’ he shudders softly at the thought of whatever fairy bread is. ‘My family are always sending me stuff from home, these held up better than usual I must admit.’

‘It must be hard being away from home so much,’ George answers.

‘It’s not so hard now,’ Oscar admits softly. ‘I moved to England when I was fourteen, so I’m pretty used to spending most of my life away from home.’

‘That’s nice of your parents to do that,’ Lando contributes, trying to sound like he’s putting in effort. He’s confident. He’s extroverted.

‘To let me go?’ Oscar asks, brow furrowed. ‘I guess, though to be honest, with four kids in the house, I suspect it was probably a relief to see one of us go.’

‘Oh… I assumed they moved to England with you,’ Lando admits, his cheeks colouring pink.

‘I’ve got three younger sisters, it just wouldn’t have worked,’ he shrugs. ‘I went to boarding school.’

Alex whistles lowly. ‘At fourteen? That must have been tough.’

Oscar just shrugs, not admitting anything. ‘I had to do it, for my career.’

‘This is why I am glad I was born in Monaco,’ Charles interjects. ‘I remember Jules telling me about when Danny first moved to Italy, and the whole thing sounded horrible.’ There is a small, sad smile on his face at the mention of his late godfather, but Lando knows the memories are tinged with joy as well as misery.

‘Have you spoken to Danny lately?’ Alex directs the question to Max, who readily provides an answer. Lando takes the opportunity provided from the change in conversation to subtly study his teammate. Oscar's expression has closed off completely at the mention of his predecessor. He skirts back until he is leaning against the wall, leaving him firmly outside the circle of those on the floor and able to fall into obscurity. Logan is the charming American, while Oscar sits silently in the corner, the very definition of a wallflower. Lando finds himself studying their dynamic as the night goes on, seeing how Oscar loosens up when Logan prods him, how Logan retreats to Oscar for support at times. 

He watches the ease of their interactions and considers for just a moment how he would like to reach the same level of comeraderie. 

Does anybody have a map?
Happen to know how the hell to do this?

Going into the race, Lando was aiming for points. Realistically, there’s not much more he can hope for.

He finishes seventeenth, ahead only of Bottas. In a fucking Sauber.

Oscar on the other hand, finishes ahead of him by two places. Two places. In his third race. Lando cannot suppress the bolt of hot anger which flashes through him when Will tells him the results.

‘Sorry man, I know that was a hard race to swallow. We’re all working to make this better.’

‘I know,’ Lando mutters into the radio as he pulls his car into parc ferme. ‘I know.’

He clambers out of the car, keeping his helmet on as he is weighed and disappears into the garage. He is heading to his driver’s room for five minutes peace before the press interviews when he hears familiar voices.

‘How impressive is Oscar?’ Zak asks.

‘Honestly, he is the dream rookie. Everything. His feedback, his racing, his attitude. I couldn’t ask anything more of him.’ Andrea Stella. Lando knows he shouldn’t listen to this conversation. This is his CEO and team principal discussing the race without their drivers. Except this is his career. His passion. His future. So, he stalls his footsteps and lingers.

‘At this point of the season, do you think he’s keeping up with Lando?’ Zak asks.

‘Easily,’ Andrea answers without hesitation. ‘I mean, it’s so early. Only three races, and one of those he was barely on track. But I really thought he would be on the backfoot longer. Zak, I can really see him challenging Lando in the long term.’

‘I think it’ll get the best out of both of them,’ Zak answers, but Lando doesn’t hear it. He walks away when Andrea finishes speaking. Oscar is challenging him. Oscar is the rookie. Oscar is better than him.

Lando turns the words over and over in his mind. The implication. They strike fear deep into his gut. Fear of losing the only home he’s ever known. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being replaced by the people he calls family.

‘Lando, mate, are you coming?’ Jon is at the door of his room, having appeared while Lando was lost in the swirling depth of his mind.

‘Sorry, yeah. Yeah, coming now.’ He takes a moment to compose himself before peeling his tired body off of the massage bed he had collapsed onto.

‘Lando, hey. It was a painful race for you out there,’ Laura Winters is behind the camera, holding a microphone toward him.

‘Yeah, yeah. Of course, this is not where we want to be, but this is the car we have at the moment. There are upgrades coming and all we can do is maximise the performance of the car until then.’ She continues asking a couple more mundane questions about the race which he answers in similar fashion.

‘How are you feeling about being beaten by your rookie teammate? You were only beaten by Daniel Ricciardo four times last season out of twenty-two races. It looks like you might have a bigger challenge this year.’

Lando bites down on his lip so hard that he tastes blood. ‘I think that Oscar and I have the ability to push one another. I think that he’s a fierce opponent. But I also know I can beat him.’ Lando doesn’t smile when he says it. He doesn’t try to hide the burning desire in his eyes.

I don't know if you can tell But this is me just pretending to know
So where's the map?

Mexico, April 2023

Lando spends the two weeks between Saudi and Mexico running the conversation he heard over and over in his mind. It is a form of endless torture. He goes to the bathroom and thinks about Andrea saying how Oscar is capable of beating him. He eats dinner contemplating how impressive Zak finds Oscar.

The loop is never ending, and his mind begins to play tricks on him. He dreams up new conversations. Conversations where Andrea says Oscar is better than he is. Where Zak discusses how much easier the team would be without Lando on it. Where they talk over replacing him, knowing that Oscar is the better alternative.

He wakes gasping for breath, drenched in sweat every single time.

Daniel Ricciardo is a race winner. A serial race winner, who had been on the grid for nine years and is widely considered to be the biggest PR asset a team can have. The man is a dream in front of the cameras, with a pedigree not many can boast.

McLaren dropped him after just two seasons of being beaten by his teammate. And Daniel Ricciardo won a race for McLaren in that period. When the opportunity presented itself, Lando was not the person who got that win. And they replaced him anyway.

Once the thoughts have started, he doesn’t know how to stop them, falling further and further into his self-doubt until he is half convinced that his career at McLaren has come to an end.

Max calls him part way through his spiral of self-loathing.

‘Hey mate, are you in Mexico yet?’

‘Yeah, flew here straight after Saudi,’ Lando answers. He hadn’t seen the benefit in going home between the races, knowing that once he is acclimatised to the time difference it is better to stay undisturbed for as long as possible.

‘Game of padel tomorrow?’ Max asks. ‘I have a new racquet I want to try out.’

Lando laughs for the first time in days, knowing for a fact however many racquets Max insists on buying, not one of them will improve performance. He promises to be there before hanging up, pleased to have a distraction.

He spends the days before the race constantly in the company of Max, Alex, George or Charles, all of them playing so much padel he’s almost surprised they’re not injured. It shakes him out of his dark thoughts for long enough that, by the time the race rolls around, he is finally in a good mood

His positivity lasts as long as it takes him to walk into his garage, finding the area almost completely deserted. It is hardly difficult to guess where they are, judging by the noise emanating from the other side of the space.

Oscar’s side of the garage.

Curiosity, and no small amount of resentment, forces him to the other side of the garage, where he finds Oscar with a screwdriver in hand, sitting atop the halo of his car as an engineer explains something to him. Zak is watching, so Lando goes to join him.

‘What are they doing?’

Zak chuckles. ‘Oscar asked them if he could try the tyre gun. They got a little carried away teaching him about the car.’ As they watch, Oscar manages to remove something from the back of the car , holding it up triumphantly to be met by cheers from all around. A different engineer steps up next, explaining something before showing him where to put the screwdriver.

Lando wants to feel proud. Pleased for his teammate, that he is finding his place. Excitement at having a rookie who cares this much.

But his stomach is filled with bitter acid. Antipathy and jealously building until he thinks he might choke on them.

‘It’s so great, the two of you as a pairing’ Zak sighs, crossing his arms. ‘I was worried that, after Carlos, we’d never be able to fill his seat. Especially considering the relationship you had. But I really think Oscar is the right fit for us.’

Lando cannot suppress his scoff. ‘He won’t ever be Carlos.’

His tone must reflect the venom he feels, because the look Zak sends him is startled. Concerned. Lando imagines telling him for ten seconds. He could just spill everything to Zak, the older man would pull him in for a hug and tell him he’s being a neurotic idiot. Logically, he knows that Zak will reassure him, make him feel secure about his place on the team and call him son in that overly fond voice.

But that voice at the back of his head; that small, poisonous voice, tells him something different. Tells him that Oscar is his favourite driver because he is straightforward, and he makes the engineers laugh. Because he doesn’t say stupid things, or crash the car. Because he’s easier, but he’s already performing on the same level as Lando. This time, he imagines his contract at McLaren ending. He imagines Oscar with his engineers, and his friends, and his life.

He knows he is being melodramatic, really he does. But knowing the thoughts are irrational and actively ignoring them are two different battles.

‘Sorry,’ he apologises weakly. ‘It’s been a long week.’

Zak frowns, throwing an arm around his shoulders. ‘You know I’m here. For anything.’

‘I know,’ Lando promises him. But how can he explain that his teammate, with three races under his belt, is making him feel insecure?

I need a clue
'Cause the scary truth is

He doesn’t see Oscar until after they have each completed their media commitments for the day. Jon has dragged him to the canteen to eat one of his miserable, diet approved meals, then promptly ditches him within five minutes.

Lando is staring into his sad plate of leaves and chicken when Oscar joins him, holding a plate of his own.

‘Hey,’ the greeting is quiet, but more forward than he has been with Lando all season. Two weeks ago, this would have brought him untold joy. Seeing his teammate finally beginning to open up to him. To trust him.

Now he feels only bitterness.

‘Oscar,’ Lando does not try to disguise his ire. His teammate looks bewildered by the disinterested tone, but ploughs on bravely.

‘I just wanted to say thank you. For inviting me to meet all your friends. They were lovely, and I really appreciated it,’ Oscar smiles, a grin bigger than any Lando has seen from his teammate thus far. It only serves to make him angrier. His seat, his team, his friends. What more does Oscar want from him?

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come again,’ Lando responds, his voice hard and cold as steel.

Oscar doesn’t say anything, but he flinches as though Lando struck him.

‘Like you said, they’re my friends,’ Lando shrugs, working hard to keep the emotion from his voice.

‘But… you asked me to come,’ his hesitation is the only sign of Oscar’s distress.

‘I don’t want you there, Oscar.’ He doesn’t turn, can’t stomach the expression he knows will be on his teammates face.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Oscar spends the rest of the weekend avoiding him like the plague. If Lando walks into a room, without fail, Oscar will exit. Kim has certainly noticed, shooting his charge a concerned look every time he takes evasive action.

Lando wants to feel satisfaction at the turn of events, for finally getting rid of his persistent problem. Or guilty, for pushing away someone who was only trying to be his friend. Secure even, for finally getting the reassurance that he needs within this team.

All he feels is empty. Hollowed out.

So, he begins to shun Oscar with equal fervour.

They spend the weekend dancing around one another, being watched with furrowed eyebrows by Zak. Lando can almost taste his disappointment. His confusion, as the teammate pairing he thought was the dream becomes a nightmare before his eyes.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Las Vegas, May 2023

The weeks between Mexico and Las Vegas are as tumultuous as those prior, Lando’s emotions bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. The result in Mexico, finishing a solid three places above Oscar softened the edges of his wounded ego. But he still finds himself struck by moments of panic when the insecurity pervades his mind.

He spends the break between the races being distracted by the thousands of media commitments which go along with the circus which is Las Vegas. It works for the most part, inane quizzes, irritating reporters and photoshoots filling his mind effectively enough to keep him from spinning out once again.

The worst part is the constant questions about his teammate. How do you get along? How good do you think Oscar is? Do you think he has the potential to beat you?

The enquiries are repetitive, and his response to them becomes less and less polite after each iteration. What begins as a positive diversion from his tempestuous mindset becomes a never-ending reminder of his failures. Both personally and professionally.

Suffice it to say, Lando is in a foul mood before the weekend has begun.

Thursday and Friday before the race are characterised by Oscar’s near inhuman ability to avoid him. They only see each other once, during a media activity for which they are thrown together. Building a house of cards. It is an unmitigated disaster, both the card building and the camera facing dialogue. Lando knows marketing will have a long night trying to salvage some footage which can possibly be posted.

Oscar is sombre, barely uttering a word for the duration of the video. Lando finds himself rambling uncontrollably to fill the silence, without a word of it directed toward his teammate. Their press officers are behind the camera looking close to tears.

Most of the team have recognised the animosity between the two drivers, and Lando is selfishly pleased to find everyone rallying around him. Even Oscar’s engineers giving him the cold shoulder in favour of Lando. They have no idea what happened, but the team has picked a side and closed ranks.

The triumph buoys him through a painful Thursday and an even worse Friday. Until qualifying. Lando is doing an interview with Ted Kravitz outside the McLaren garage when something catches his eye. Oscar, dressed in just his fireproofs, emerges from his driver room into the midst of the garage. In previous weekends, Lando has seen him greeted by smiles, slaps on the back. Even some cheers if he has had a particularly promising start to the weekend.

But none of them look up. Not one of them speaks to him. Lando watches Oscar attempt to crack a joke, none of his engineers even looking up from their respective tasks to acknowledge him. Those closest to him actively turn away. Shoulders slumped, Oscar retreats to the back of the room, pulling himself up to sit on a cabinet. Oscar presses his back to the wall, pulling his feet up to rest his elbows loosely on his knees.

Tom Stallard approaches, resting a gentle arm over Oscar’s shoulders as they speak. Lando is almost ignoring Ted at this point, unable to tear himself away from the scene he is witnessing. Lando cannot see Oscar’s face, but he does have a view of Tom’s. The muted fury. A wave of distress. Protectiveness. Tom pulls away from Oscar briefly, looking enraged as he fixes his glare on the engineers who shunned him. Oscar grabs him, shooting out a hand with near inhuman reflexes. It takes a moment, but eventually Tom backs away, leaving Oscar to huddle in his self-imposed nook at the back of the garage.

The beginning of the interaction provided Lando with more than a little satisfaction. By the middle, the satisfaction has been doused with a little guilt. At the end, the guilt has turned into pure shame.

Ted has long since given up on the interview, his camera man having wandered off to inspect the rest of the paddock. ‘That doesn’t look too good,’ he comments idly, microphone resting uselessly in his lap.

Lando just hums, still unable to tear his eyes away from the car crash he is watching. ‘You know, I’ve been around the paddock for a long time,’ Ted speaks up again. ‘I’ve seen all sorts of drivers. Some drivers are pricks. Some of them are good people. You don’t strike me as a prick, Lando.’

‘What?’ Lando asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the garage and into those of the earnest reporter before him.

Ted cocks his head to cone side, considering him. ‘I’ve pretty much seen you grow up, Lando. As a racing driver, but also as a person. We both know Oscar’s a good kid. So, I don’t understand why you’re struggling with having him as a teammate.’

‘I’m not,’ Lando shrugs, unwilling to have this conversation, let alone with a nosy reporter.

Ted hums thoughtfully. ‘Just remember. As scared as you are of him, Oscar is so much more scared of you.’ He picks up his trusty notebook afterwards, scribbling in it until his camera man finally returns and they continue the interview. The words strike Lando as amusing at first, a throw away comment where Ted compared his teammate to a spider. But they stick in his brain, niggling at him through free practice, and then debriefing with his engineers.

They are still on his mind as he endures yet another painful qualifying, being knocked out in Q3 yet again this season.

Eventually, he is lining up on the grid, watching the red lights blink on from fifteenth on the grid. Fifteenth. He used to wonder how the drivers starting all the way back here could even see the lights. This season has taught him that lesson more than once.

The first corner is in chaos when he reaches it, which allows him to make up a couple of places. He can already feel that this race is going to be a complete mess, and he plans to capitalise on every part of the mayhem.

Until the second lap, when the car snaps out of his control and before he registers what is happening, he is skidding backward along the track, sparks flying wildly at every angle. It is probably mere seconds before he makes contact with the barriers, but it feels as though it happens in slow motion. He rockets backward uncontrollably, his momentum finally stopping when his car is caught by the barriers.

The air is forced from his lungs and Lando is completely paralysed for a few seconds as pain pulses through his chest, light-headedness making his vision swim before his lungs finally contract and pull in sweet, sweet oxygen.

‘-ando… Lando, please respond. Lando, if you can hear me, say something. Press a button on the wheel, anything. Lando!’

‘Will,’ he gasps into his helmet, voice small and breathless.

‘Thank god,’ is the crackling response he gets back. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I… I think so,’ he gasps, pressing a hand to his ribs as breaths saw through his lungs.

There is a marshal hovering over the car, motioning for him to climb out, but Lando waves him off. It takes another few minutes before he has the strength to extract himself. His chest aching fiercely as he climbs into the back of the medical car which comes to collect him.

His thoughts feel as though they are coated with treacle as he is taken back to the garage. Half the pit wall is waiting for him when he reaches the track, Zak engulfing him in a gentle hug and ordering him to get seen before hurrying back to put his headphones on, still monitoring Oscar’s race.

Lando hauls himself to the medical centre, and then they insist on taking him to the local hospital to be checked over. He doesn’t have the strength to fight it, allowing Jon to clamber into the ambulance beside him and take control of the situation.

The final stop is his hotel room after he is finally cleared by the hospital. He lowers himself onto the bed gently, mindful of the bruising painting his chest. It hurts like a bitch, but he has been assured that any lingering ache will fade over the coming days, and he will be in good enough shape to race next week.

Fucking double headers.

He is halfway asleep when there is a knock on the door. He groans deeply into his pillow, before ignoring his instincts to just fall asleep and peeling himself off the mattress.

Max is on the other side of the door, looking uncharacteristically concerned. ‘Hey mate.’

‘Hey,’ Lando steps back, allowing Max entry into his room.

‘How are you feeling? That crash looked seriously scary.’

Lando shrugs, regretting the movement as it aggravates his tender muscles. ‘Shitty, but I’ll be ready for the next race which is the important thing.’

Max hums, leaving Lando to perch on the edge of the hotel bed as he potters around the room. ‘What are you doing?’ He asks curiously. Max doesn’t respond, motioning for Lando to lie back on the bed as he continues whatever he’s up to.

‘You got my stuff from McLaren,’ Lando realises, watching Max unpack it for him. The Dutchman once again doesn’t respond, so Lando rolls his eyes and lies back on the bed, allowing his chest a break from the shooting pain of remaining upright.

His eyes are closed by the time the mattress sinks next to him, Max sitting on the bed and kicking back. ‘What are you doing?’ He asks, cracking an eye open.

‘Putting on Brooklyn 99,’Max answers nonchalantly, as though this is something they do every day.

‘Um… why?’ Lando asks, perplexed.

‘Because it’s your comfort show.’ Max doesn’t miss a beat as he loads it up on the TV. ‘Also, here.’ He hands over a mug filled with warm milk. When Lando sips at it, there is a hint of cinnamon, three shakes, just how he likes it.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Vegas was, all in all, a disaster. Lando spends the day following the race in a pain-filled stupor, Jon shovelling food, water, and painkillers down his throat. The second day, he regains some awareness. It is the first time he thinks to look for a video of the crash, watching it back intently when Jon isn’t looking.

The first time he watches it, he realises how close he came to knocking Oscar out of the race, mere inches separating his out-of-control McLaren and Oscar’s. He watches it another three times before he comes to the conclusion that the impact was his fault. Not the initial loss of control, there was nothing he could have done about that. A mixture of an uneven track surface and a lack of heat in the tyres. But there were so many points he could have collected the car up. Where he could have prevented impact and saved both the car and his race. But he let it hurtle straight into the barriers, resulting in a hefty damages bill and no points in the race.

It is one of the worst nights he’s had in his career, but Lando forces himself to watch the whole race through. To witness his teammate drive an incredible race from P16 to P10, securing the team their first two points of the season after putting in the fastest lap of the race. There was a moment Lando genuinely thought it could have been a podium finish, until strategy screwed him to the very bottom of the points.

Lando feels like he might be sick after watching the dominant display. Witnessing his junior teammate achieve something neither of them has been able to yet thus far this season.

‘He was worried about you, you know,’ Jon offers as he re-enters the bedroom.

‘You’re not going to tell me off for watching it?’ Lando mutters moodily, dropping the remote on the bed beside him.

‘To be honest I’m surprised I didn’t find you watching it earlier,’ Jon chuckles, dropping into a chair beside the bed and setting a glass of water on the side table. ‘Spent the whole race asking for updates on your condition over the radio.’

‘Brilliant, of course he did,’ Lando rolls his eyes.

‘Who shit in your breakfast?’ Jon raises his eyebrows at Lando’s attitude.

‘I…’ Lando considers trying to explain for a few seconds before considering the possible outcomes. Whatever he says, it won’t make him feel any better. Jon will judge him, or he will assure Lando he’s better than Oscar, because he is his friend. Or worst of all, he will remain silent, confirming every one of Lando’s worst fears and ensuring that he really does feel out of place in the McLaren team. ‘Nothing,’ he settles on instead. ‘Just upset about it being another shitty race.’

Jon knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t press Lando on it. ‘How are you feeling?’ He asks instead.

‘Better,’ Lando answers, pulling himself out of bed for the first time since the ending of the race. ‘In fact, I think I’m going to go out. Get some fresh air.’

‘Because you’re notorious for loving fresh air,’ Jon answers sceptically.

‘Yeah, yeah, walking. Good for after a crash. Stretch out the limbs, you know.’ Jon hums, making it clear he isn’t buying it, but decides to let Lando off the hook.

‘See you later,’ Lando calls as he swings the door shut, wrapping an arm around his still painful chest before drawing his phone from his pocket. He thumbs his way to Max’s contact, pressing the call button despite the fact they only ever text.

‘What’s wrong?’ Max sounds concerned as he picks up the phone.

‘Are you free?’

‘I can be,’ Max answers. He can hear some muttering in the background as Max clearly talks to whoever he is with.

‘It’s fine, don’t worry,’ Lando says, not wanting to pull Max away from whatever he is doing.

‘Where do you want to meet?’ Max’s voice is resolute.

‘Your hotel room?’ Lando asks sheepishly, unsure if Jon is still occupying his own.

Max gives him the name and number before hanging up. Lando grabs a couple of croissants on his way there as an apology for intruding.

As soon as he knocks on the non-descript white door, there is a hand grabbing at his wrist and guiding him inside. ‘What the hell is going on?’ Max demands. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever called me without asking first.’

‘I… I bought croissants,’ Lando offers, setting the box on the table as Max takes a seat on the sofa.

Max looks at him searchingly for a moment before grabbing hold of the box and opening it, tearing off the end of a pastry. ‘Now talk.’

So, he does. He starts from Zandvoort, from meeting Oscar all those months ago during the peak of the Alpine disaster. He describes how Oscar never seems to need him, coming into racing so confident and so prepared. How he’s the perfect teammate, the perfect racer, the perfect guy, the perfect everything. How Lando feels like he is falling short at every turn. He describes the argument and the ensuing awkwardness between the teammates.

‘Watching the replay of the race… Max, I can’t explain it. He drove so well. It made me hate him, how good he is, the thought of him taking my seat, and my place in the team,’ he whispers the final sentence. ‘But then, when I rewatched the crash… I almost hit him. And the horror I felt seeing that. Max, I’m so confused. Every fibre of my being wants to beat him, because it feels like if I don’t my seat could be at risk. But watching my car nearly take him out in that race made me feel sick to my stomach.’

Lando has spent the last twenty minutes pacing as he bears his heart to his best friend, while Max has slowly but steadily devoured first one, then two pastries. Lando doesn’t even have it in him to complain that Max has consumed his breakfast, utterly drained after finally expelling the whirlpool of emotions which has been growing for the last few weeks.

‘Okay,’ Max says slowly. ‘Okay.’ He nods his head consideringly as he chews the final bite of croissant.

‘What does that mean?’ Lando asks, not allowing Max a chance to reply before he continues to ramble wildly. ‘I mean, I know I’m a horrible person. I should be supporting him, but I want him to fail. But then the thought of him failing makes me feel even worse, and I’m just so confused Max. I’ve been trying to deal with it all myself, but that wasn’t working. I just felt like I was going to go insane.’

‘I think you have gone insane mate,’ Max chuckles, brushing crumbs from his fingertips. He glances at the box, seeming to realise for the first time that he has eaten both pastries. ‘You made me stress eat. My trainer won’t be happy with you.’

The outlandish comment shocks a snort of laughter out of him, finally allowing Lando to collect whatever sanity he has left.

‘Look, Lando, first things first you’re not irrational. It’s easy for me to judge, because I’ve only ever had two junior teammates and neither of them could perform well in the car. I never had any competition. But when I was racing against Daniel, I was praying for him to fail, but he was also my friend. And I didn’t have the added pressure of him being the junior teammate. So no, Lando, you aren’t a terrible person. You’re human. This isn’t supposed to be easy.’ Max locks his gaze onto Lando’s tightly.

'Secondly, I want to apologise.'

'Why?' Lando frowns. 'This issue is between Oscar and I, you did nothing.'

'Exactly,' Max nods emphatically. 'I did nothing. We kind of ambushed you at dinner, and made you feel like you were doing a bad job. I didn't even realise you were struggling that badly. I mean, sure, I knew you were a little off, but I didn't realise it was this... intense. So I'm sorry for being a bad friend. For not supporting you enough.'

Lando hesitates. His instinct is to wave the apology off, to assure Max it isn't necessary. Except... he had felt ambushed at dinner. It had hurt his feelings, whether he wanted to acknowledge it at the time or not. It hurt, feeling like they were prioritising Oscar over him. 'Thank you, Max. I appreciate that.'

The Dutchman nods, satisfied at the response. 'That being said, you handled it piss poorly,’ Max shrugs, words as blunt as ever. ‘These feelings are completely valid, but they are your problem. It isn’t his fault that you feel this way, and there is nothing he can do to make this situation better for you.’

‘Logically I know that, and I wasn’t trying to hurt him. At least, I don’t think I was,’ Lando winces. ‘But how am I meant to support him when I can barely support myself. How can I be his friend when I’m struggling with his success?’

‘I can’t answer that for you,’ Max shakes his head. ‘But I can offer you two things.’ Max pauses, allowing Lando to gather his thoughts.

‘Look, Lando, remember how scared you were during your rookie season?’ He nods silently. ‘Now imagine your previous team tried to sue both you and McLaren before you even joined. Imagine starting the season with that pressure on you, knowing that you caused your new team all that trouble before you even joined them.’

‘That wasn’t Oscar’s fault,’ Lando protests immediately. ‘Everyone knows that.’

‘They know that now,’ Max reminded him. ‘But there was a long time when people didn’t. When he was being called traitor. We all know it wasn’t his fault, but it might be harder for Oscar to remember.’ Lando nods slowly, recognising the truth of the words. It is something he had realised himself to a more minor degree, but listening to Max lay it out for him reminds Lando just how distressing that situation must have been.

‘And the second thing?’

Max’s smile is soft. ‘Two days ago, after the crash.’

‘Yeah, thank you for everything you did that night by the way,’ Lando grins.

‘I did nothing,’ Max answers. ‘And I’m not being modest. I was approached after the race with your bags, asked to go to your hotel room and make sure you were okay. That you wouldn’t be alone.’

‘Who…’ Lando breaks off as the answer becomes obvious, though he never would have been able to guess it outside the context of the conversation. ‘Oscar.’

‘He literally begged me to go to your hotel room. To take care of you and stay the night. He said he didn’t want you to be alone. He told me to turn on Brooklyn 99 and make you warm milk with three shakes of cinnamon.’

‘How… I didn’t understand how you knew any of that.’

‘I didn’t,’ Max admits. ‘Look, Lando, what you are feeling is completely understandable. If you told anyone, they would agree with me. Ask Carlos, he will be able to offer more insight there than I can from his days with you. But Oscar cares about you. He knows your comfort TV show and that you apparently drink warm milk with fucking cinnamon in it, when I had no idea. He’s still being a good friend to you, even though you haven’t been to him. Whatever your relationship is, because it doesn’t need to be friends, you at least need to try and be civil with him, Lando.’

He listens to the speech, feeling his gut plummet the longer it goes on. His feelings might be valid, but it doesn’t negate the fact he’s been a piss fucking poor teammate, to someone who has done nothing but show him kindness.

And I'm making this up as I go
As I go

Chapter Text

I've learned to slam on the brake
Before I even turn the key

Miami, May 2023

Lando arrives in Miami on Wednesday, McLaren having organised a jampacked few days full of press. They were supposed to have been filming videos on Tuesday, but following his crash, they had taken the decision to allow him time to recover.

He’s not sure how much recovering he did, choosing instead to go over and over his interactions with Oscar since they first met. HIs conversation with Max cleared up his feelings somewhat, but he still had no clear path in mind. However much he might wish for them to be friends, he doesn’t see a way for it to work right now. He's too vulnerable, too scared to risk opening up to his teammate yet again.

But he shouldn’t have frozen Oscar out in the way he did. Civil is the best approach from here on out, he decides. They don’t need to be friends; they just need to have a positive working relationship.

As soon as he touches down in Miami, he is shipped straight to the Hard Rock stadium, where the temporary paddock has already been established. Lando is pulled straight into a media meeting, slumping down behind the desk with his press officer at his side.

He hums in all the right places as she prattles in his ear, but really, he is not so subtly watching the door until Oscar enters with his own press officer.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologises to the room, refusing to meet Lando’s eyes.

‘No worries, Oscar, you’re just on time,’ Louise, their head of marketing, says before she begins her presentation. Just as Lando feared, they have two lengthy days of media engagements, the majority of which are together. His eyes flicker toward his Australian teammate, careful not to let his gaze linger for too long. Oscar is sitting perfectly still, his eyes trained on the screen, looking the picture of concentration. As though to confirm his observation, Oscar uses that exact moment to ask a question about something on one of the slides.

What a prick. Lando doesn’t know any drivers who pay attention in these meetings, let alone who ask questions. He thinks it couldn’t get any worse, but then Oscar pulls out a well-worn notebook and begins taking notes. Fucking notes.

He cannot suppress a small huff, rolling his eyes at the utter prissiness of his teammate. Charlotte glares at him as Louise fixes her stare on him. ‘Do you have a question, Lando?’

‘No, no,’ he says immediately, scanning the PowerPoint slide briefly to see what they were discussing. ‘Just excited for this game of hide and seek.’ Hide and seek does actually sound okay, less time in close quarters with Oscar. Louise rolls her eyes, but there is a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth before she carries on.

The meeting drags on, Lando operating in a stupor as his eyes threaten to close more than once. It is for this reason he doesn’t realise they are finished until all three media officers have left the room, leaving Lando and Oscar alone for the first time in weeks.

‘Hey,’ he offers the olive branch.

‘Hey. I hope you’re feeling better’ Oscar doesn’t stick around to hear the answer, fleeing before Lando can attempt small talk.

Lando wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Doesn’t think anything of it he corrects himself. Except he cannot help but notice the limp in his step as the young Australian exits.

Before I make the mistake
Before I lead with the worst of me

The next few days pass in a blur of podcasts, interviews, and vaguely amusing McLaren videos. Lando has grown used to compensating for Oscar’s awkwardness over the prior weeks, but since the divide in their relationship, his teammate has deteriorated in front of the cameras. Any progress Oscar made, any confidence he gained, has regressed until he barely says a word in their activities. Lando knows he is partly at fault, but it makes the days before the race truly commences long and arduous.

He is relieved when he finally gets to Max’s hotel room, knocking on the door for their weekly dinner arrangement.

‘Hey, you’re the last one here,’ Max says in greeting as he opens the door.

He steps around the Dutchman, walking into the crammed hotel room. He has to keep himself from stopping short when he sees Logan sitting in their midst.

‘Hey guys,’ he grins, trying to conceal the surge of panic that shoots through him at the sight of the young American.

Greetings are thrown in his direction from around the room before someone finally asks the question. ‘Logan, where’s Oscar?’

‘He isn’t replying to my texts,’ the young American frowns.

‘Any clue Lando?’ He is perched on the floor beside Carlos, playing with the rug beneath him as he works on avoiding the answer.

‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ Lando admits after a long silence. He glances over at Max, who sends him an apologetic look.

‘What? Why? Did he not like us?’ Charles asks, looking anxious at the thought of having scared Oscar off. Lando cannot prevent the jealousy this provokes. Envious of the way his friends care so much about Oscar's feelings, but nothing about his own.

‘I’m sure you were fine,’ he snaps, not offering any further explanation. He and Max had agreed that it was better for dinner to be just them this week. Clearly the Dutchman had forgotten to pass on the message.

Lando sees the looks they all exchange with one another. Subtlety has never been the strong suit of anyone present.

‘Did you forget to invite him again?’ Alex asks, sounding confused.

‘No,’ Lando answers. He should explain, but doing so with Logan present feels like it will only make the situation worse. More than that, the reactions of the room have further infuriated him. Since when was his rookie teammate the one they all waited for? Since when was he not enough?

‘Did we not make him feel welcome?’

‘Oh, I’m sure you made him all feel great,’ Lando snaps. This silences them. He is not known for being a particularly harsh person, but God, Oscar is just perfect isn’t he. Who needs Lando when Oscar is around? Uncomplicated, calm, easy-going Oscar. He is the complete opposite of Lando, something which only seems to endear Oscar to people further.

‘I’m going to go,’ Logan speaks up, shattering the silence.

‘Logan, no, don’t be stupid,’ Alex argues immediately, standing in tandem with his teammate. ‘You’re welcome here, I swear.’

‘You’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m welcome here,’ Logan answers. ‘I can only thank you for that. But I don’t want to be welcome anywhere Oscar isn’t.’ Logan’s words are perfectly calm and controlled, but the ire in them is hard to miss. Alex doesn’t protest any further, allowing the rookie to take his leave, already on his phone.

‘I thought you were trying to be a good teammate,’ George points out.

‘And I have been,’ Lando argues, his voice faltering somewhat at the end. He hasn’t. He knows he hasn’t. But his feelings are hurt.

‘Oscar is a sweet kid, I don’t understand what your problem is with him,’ Alex interjects, looking disappointed.

‘I don’t have a problem,’ Lando mutters moodily.

‘Really?’ Alex demands. ‘You should try telling your face that.’ He stands, locking eyes with Lando as he does so. ‘I’m going to track down my rookie and make sure he’s okay. While I’m there, I’m going to find Oscar, because he’s my friend, and see what this idiot did.’

They all watch in frozen astonishment as Alex walks out on weekly dinner.

‘You really fucked up,’ George sends Lando a dirty look. He sort of expects the Brit to follow his best friend from the room, but he stays. The night continues, they order dinner, they make conversation, they put a movie on. But it is stilted. Difficult. The longer Lando thinks over the events of the evening, the more anguished he feels. There’s a difference between Alex telling Lando when he’s being a dick, and just blatantly choosing someone over him. Lando and Alex have been friends since they were tweens, racing together even longer. Then his upstart teammate bursts onto the scene, and suddenly none of those years matter to Alex anymore. It’s not like anyone stood up for him either. They just let Alex walk out of dinner and chase after Oscar.

However scared Lando had been of losing his seat, he’s terrified of losing his friends. Of being replaced by those he calls family.

Give them no reason to stare
No slipping up if you slip away

After their disastrous dinner, the interaction replays on an endless loop in his head. Logan’s carefully controlled fury. Alex's brazen rejection. The muted misery on Oscar’s face when Lando said he didn’t want to be his friend. Zak and Andrea’s words. The conversation with Max. The way none of his friends stuck up for him.

He vacillates wildly from guilt to hurt, anger to shame.

He suffers a miserable day, and a few sleepless nights.

Lando finds himself watching Oscar during the driver’s parade. In previous weekends, Oscar had stuck close to Lando or Logan, not interacting with anyone outside of those he already knew. But the dinner Lando invited him to seems to have done him good. Because now he interacts with every one of them with ease. People with whom it took Lando years to strike up any kind of meaningful friendship with.

But that is not the only thing he notices. He tries not to watch. Tries not to see it, but it has been staring him in the face for a few days now. A limp. A persistent, glancing limp.

It’s nothing he tries to tell himself. Just an injury. Just a teeny tiny injury to a part of the body which controls the speed of the fastest cars on the planet. Just a stupid, insignificant injury which means nothing.

Except he finds himself cornering Oscar when they head back to their hospitality.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I don’t understand why you would care.’ Oscar says the words with detached coldness. There is no anger in his tone, nothing inflammatory. Just confusion. Somehow that hurts worse than if he had yelled the words.

‘Because you’re about to drive an expensive car 200 miles an hour on a foot which looks like it’s fucked,’ he answers, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice as efficiently as Oscar did. He shouldn’t be shocked that it doesn’t work.

‘I’m not going to bin it into the wall.’ Lando detects a hint of insecurity in his tone.

‘Driving injured is a stupid thing to do,’ Lando says instead, trying to avoid sounding concerned about his teammate.

‘The car will be fine,’ Oscar promises as he turns and walks away, the limp visible but subtle, the smallest shifting in his gait. It isn’t until Oscar walks away that Lando realises the Australian must think he is concerned solely for the car.

So I got nothing to share
No, I got nothing to say

Australia, June 2023

If Lando thought his head was scrambled before Miami, it’s well and truly fucked now. He wishes he could fly home and speak to his parents, his friends. Get their counsel about the convoluted disaster which has become his relationship with his teammate. In truth, he knows what they would tell him.

His father would be gentle and understanding, talking it over and offering soft, thought-provoking advice that will eventually lead him in the right direction.

His mother on the other hand, would slap him upside the head and tell him he’s being an idiot.

Logically he knows this. He knows what his family would advise and how they would feel about his actions thus far. But knowing and rectifying are two vastly different things. Every time he thinks about trying to fix his relationship with Oscar, he visions of his friends prioritising Oscar over him swim before his eyes. He imagines the conversation with Zak, being pulled into the team principal’s office and being told he doesn’t have a seat for next season.

As much as Lando longs for some peace and quiet to sort out the mess inside his own head, he knows he will not have the opportunity to do so.

He has had an Australian teammate for the last two seasons, so he is fully prepared for the insanity that is a home race in Albert Park. Silverstone is always a circus, especially as it is both his home race and the team's. Event after event, being pulled first in one direction, then the other. Fan stages, signing caps, endless gifts. Even after four seasons of experience, he finds himself exhausted every single year.

An Australian home race is on the same level as Silverstone, because this is a country that prides itself on its athletes. Daniel always looked somewhere between adrenaline fuelled elation and bone deep exhaustion throughout the entirety of the grand prix.

All this is to say, Lando thought he was prepared. He really did. They have a media meeting on Wednesday to go over their various commitments, and Oscar enters toting a huge tin of something which smells sweet. ‘Lamingtons,’ he says in answer to the unasked question from around the room. ‘My grandma made them. I’ve got about four more boxes for the rest of the team at home, so please, help yourself.’

Oscar sets the tin at the centre of the table before he takes the only remaining seat. Directly beside Lando. They watch as everyone takes a lamington, then a second. Lando can feel the eyes of his team on him, waiting for him to take one and try it.

‘You don’t need to have one,’ Oscar says under his breath, his tone cold. ‘I know you don’t like trying new food.’

His tone may be hard, but his words are accepting. Oscar does not force the tin on him, does not try to make Lando do something he is uncomfortable with as a result of propriety. Doesn’t seem to care or find it weird that Lando hates trying new food with a vengeance he cannot quite express. His previous teammates have always pushed food on him, not comprehending his genuine unease and laughing at him when he inevitably refused to try it.

‘Thank you.’ The words are soft, so quiet he doesn’t know if Oscar has heard them.

The introduction of baked goods results in a delay, but all too soon they are discussing the schedule of events for Australia.

‘And this is the timetable,’ Louise offers, pulling up the slide as she talks. Pretty much what Lando expected, though he cannot help but notice how Oscar has shrunk in his seat.

‘I, erm… Do you think that’s a good idea?’ Now Lando is looking at his teammate properly, he can see how pale the boy has become. Well, paler than usual, and his hands are trembling slightly on the table. His expression, however, is as unbothered as ever, leading Lando to doubt the observations he has just made.

‘Of course I do,’ Louise nods convincingly, her greying, bobbed hair bouncing along with her head. ‘We can have those extra media lessons we discussed, if you feel it could be necessary.’

Extra media lessons? Lando was never offered those, and from what he knows, Daniel and Carlos were not either. Oscar may be awkward in front of the camera, but Lando doesn’t see what benefit media lessons would offer him. He notices Zak and Andrea exchanging confused looks.

‘No, no, I’m fine thank you,’ the smile Oscar offers is nothing short of bland.

‘Good.’

Step out, step out of the sun
If you keep getting burned

Lando is halfway through the paddock when he hears his name being called. ‘Hey,’ he offers tentatively as Alex runs to catch up to him.

‘Hey,’ Alex offers a tight-lipped smile in return. They haven’t spoken since the rather unexpected end to the last driver’s dinner.

‘Look, I’m sorry for making it awkward between you and Logan. I swear, I don’t have an issue with Oscar really. I’m just struggling with some stuff about having him as a teammate.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Alex winces. ‘I was being melodramatic and took it too far. Something about Oscar… I think the mess that happened between him and Alpine? It just reminds me of my time at Red Bull, I guess. Trying so hard to fit in but never being accepted. I don’t know why it’s struck such a chord with me, but I overreacted. You’re my friend first, and I should have respected that over anything else.’ Lando feels his residual agony ebb away with Alex's explanation. He remembers the Red Bull days. Worried conversations with George and curling up around the Thai driver while he cried in bed. For the first time, he recognises the similarities between the situations, and the last embers of his anger sputter out.

‘So, I’m forgiven?’ Lando asks with a grin.

Alex laughs and throws his arm around Lando’s shoulder. ‘Only if you’ll forgive me first.’

They walk out of the paddock together, spotting a small cabal of fans waiting outside the entrance. Their eyes momentarily brighten when they spot Lando in his papaya, dimming when his face comes into view.

‘They’re waiting for Oscar,’ Alex chuckles. Lando waits for the bolt of jealously to echo through him, but the sting is lessened by the fact that this is his teammate's home race. Oscar should have all the adoring fans right now; this is his time to shine.

‘Come on,’ Alex calls. ‘We need to wait for George, then why don’t the three of us do something before dinner? Head to a go-karting track or something? Like the good old days.’

Lando’s grin is so wide he thinks it must split his face in half. ‘Fine, but you’re driving.’ They make their way to Alex’s oversized rental, leaning against the SUV as they wait for George, enjoying the gentler heat of the Australian nights.

It is while they are both waiting that they see it. They are speaking quietly, perched on the bonnet of Alex’s car when the second papaya clad figure appears. Oscar. Lando has mere seconds to notice that, for the second race running, Oscar is limping. Before he can consider the thought fully, the fans clustered at the entrance begin to clamour for his attention.

‘Hey guys, appreciate you all coming out!’ Oscar calls, his smile blindingly bright as he approaches. The fans call for him until he is within touching distance. Lando watches as their smiles melt away from one second to the next. An older man lifts his head to look at Oscar, and Lando waits for him to ask for a signature or say good luck for the weekend ahead. All that leaves his mouth of a glob of spit, which lands against Oscar’s cheek.

‘Traitor.’

‘Wha… what?’ Oscar’s expression is characteristically incomprehensible, but he makes no move to leave.

‘You should never have taken a seat at the detriment of another Australian. At the detriment of Daniel Ricciardo,’ another man practically growls.

‘You’re an embarrassment.’

‘You don’t deserve your place on the grid.’

Lando has been gawping at the entire affair, unable to unfreeze from his position against the car. The conversation he and Alex had been engaged in was abandoned as soon as Lando spotted the limp, so Alex has the misfortune of witnessing he entire affair as well. He is the first to unglue his feet, rushing to the McLaren driver.

‘Hey!’ He calls. ‘Get out of here! None of you are welcome!’ The fans don’t argue, clearly satisfied with the stand they made. Oscar just watches them go without moving, his expression kept carefully blank.

‘Oscar,’ Lando gasps, coming to a halt before his teammate. ‘I’m so sorry. What just happened, what they did, that was fucking disgusting.’ Oscar reacts for the first time since the whole affair began, shrugging one shoulder and using the corner of his favourite olive-green hoodie to wipe the spit from his cheek.

‘It is what it is,’ he answers.

‘No, it isn’t,’ Alex snaps, following him. ‘That was repulsive, and you need to report those men.’

‘It’s fine.’ Oscar won’t meet their eyes, brushing them off as he strides toward his rental car. Lando can’t help but notice his uneven gait once again.

‘Oscar,’ Lando calls helplessly. ‘Oscar!’ But he is already gone, sliding into the driver’s seat, and peeling out of the car park.

‘What do you want to do?’ Alex asks, looking at Lando. His mind stutters to a halt. What do you mean what do we want to do? He’s not the adult here. Oscar isn’t his responsibility.

Except that’s his teammate who was abused by his home fucking fans, while Lando just stood there and watched it happen. Just like he stood and allowed Alpine to say whatever they wanted about him, and how he stood in that hallway and said he wasn’t Oscar’s friend.

His internal turmoil of the last few weeks feels pretty insignificant right now as he looks at Alex.

‘I think we have a new host for drivers’ dinner tonight.’

Step out, step out of the sun
Because you've learned, because you've learned

The first thing he does is call Zak. Lando refuses to explain why he needs the information, but he manages to wheedle Oscar’s home address from the older man. Nicole Piastri is an oft quoted Twitter icon, so it is no effort for Lando to find her on Twitter and drop her a cursory message, warning her of their impending arrival.

Despite the fact he has never spoken to this woman before in his life, and he has been carrying out a hate campaign on her son for the last four weeks, she is instantly receptive to his plan. One message in the group chat is all it takes for there to be three individual cars all parked outside Oscar’s house in Brighton.

‘Are you really not going to tell us why we moved dinner location, on what seems to be a complete whim, to Oscar’s house without even discussing it with him first?’ George asks sceptically.

‘Nope,’ Lando singsongs as he makes his way up the drive. Oscar’s house is absolutely, terrifyingly, normal. It looks exactly like every other small town suburban house he has ever seen. Never would Lando predict that this is where world-famous rookie Oscar Piastri had grown up. He knocks on the door, only for it to be swung open by an older woman almost instantly.

‘Oh, Lando, honey, it’s so lovely to finally meet you,’ she wraps him up in her arms before he can form a cohesive thought. ‘Oscar has told me so much about you.’

‘Ah… erm, about that,’ he grimaces, only able to imagine the kinds of stories Oscar has told her about him.

‘It’s so comforting to know that Oscar has someone there looking out for him on race weekends,’ she squeezes him tight before pulling away, finally seeming to notice the crowd assembled behind him. ‘Oh my,’ she gasps. ‘Oscar told me you were all friends, but I never imagined this.’ Lando is horrified to see there are tears pooling in her eyes at the sight of them all gathered there.

‘It’s lovely to meet you ma’am,’ Alex interjects, saving Lando the embarrassment of staring at her any longer in confusion. She doesn’t hate him, and to be honest he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

‘Oh, it’s Nicole dear. Oh, it’s so lovely to meet you all,’ she hugs them all tightly. ‘I can’t come to as many races as I would like to because of the girls, and I always worry that Oscar gets lonely without anyone from home around him. Silly I know, since he has all of you, Kim, Mark. But a mother never stops worrying.’ She smiles abashedly. Lando is completely taken aback by this woman. By how warm and welcoming she is, pulling them all into the house and beginning to assemble jugs of homemade lemonade before they can so much as protest. He has barely ten seconds to think that she is the complete opposite of Oscar and his aloof demeanour before she makes a sardonic joke about Max messing up her house.

‘What?’ Nicole asks, spotting the expression on his face.

Lando blushes immediately. ‘Nothing, I just… Oscar would have made that joke. You have the same sense of humour.’

Nicole laughs immediately, ruffling his curls maternally as she passes him. ‘Yes, we’ve always shared the same humour. Thank goodness to be honest, Chris and the girls hate my jokes. Accuse me of being mean. Oscar was always my only baby who got it.’

‘The girls?’ George asks.

‘His sisters, three of them, all younger. They’re down at the beach with Oscar.’ She fixes Lando with a sharp stare. ‘I expect they’re trying to distract him, considering all the online abuse he’s been getting.’

‘The what?’ Lando demands, hearing similar shocked noises echo around the room.

‘The online abuse Oscar never told me about because he didn’t want to worry me,’ Nicole answers, dropping the bomb. ‘As well as the injury he’s been nursing for weeks, and the teammate troubles he never mentioned to me over the phone.’ Lando blanches.

‘Oscar might not tell me things because he doesn’t want me to worry, but a mother always knows. I’ve gotten exceptionally good at parenting from afar,’ her smile is kind and forlorn as she continues to pack the cooler full of lemonade and beers.

‘I… I’m sorry,’ Lando stutters. ‘I have treated Oscar poorly, and I had no idea about half of what you just told me.’

Nicole smiles sadly. ‘I know, Lando. You’re not a bad person. But Oscar deserves a teammate who will be there to support him through this. He pretends to be fine, but I think we both know he isn’t.’ Lando can only nod, thinking back to the brief flashes of insecurity he has seen on the young Australian’s face. He puts up a good front, but it is not impenetrable. ‘Now go,’ she shoos them away. ‘The beach is ten minutes down the road. You’ll be able to find them there.’ She gives them more precise directions before handing over three coolers which she magicked from nowhere, one full of what looks like a full meal for every one of them, one full of soft drinks and another filled with more beer than one of them could possibly carry alone. Carlos and Max end up lugging the heavy cooler between them, under Charles’ less than helpful supervision.

It takes them less than ten minutes to locate a small flickering blaze on an otherwise abandoned stretch of beach, Logan stretched out before the flames. It takes Lando a few more moments to locate Oscar, finally spotting him in the ocean. There is a small girl on his back, clinging to him desperately as he sprints away from the other two girls, who are doing their best to catch him.

‘You’re here,’ Logan sounds surprised.

‘We are,’ Lando answers, dropping the cooler he had been carrying. ‘I’m only sorry I wasn’t here earlier.’ Logan accepts the message with a small nod.

‘’How is he?’ Alex asks. The young American shrugs.

‘I have no idea. He hasn’t told me what happened yet.’

‘What?’ Lando frowns, confused.

‘He asked me to come to the beach, but he’s been playing with his sisters ever since I got here,’ Logan answers. ‘He does this sometimes. He’ll speak to us when he’s ready.’

As though summoned, Oscar appears, his shirt and shorts absolutely soaked through, his youngest sister still clinging to his back. Lando has to tear his eyes away from the shirt, which is all but painted to well defined abdominal muscles. ‘What are you all doing here?’ He asks, baffled by their sudden appearance.

‘We’re here for you,’ Lando shrugs. Oscar doesn’t answer for a minute, long enough for the figure to bounce off of his back. Now he can get a closer look at her, Lando thinks she is probably fifteen or so, with the other two girls around seventeen and nineteen.

‘I’m Mae,’ the youngest girl grins, sticking her hand out to them all. They exchange amused glances at her enthusiasm as they shake the proffered limb.

‘I’m Edie,’ the oldest girl offers. ‘This is Hattie, the middle child. She’s almost as shy as Oscar is.’

‘Hey,’ Hattie slaps her older sister on the arm. ‘I’m nowhere near as bad as Oscar.’

‘That’s true,’ Mae interjects. ‘Oscar really is the worst.’

‘See if I give you a piggyback again,’ Oscar gripes as he flops onto the sand, his sisters following suit. ‘You’re such a little shit.’

‘You’re not supposed to say bad words,’ Mae sasses back.

‘Well, you weren’t supposed to get wet,’ Oscar answers, tackling her before she can run away, covering her clothes in salt water. She lets out a screech, sliding out from under him and making a break for it across the beach. Oscar is quick to give chase, his longer legs allowing him to catch up rapidly and throw her over his shoulder. Within minutes she is being dunked beneath the waves and Lando can only laugh. He has never seen Oscar like this before, so young, so carefree.

‘So, what happened?’ Edie demands, tearing her eyes away from her siblings and turning them on Lando. They are the same deep chocolate as Oscar’s, though he has never seen them turned on him with such fervour before.

‘I… um,’ he stutters.

‘You know,’ she fixes her eyes on his. ‘Oscar might be my big brother, and he might have some crazy notion about how he always has to protect us, but he’s mine to protect too.’

‘There was a group of fans waiting outside the track,' Lando admits. 'They were calling for him, I assumed they wanted autographs. Alex and I were waiting for George, we saw him approach them. They spat on him. Told him he was a disgrace to his country for stealing Daniel Ricciardo’s seat.’ He confesses the entire story, seeing the expressions of shock which colour the faces before him. Hattie though, she remains expressionless. Impenetrable. Just like Oscar.

They exchange looks which Lando cannot decipher for a few minutes before Edie clambers to her feet. ‘I’ll go get them.’

Hattie remains seated, leaning forward once her elder sister is out of earshot. ‘Oscar is my brother, and from what I can see, you’ve spent the start of the season fucking with him. This is your last shot. I’m trusting you with the most precious thing in the world to me, understand?’ With her short auburn hair and tan skin, she looks the least like her brother. But there is a focus, a lethal concentration and protectiveness which marks her out clearly as Oscar’s sister.

‘I understand,’ Lando nods, genuinely terrified of a girl who isn't old enough to legally drink.

‘Good,’ she stands, swiping the sand from her shorts just as Edie returns with Oscar and Mae in tow. ‘Come on, we need to go help mum with dinner.’

Lando waits for an argument, but all three sisters disappear before Oscar has even had time to protest. ‘Who set this up then, them or you guys?’ He asks with raised eyebrows as he finally takes a seat in front of the dancing fire.

‘Definitely them,’ Max chuckles. ‘I thought it was bad having one sister. Three seems even worse than I imagined.’

‘Growing up it was intense,’ Oscar chuckles. ‘You can imagine the number of Barbies in the house. And I was always braiding someone’s hair. But to be honest, they’re pretty great.’ He stares into the distance, toward his house.

Lando examines his body language closely, the feigned ease with which he is sitting upon the sand, the stillness he has forced on himself. ‘Those fans...’

‘It’s fine, I expected it,; Oscar cuts him off.

‘You expected it?’ Lando knows his eyebrows must be near his hairline.

Oscar just shrugs dismissively. ‘Yeah. I’ve been getting messages for a while, so I knew this week could be bad.’

‘You’ve been getting messages? Saying what?’ Logan demands immediately, looking positively furious. He hadn’t been present for Nicole Piastri’s bomb drop.

‘You know,’ Oscar makes a vague gesture with his hands.

‘No, I really don’t,’ Logan protests.

Oscar sighs deeply, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. ‘Ever since the Alpine thing. No one has been particularly happy with me. Including the fans.’

‘And they’ve been sending you hate messages?’ Oscar just nods. ‘Have you told the PR team about this?’

He gets a snort in return. ‘Of course I have, I’m not stupid.’

‘So why haven’t they been doing anything about it?’ Lando demands. There are so many things that they could have been doing… that he could have been doing, if he knew about the situation. But why would Oscar confide in him? Why would Oscar think that Lando would do anything to help the situation? None of his actions thus far this season have inspired any kind of trust from his teammate.

‘It’s best to let time pass. To let people forget about it.’ The way Oscar parrots the words makes it clear that they are not his own.

‘It might have been better to let people forget about it, until it became abundantly clear that the fans will, in fact, not be forgetting about it,’ Max points out with raised eyebrows.

‘It’s nothing,’ Oscar shrugs. ‘Just something I need to get used to.’

‘No, Oscar. This race should be a chance for you to spend time with your family and friends. To reconnect with your home. It should be the most exciting race on the calendar,’ Charles denies, shaking his head emphatically.

‘It’s easy for you, you’re the prince of Monaco,’ Oscar answers. ‘Look, it is what it is. I’m handling it. I just wasn’t expecting those fans to do that, but I’ll be better prepared next time.’

‘It’s not right,’ George protests.

‘But this is what it is,’ Oscar refutes calmly. ‘Leave it, please. I’m dealing with it the best way I know how.’

Lando wants to argue. With every fibre of his being he wants to scream that this isn’t right. He wants to shake his rookie teammate and tell him that he deserves better. But his honey brown eyes are pleading for them all to just drop it. For them to let Oscar fade into the shadows as he so desperately wishes to do.

‘Okay, okay. We’ll leave it alone for now,’ Logan makes the decision for them. ‘But don’t think I didn’t spot that limp you’re trying to hide.’

Oscar flushes, turning away from them. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Have you told Kim about it?’ Logan demands with raised eyebrows.

‘Yes, mother,’ Oscar rolls his eyes. ‘It’s under control.’

‘If it’s under control, why were you limping two weeks ago?’ Lando doesn’t want to stir the pot, but it’s been made abundantly clear this is more than just a twisted ankle.

‘I’ve just been training hard,’ Oscar deflects.

‘Training hard doesn’t mean training to injury,’ George argues. ‘Kim should know better.’

‘Kim does know better,’ Oscar sighs. ‘I’ve been doing extra training sessions. Making sure I can keep up.’

‘Are you joking?’ Charles asks with a chuckle. ‘You’re impressive as hell. For anyone, let alone a rookie. You don’t need to be injuring yourself by training more.’

‘I didn’t mean to injure myself,’ Oscar grumbles under his breath. ‘Can we please just drop it?’

He’s training to be perfect, Lando realises. The longer the season has gone on, the more obvious it has become. The extra training, the compulsive note-taking, the never voicing his thoughts. Oscar needs to be perfect, or as close to it as he can get. Something at Alpine, or during the transition, convinced him that if he isn’t absolutely flawless all of the time, he will lose his spot. The revelation feels like peeling back a large part of Oscar’s personality. A key element he had been missing before. Suddenly, Lando has a more complete picture. One which makes a lot of sense to him, one which he can relate to. So many of the irritating quirks become clearer in his mind, and for the first time this season, Lando feels he may be getting a grasp on his teammate.

‘Okay, well, your mum is a fucking legend in case you didn’t already know,’ Lando breaks in, shoving a sandwich into his mouth before investigating its filling. Which is really something he should have considered, when he tastes salmon and cream cheese on his tongue.

‘Ew! Ew!’ He all but shrieks, spitting his mouthful of food into the sand and swiping at his tongue as though he has been poisoned. ‘Why would she put fish in these?’

‘Because salmon is my favourite,’ Oscar chuckles, taking the rest of the sandwich from his hand and biting into it deeply.

‘I take it back; I take it all back. You mother is a fiend! A fiend!’ Oscar breaks into a cackle of unguarded laughter, the rest of the drivers following suit. Thereon commences an evening of light drinking and general tomfoolery across the beach.

Lando doesn’t stop to consider for one moment the animosity which had been plaguing him. All he can think about is putting that sweet smile on Oscar Piastri’s face, and keeping it there.

On the outside, always looking in
Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Lando wakes the next day feeling a little worse for wear due to lack of sleep. But for the first time in months, without the emotional turmoil plaguing him. Not only is his mind clear, but it is filled with purpose. Intent. He drags himself to the track, where he and Oscar sit through a few meetings before they peel away to begin their pre-race prep.

‘Hey, Lando,’ Oscar calls, before they can walk away from one another. Lando is quick to shoo Jon on without him. ‘Thank you, for last night,’ Oscar offers. The words are stilted, but genuine, and Lando cannot suppress the bright smile which crosses his face.

‘No worries, and look, Oscar, about this season… I know I haven’t been the best teammate, and I’m sorry for that. But I’m going to do better.’ Oscar’s face is unreadable. He doesn’t immediately reject the apology as Lando was fearing, but he doesn’t offer encouragement either. Just a small smile before disappearing into his driver’s room.

Lando doesn’t see him again until the national anthem which is… an affair. More than a dozen over-sized heads of Daniel Ricciardo decorate the crowd, as well as some particularly spirited individuals who choose to hold up signs besmirching Oscar. Signs with the number 81 crossed out, pictures of koalas being stabbed, written vitriol which makes Lando want to commit murder.

He exchanges a glance with Max who looks similarly homicidal. Charles looks as though he may cry, examining the crowd in horror. Considering how momentous the Monaco race is to Charles, he can hardly blame the man. Oscar just looks stoic. Determined.

Lando wishes he could channel that kind of peace in his everyday life, let alone while being actively booed at his home race.

The race that follows is fucking chaos. It is red flagged no less than three times, with eight drivers retiring from the race. This promotes Lando to P6, and Oscar to P8, their biggest victory of the season so far. He is driving the cooldown lap with Oscar just a few metres behind him and he can hear nothing but uproarious applause at the hometown hero having scored points. It’s as though none of them remember that they were booing him and spitting on him less than three hours ago. It makes his blood boil, but for the sake of Oscar, he keeps a tight lid on his temper.

They pull the cars into parc ferme, Lando climbing out and hearing the applause rachet up as Oscar extracts himself from his car pulling his helmet off, leaving disorganised waves of hair in its wake. ‘Congrats on the points mate,’ Lando claps his hand on Oscar’s shoulder, trying to ignore the flinch his teammate gives at the unexpected contact.

‘Thanks,’ Oscar smiles softly.

‘Anytime,’ Lando offers. And for the first time since they became teammates, he really thinks he is starting to mean it.

'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass
I'm waving through a window

Monaco, June 2023

Lando leaves Australia early, hoping to get as much time at home as he can before the race. He feels like he needs the time to recentre himself. Oscar takes the same decision, staying at home as long as he can before finally flying back to Europe.

Lando spends the first few days alone in his apartment, recuperating from the jet lag which hits him like a train as soon as he lands. Once recovered, he invites his family for a spontaneous visit. They are beyond surprised, rarely being invited to Monaco in his few years living there. They take advantage of the invitation, jumping on the next plane.

As soon as he sees his mother’s smile, Lando’s shoulders relax. the stress he has been carrying bleeding away. Falling into her is even sweeter than he remembers. His father wraps his arms around them both, one family unit before a chorus of groaning breaks out. He unwinds himself from their embrace to find his three siblings lingering a few paces away.

‘Golden child returns,’ Flo rolls her eyes, even though her smile is wide.

‘I can’t help being perfect,’ Lando answers with a grin, but he can feel traitorous tears welling in his eyes. ‘I didn’t think you’d be able to get off of work.’

‘Our little brother calls unexpectedly inviting us to Monaco? Of course we all got off work,’ Ollie answers with a small smile.

Lando sniffs pathetically, and then they are surrounding him. His whole family pulling him firmly into a warm embrace. They stand there for a long time, in the middle of the airport as people hustle and bustle around them, paying them no mind. Eventually he pulls away, scrubbing at his eyes to hide the wetness gathered there.

‘Right, let’s go.’

They spend the day together, eating and catching up and generally just not talking about it. Until his parents excuse themselves to bed early, and he knows it is only a matter of time before he is cornered by his siblings. ‘Come on.’ He grabs a six pack and leads them up the stairs to the rooftop, bypassing the chairs littering the space and heading straight for the surrounding wall. He pulls himself up with both hands, letting his legs dangle over the side as he perches upon it.

His brother and sisters follow suit, though Cisca only perches on the edge, never having been bitten by the adrenaline bug the rest of them were.

‘We don’t need to be worried about you falling off the edge, do we?’ Ollie asks with a grin, but Lando can sense the tinge of concern beneath the words.

‘No,’ he chuckles. ‘I’m okay, really. This season has just been one hell of a mind fuck.’ He proceeds to explain to them everything that has transpired over the season so far, the thoughts which have been plaguing him for weeks.

‘I guess, seeing those fans in Australia meeting his mum and his sisters… It was easier to see him as a rookie, rather than my competition.’

Flo gives him a thoughtful look. ‘Does it really matter that much that he’s a rookie?’

That stops him short. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, the whole way through this, you’ve been talking about Oscar as a rookie. You know, when you met him, you were already biased in the way you saw him. You expected him to be a certain way, and then you never adjusted your expectations when he didn’t meet them.’

‘Okay…’ Lando mumbles, only partially convinced he is following.

‘Look, think about it like this,’ Flo explains. ‘You have spent the last few months getting to know Oscar the rookie based on expectations you had from your own junior years. But you don’t seem to have separated him from those expectations. I think if you spent more time actually paying attention to Oscar, rather than comparing him to some standard he is never going to meet, you will have a better chance at building a relationship.’

‘Fuck,’ Lando curses. ‘Why does that make sense?’

‘Because I’m a genius,’ Flo rolls her eyes. ‘Honestly, why do you always forget that.’

‘And as for Zak and Andrea,’ Ollie breaks in before the conversation can wander away from Lando and his problems. ‘The first rule of eavesdropping is to listen to the whole conversation you dipshit. They were complimenting him; they weren’t demeaning you.’

‘One comes with the other,’ Lando dismisses. ‘Your teammate is your biggest competition.’

‘And maybe you were intimidated because for the first time in your career, you’re feeling properly threatened by your teammate.’

Lando goes to protest but Ollie shuts him up quickly. ‘Would you have felt this way if you heard them saying that about Daniel?’

‘No,’ Lando mutters under his breath.

‘Exactly. Because you know he was never a threat to your position in that team. And I’m not saying Oscar is, but I think you allowed your fears to influence what you heard them say.’

‘Jesus Christ, do you want to drop any bombs as well?’ He asks Cisca, rolling his eyes.

‘Well, as you so kindly offered,’ her grin is nothing short of demonic. ‘How do you think McLaren handled the situation with Daniel?’

‘Poorly,’ he answers immediately. ‘He wasn’t performing, and he had to be let go, but I don’t think they did it in an appropriate way.’

‘And did that change your perception of this team?’

Lando stays silent as the truth sinks in. ‘I was worried, after how they treated Daniel, they could do that to me too. Daniel is so popular, and a race winner, I never thought they would treat him that way. So, it made me feel vulnerable in the team. Fuck!’

‘And you liked Daniel?’ Cisca asks. He nods when she pauses for confirmation. ‘Is it possible you were already prejudiced against Oscar because of the way he replaced Daniel. Plus, you were so close to Carlos, and then Daniel. You lost them both as teammates. You were probably scared of becoming attached to another teammate, only to lose him again.’

Lando feels like his brain might finally have short-circuited as the information processes in his mind. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathes. ‘I… how did you know that?’

Ollie shrugs. ‘We had an idea of why you were upset. We discussed what we might say to you beforehand.’

‘And if something completely unrelated was going on?’ He challenges.

‘Then we would have helped you through that,’ Flo answers immediately.

‘And then blindsided you with this information anyway because it is fucking high level advice which should not be wasted,’ Cisca laughs maniacally.

‘You little shits,’ Lando chuckles. But his brain is whirling. It all makes sense. How quickly his mood toward Oscar changed. How easy it was for him to ice the boy out. Why he was so reluctant to get below the surface, even when he was trying to be a good teammate. For the first time since their pairing, Lando finds himself understanding how he feels about the whole arrangement, and how not a single part of it was ever Oscar’s fault.

The guilt which had already been lying dormant in the pit of his stomach intensifies. He has a hell of a lot of making up to do.

I try to speak, but nobody can hear
So I wait around for an answer to appear

His family stay with him another three nights before they book a hotel room, insisting on not remaining with him over the course of the race weekend. ‘We’re here to watch you, not to get in the way,’ they promise as they pack their bags despite his weak arguments to the contrary. While it has been lovely having his family around, the reset he so sorely needed, having them in his home for three days is more than enough for him to be ready to have his own space back.

Except, as Cisca so helpfully pointed out to him as she left the apartment, this leaves him with more than one free room. A room which could be filled with a teammate.

He allows himself to consider the thought for only a few seconds before sending the text, knowing he will chicken out if he considers it for too long. Within ten minutes, he knows he will be checking his phone obsessively until he gets a reply, so he shoves his phone deep in his pocket and walks to Max’s apartment building. It takes six knocks before Max finally comes to the door, beyond dishevelled and clearly just having rolled out of bed.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ He demands, eyes sleepy and red around the edges.

‘We’re getting breakfast and playing padel,’ Lando answers, barging his way past the front door.

‘It’s so early though,’ Max groans, rubbing his hands across his face.

‘It’s nearly twelve,’ Lando retorts.

‘I was sleeping.’

‘Well, I can’t.’ Lando knows he is mere moments from winning the argument when a voice echoes from the bedroom.

‘Max, tell them to fucking go away!’

The accent is thick and familiar, curling around the symbols smoothly despite the exhaustion evident in the tone. The look Max sends him is panicked, truly, truly terrified. ‘I’ll make breakfast for you if you play padel with me,’ he pleads, completely ignoring the fact that Max was clearly sleeping with Charles in the other room.

Max appears too bewildered to protest, disappearing into the bedroom and leaving Lando considering that he, in fact, has no idea how to make breakfast.

He settles on preparing two coffees, bypassing the machine when he sees the sheer number of buttons scattering the face. He’s never really made coffee before, not enjoying it himself, but it can’t be that hard right? It smells fine.

Lando takes both mugs into his hands as he struggles with the doorknob to Max’s bedroom, finding Max half-dressed, sending him panicked eyes in the corner as Charles lounges in the bed.

‘Coffee in exchange for stealing your man?’ He asks, dropping the mug onto the side table.

‘You could at least pretend to be surprised,’ Charles comments idly, not bothering to look up from his phone.

‘Yeah, well, one of my 2023 grid predictions was Lestappen finally getting together,’ he shrugs. ‘I’m happy because you’ve got me one step closer to winning the most correct predictions this year.’ Max falls over with a thump, becoming tangled in his own shorts at Lando’s words.

Charles just hums, tapping at his phone casually while Max has a mental breakdown. ‘Well, I hate to break it to you, but you won’t be getting any closer to your predictions.’

‘Of course I will, this victory is in the bag,’ Lando scoffs, leaning against the dresser and observing Max’s continued emotional turmoil. It’s funny, really, how people think he’s some kind of dragon while he’s halfway to a panic attack at the mere mention of his dating life.

‘We’ve been dating since Monza 2019,’ Charles comments, as though he is discussing the weather and not two of his best friends being in a relationship for the last five years.

‘Five years?’ Lando demands, choking slightly as the implication sinks in. ‘You mean, all this time… the yapping sessions, the longing looks, the sexual tension.’

‘Hm, yeah, turns out when your boyfriend is really good at head, you just want it more.’

While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass
I'm waving through a window, oh
Can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me?

Lando spends an hour at, what is apparently Max and Charles’ apartment, before they finally make it out to the padel courts. After Charles’ shock reveal, Max near enough fainted while Lando was left feeling the need to wash his ears out with bleach. I mean the thought of Max and Charles… bleurgh.

It may be emotionally scarring, but it is certainly enough to distract him from the weight of the phone in his back pocket. The unanswered texts which lie there. After winning three matches, he is in a significantly better mood until he checks his phone again.

‘You, okay?’ Max asks, the first words they have exchanged since leaving his apartment.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lando answers distractedly. ‘Just… I asked Oscar if he wanted to stay with me over the race weekend, but he said he’s staying with Arthur.’

‘I’m proud of you. Reaching out,’ Max offers, dousing himself in water before taking a sip.

‘Yeah, yeah, no chick flick moments,’ Lando grouses, though he cannot deny the words bring a smile to his lips.

‘How is that situation going?’ Max asks, waving his hands around to substantiate the situation to which he is referring.

Lando hesitates for a second. ‘I’m still struggling with it, but Australia gave me some clarity. Then I saw my family and they offered me some uncomfortably accurate advice. I owe it to him, and to myself, to see if we can make this work as teammates.’

‘Okay,’ Max answers, nodding slowly. ‘You know I have your back no matter what? I like Oscar, but you’re Lando.’

He says the words so simply, even daring to shrug, but they land in his chest, removing the final weight of doubt from his stomach.

‘Oh,’ is all he can think to say.

Max scrutinises him critically. ‘You thought that because we get along with Oscar, we would choose him over you if it came to it.’

‘I mean, Alex kind of did,’ Lando mutters moodily, playing with his racquet.

Max hesitates. ‘You’re right, it seemed as though he did. But Lando, that wasn’t about you so much as it was about Alex. I was there for those couple of years at Red Bull and… let’s just say Oscar’s situation has hit home for him. But Alex knows where his loyalties lie, and they will always be with you.’

‘Thank you,’ Lando smiles softly. ‘For being my best friend even through all my shit.’ He pauses, deciding to take the opportunity to tease him a little. ‘And I’m pleased that my best friend has found another best friend to give him blow jobs.’

Max immediately begins to chase him, Lando’s cackles flooding out of the padel court.

We start with stars in our eyes
We start believing that we belong

Lando is curled up on the settee playing Call of Duty when his phone rings. He doesn’t look at the caller ID before answering, putting the phone to his ear.

‘Hey.’

‘Oh, erm, hey Lando,’ a familiar accent says.

‘Oscar!’ He sits up, discarding his remote in favour of the phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear. ‘Hey mate, you okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,’ his teammate sounds awkward. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called. But you’re the only person in Monaco I know, I guess. Mark is in London, and Logan doesn’t have a car, and…’

‘Trying not to feel like the last resort here,’ Lando intercedes with a chuckle.

‘I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your night. I’ll see you at the race.’

‘Wait!’ Lando calls. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just kidding around. What’s going on?’

Oscar hesitates, and for a moment all Lando can hear are his even breaths. ‘Arthur promised he’d pick me up from the airport, but he bailed on me last minute, and now I’m sort of stuck here. I tried calling a taxi, but I guess this close to the race, it’s chaos.’

‘I can be there in half an hour,’ he is already standing up, discarding the blanket over his legs, and pulling on some shoes.

‘You don’t have to,’ Oscar hedges. ‘I can call… someone. Or wait for the cab.’

‘I’m walking out the door now, thirty minutes tops, I promise.’ He hangs up the phone before Oscar can argue any further.

But every sun doesn't rise
And no one tells you where you went wrong

Lando takes some liberties with the speed limit which mean he reaches the airport in just over twenty minutes, pulling up to find what can only be described as a very sleepy koala staring back at him.

‘Hey mate,’ he gets out of the car and helps Oscar load his luggage into the boot.

‘Hey,’ Oscar’s smile is small and tentative, but present and real none-the-less. ‘You really didn’t have to come.’

‘Arthur should have come,’ Lando grumbles as they climb into their respective seats.

‘I never should have relied on him really,’ Oscar yawns deeply. ‘I love Arthur, but he’s easily distracted.’

‘That’s no excuse,’ Lando rolls his eyes.

‘It’s how it is,’ Oscar shrugs. ‘Arthur is passionate and excitable. It also means he forgets the practical things sometimes.’

‘You’re not a practical thing, you’re his friend. Why are you so tired?’ He asks, as Oscar lets loose another face splitting yawn.

‘I’ve been on a plane for over twenty-four hours,’ Oscar answers through another yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly like a child.

‘But you can sleep anywhere,’ Lando raises his eyebrows. He may have spent the last few months being a pretty shitty teammate, but even he couldn’t help but notice the frankly inhuman number of naps the Aussie succumbs to.

‘Except on planes,’ Oscar sighs. ‘I’ve been like that forever; I never really thought it would be an issue until now.’

‘Sleep, mate,’ Lando orders. ‘We won’t be back for another half an hour at least.’ He waits for Oscar to argue, but to his amusement, when he looks over to the passenger seat, his face is already pressed against the glass, slow breaths puffing steam against the window.

It’s not adorable.

He doesn’t hesitate before dialling a familiar number, knowing that once Oscar is out, he doesn’t wake for anything. ‘Are you calling to ask about the sordid details? Because I have lots of them which I’ve just been waiting to share.’

‘Ew, no. Please, never offer me details about your sexual experiences with Max ever again,’ Lando shudders as Charles cackles over the phone. ‘I’m calling to ask for Arthur’s number and address.’

‘Arthur… my little brother Arthur?’ Charles asks sceptically.

‘Do you know another Arthur?’ Lando demands, rolling his eyes. Oscar shifts slightly against the door but doesn’t wake as he shuffles further into the upholstery.

‘Yes, I know lots of Arthur’s,’ Lando can hear the sarcasm in his tone.

‘Okay, well, yes, I mean your little brother Arthur.’

‘And why do you need this information?’

‘I have his houseguest fast asleep in my passenger seat because Arthur couldn’t be bothered to pick him up from the airport,’ Lando hisses.

Charles just sighs deeply over the phone. ‘That… that really tracks actually. Let me call him quickly and make sure he’ll be there to let you in.’

Charles hangs up before Lando can protest, so he continues heading toward his own apartment. It is only a few minutes before the phone rings and Charles’ voice floods the cab again. ‘Okay so there’s good news and bad news.’

‘Give me the bad,’ Lando sighs.

‘Arthur won’t be home tonight, so he can’t let you into his apartment. The good news is, I have a key if you really need it. But can he not just stay at yours? He is your teammate, after all.’

Lando stays silent for a long few moments. He wants nothing more than to bring Oscar to his own home, get him set up in his guest room and take a step forward in fixing their relationship. His own flat, where he can make breakfast in the morning and apologise for all the stupid stuff he’s done. But Oscar didn’t want to stay with him. He asked, and Oscar refused. Whatever Lando’s feelings are on the matter, Oscar isn’t ready yet. Lando has spent enough time being a shit teammate this year, he doesn’t intend to continue.

‘I’ll come and pick the key up, Charles. And thanks.’

They speak for another minute before Lando hangs up, putting the radio on quietly so to avoid waking Oscar. It takes a further thirty minutes to pick up the key from Charles and then drive to Arthur’s apartment than it would to go back to his own, but Lando knows as soon as he shakes Oscar awake that he has made the right decision.

‘We’re here?’ Oscar asks blearily as his sleepy brown eyes blink open.

‘Yeah mate, here’s his key,’ Lando hands the object over as Oscar blinks as him, confused.

‘Key? Why do I need a key?’ His voice is husky with sleep.

‘Arthur won’t be back until the morning. I went to Charles’ and got the spare key,’ Lando answers.

‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Oscar winces guiltily. ‘I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have had to do any of this.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Lando assures him.

‘No, it was,’ Oscar argues. ‘It’s late, and almost time for the race weekend. I never should have called.’

Lando fixes him with a serious look. ‘You said you didn’t want to stay at mine Oscar, and you deserve for your boundaries to be respected.’

‘That was… really sweet,’ Oscar admits.

‘I know I haven’t shown it well so far this year, but I promise, I am a good guy, and I will do better. This is only the beginning. Now, go to bed before your sleep cycle gets anymore fucked,’ Lando orders, clambering out of the car to grab Oscar’s bags from the back.

Oscar takes the luggage from him, snagging Lando’s hand in his own for a single second before letting go. ‘Thank you, Lando.’ And for the first time this year, Lando knows for certain he did the right thing.

Step out, step out of the sun
If you keep getting burned

Spain, June 2023

Monaco went as well as could be expected for their car, both of them finishing in the points, this time without half the grid crashing in the process. Even better than the result though, is the clarity Lando feels. For the first time since finding out Oscar was going to be his teammate, he finally feels steady.

Oscar stays with Arthur for his entire duration in Monaco, but he cautiously invites Lando out to play padel. It is his first time, having been persuaded by Arthur to try it. Lando and Oscar play against the Leclerc brothers. Considering the Australian is using a borrowed racquet and barely understands the rules, he isn’t half bad.

Charles teases him mercilessly for the smile which he simply cannot wipe from his face, but Lando can’t bring himself to care. He makes a few subtle jokes about Charles and Max in return, thinking it might stop the comments, but Charles just shrugs and giggles. All in all, it’s a fucking good day, and to top it off, Oscar agrees to fly to Spain together a couple of days later.

They arrange to share a taxi to the airport. For the first time in his life, Lando is packed and ready by the time the vehicle arrives outside his apartment. Thirty minutes later they are in the vehicle, having been significantly delayed by the fact that Oscar was not, in fact, packed and ready.

‘I really thought you’d be a neat freak mate,’ Lando admits as they take their seats on the plane.

‘You’re kidding me,’ Oscar looks to him with wide, horrified eyes.

‘I don’t know, I just thought being neat would fit with the whole quiet and calm thing you’ve got going on.’

Oscar barks a laugh, doubling over in his seat. ‘If Robert could hear you right now, he would probably start crying. All he ever does is moan at me to be neater and more organised.’

‘Well, I never would have guessed,’ Lando laughs. ‘I don’t know, you just have this confidence which makes you seem so put together.’

‘Confident?’ Oscar asks, raising his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, you come across as though you’ve been racing in F1 for years. All the commentators say it,’ Lando answers.

‘Huh,’ Oscar murmurs. ‘I’ve been shitting myself since the Alpine drama last year. Glad to know I’ve kept it hidden.’

Lando examines him carefully. His face appears as deadpan as ever, but the longer Lando looks, the more he notices the micro-expressions. The tightness around his eyes, the ever so slightly furrowed brow, the vulnerability which shines from those honey-coloured eyes. They’re almost imperceptible, but once spotted, they all paint the picture of a man under strain.

‘I was so scared when you joined the team.’ Lando had no intention of revealing the soul searching he had done in Monaco, but the vulnerability Oscar had just offered him makes him want to bare a strip of his soul in return. ‘Carlos was only ever my teammate while I was a rookie, while I wasn’t expected to be good. Then Daniel never came close to beating me. I guess I got used to being the best, with no competition. You joined, and I expected to be the one with all the power. But then you beat me. You’ve beaten me more times this season almost than Daniel did the whole of last year. Zak and Andrea love you. I guess somewhere along the way, you began to feel like a threat.’

‘But you’re Lando Norris,’ Oscar replies. There is no disbelief in his tone, no judgement or recrimination. Just confusion. ‘You’re the golden boy of McLaren. Of the whole grid. You have the most fans, you’re the most loved.’

‘I think you’re getting me mixed up with Charles,’ Lando chuckles. ‘Those Lecfosi are terrifying.’

‘Charles is great, but you’re the one we used to look up to in F2. Then you were my teammate, and that was exciting. And intimidating.’

‘Intimidating? Me? The guy who blasts sad Taylor Swift songs before every race?’

‘That is true, I think metal would be better for your reputation.’ Oscar says the statement with such lack of expression, his tone not shifting once, that it catches Lando entirely off-guard. Before he knows it, he has collapsed into honest to God giggles.

Lando swears he hears cracking as one of Oscar’s iron walls begins to come down.

‘Speaking of Charles,’ he gasps, deciding enough vulnerability has been shared for the day. ‘I caught him and Max in bed together the other day! They fucking live together!’ This is the hottest gossip Lando has shared in a long time… maybe ever, and frankly the lack of shock on Oscar’s face is insulting.

‘Um, yeah?’ Oscar mutters, looking confused.

‘What do you mean, um yeah?’ Lando demands. ‘Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc are together! Have been since 2019!’ Still, Oscar’s face does not move.

‘Around Singapore, right?’

‘Monza actually,’ Lando corrects automatically. ‘Wait, what the fuck? You knew?’

Oscar shrugs. ‘I mean, I guess.’

‘They told you before me?’ Lando screeches. ‘Oh no, I get it, Arthur told you.’

‘Actually, we’ve never discussed it,’ Oscar admits. ‘I just… thought everyone knew.’

‘I didn’t!’

Oscar winces at the high-pitched squeal which emerges from his throat. ‘You’re not the most observant, Lando.’

‘I… what! The betrayal! You wound me, Oscar Jack Piastri.’

Oscar doubles over laughing. Compared to the small, breathless chuckles from before, this is full-bellied, rasping laughter. He gasps for air, clutching his stomach as he curls up into his chair, eyes tightly squeezed shut as the hacking laugh continues to burst out of him.

It is ugly, and loud, and a million miles away from Lando how imagined it.

For the first time, Lando considers that he would like to hear Oscar’s laughter for the rest of his life.

Step out, step out of the sun
Because you've learned, because you've learned

They land in Spain and head straight to the track for media day. The plane was delayed leaving Monaco, so they tumble haphazardly straight into the same car as they battle to avoid being late for the press conference.

‘Hey, listen, I wanted to ask you something, and there’s no pressure,’ Lando starts, playing with his hands awkwardly as he finally puts voice to the words which have been plaguing him for hours.

‘That’s not at all ominous,’ Oscar grins. He has loosened up significantly since he asked Lando for a lift originally in Monaco, coming out of shell slowly but surely over the course of the few days Lando has spent with him on and off.

‘Carlos invited us to his parents’ house for the night. Good food, good company, nothing too intense. I’ve met his parents and his sister before, they’re lovely, and he asked me to invite you.’

‘He asked you to invite me?’ Oscar asks. There is no obvious switch in his expression, no significant drop in tone or derision, but Lando senses his hesitation none-the-less.

‘Carlos wanted you to come, but he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. He felt the invite should come from me; in order to give me the opportunity to deny it should I not wish you to come,’ Lando answers honestly. ‘I want nothing more than for you to come to dinner with us tonight, Oscar.’

‘Is Logan invited?’ He asks hesitantly.

‘Yes, of course,’ Lando assures him. ‘Just think about it.’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I’d love to come.’ Lando offers him the barest details before they are being hustled from the vehicle and into various media commitments. He barely sees his papaya-coloured teammate for the rest of the day, until he knocks on the door to Oscar’s driver’s room.

‘Hey mate, are you ready to head off?’ He asks.

‘One second, do you want to come in quickly?’ Lando accepts the offer, pulling the door shut behind him as he steps into Oscar’s personal space.

‘Not too messy in here yet,’ he jokes, kicking back on Oscar’s massage bed without waiting for permission. Oscar just hums in response, so he launches into a rant about how exhausting he found the media today and the insensitive question one of the reporters asked him.

Oscar is still fiddling around with something in his suitcase, not offering more than the odd noise of outrage or understanding every now and again. In truth, Lando is convinced that he zoned out long ago. That’s what nearly everyone does. He’s a lot, he knows he’s a lot. He monologues endlessly, and tells stories which usually begin at the end, jump around the middle and end in a ten-minute-long tangent about whatever is interesting him that day.

True to form, before he knows it, he is rambling about how he likes Spanish food, but in his opinion, there is far too much fish in it. And what if Carlos’ family serve food with fish? He wouldn’t want to seem rude, but he really, really just can’t eat fish.

‘So, what’s your plan?’ Oscar asks, finally stepping away from the case.

‘For what?’ Lando asks, caught off-guard.

‘For the fish situation. Or the potential for there to be a fish situation,’ Oscar shrugs, coming to sit beside him on the bed.

And. Oh. He was listening. He didn’t zone out, he didn’t lose interest, he didn’t interrupt Lando and tell him he was being too much.

‘I… I don’t know,’ Lando admits, taken aback by the surprising turn of events. ‘Just hope there is no fish, I suppose?’ Oscar leans back against the wall, running his hand through the soft waves of his hair which caress his forehead.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ Oscar deflects immediately. Lando glares at him until he relents. ‘Mae made me a teddy bear for my birthday. It’s stupid, but she was so proud of it, and she wanted me to take it to all the races as some kind of token that she’s with me. I could have sworn I packed it, but I think I must have left it in Arthur’s apartment or something.’

Lando frowns, but Oscar is already moving on, clambering to his feet, and holding out a hand to him. ‘Come on, we need to get going if we’re going to be there on time.’ Lando accepts the hand, allowing himself to be momentarily distracted as they make their way to the car park. Jon and Kim are waiting for them, leaning against a rental car which they all tumble into, Oscar behind the wheel.

Lando’s instinct is to protest, but in truth he hates driving road cars. He despises the way people look at him, expecting him to be some kind of petrolhead. The judgement he gets when he can’t parallel park, and the constant distractions coming at every angle.

The thing is, he has a funny feeling Oscar knows that.

He navigates from the passenger seat, directing Oscar until they find themselves in front of the sprawling hacienda. There are already two Ferraris parked outside, meaning Carlos, Charles, and probably Max, given recent form, are already here. Less than a minute after they park, Logan and Alex arrive separately.

‘If we take the car back, will you be able to get a ride to the hotel?’ Jon asks. Lando and Oscar assure him they will be fine, before waving their respective trainers off, coming to stand with Logan and Alex. They exchange greetings, before Lando leads them to the open front door. He knocks, but it is a mere formality, kicking off his shoes as he enters the house. The others follow suit, and as soon as they enter the expansive kitchen, Lando is mobbed by Carlos Sainz Senior.

‘Ahh, Lando! It has been too long!’ He is enveloped by a hug, warmth spread through him at the familiar touch.

‘Mr Sainz! Thank you for inviting me to dinner.’

‘Ahh, you know this house is always open to you,’ he pats Lando on the back as they separate.

Oscar is standing right behind him, so Mr Sainz pounces on him next. ‘You must be Oscar,’ he smiles, pulling the Aussie in for a hug. Oscar’s eyes are wide over his shoulders, and Lando cannot help the giggle which escapes at the rabbit in headlights expression on his face.

‘I, erm, yes, sir,’ Oscar says awkwardly. ‘Thank you so much. For the invite.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ Mr Sainz smiles. ‘I hope that Lando is being good to you.’ He finds himself holding his breath, waiting for Oscar to reveal the depths of his behaviour the last few races.

‘Of course he is,’ Oscar answers instead. Logan scoffs, but the words strike Lando deeply. Oscar lied to his mother to keep her from worrying, that’s something Lando can understand. But he has just lied about how poorly he was treated to a man he knows Lando respects. This was nothing to do with protecting himself, or protecting his mother. This was all about protecting Lando.

He stumbles through the rest of the introductions in a daze, clapping Carlos on the back and greeting his beaming mother. George is the last one to trickle in, at which point they are all shooed to the table. Lando finds himself sandwiched between Oscar and Carlos, which brings his focus back to the present moment.

Until Carlos’ beautiful, wonderful, caring mother brings out a dish filled with paella. ‘Somewhat stereotypical I know, but it’s the easiest thing to cook when there’s a large group.’

They all make noises of appreciation as she begins to ladle generous portions of rice, vegetables, shrimp, and mussels into bowls. The bowls are passed around the table, until there is one placed before him. He sends a panicked look toward Carlos, but the older man is engaged in a lively debate with Charles and his father, sitting at the head of the table. Carlos doesn’t notice his desperate expression and even if he did, Lando knows he would be more likely to ridicule him than offer assistance. George and Alex are sitting opposite, exchanging giggles at his predicament.

No one really understands his hang up on food. They laugh at his disgust or roll their eyes when he refuses to even try it. The easy option would just be to admit that he hates fish, but that characteristic politeness within him rages against it brutally. He respects Carlos, and his whole family. He does not want to add them to the list of people who refuse to understand this stupid, insignificant part of him.

Except, when he looks down at his plate again, the mussels have disappeared without him noticing. ‘Here, give me the shrimp,’ Oscar whispers, as he slips a few surreptitiously from Lando’s bowl.

‘What… what are you doing?’ He whispers, dumbstruck.

Oscar shrugs. ‘I know you hate fish.’ Lando doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so accepted.

‘I was panicking about how to tell them that I can’t eat it,’ Lando whispers, finally engaging his brain.

‘I love fish, so really it’s a win win,’ Oscar grins, resuming his subtle removal of the fish from Lando’s plate while everyone is distracted.

Win win or not, it’s the most considerate thing anyone has ever done from him, the silent act of removing the fish from his bowl without anyone else noticing. Without even asking, because Oscar knows him so well, he doesn’t need to ask.

By the time Mr Sainz calls for a toast, the fish has been carefully dispatched to Oscar’s plate without anyone realising. It isn’t until they are clinking their glasses together that Lando realises. Not once has he ever seen Oscar eat fish, despite how much he apparently loves it.

On the outside, always looking in
Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Lando qualifies the best he has all season, managing to put this tractor of a McLaren onto the second row. It buoys him for the race as everyone congratulates him, one of the biggest boosts the team has had in weeks.

Except the race is a shitshow from start to finish. He collides with Hamilton in the opening corner, which leaves him limping back to the pits in desperate need of a front wing change, putting him solidly at the back of the back of the field.

It’s a recovery drive now, he tells himself. Let’s just see how high you can finish. Not remarkably high is the answer, managing to improve to only P17. Oscar on the other hand, is four places above him, finishing the race in an unremarkable but solid P13.

He feels the familiar jealousy, the insecurity, strike at him. But he suppresses it stubbornly as he climbs out of the car. It’s not Oscar’s fault he beat him, it’s not Lando’s fault he required a front wing change, and McLaren aren’t going to replace him for one poor finish. The feelings still erupt within him, but he rationalises himself away from a further breakdown.

He pulls himself from the car to find Oscar hovering awkwardly to the side, helmet already off as he waits for Lando to exit the car.

He offers out a hand. ‘I’m sorry for your race, Lando.’ He looks into those deep brown eyes and sees the nerves he is trying to hide. Nerves which are not characteristic of Oscar, until Lando finally realises where they stem from. Oscar beating Lando that first time was what sent him into this downward spiral in the first place. Believing that he could be replaced by his more junior teammate who was achieving higher results than he was capable. Oscar is waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Lando to reject his handshake and insult him the way he has been for the first part of the season.

It hurts Lando’s heart that he could ever make someone feel this way. He takes Oscar’s hand, gripping it tightly and pulling him in for a side hug. ‘I’m proud of you, Osc.’ He waits for the Aussie to protest the nickname, but all he gets in response is a relieved smile.

He really thinks he could be okay at this while teammate thing.

'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass
Waving through a window

Belgium, July 2023

Following the success of Spain, in the teammate department if not the race itself, Lando is riding a high. It carries into media day, when he and Oscar are conscripted the entire day to the fun McLaren videos.

The PR team are making up for lost time, from the races where the performance Lando and Oscar put on in front of the camera was hardly representative of teammates. The day is long and intense, but Lando cannot even say it was boring. Oscar has made leaps and bounds of progress before the cameras since they began to patch up their relationship. Lando finds he spends videos now doubled over with laughter at Oscar’s quiet but cutting quips. It is a welcome change from the beginning of the season. Even from the videos he used to film with Daniel and Carlos.

Lando has spent his life as the junior teammate, but also as the introverted teammate. His interactions with Daniel and Carlos were fun, and exciting, and energetic, and exhausting. He always had to live up to their energy. He would leave media day and fall into bed, more shattered than after a race.

Somehow, spending time with Oscar makes him feel… better. Whether there is a camera shoved in their faces, or it is the two of them alone in his driver’s room. Something about time with the younger man makes him feel lighter. He doesn’t need to nap at the nearest possible moment, doesn’t need to feign illness in order to avoid further conversation.

‘You all good there, mate?’ Oscar asks, breaking Lando from his musings. ‘I lost you somewhere between the hospitality and the waffle stand.’

That catches his attention. ‘Did you say waffle stand?’

Oscar looks amused. ‘Back there.’ Lando whirls around, finding the referenced wagon situated halfway down the paddock. He wanders back, Oscar coming along for the ride with a huff. The waffles are a deep brown, covered in sugar and melted chocolate. There are small clumps of sugar collecting in the divots, and the smell emanating from the waffle stand makes his mouth water.

‘I hate you,’ Lando groans deeply.

‘What did I do?’ Oscar asks. He is smiling, but there is an undertone of true worry in his voice.

‘You showed me this incredible waffle stand, and I can’t eat them,’ he whines, making sure to keep his tone teasing. The tension bleeds from Oscar’s shoulders as he laughs.

‘It’s not my fault mate. You’re not the only one having to resist them.’

‘But I love waffles,’ Lando pouts.

‘I’m playing tiny violins for you,’ Oscar grins. Lando shoves him in retaliation, laughing hard as Oscar stumbles, nearly falling over at the unexpected motion.

‘Oh, you’ve done it now,’ Oscar laughs, chasing after him for revenge. Lando takes off immediately, hopping out of his grasp and cackling as the Australian’s hand closes on thin air.

They leave the paddock in this dance, and Lando cannot remember why they haven’t spent the entire season doing this

I try to speak, but nobody can hear
So I wait around for an answer to appear

Lando’s good mood buoys him through free practice and into sprint qualifying, where he cannot help but be dismayed by the fact that Oscar outqualifies him for the first time this season. Nevertheless, he is sure to congratulate his teammate for qualifying second, drawing another of those gently relieved smiles from him.

Oscar retains his position throughout the sprint, making it his highest finish of the season and the first time he has collected silverware. The first time either of them has brought home a trophy, and once again Lando must swallow down his feelings of inadequacy and resentment. Oscar is too observant for his own good, so Lando is almost certain he spies the moments of frustration. But Lando picks himself up, and poses for a photo with the team, ensuring his smile looks genuine.

Lando retreats to his driver’s room quickly, allowing himself an hour to brood before they begin debrief for the race to come tomorrow. After fifteen minutes or so there is a tentative knock on the door.

‘What?’ He groans. The door creaks open to reveal Oscar in the doorway. He has changed out of his fireproofs, into a pair of shorts and a soft maroon t-shirt. He is silhouetted in the fading light of the paddock for a moment, haloed by the sinking sun, before taking the plunge and entering his driver’s room.

‘Hi,’ Lando says, slightly bemused at the sudden surge of confidence from his generally withdrawn teammate.

‘Hi,’ Oscar offers, before taking a seat on the small couch just across from the massage bed Lando is sprawled over.

‘You good there?’ Lando asks with a small chuckle.

‘I’m great,’ Oscar answers with a smirk, pulling his phone out of his pocket and beginning to tap away. ‘This is for you by the way.’ He offers out a bag which materialises from nowhere. Lando takes it with a furrowed brow, opening it to find a waffle from the stand they had walked past the day prior.

‘You do insist on torturing me,’ Lando groans, closing the bag. ‘You know Jon will kill me if I eat this.’ At that precise moment, a text dings on his phone.

‘You… you asked Jon before you bought it,’ Lando stutters, reading the text Jon had just sent him.

‘Of course,’ Oscar snorts, not looking up from his phone. ‘I don’t have a death wish.’

Lando opens the bag to stare at the treat, marvelling at the thoughtfulness of his teammate. If this were Carlos or Daniel, they would have sought him out and tried to cheer him up. They would have been their usual loud selves, making Lando feel bad for wallowing in their success and resulting in him needing to retreat even more.

Oscar just follows him, acknowledges his need for company but not discussion, and brings him the food he has been craving all day. To top it off, he contacts Jon to make sure that Lando doesn’t need to feel guilty while eating the coveted treat.

He examines Oscar, sitting with one leg positioned over his knee on the sofa, his body looking soft despite the power that Lando knows is lurking beneath the pale skin. His hair is falling across his forehead in waves, his plump lips thinning as he examines something on the screen of his phone.

For the first time in their tenure of teammates, Lando considers how he would like to kiss those lips.

While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass
Waving through a window, oh
Can anybody see, is anybody waving?

Chapter Text

While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass
Waving through a window, oh
Can anybody see, is anybody waving?

France, July 2023

They are initially supposed to fly to France straight from Belgium, a result of a brutal triple header. However, the night before the flight, Lando receives a message from Oscar. He doesn’t even bother unlocking his phone before he throws on a hoodie, padding down the hall to Oscar’s room.

‘What the fuck do you mean you aren’t flying with us tomorrow?’ Lando demands as soon as Oscar swings the door open.

Oscar just peers at him with sleepy eyes. ‘Is that my hoodie?’

Lando glances down at it for the first time since he pulled it on, finally registering the way the sleeves brush his fingertips, the deep olive-green colour and the number 81 embroidered on the chest. ‘Yes,’ Lando doesn’t even remember stealing it. ‘Do you want it back?’

Oscar just shakes his head as he leans against the doorway. ‘No, it looks better on you.’ His crosses his bare arms across his chest, and for the first time Lando registers the fact that it’s nearly midnight, and therefore Oscar is in a soft pair of black joggers, feet bare. His hair is still wet from the shower, the fluffy waves already beginning to establish themselves as it dries rapidly in the warmth. He’s in a worn t-shirt, so old there are holes at the neck and sleeve where the seams are beginning to part.

‘I never took you as someone to hold onto clothes,’ Lando chuckles, nodding to the holes establishing themselves at every opportunity.

‘Ah,’ Oscar blushes slightly. ‘I’m not, but I used to help my Pop fix cars in this t-shirt. When he gave it to me, I was so young it hit my knees. I guess it got some sentimental value along the way.’ For a moment, Lando can picture a small face with unruly waves and a warm smile following his grandfather around the garage like a shadow, wearing a t-shirt so large it almost brushes the ground.

‘That’s sweet,’ he offers, shaking himself out of the image. ‘But yeah, anyway, why are you not flying back with us?’

‘I need to go home for a couple of days,’ Oscar shrugs, not offering anything further.

‘Just completely out of the blue? You expect me to believe there’s something urgent happening in England?’ He raises his eyebrows.

‘Yes.’ Oscar’s tone leaves no room for argument, and Lando can only sigh deeply. If this were any other teammate, at any other time, he would push and push and push until they finally give him a satisfactory answer. But this is Oscar. Quiet, introverted Oscar, who he has already hurt so badly he feels like he is treading on eggshells within their relationship. So, he backs off.

‘Okay… just… would it be easier if you had a friend with you? I can always come if you think company would be better.’ Oscar’s answering smile is unusually bright.

‘No, honestly everything is fine. I just need a couple of nights at home in my own bed. It’s a long season,’ he chuckles. ‘But really, thank you for the offer, Lando. It means a lot.’ Before he even processes what has happened, Oscar is disappearing into his room, shutting the door behind him.

It is only when Lando is walking away he realises that Oscar’s eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, looking more like he had been crying than the exhaustion Lando had assumed.

It must be nothing. Right?

When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?

He tries not to think about Oscar as he spends the next couple of days preparing for the French Grand Prix. Jon had organised a short training camp for when he landed, the only enticement being that Max’s trainer had given him the green light to participate as well.

He spends the time sweating, thinking about Oscar. Moaning about cardio, wondering what Oscar is doing. Shooting the shit with Max, worried about Oscar.

Max doesn’t call him out on his behaviour until the end of the first day, but Lando waves him off dismissively. ‘I’m not distracted mate, just loving this training camp.’ Max’s answering snort is tinged with disbelief, but he elects not to press the issue. Thursday rolls around all too slowly, and although Lando despises the press, the thought of seeing Oscar’s close-lipped smile makes up for it somehow.

They were both called into the same press conference, along with Max, Charles, Esteban and Pierre. For the first time in his career, Lando finds himself loitering outside the room, not able to be let in yet because he’s early. Neither he nor Oscar are particularly well known for their punctuality, but Oscar is the lesser of two evils.

Now here he is, pacing outside the conference room to be let in like some lovesick idiot.

‘You’re early,’ Charles calls. Lando can’t even see him yet, but he can hear the shit eating grin that is undoubtedly covering his face. Sure enough, when he turns, Charles looks knowingly bemused. Pierre on the other hand looks bewildered.

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ Lando mutters. He probably would have come up with a better response, but at that exact moment, a bright flash of papaya rounds the corner. His head snaps up immediately, making Charles snort with laughter. Max and Oscar are locked in deep discussion as they round the corner, each of them bedecked in their usual team gear.

‘Hey mate,’ Lando interrupts them, unable to wait any longer to see his teammate. ‘How was your couple of days at home?’

Oscar sends what can only be described as a glare toward Max, before turning away and answering Lando. ‘It was great, thank you.’

‘Just what you needed, was it?’ Max asked with a certain ire to his tone.

‘Yes,’ Oscar answers through gritted teeth. ‘It was.’

Lando and Charles exchange a puzzled expression, confused by the undertone of the conversation transpiring in front of them.

‘Is everything okay?’ Charles asks gently.

Max opens his mouth to respond, but Oscar breaks in before he can answer. ‘Fine.’ They are interrupted by an assistant directing them in before Max can argue.

‘Saved by the press,’ Max hisses as they walk inside.

‘Not the way that phrase goes,’ Oscar answers in his typical, even tone of voice.

‘Everything okay?’ Lando asks as they take their place inside. ‘I know he’s my best mate, but I will beat him up for you.’

Oscar just smiles, one of those which crinkles the corners of his eyes and shows off those slightly crooked front teeth. ‘We’re all good.’ They sit down beside one another, and Lando brushes his knee against Oscar’s, unable to resist the urge now they are in such close quarters.

He spends much of the interview completely zoned out, only rousing when there is a question directed toward him or his teammate. It is hearing Oscar’s name which makes him perk up toward the end of the conference.

‘Question for Oscar, how are you feeling being back in France? Your old team was Alpine before the contract negotiations occurred. Is it good to be back in a country which was the base of your team for so long?’

Lando can feel Oscar hesitate as he fishes around for the microphone he abandoned. ‘It’s nice coming back to somewhere that was, for a significant portion of my life, my home base. You know, no matter how it ended with Alpine, this will always be the place that I spent my junior career when I was growing up. It will always mean something to me.’ The answer sounds far more PR rehearsed than Lando has come to expect from his exceptionally blunt teammate, but he doesn’t draw attention to it. Instead, Max leans forward, catching his eye.

Something is going on.

He doesn’t get a chance to pick at the thread until after the press conference is over, but Oscar is frustratingly tight lipped.

‘Ugh fine!’ Lando exclaims eventually. ‘By the way it’s my turn to host dinner later, so come to my hotel room whenever.’

‘Oh, um, I have loads of work to do with Tom later,’ Oscar hedges.

‘Don’t care,’ Lando rolls his eyes. ‘My room. If you’re not there by eight, I will come to the track and drag you back.’

Oscar makes to protest, but he sees the steely glint in Lando’s eye and does not try any harder.

When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?

Dinner has been in full swing in Lando’s hotel room for a couple of hours when the sound of his alarm effectively silences the chatter.

‘What is that?’ Max asks, looking annoyed at the disruption.

‘An alarm,’ Lando answers vaguely. He turns it off and checks his phone, seeing that the three texts he sent to Oscar over the last few hours have remained unanswered.

‘Yes, I gathered it was an alarm,’ Max rolls his eyes, sarcasm lacing his tone. ‘But what for.’

‘Oscar promised to be here by eight,’ Lando answers, unable to disguise the disappointment in his tone. ‘I really thought he would show.’

‘Have you tried calling him?’ Alex asks kindly, placing a gentle hand on his back. ‘Why don’t you give him a chance to come on his own before you go hunting him down.’

Lando does as he suggests, calling first Oscar, and then, when the call rings through, dials Tom Stallard, a rarely used contact in his phone.

‘Hey Lando, is everything okay?’ Tom asks as soon as he answers.

‘Yeah mate, sorry to call you of an evening,’ Lando apologises. ‘Oscar told me he’d see me at eight, and he’s not here yet, so I’m just checking to see if he left? He said he was staying late to do some work with you?’

Tom laughs, ‘so that’s why he ran out of here like a bat out of hell. We lost track of time, and he headed off like ten minutes ago. He said about grabbing something before he came to yours though, so he might be a bit late.’

Lando cannot help the sigh of relief which escapes him. ‘Okay, good. Thank you for letting me know.’ They say their goodbyes before they each hang up.

‘I told you,’ Alex says smugly. ‘Once he’s here, can we ask about the koala which has been sitting on the table all night?’

‘Maybe,’ Lando smiles, thinking back to his actions of a few days ago. After Oscar had bailed on their travel plans the prior week, he had gone whole hog and changed his flight to land in Nice, allowing him to return to Monaco before heading to the track. Once there, he tracked down Arthur and dug out the stuffie Oscar left from the pile of shit that was Arthur Leclerc’s flat. Some apples don’t fall far from the tree.

‘I’ll have that,’ Max chuckles, plucking his phone from his hand.

‘Hey!’ Lando protests, trying to grab the device dangling from his fingertips.

‘No,’ Max uses those razor-sharp reflexes to keep it from his grasp. ‘We both know that you’ll just spend the night watching the clock waiting for him.’

Before Lando can protest, Alex has fired up his Switch, getting them all embroiled in a game of FIFA. Lando tries to remain annoyed by the actions, but he is soon sucked into the game, completely losing track of time.

Eventually Lando’s phone buzzes from where it has been sat beside Max. Rolling his eyes, the Dutchman returns it to his possession. It is just a text from his brother, but Lando registers the time displayed on the phone.

‘It’s been over an hour,’ he frowns, pressing on Oscar’s contact and raising the phone to his ear. Just as before, the call drops without connecting.

‘That is a long time for him to get here from the track,’ George frowns.

‘Tom did say he was picking something up on the way here,’ Max points out, but his own brow has furrowed.

‘That doesn’t explain him not picking up his phone,’ Charles counters, his own device pressed to his ear as he tries Oscar’s number.

Lando dials Tom again, who picks up almost immediately.

‘Hey Lando, I’ve never heard from you so much!’

‘Yeah, hey, sorry Tom,’ Lando apologises distractedly. ‘I just wanted to check Oscar isn’t with you?’

‘Oscar? He left ages ago mate. I’m still at the track, and he’s definitely not here.’

Lando feels worry lance through him at the words. ‘Okay, let me know if he gets in contact with you.’ Tom begins to say something, but Lando has already hung up.

‘He definitely left McLaren over an hour ago,’ he explains.

‘He’s still not picking up,’ Charles adds, not removing his phone from his ear. If Lando listens carefully, he can hear the endless dialling as Oscar refuses to answer.

‘Logan hasn’t heard from him in a few hours,’ Alex adds, his own phone in his hands as he swipes his fingertips across it desperately.

‘Okay, let’s not panic,’ George uses the tone which is usually reserved for the GDPA meetings. ‘Let’s call around and ask if anyone’s seen him. Lando, feel free to share some McLaren numbers with us and we’ll start calling. Otherwise, call drivers, friends, anyone you can think of.’

Lando has just started to make his first phone call when there is a knock on the door.

‘If that’s him, after all this worry,’ Max grumbles as Lando stands to answer it. The front door is out of view of everyone sitting in the main living space, so none of them spot what lingers behind when it swings open.

‘I’m sorry,’ a small voice says from the hotel corridor. ‘I didn’t know where else to go.’

It takes Lando’s brain a few seconds to compute what he is seeing, but the longer he looks, the less sense it makes. Oscar is standing before him, well, more like leaning, most of his weight being transferred to the door jamb, his other arm wrapped tightly around his ribs. One of his eyes has already begun to blacken and swell, the eyeball stained red with blood from broken capillaries. His nose is bleeding sluggishly, chin and neck splattered with red. There is a split across the bridge of his nose, and another, deeper cut across his forehead, painting the entire right side of his face scarlet. From the way he is hunched, arm refusing to let go of his ribs Lando can only assume there are more injuries lurking beneath his team polo.

He stands gaping for so long that Oscar begins to waver in front of his eyes, swaying back and forth before Lando finally has the sense to reach for his arm. Oscar flinches away violently, nearly losing his balance as he does so.

‘I’m sorry,’ Oscar mutters, the words thick. ‘I… I’m sorry.’

‘Osc, hey, can I touch you? I just want to help you stand?’ Lando exposes his hands, waiting for the boy to nod before he finally wraps his arm around Oscar’s shoulders.

‘Okay, we’re outside my hotel room. Our friends are inside. Would you like to go to your room, where we can be alone, or do you want to come in?’

‘Not sure I can walk much more,’ Oscar slurs, his head dropping against Lando’s shoulder.

‘Would you like me to kick them out?’ Lando asks, using all his strength to keep his voice steady, to keep the panic from taking over his logical thoughts.

‘Our friends?’ Oscar asks, his voice soft.

‘Our friends,’ Lando confirms as he fights to keep Oscar upright. ‘Look, Osc, I’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, but you’re kind of heavy, so a decision would be appreciated.’

‘Is everything okay?’ Max’s voice bellows from inside the room. ‘Is it Oscar?!’

‘Let’s go in,’ Oscar breathes. It takes all Lando’s strength, but eventually they make it inside, swinging the door shut behind them. As soon as they enter the living space, there is a variety of gasps from around the room.

‘Holy fuck!’ Alex cries, jumping up from his seat on the couch to allow Lando to lower Oscar down. He does so, the Aussie groaning in pain as he is placed against the fabric.

‘What do we do?’ Carlos panics.

‘Take him to hospital,’ George answers immediately. ‘I can call an ambulance.’ Lando doesn’t need to look at Oscar to know that is precisely the last thing he wants.

‘Hang on,’ he stalls them. ‘Oscar, Kim has first aid experience, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Oscar grinds out as he battles the pain.

‘Okay, let me call Kim. He’s in the hotel, he can assess Oscar and make that call better than we can,’ Lando proposes. None of them argue, so he grabs his phone, dialling the number as Max, Carlos, Alex, and George hover awkwardly in the corner of the room, not daring to approach his teammate lest they make it worse. Charles, however, grabs a cold bottle of beer from the fridge and offers it to Oscar. ‘For the eye.’

He settles down beside the Aussie, speaking to him in soft tones, such that Lando cannot hear. It takes a vague explanation for Kim to agree to come, promising he will be there in five minutes, once he has grabbed his kit.

‘Kim’s coming,’ Lando promises as he sits down on Oscar’s other side. ‘Being honest, how bad is this really?’

‘Hurts like a bitch,’ Oscar admits. ‘But I think it looks worse than it is. Nothing feels broken.’

‘You have a nasty cut on the back of your head though,’ Charles mutters as he digs around in Oscar’s blood-soaked hair.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Oscar hisses as he jerks away from the touch. ‘It hurts.

Charles hums, continuing to separate pieces of hair in order to get a better look at the bleeding gash. ‘How did you get that?’ Oscar asks.

‘Get what?’ Lando wonders, following his unwavering gaze to the coffee table. ‘Ah. Right. The bear.’ He flushes deeply.

‘The bear which I left in Monaco.’

‘So that’s why you spent three days bugging my brother about how messy his flat is,’ Charles comments idly.

‘You found it for me?’ Oscar asks softly.

Lando just shrugs. ‘I mean, it was important. To you. And your sister. I was going to Monaco anyway.’

‘You weren’t,’ Charles intercedes, his tone nonchalant.

‘Shut up,’ Lando hisses, relieved when there is a second knock on the door.

‘I’ll get it,’ Max is already moving before Lando can even register Kim has already arrived. The Australian enters with little fanfare, just glares at Oscar, setting his bag on the table with a thump before shooing them all to the back of the room.

Lando keeps a close eye on Oscar as Kim works on treating his injuries. He is clearly in pain, and going to be for a while, but Kim doesn’t scream and begin dialling emergency services, so he takes it as a good sign.

‘What the fuck happened?’ George hisses as they all huddle together.

He seems to have directed his question toward Lando, who reacts immediately. ‘Are you kidding? You think I had any idea about this? I’ve been worrying about him half the night and you were all telling me I was being ridiculous!’

‘Exactly,’ Alex counters. ‘Why were you so worried if you didn’t know anything.’

‘I didn’t know anything, but I sensed something was up. He knows something’s wrong,’ Lando points toward Max accusingly, who just looks guilty.

‘I thought Oscar told you,’ he admits.

‘Well, if you knew him at all, you would know there is no chance of that happening,’ Lando snaps. ‘He never fucking asks anyone for help.’

‘He can also hear you,’ Kim drawls lazily. ‘Just shut up and be quiet for a bit, Oscar will tell you when I’m done with him.’

Oscar opens his mouth to protest, but the look Kim gives him is glacial. ‘You will tell him, or I will go to Zak Brown myself, like I should have done the first time. Are we clear?’

Oscar grumbles something which sounds like acceptance, the rest of them finally perching around the room. Lando snatches the seat beside Oscar before anyone else has a chance, brushing their knees together tenderly as Kim wipes away the last of the dried blood from his face. Now that he has finally cleaned the majority of the gore, Lando can clearly see the injuries lurking beneath. The laceration on his forehead is an inch wide and deep enough for it to still be weeping blood lightly, He can see the cut on the top of Oscar’s head if he cranes his neck, which seems far more minor. A deep bruise has been exposed now the blood is gone, Oscar’s right temple and cheek turning blue before Lando’s eyes. His right eye has slowed in swelling since Charles offered him the now sweating beer bottle, but this too is turning spectacular shades of purple. The rest seems mostly superficial, smaller bruises and minor lacerations across the bridge of his nose, a split through his lip,

‘Shirt off,’ Kim orders finally when he is done with Oscar’s face. The Aussie hesitates, before seeming to sense there is no use arguing. He only manages to raise his arms to half-mast before he is groaning in pain. Kim reaches out to aid Oscar getting the shirt off, but Lando gets there first. Tenderly, he guides Oscar’s arms up before he peels the blood-soaked papaya shirt from his frame, revealing the bruises painting his ribs beneath the fabric. Lando winces at the sight, imagining how painful it must be. Kim looks slightly sick, getting to his knees before the sofa.

‘I’m sorry Oscar, this is going to hurt. But I need to make sure they’re not broken.’ He waits for the nod of permission before he begins to palpate the skin. Oscar stiffens, biting his split lip as he does his best to suppress the groans of pain which threaten to emerge. Without thinking, Lando offers out his hand for Oscar to take. Hesitating, Oscar looks at him for a moment, his eyes tight with pain. He must see something in Lando’s expression because he intertwines their fingers, squeezing hard when Kim presses on a particularly painful spot.

It is a long few minutes before Kim is finally satisfied. He straightens, drawing Oscar into an unexpected hug. ‘You’re okay, kid. You need to be checked out at the medical centre but you’re not gonna die overnight.’

‘Well, that’s good news,’ Oscar deadpans, examining his ruined McLaren polo with distaste.

‘I’ll get you a shirt,’ Lando promises, disappearing into the bedroom and digging through his still fully packed suitcase. There is a shirt buried at the very bottom which is too big on him, looking as though it may fit over Oscar’s broader shoulders. He brings it out with him, finding Kim packing his kit up and offering Oscar strict instructions. Lando helps Oscar pull the shirt on, pretending he doesn’t see the deep inhale Oscar directs at the fabric.

‘Tell them,’ Are Kim’s final words before he takes his leave.

‘What the fuck happened?’ Max demands as soon as the door clicks shut behind the trainer.

Alex looks like he is about to make a smart comment, but Lando motions for him to shut up. ‘Please Oscar,’ he begs.

The Aussie sighs deeply, wincing as he does so, hand coming up to cup his ribs. ‘Look, I… my introduction to Formula One was hardly without some controversy. This is just some backlash from that.’

‘Backlash would be a few negative news stories. Some impolite Twitter comments. Not physical harm,’ George protests.

Oscar just stays silent. ‘You’ve had all of that, haven’t you?’ Charles guesses.

‘We were walking down the pitlane earlier when six Alpine engineers called him a traitor,’ Max supplies. ‘They were jeering at him, saying he isn’t worthy of his seat. That he’s disloyal.’

‘Has this been happening all season?’ Carlos demands. Oscar doesn’t answer, refusing to meet any of their eyes.

‘Did they do this to you?’ Charles demands, his voice cold and unyielding.

‘No, no. The engineers had nothing to do with it,’ Oscar assures them. ‘I stayed late at the track with Tom, and when I went back to my car, it was being tagged by a load of Alpine fans.’

‘So, you confronted them?’ Alex raises his eyebrows judgementally.

‘No,’ Oscar snorts, wincing at the movement it causes, poking his tongue against his split lip. ‘I walked away because I didn’t want to get involved. I figured I’d ask Tom for a ride or just come back when they were done. But I think that annoyed them more than if I’d confronted them to be honest.’

‘And they did that?’ Max asks, gesturing to his face.

‘Yep. Look, it’s not a big deal. I expected this race to be… difficult.’

‘That’s why you delayed your arrival,’ Lando realises. ‘Because you were worried this would happen.’

‘I didn’t think anyone would physically hurt me,’ Oscar raises a single shoulder to shrug, the other bruised, just like everything else. ‘But yeah, I knew it wouldn’t be great.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Lando demands shrilly. ‘Or any of us,’ he adds, looking at the furious expressions by which he is surrounded.

‘Because it’s not a big deal,’ Oscar tires to minimise the situation once again.

‘Bullshit,’ Alex argues. ‘You’re a smart guy Oscar. Probably the smartest one of us, from everything I’ve seen. You know that this is a big deal. Someone assaulted you.’

‘I just…’ Oscar fumbles desperately for the words.

‘You didn’t think we would care,’ Lando breathes, the thought dawning on him suddenly.

‘I… it’s not that exactly,’ Oscar admits softly.

‘But it is sort of?’ Charles probes.

‘I guess I just don’t really have a home. Or a family. I haven’t since I was fourteen. I don’t know, I guess to be loved I think I need to be easy. I was scared of being a burden.’

Oscar refuses to meet their eyes as he makes the admission, playing with his hands in his lap instead. Lando has never seen him fiddle with anything before, he is usually the one who has copious amounts of nervous energy to burn off. He knows just how pivotal this admission is to Oscar. The most vulnerability he has shown to any of them since he joined the grid. Lando exchanges glances with everyone else in the room, who look the same blend of horrified and helpless as he does.

No one else seems to know what to do, so he follows his instincts. Oscar isn’t physically affectionate, but right now, Lando just looks at him and sees a scared little boy who needs someone to hold him. So, he does. He approaches slowly, broadcasting his movements to ensure that Oscar has sufficient time to back away should he not want the contact. But he does no such thing, and Lando folds him into his arms. Oscar goes willingly, tucking himself against Lando’s chest and curling up as small as he can get.

There is no discernible change except the smallest trembling of his shoulders, but the wetness Lando feels against his shirt is no lie. Silent tears are dripping down his cheeks as he finally cries. Lando can only hold him tighter, being careful not to put any excess pressure on his ribs.

‘We’re going to head off,’ Max whispers, all of them slowly moving from their seats to give the two McLaren drivers space. Charles is the last to leave, stopping before he exits.

‘This will be fixed before you head to the track tomorrow,’ he swears, nodding intently. Lando doesn’t get a chance to demand what the hell that means, the Monegasque pulling the door shut gently behind him.

Lando has no idea how long he holds Oscar, but he has no intention of letting go until the younger man is ready. Eventually, his shoulders go from shaking, to trembling softly, to still. It is another few minutes before Oscar finally pulls away, Lando loosening his grip to allow the Australian to uncurl himself.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Oscar apologises, rubbing his eyes dry, wincing when his fingers encounter bruising.

‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ Lando denies vehemently. ‘Nothing.’ He sits back, examining the young Aussie carefully. ‘I need to explain something to you that I should have explained properly a long time ago.’

Oscar says nothing, waiting for Lando to continue. ‘Look, at the beginning of the season, I know I wasn’t exactly great to you. I’ve had two teammates in my time at McLaren, and I’ve gotten overly attached to both. But they’ve each left within two seasons. I can’t do it again, okay. I guess some part of me was just planning on hating you because that way it wouldn’t hurt when you left. Then you started beating me, and I heard Zak and Andrea saying how great you are, and I guess the whole thing just made it easier to dislike you.’ Lando admits, finally managing to string his thoughts together.

‘I understand,’ Oscar whispers, his expression inscrutable. The wringing of his hands in his lap shows the insecurity he works so hard to hide. Lando watches his dextrous hands move, his knuckles one of the only parts of him which is unbruised. A sign of how he didn’t even try to fight back.

‘No, Oscar, what I’m saying is I wanted to despise you. So badly. Life would have been so simple if I could just hate you. But I can’t. Somehow, along the way, you turned into my teammate. And my friend.’

‘Your friend?’ Oscar asks softly.

‘Yes,’ Lando smiles softly. ‘Now, we need to have a conversation about what comes next.’

‘I thought that’s what we just had,’ Oscar smiles softly, wincing and wrapping his arm tighter around his ribs.

‘Do you want to race this weekend?’ Lando asks, choosing to bypass the snarky response.

Oscar’s expression is bewildered. ‘I… of course.’

‘Just know you don’t have to, okay. You might not be cleared by medical anyway, but if you don’t want to race, I’ll make sure McLaren stands by you.’

‘I want to race,’ Oscar asserts, his voice stronger this time. ‘I don’t want them to take what I love away from me.’

‘Okay,’ Lando nods shortly. ‘And how do you feel about returning to the paddock tomorrow?’

Oscar looks as though he considers shrugging before thinking better of it. ‘During the day I’ll be fine, it’s busy, there are people everywhere. I won’t stay late tomorrow and make sure I come back to the hotel before it gets dark.’

‘Fine,’ Lando agrees one more time. ‘Look, I… if you’re not comfortable that’s fine. But I really don’t want to leave you alone tonight. You can take my bed, I’ll stay out here or something, but I just… until you’ve seen a doctor, I want to make sure you’re okay.’

Oscar’s smile is small, tender. ‘You don’t need to look out for me, Lando.’

‘I want to,’ Lando argues immediately.

Oscar hesitates for a moment, before offering an alternative proposal with his characteristic bluntness. ‘Then why don’t we just share the bed.’ He offers the next insight in a smaller voice. ‘I’m not sure I want to be alone tonight anyway.’

‘Then let’s go to bed,’ Lando offers, trying not to obsess over the surge of excitement which lurches through him. He stands, offering out his hands to Oscar, unsure what assistance he can provide. Oscar is slow to uncurl from the sofa, taking Lando’s arms and using them to ease himself into a standing position.

‘Thanks,’ he gasps, breathless from the pain. Lando keeps one arm looped around his shoulders for support as they move into the bedroom. Without asking, he helps Oscar remove his clothes before lowering him onto the bed.

‘Ice,’ he says definitively once the bruises are staring up at him again. ‘You need ice.’

He bustles back to the living space, opening the mini freezer, finding it full of ice cubes meant for the minibar. So, he grabs the physio bag Jon insists on leaving with him every night, a pile of snappable ice packs stacked within. Making his way back to the bed, he cracks a couple of them, letting Oscar rest one first on his ribs, and then on his purple left shoulder.

‘Water,’ Lando deems is on the agenda next, filling a glass and returning with it. Oscar sips it slowly, looking bemused.

‘You must be hungry, have you eaten since lunch?’ Lando asks suddenly, pacing uncertainly.

‘Lando, stop,’ Oscar holds out a placating hand. ‘I’m fine. All I want is sleep.’

‘Right, sleep, of course,’ Lando worries his hands. ‘Are you sure that you want to share the bed?’

‘Yes,’ Oscar answers, pulling the covers back and motioning for him to sit. ‘Please, Lando.’ The soft words, the plea, finally break through the anxiety blanketing his brain. Kicking his shoes off, he sits on the bed, swinging his feet up. But this is his bed. And Oscar is in it. And the anxiety returns in full force.

‘Give me that TV remote,’ Oscar rolls his eyes. Lando hands it over uncomfortably, expecting him to turn on cricket, or one of the sports documentaries Lando knows he favours. Instead, he turns on Brooklyn Nine-Nine, navigating to season five before handing the remote back. ‘Put that on,’ he mutters, bedding down into the duvet, adjusting the ice pack against his ribs as he does so.

‘How did you know?’ Lando whispers, staring at the screen.

‘Know what?’ Oscar snorts into the pillow. ‘That Brooklyn Nine-Nine is your comfort show? Or that you’re on season five?’

‘Both,’ Lando chuckles slightly hysterically.

‘Because this is a great season and it’s where the show should have ended with the big wedding at the end tying it all together. The walls between our driver rooms are seriously thin.’

Lando hesitates for a second. ‘I… This is probably a bad time for it, but can I ask you something?’ Oscar gestures for him to continue.

‘Why did you ask Max to come to my hotel room in Las Vegas? I was… awful to you. But you looked after me that night.’

‘Max did everything,’ Oscar answers dismissively, his unbruised cheek turning suspiciously pink.

‘Max told me everything,’ Lando smiles. ‘Even that you knew how I liked my milk.’

‘Yeah, well, someone needed to be there for you. I wasn’t the right person for it that night, but it doesn’t mean that I wanted you to be alone.’

‘Thank you,’ Lando breathes, wanting desperately to reach out. ‘I didn’t know what I needed that night. But you did. I didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it to me anyway.’

Oscar refuses to meet his eyes, shifting uncomfortably at the praise. ‘Just put the show on, will you?’ Lando doesn’t say anything more, leaning over and switching off the lamp before pressing play on the TV. As good as the episode is, he finds himself not thinking about the characters whatsoever.

He cannot seem to draw his attention away from the figure beneath the duvet. Oscar’s even breaths, his shoulders swelling in size when he inhales in a way that makes Lando’s stomach do something funny. The panic which has been slowly trickling into his gut the whole night finally settles. The sight of his teammate sleeping peacefully is a balm to his soul, and Lando finds his eyes drooping.

He cannot resist reaching out. Only once he is sure Oscar is asleep, small puffs of air coming from his nose. Lando snakes a hand from beneath the covers. He freezes when Oscar turns over in his sleep, face contorting in pain, but relaxing once he is settled. Oscar faces him now, waves of hair falling over his forehead, eyelashes brushing pronounced cheekbones scattered with moles. Lando resumes his voyage, until finally, his fingers brush that caramel coloured hair. It is silky smooth, falling back in front of his eyes as soon as Lando pulls his fingers away. He cannot resist. Just once more. So, he brushes that single piece of hair out of Oscar’s eyes again, receiving a sigh from the sleeping man. Lando pulls away again, but Oscar nuzzles into his hand before he can do so. Tentatively, Lando begins to play with the downy locks of hair, Oscar snuggling ever closer to him.

It is an unconscious instinct, but Lando cannot deny the soft smile that comes to his face. Oscar is his teammate, and more than that, Lando thinks he might be becoming his best friend.

When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?

Lando expects to sleep fitfully, imagining waking up to check on Oscar every couple of hours. Except, once he finally manages to close his eyes at just past eleven, he doesn’t reopen them until his alarm blares. He reaches out a hand blindly to turn it off, finding himself unable to reach. He tries again, but he cannot seem to move in order to silence it. Because there is a warm weight lying prone against his chest.

Finally opening his eyes, alarm still screaming, Lando finds a head of toffee coloured hair tickling his skin. Lando inhales sharply, realising that at some point during the night, Oscar has shifted to use his teammate as a pillow. His head and shoulders are firmly situated on Lando’s chest, Oscar’s ear turned directly against the skin. Against Lando’s, now erratic, heartrate.

He reaches out, carding his brown fingers through Oscar’s deceptively blond hair. Despite the alarm screeching in his ear, he feels perfectly at peace. Until he brushes across the laceration on Oscar’s scalp. Lando pulls his fingers away, wincing at the trace of blood which coats them. The combination of his still blaring alarm and the pain finally draws Oscar back to reality, his breathing hitching as he pulls a hand to his head.

‘Ow.’ He shifts away from Lando slightly as the agony increases a notch, allowing Lando to finally reach over and switch his alarm off. Now Oscar has put some distance between them, Lando gets his first good look of his teammate. The bruising has darkened, swelling having increased overnight. His eye is mostly open, but it is clearly misshapen, the pupil stained red and the surrounding skin a lurid blue. There is a sizeable bruise painting his jaw to his hairline deep black, split in the middle by a deep laceration held together by the butterfly strips Kim applied. Against his pale skin, the garish shades look like poorly executed Halloween makeup.

‘How are you feeling?’ Lando asks gently.

Oscar doesn’t respond for a few minutes, eyes squeezed shut as he fights for control over himself. ‘I’m always this miserable when I wake up,’ he offers a weak smile.

Lando finds it in him to laugh, climbing out of bed and heading into the living area to brew a coffee for his teammate. It takes him ten minutes to figure out the machine, but the smile that graces Oscar’s face as soon as he re-enters the bedroom is worth every second of it.

‘You know my coffee order,’ he observes when he glances at the liquid in the cup Lando hands him.

‘Yeah, well, you apparently know how many spoons of cinnamon I take in my milk,’ he counters.

Oscar smiles softly as Lando settles back into bed beside him. Really, he needs to be getting ready to go to the track, but he wants to revel in ten minutes of peace before he must face life again.

‘So, erm, I sort of don’t want to ask,’ Oscar begins. ‘Because I’m kind of scared to think about it too much… but, is your phone blowing up?’

Lando takes the time to look at his phone properly for the first time that morning, finding north of a thousand notifications waiting for him.

‘What the fuck…’ he breathes, barely beginning to scroll through them before there is a knock at the door.

‘Charles?’ He asks as soon as he swings it open. ‘What are you doing here?’ The Monegasque doesn’t answer, dragging Max in behind him as they hijack his hotel room.

‘Sorry mate,’ Max winces as Charles heads straight into the bedroom, finding Oscar halfway through his coffee.

‘Erm… morning,’ Oscar mutters as Charles sits on the bed gently, moving slowly to avoid jostling his aching body.

‘Morning mate,’ Charles smiles softly. ‘How are you feeling.’

‘Fine,’ Oscar demurs. ‘I feel like you had something to do with this whole situation.’ He holds up his phone to demonstrate, upon which Lando can see nearly double the number of notifications than he has on his own device.

‘You would be entirely correct,’ Charles’ grin is nothing short of maniacal. ‘However, I want an honest answer about how you’re doing first.’

Oscar hesitates for a minute as Lando and Max take their seats around the bed. ‘I feel sort of like shit. I’m stiff and in pain. But I’m more worried about what you’ve done than my body right now.’

Charles loses that grin once again. ‘Well Oscar, I’m so glad you asked.’

Max shakes his head. ‘Whatever he did, I’m sorry and know that I had no part of it.’

‘Rude,’ Charles rolls his eyes, slapping his arm. ‘Look, I spent a few hours last night on the phone. I didn’t tell anyone about your injuries, but I did tell them about the verbal and online abuse which you’ve been experiencing. I spoke to Louise.’

‘Louise?’ Lando breaks in. ‘How did you get her number? How did you even know who Louise is?’

‘Carlos literally used to drive for McLaren Lando, keep up,’ Charles rolls his eyes. ‘Anyway, I spoke to Louise, she’s a piece of work by the way, and she eventually gave me all the abuse you’ve received online, as well as informed me of all the verbal abuse you reported to her.’

‘She knew everything?’ Max demands, eyes flashing dangerously.

‘She’s head of PR, she had to be kept abreast of the situation. Besides, it’s not like I could hide the online comments from her,’ Oscar answers, as though it is normal for him to inform the head of PR and not his best friends.

‘And she did nothing?’ Lando demands, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

‘I mean, she kept offering me social media training. And encouraged me to suppress my sense of humour in front of the cameras, to try and keep the abuse to a minimum.’

‘So, she basically told you that you were the problem,’ Lando surmises, shaking his head in disgust. ‘I will be having a conversation with Zak.’ He can sense the incoming protest, but Charles interjects before Oscar can articulate it.

‘Now we’ve covered that, I released images of the tweets on my burner Instagram accounts, before reposting them and commenting on my main Instagram account in your defence. All the other drivers have been doing the same thing, meeting the hate campaign with another, stronger one. I’ve been in touch with ex-drivers, pundits, team principals, you name someone I’ve probably spoken to them. They’ve all been speaking out in your favour to the media.’

‘You did all this in twelve hours?’ Oscar asks, raising his eyebrows.

‘Oh, you think I’m done?’ Charles laughs wickedly. ‘Pierre, Esteban, and I spent half the night speaking to French media, slandering the way the Alpine fans have treated you, and I made some very pointed comments toward Alpine themselves. As a result, the French fans have been restricted from the race. Any Alpine fans with paddock passes have been banned, and there will be security at every entrance and exit. If that were not enough, the Tifosi have joined forces with the McLaren fans to “protect polite cat.” Now, while I don’t know what that means, what I do know is there will be both Italian and McLaren fans throughout every grandstand. They are all prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the Alpine fans in their place. Whatever happens this weekend Oscar, you will be safe. But if you’d told me about this before yesterday, I could have prevented this,’ he gestures to Oscar’s face.

‘Charles… I… thank you, but I think in the long run, you’ve just made this whole situation so much worse,’ Oscar whispers. ‘You just need to take it, and eventually they stop. Eventually, they forget. Now, with their access being restricted, other fans being set against them… I think you’ve just exacerbated the situation.’

‘No, Oscar, I haven’t,’ Charles argues gently. ‘I don’t know what you’ve been told, by Louise, or previous teams. But telling people when you’re struggling isn’t a terrible thing. It isn’t a sign of weakness, and it won’t stop people from loving you. You couldn’t just keep taking it, and most importantly, you shouldn’t. Look at yourself in the mirror, Oscar. People beat you last night, for the crime of prioritising yourself and your career. That isn’t right, and you shouldn’t be this accepting of it.’

Oscar doesn’t answer, staring at his hands wrapped around his coffee mug. ‘Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s fine. But there will be numerous people telling you this, and I hope that at some point, you finally begin to believe it.’ Charles stands, pulling Oscar into a gentle hug.

‘If you could hang out here until ten thirty that would be great,’ Charles informs them, with no context whatsoever, before he sweeps from the room with as much drama as when he entered, once again towing Max behind him like the lovesick puppy he has turned out to be.

Oscar looks half perplexed, half worried as he sips the last of his coffee, finally looking more aware as the caffeine takes hold. ‘You know when you called them our friends last night…’

‘Oh, you can’t back out now,’ Lando chuckles. ‘If I have to put up with their shit, you do too.’ Oscar’s expression is tender, the novelty of having friends not lost on him.

‘I need to shower,’ Oscar sighs after a second, looking downright miserable at the thought.

‘You shower, I’ll grab some clothes from your room if you give me your key card.’ Oscar hesitates before handing it over.

‘It’s a mess,’ he warns, as he removes the room key from out of his phone case. For the first time, Lando registers the shattered screen, the way the glass nearly hangs from the face of the device.

‘While I get your clothes, do you want to use my phone to call your family?’ He can tell that Oscar is about to deny the offer, not wanting to make himself any more of a burden than he already has been. So Lando unlocks his phone and drops it onto the sheets beside him.

‘Just in case,’ he offers, before taking his exit. He lingers in the corridor, hanging out the walk between their rooms to give Oscar more time to speak to his mother, assuming he did the sensible thing and made the call. Unlocking Oscar’s room is like entering a bomb site. His teammate has never been neat, but this disorder is excessive even for him. Oscar’s belongings are strewn across the room in such a fashion that it makes Lando’s hands twitch to begin clearing them.

It takes him a minute to find clothes which appear to be part of the clean pile, before making his way back to his own room. Lando takes his time before he finally unlocks his own door. The water is already running, indicating Oscar has made his way into the shower in the time since he’s been gone. Lando winces, images of Oscar falling flashing before his eyes.

Lando inspects his watch, promising himself that he’ll wait fifteen minutes before he starts asking for proof of life. The first five crawl by at agonising pace, so he starts idly tidying the room, including throwing Oscar’s bloodstained polo into the bin.

He spends the last three minutes before the allocated check in time trying to talk himself out of just bursting in there and making sure nothing terrible has happened. But still, the sound of falling water echoes, the invasive thoughts getting louder as he pictures Oscar curled up, drowning on the floor of the shower. Lando has his hand on the bathroom door handle when the water finally ceases.

‘You okay in there?’ He cannot resist shouting through the door.

‘Sort of,’ is the muffled reply through the door. ‘Could do with some clothes though.’

Lando doesn’t wait any longer before he pushes open the door, finding Oscar barely wrapped in a towel. It isn’t until that moment that he realises what a bad idea this was. He’s never seen Oscar in anything less than t-shirt and shorts before, which is really something he should have considered before just bursting in like this.

Lando Norris has been secure in his sexuality since he was a child, aware that he liked men and women equally. What he didn’t know was pasty Australians with broad shoulders and a hint of abs are apparently his type.

He’s so fucked.

‘Erm, thanks,’ Oscar has to physically remove the small stack of clothes from Lando’s arms, because he can’t seem to engage his brain enough to command his hands to move.

‘Sorry I just… it looks so painful.’ In truth, Lando hadn’t even register the bruising, but it’s the only thing he can think as to why his attention would have been so diverted, lest he admit he was salivating over his junior teammate. Now he has finally acknowledged the colours staining his abdomen, Lando realises the truth of his statement. Overnight, the bruising has both darkened and widened, covering the entire right side of his ribs, all the way from his hip to his shoulder.

‘You can’t drive like that,’ Lando voices his concern for the first time, receiving a muted glare from Oscar.

‘That will be decided by the medics, and can you please leave so I can get dressed?’

Lando wants to protest, but Oscar is steady on his feet, and stubbornly upright. So, he holds his hands up in surrender and flees the room, throwing on his own clothes and beginning to go through the stacks of messages on his phone.

The group chat has been blowing up overnight, everyone demanding to know if Oscar is okay and if there is anything they can do. Charles has headed them off for the most part, but Lando puts in a cursory message assuring them of Oscar’s health.

He is just responding to his siblings when the bathroom door swings open again, steam curling through the gap. Oscar is still shirtless, holding his McLaren polo in a loose grip. His expression is defeated, and Lando needs no words to stride forward and grab the shirt from his hand. They work slowly, Oscar lifting his arms as high as he can as Lando threads the sleeves over the proffered limbs.

Papaya has never been Oscar’s most flattering colour, much more suited to the olives and maroons he favours in his own style. But against the deep magenta bruising haloing his eye and side of his face, well, let’s just say purple and papaya clash.

‘I look a mess,’ Oscar laments, not seeming particularly upset about it.

Lando is about to say something corny or embarrassing when there is a knock on the door, saving him from such a fate. ‘Charles did say no to leave until half ten,’ he shrugs, checking the time.

He crosses to the door, finding Pierre and Esteban on the other side. ‘Morning?’ He phrases it as a question, Pierre pushing past him into the room.

‘Oscar, Charles told me what those fans did to you,’ Pierre pulls the Australian in for a hug, Lando chuckling at the look of bafflement on his face. ‘I’m so sorry, and so ashamed,’ Pierre rambles.

‘It’s fine, it’s not your fault.’ Oscar shrugs, wincing when he moves his swollen shoulder.

‘It doesn’t mean it’s okay,’ Pierre argues. ‘Now, we’re here to escort you to the track.’

‘Together?’ Lando asks sceptically. The French Civil War is legendary, even among the drivers.

‘Together,’ Esteban affirms. ‘We might not like one another, but even we can agree that our friend being attacked by our fans is an unacceptable situation.’

‘Friend?’ Oscar says the word softly, barely above a whisper.

‘Friend,’ Pierre reaffirms. ‘Now, we have strict instructions from Charles that we are to escort you to the McLaren garage, no deviations. So, let’s go.’

‘Who put Charles in charge?’ Oscar mutters to Lando as they are escorted from the room.

Lando can only shrug.

When you're falling in a forest and there's nobody around
Do you ever really crash, or even make a sound?

Pierre and Esteban make good on their promise, escorting Oscar, and Lando by association, through the paddock, doing their best to hide him from the camera lenses of the reporters. Esteban especially has half a foot of height on Oscar which he puts to good use.

‘Charles must have some fucking good blackmail material over the two of you,’ Lando comments to Pierre quietly with raised eyebrows as he watches Esteban physically shield Oscar from a particularly inquisitive journalist.

‘Who says we needed blackmailing?’ Pierre rolls his eyes. ‘Our fans did something unspeakable, we wanted to make up for it.’

‘So did he help hide the body or what?’ Lando chuckles, refusing to let the Frenchman get away without answering it.

Pierre sighs deeply. ‘The escort was free. Agreeing to get along with Esteban was a product of something I didn’t think Charles would ever use against me.’

Lando laughs at the admission as they finally arrive at the MTC. He watches in confusion as they position Oscar facing the motorhome, before finally stepping aside and allowing the cameras to catch a glimpse. The stance allows his injuries to remain hidden for the time being, but for the hug which each driver bestows on him to be captured. They are making a silent statement. Oscar walks through the doors looking vaguely embarrassed, but also unable to stop the small smile which stays upon his lips.

If there is one good thing that’s come from this shit show of a situation, it’s that Oscar might finally start believing he is accepted by the group.

Kim and Jon are on them almost immediately, trying to usher Oscar to the medical tent, but Lando waves them off.

‘We need to go and see Zak and Andrea.’ They let them go, allowing Lando to lead his junior teammate toward Zak’s office.

‘I’m dreading this,’ Oscar admits as they draw closer to their destination.

Lando hesitates, deciding to take a punt at guessing how his teammate is feeling, despite the ever-inscrutable expression on his face. ‘Zak will be furious at the fans that hurt you. I hope you know none of his anger will be directed at you.’

‘I wanted to be easy,’ Oscar admits in a small tone. ‘And this is the opposite of that.’

‘You are easy.’ Lando snorts. ‘Do you have any idea the magnitude of the headaches I caused Zak when I first joined? And every single one of them was entirely my fault. You’ve caused Zak a couple of headaches I’ll grant you that, but none of them, and I mean none of them, have been remotely your fault. At this point you haven’t even crashed the fucking car yet; I’d put it in the wall about six times.’

They are almost outside Zak’s door when Oscar puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He has barely turned around when he finds himself with an armful of papaya. ‘Thank you,’ Oscar whispers. ‘For everything you’ve done.’

‘There’s a lot I did which I need to make up for,’ Lando argues softly, the words striking a chord within him.

‘You’ve more than made up for all of it,’ Oscar responds softly. ‘It never needed forgiving, but if it makes you feel better, know that you were forgiven a long time ago.’

He pulls away, knocking on the door before Lando has had a chance to re-orient himself after the unexpectedly emotional set of confessions.

‘Come in!’ Zak calls distantly. Oscar hesitates for a second before opening the door, leading Lando into the small but familiar office.

‘What happened?’ Zak demands as soon as they enter, jumping to his feet and rounding the desk to hover his hands awkwardly over Oscar’s face. ‘Have you been seen to? Are you okay? What the fuck happened?’

‘I’m fine,’ Oscar assures him. ‘Is Andrea here? I don’t want to have to explain it more than once.’

Zak doesn’t answer, just snatches up his phone and has a brief conversation with Andrea, summoning the team principal to his office. ‘Sit, sit,’ he orders them both. ‘I know I already asked, but are you really alright?’

‘Fi…’ Oscar only gets halfway through his favourite word before Lando decides to intercede with a more truthful response.

‘He’s injured, and in pain, and he needs to go to the medical centre. But Kim patched him up the best he could last night.’

‘You are to go straight there following this, okay? And don’t even think about driving if they don’t clear you. In fact, should I give Toto a call. Pato is racing this weekend, but we have access to Mick if we need him.’

‘Hold on,’ Oscar argues. ‘If I can race, I want to. I don’t think there’s any reason that they won’t clear me, so can we hold off on calling a reserve driver?’

‘Reserve driver?’ A new voice enters the conversation as Andrea opens the door. ‘Who needs a reserve driver?’ As soon as he steps into the room, he answers his own question, the evidence written all over Oscar’s face.

Andrea is characteristically stoic, his expression not revealing any of the concern Lando knows for a fact he feels. For a moment, he wants to laugh as he realises just how similar Zak and Andrea’s dynamic is to his own with Oscar.

‘This is why our social media has been so active?’ Andrea asks.

‘Somewhat,’ Oscar cracks a sardonic smile. He explains the whole situation, the same way he had already told Lando the night before.

‘And you didn’t think this was pertinent information before?’ Andrea asks, raising an eyebrow.

Lando is quick to jump to Oscar’s defence. ‘He told the relevant individual, who was the head of marketing. Otherwise, look, being a rookie is stressful. He is working hard to keep his seat into next season, and admitting to the people who have your fate in their hands that you’re being essentially abused by your previous team, who they had to counter sue? I wouldn’t have told you either,’ Lando shakes his head.

‘You know you could have told us, kid?’ Zak asks, looking worried.

Oscar hesitates. ‘I guess… I mean I never thought it would go this far. I thought it was just some negative comments around my social media. So, I figured the quieter I was, the easier it would be for people to forget about the whole thing.’

Zak sighs heavily. ‘And that tactic is sound. That thinking is good. But not for within the team. Within this team, we are a family. And family doesn’t have to hide, or pretend to be something they're not  just to avoid backlash. We care about you, son, and I’m sorry if you ever felt for a single second like we didn’t.’

‘A lot of people have been telling me that lately,’ Oscar smiles gently, glancing at Lando.

‘Good,’ Zak slaps his hand against his knees. ‘Now, we need to get you to the medical centre. Do you want me to walk you there?’

‘No need,’ Oscar frowns at his phone. ‘Apparently Alain Prost is waiting outside.’

‘Alain Prost?’ Andrea demands, looking confused. ‘How… why?’

‘Ask Charles Leclerc,’ Lando shrugs.

‘Well, I’d better not make him wait,’ Oscar sighs, clambering to his feet painfully. ‘Thank you. All of you.’ Zak pulls him into a hug gentler than he is usually capable of.

‘Stay safe, kid. We’ll talk this all over in a couple of days, when you’re feeling better, okay?’ Though he phrases it as a question, Lando knows there is no room for Oscar to deny the impending emotional speech Zak is no doubt already cooking up.

Even Andrea offers Oscar a soft handshake turned pat on the back before he leaves.

‘Is there something else?’ Andrea asks when Lando doesn’t leave the room.

‘Yes,’ he answers curtly. ‘At the beginning of the season, you asked me to look out for Oscar,’ he fixes Zak with a serious look. ‘Know that what I am about to say to you is me fulfilling that promise.’ Zak motions for him to continue. ‘Louise knew about this situation the whole time, and the way she dealt with it was disgusting.’

‘You’re saying this is the fault of our head of marketing?’ Andrea asks with one eyebrow raised.

‘No, this is the fault of those fans who took everything too far. However, Louise should have been a person Oscar could trust in this whole affair. Instead, she led him to believe that this situation was his fault and that the best way for him to deal with it was to lock up his personality in order to be less of a PR risk,’ Lando spits. ‘I made my own mistakes with Oscar this year, ones you best believe I am doing my best to rectify. But I am almost certain that if Louise hadn’t made him feel like a piece of shit under her shoe, some of the contributing factors toward the pressure of his first season would have been reduced.’

‘Thanks for telling me, son,’ Zak grins. He swears he can sense a hint of pride in that smile. From Andrea too, when they exchange glances. ‘Trust that we’ll deal with it.’

Lando stands, finally making his exit and finding himself in the waiting grasp of Jon.

‘Come on,’ his trainer chides. ‘Let’s try and get your head in the game.’

Did I even make a sound?
Did I even make a sound?

Lando doesn’t see Oscar again until twenty minutes before free practice begins, when they are both let loose to haunt their garages.

‘You’re driving then?’ Lando asks with raised eyebrows as he examines Oscar, dressed in his race suit.

‘Cleared to drive and passed the extraction time testing,’ Oscar answers with a smile.

‘And the damage?’ Lando asks, preparing to fight for the information.

‘Three bruised ribs, none cracked or broken. Otherwise, it’s just cosmetic damage and pain.’

‘Oh, well, that makes it better then,’ Lando rolls his eyes. ‘How was Alain Prost?’

‘Full of apologies and sage advice,’ Oscar answers. ‘Carlos then escorted me back to the hospitality. I don’t know how Charles has roped everyone into this.’

‘Because what happened to you was disgusting and everyone wants to help out,’ Lando answers immediately. ‘Also, Charles is the darling of the grid and in all honesty, I think he could talk anyone into anything.’

‘The latter feels more likely,’ Oscar chuckles wrapping an arm around his ribs as they protest at the treatment.

Lando just hums as Will calls out to him. ‘Don’t leave the track without me today, yeah?’ He asks before walking away.

‘Yeah,’ Oscar agrees softly, before he disappears into conversation with Tom.

It's like I never made a sound
Will I ever make a sound?

Free practices go as well as can be expected, Lando hovering around his teammate in between sessions as he struggles to let Oscar out of his sight.

Charles, however, seems to have had Oscar covered at all opportunities. He has been escorted two and from all sessions, by Alain Prost, Nico Hulkenberg, Jolyon Palmer, and even a notable arrival from Romain Grosjean, who has rarely returned to the paddock following his crash. Lando’s personal favourite was when Fernando Alonso appeared on his ever-present scooter, pulling Oscar in for a hug and whispering something which caused the young Australian's eyes to water dangerously. He then insisted they walk past the Alpine garage, offering them a middle finger as he does so. Oscar had complained the entire time but had been unable to wipe the smile off his face at the look of outrage on the faces of the mechanics.

It took him a couple of drivers to make the connection, but Lando finally spots the common link between all the candidates Charles recruited. They all drove for Alpine or Renault at one point or another. Every single one of them hugs Oscar tightly, always in full view of the cameras, and reassures him that what transpired was in no way his fault.

They return to the garage having escaped the majority of the day unscathed, debriefing quickly before they are allowed to return to the hotel.

‘Who do you think Charles has waiting for me this time?’ Oscar muses as they gather up their belongings to head home for the day. The younger man hefts his duffle onto his uninjured shoulder, gasping slightly as the weight pulls on his bruising.

‘Stop being an arse,’ Lando rolls his eyes. ‘Give me that.’ He knows the protestation is coming, so he snatches the bag away gently, hauling it over his own shoulder before adding his bag to the load.

‘Cheers,’ Oscar smiles abashedly. They progress through the motorhome, Lando rambling about something. To be honest, he’s not even paying much attention to himself at this point as he tries not to examine Oscar too obviously. He is moving stiffly, clearly in pain but unwilling to allow it to slow him down.

Lando is disturbed from his endless ramblings by the sound of a remarkably familiar voice at the end of the corridor.

‘Is that…?’ He begins to ask, Oscar finishing his thought.

‘Daniel,’ he breathes, looking pale beneath the bruising. Lando has mere seconds to be concerned about the dread in his expression before Daniel rounds the corner and notices them.

‘Ahh, lads, good to see you both,’ he crows. ‘I’m your latest escort.’

Oscar doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, seemingly completely frozen in his demeanour. Lando instinctively takes over, guiding his teammate forward and striking up conversation with Daniel. He knows that a conversation needs to happen between the two Australians, for the sake of Oscar if nothing else. But this isn’t the time or the place for it to happen.

They have just exited the paddock, halfway to their car when it happens.

‘You filthy twat!’

Oscar flinches, and Lando whirls around when he hears the enraged voice behind them.

‘You think surrounding yourself by ex-Renault drivers will mean we all suddenly respect you? Stupid prick,’ the Alpine fan sneers.

Lando is opening his mouth to respond when Oscar grabs his arm, tugging him forward insistently. ‘Don’t engage Lando. Just walk away. Walk away,’ he hisses as the fan continues to throw taunts and jibes. Every part of him wants to retort. Wants to throw insults in his face, and maybe a fist to top it off. But Oscar’s hand on his arm, the low whispering and the determined acceptance on Oscar’s face calm him. Settle him in a way he can’t explain. He zeroes in on the contact, barely aware of the continued shouts of the furious fan as Daniel lingers behind them, ensuring that trouble does nothing except yell.

He doesn’t even realise they’ve made it to the car until Oscar removes his grip. Lando feels the loss of contact keenly, the calm remaining but feeling colder without the soft touch accompanying the gentle words. They all scramble into the car, Daniel texting furiously as Oscar takes the driver’s seat.

‘Should you be driving?’ Lando asks automatically, immediately regretting the words when he clocks the amused expression on Oscar’s black and blue stained face. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’ve spent all day driving a formula one car. Obviously, you can drive a road car.’

Oscar doesn’t answer, starting the engine and peeling out of the parking space with ease. Lando has never paid much attention to someone driving before. But the way Oscar grips the wheel with one hand, the ease with which his delicate fingers change gear makes something in Lando’s stomach flutter.

Daniel is uncharacteristically silent in the back of the car, offering none of his standard jokes or grins.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the hotel, at which point Daniel takes charge, leading them through the corridors and knocking on a door.

‘I really just want to go to bed,’ Oscar hedges, looking about ready to bolt. Before he can make a move, Charles has opened the door, his face split into a beaming smile.

‘You’re finally here!’

‘We ran into some trouble,’ Danny admits as he enters. Lando has no idea what is going on, but he doesn’t want to make Oscar feel coerced into something he isn't ready for.

‘We can go if you want,’ he offers, studiously ignoring the hurt expression on Charles’ face. Oscar hesitates, thinking it over for a few minutes before he answers.

‘No… no, it’s fine.’ They enter together and, to nobody’s surprise, find the usual gang waiting for them.

‘What do you mean there was trouble?’ Max demands as they all enter the room, clearly having heard from his seat by the door.

‘An Alpine fan was waiting for us,’ Daniel answers before Oscar can repeat his usual rhetoric. ‘Yelling insults, calling Oscar names. He caught on to what you were doing,’ Daniel directs the last part to Charles.

‘Oh, he did? Looks like a few of the Alpine fans do have a brain after all,’ Charles growls.

Silence falls for a moment. Daniel unusually pensive, Lando is not the only one to have noticed it.

‘Mate, are you okay?’ Max asks gently. ‘You seem quiet.’

Daniel starts, shaken from his thoughts. ‘Yeah, I… I just… Oscar I’m so sorry.’

Oscar has settled beside him, so Lando feels him physically start at the apology. ‘Why are you apologising to me?’ The genuine bafflement is obvious for all to hear. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising to you.’

‘You did apologise to me,’ Daniel protests. ‘When it first happened, you approached me immediately and said how sorry you were. But I didn’t stop to think about what an impact this would have on you. When Charles contacted me, I started doing some research, and Oscar, the signs at the Australian grand prix, the way people have been treating you, both fans and within the teams… you don’t deserve any of that.’

‘I’m the reason you don’t have a seat in Formula One,’ Oscar argues. ‘This season has been unpleasant, but how could I expect anything different? You’re a star of the grid; and I’m just me.’

‘Oscar, no!’ Daniel looks on the verge of tears. ‘I lost my seat in Formula One because I wasn’t performing. I didn’t deserve the seat at that point in time. The way it happened was hardly pleasant, but Oscar, look at yourself. You’ve been through so much shit this year, and it sounds like you think you deserve it. I don’t know how to make this any clearer, but the way you have been treated is unacceptable. This should have been one of the most exciting years of your life, not one where you get beaten down again and again, until it escalated into an actual beating.’

‘You didn’t deserve the way you were treated though,’ Oscar looks at the floor, unwilling to meet Daniel’s sincere chocolate brown eyes. ‘Everyone was on your side.’

Daniel stands, coming to kneel before Oscar and taking his hands gently. ‘I’m so sorry, Oscar. For taking away some of the joy of your first year. I wasn’t the one abusing you, but I enabled it. I saw the way you were being treated at a surface level and felt glad that I was being missed. That I still had fans. I didn’t consider how it was impacting you.’ Daniel hesitates. ‘Look, I don’t really know you. And that’s my bad. But I really want to give you a hug right now.’

Lando waits for Oscar to reject the offer. He has hugged the Australian only a couple of times, and that is after months of knowing him. But then Daniel is opening his arms, and Oscar practically falls into them. Daniel holds him tenderly, cautious of the plentiful injuries littering his frame, but Oscar pays no mind, clutching his fellow countryman tightly.

‘Thank you.’ Lando only hears the whisper because he is sitting so close. He swears the longer he watches, the more he can palpably see the tension draining from Oscar’s shoulders.

Lando catches Max’s eye, unable to stop a smile from gracing his lips. For all the tumult of the first half of the season, all the times Max has had to talk him off the ledge and all the emotional turbulence, Lando finally feels as though the season is looking up. Like this will be the start of something good. He glances at the two Australians beside him, locked in an embrace Lando knows is healing some of the scars Oscar has carried since last season.

They pull back gently, leaving his teammate suspiciously red eyed, but smiling brighter than Lando has ever seen. He knocks their knees together once Daniel has moved away, drawing Oscar’s gaze to him. From one second to the next, Oscar has offered him that devastating grin.

Lando considers that this could be the start of something better than good.

On the outside, always looking in
Will I ever be more than I've always been?
'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass
Waving through a window
I try to speak, but nobody can hear
So I wait around for an answer to appear
While I'm watch, watch, watching people pass
Waving through a window, oh
Can anybody see, is anybody waving back at me?

Chapter Text

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?
Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?

Austria 2023

The French grand prix was… trying. To say the least. The whole affair turned into a traumatising weekend to forget, but there were moments of joy in there too. Especially the bond Lando managed to cultivate with his teammate. Oscar had even consented to staying in his Monaco apartment following the grand prix. Lando, admittedly, almost resorted to begging him, but those are just the semantics. However it happened, it’s the result which matters.

For the first time this year, despite the events of the prior week, Lando feels like the rest of the season could be looking up. The pride he felt at Oscar scoring points last week, despite the adversity of the weekend stacked against him, just confirms that he is finally in a good place with their relationship. It’s why he is working so hard to ignore the thoughts which have been tugging at the back of his head. The image of Oscar when he walked out of the bathroom shirtless. The way he fell asleep with his head on Lando’s shoulder while they were watching a movie. Bringing Oscar coffee when he wakes up every morning, being rewarded with sleepy koala eyes blinking up at him from the bed.

He's had girlfriends in the past, and they always referred to him as a love bomber. He likes the grand gestures, expensive gifts and flashy dates. But something about Oscar makes him want to brew coffee every morning. To make stupid jokes which will cause that easy smile to break through Oscar’s serious expression. To tease him about the belongings he leaves scattered everywhere, and pick up after him anyway. Lando wants to show Oscar love in all the big ways he is used to. But also the little ways. The quiet ways. The ways Oscar cares for him too.

The realisation was alarming, leaving Lando tossing restlessly in bed as he struggles to mute his racing thoughts. Every time his eyelids finally grow heavy, a new image of Oscar fills them, and Lando’s eyes fly open once again. It is during this endless cycle of suffering that he hears the first muted sounds.

A door clicks in his apartment, so unless he is currently being robbed, Oscar is moving through the space. He listens out for the door to click as he returns to his room, but there is no corresponding sound. Instead, he hears the faintest sounds of distress. He lingers in bed for a few seconds to make sure he has heard the soft noises correctly, but all reasonable doubt disappears from his mind within minutes.

Lando throws the duvet away, clambering out of bed and all but sprinting from the room. The bathroom door is closed, but there is light pouring out across the carpet. He knocks on the door gently, opening it when there is no response after a few minutes.

As he suspected, Oscar is slumped on the floor, bruised face resting on the toilet seat. The faint aroma in the room informs Lando of what had been happening, if his ears had not already done so.

‘Oh Osc,’ he whispers, dropping to his knees beside the young Australian and rubbing his back tenderly. ‘What can I do?’

Oscar blinks open bloodshot brown eyes wearily. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

‘You didn’t, I was already up,’ Lando assures him. ‘Even if I had been asleep, you’re sick, someone should be with you.’

Oscar opens his mouth to say something, but he ends up back over the toilet bowl, expelling more of his stomach lining. He heaves so desperately, Lando almost expects to find an organ in the porcelain. All he can do is rub Oscar’s back and mutter comforting words.

Finally, the Australian slumps back against the wall, and for the first time, Lando realises his teammate is shirtless. His abs are still covered in bruising, now a dark mauve, yellowing at the edges. But the injuries do nothing to hide exactly how defined those muscles are. Or how those broad shoulders tense as he inhales deeply.

Lando turns and grabs a cloth from a cupboard, removing his attention from Oscar’s body before he begins drooling. He runs it under icy water, subtly dipping his wrists beneath the stream to try and cool himself off, psychologically if not physically. He considers handing the sopping material over, but Oscar looks so exhausted, Lando presses the fabric against the back of his pale neck himself.

Oscar melts as the coolness seeps into his fevered body. ‘How can I help?’ Lando asks softly.

‘Please, just go back to bed,’ Oscar answers. ‘I’m not going to sleep tonight, but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t either.’

Lando assesses his teammate closely. The sweat clinging to his brow. The breathing he is keeping steady in an effort to head off the nausea. The fading bruises and slowly healing cuts. For the first time, Lando can see clearly the twenty-one-year-old Oscar Piastri, nervous rookie who joined F1. The driver who is barely more than a kid, yet has already been beaten, sued, and abused for following his dreams.

He stands without a word, heading to the kitchen and collecting some essentials. Crackers, biscuits, Lucozade, and squash. He grabs spare pillows and blankets from the linen cupboard the cleaner keeps stocked, balancing it all in one arm as he continues his supply mission.

Oscar has closed the door in an attempt to stay quiet so that Lando can get some sleep. He has to use a combination of his elbow and his foot to swing it open again, but once inside, he finds Oscar looking up at him, exhausted, from his position on the hard tiles.

‘Okay, here’s a pillow and a blanket,’ he hands over the items to a bewildered Oscar. ‘There’s some food and drink on the floor, we need to keep your energy up. I’m going to get my laptop so we can watch something whilst we’re camped out on the floor.’ He disappears before the Australian has a chance to reply, taking the liberty of grabbing Oscar a spare t-shirt for his sanity.

‘Here,’ Lando hands over one last thing. ‘I thought it might be… comforting.’ Oscar takes the patchwork koala from his grasp, pressing it to his nose as he inhales the smell of home. It is unbearably sweet, making Lando’s own heart ache for the comfort of his mother’s hugs. The soup his father would make when he got ill. The doggy piles he and his siblings would fall into.

Oscar is sick and isolated, his family nearly fifteen thousand miles across the globe. While Oscar might be without family, he isn’t alone.

‘Okay, what are we feeling?’ He asks, settling himself onto a pillow, dragging the blanket over him.

He begins to ramble about possible shows and streaming services, halting only when he feels a hesitant hand resting atop his own.

‘Thank you.’

Have you ever felt like you could disappear?
Like you could fall, and no one would hear?

Waking up is a torrid affair. Lando’s neck aches like a bitch, his back contorted to a position no spine should ever be in, and his arse is so numb he can’t even feel the tiles beneath it anymore. Tiles… right. He fell asleep in the bathroom sometime before the end of Mamma Mia and the sixth time Oscar retched his guts up.

Moving slowly, groaning under his breath, Lando straightens, pulling himself up against the wall and blinking against the harsh light of the bathroom. Oscar is beside him, curled up like a cat on the cold tiles, covered by one of Lando’s spare blankets. His legs are pressed against the toilet, evidence of the rough night they both endured.

Lando checks his watch, rubbing his eyes harshly as he realises it is already midmorning. He examines Oscar ones again, before shaking him awake gently. Still, the groan Oscar wakes with is testament to how dreadful he feels.

‘How are you feeling?’ Lando asks, his voice husky from sleep.

‘Like shit,’ Oscar grouses, covering his face with his hands. Lando cannot help the wave of concern which washes over his head at hearing Oscar admit so readily that he feels any less than fine.

‘Come on, we need to get some food in you,’ Lando begins to clamber to his feet, groaning as his abused bones complain loudly.

‘Don’t want food,’ Oscar whimpers, curling up tighter. ‘Or to move.’

‘Come on lazy bones, I’ll get the coffee going.’

It takes further coaxing for Lando to finally get Oscar out of the bathroom, but eventually they are sitting at the table, each with a cup of tea, rather than Oscar’s preferred coffee.

‘You want to add insult to injury?’ Oscar demands, looking down in disgust at the mug.

‘You were the one who said that you were nervous about drinking coffee,’ Lando protests, unable to prevent a chuckle at the scandalised look on Oscar’s face. ‘I’ve put some ginger in it to try and settle your stomach.’

Oscar’s expression softens momentarily, and Lando can sense the thanks which are on his tongue. ‘I think we try you with some dry toast, see if we can get some food in you.’ He stands, leaving Oscar at the table as he focuses on bustling around the kitchen. When he returns, Oscar’s mug is empty, and his eyes closed. He’s fallen asleep sitting up.

‘Come on Osc, wake up,’ Lando prods him gently. ‘We can go to bed once you’ve eaten.’

They make their way through the stacks of toast Lando managed to scrounge up. He’s put all the burnt pieces on his plate, so that Oscar won’t notice how difficult he found it to operate the toaster. Lando inhales his stack, whilst Oscar nibbles nervously at a couple of pieces before they both begin to wilt in their seats.

‘Come on,’ Lando urges. ‘We need to go to bed.’

Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay

They spend the day napping, finally crawling out of their respective bedrooms at four in the afternoon. The Monaco sun is low in the sky, casting panels of golden light across Lando’s parquet flooring. The view from the balcony is stunning, endless seascapes of the glistening Mediterranean as far as the eye can see.

It would be beautiful, if Lando was conscious enough to appreciate it. Instead, he and Oscar park themselves in front of the TV, turning on the most recent series of Married At First Sight. It’s one of his many guilty pleasures, and Lando fully expects Oscar to protest loudly at his choice of entertainment.

No such argument comes. ‘I thought you’d be grumpier about watching this,’ Lando comments idly as they begin to watch the first wedding.

‘I grew up in a house of four women,’ Oscar reminds him with a raised eyebrow. ‘You learn to appreciate the reality shows which are good.’

‘Ahh, so you admit that this is quality entertainment then?’ Lando asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Of course it is,’ Oscar chuckles. ‘Now shut up, I want to pay attention.’

Lando lasts maybe twenty minutes before his attention drifts from the TV and back to his teammate. Oscar’s eyes have begun to droop slightly, his short burst of adrenaline having faded. He is pale and drawn, evidence of his less than stellar condition. From this angle, Lando cannot see the bruising shadowing Oscar’s face, but he knows it is there. Oscar looks… a mess. Yet somehow, Lando is unable to tear his eyes off him.

‘Thank you, for staying with me,’ Lando breaks the silence, watching as Oscar’s doe brown eyes raise slowly to meet his.

‘You are kidding, right?’ Oscar raises his eyebrows. ‘I’ve imposed on your hospitality, barfed in your toilet and made you lose more sleep than you can afford to in a triple header. The only silver lining is I haven’t eaten much of your food.’

‘Every part of that is my pleasure,’ Lando shakes his head. ‘Though I wish you felt better. But I’ve appreciated your company, I guess. I forgot how quiet it can be, to live alone.’

‘Are you calling me loud?’ Oscar asks, amused. As though proving his point, Oscar chooses that moment to swear at the television, hurling one of the biscuits Lando had plied him with at the screen.

‘You know, I didn’t think you were loud before this,’ Lando retorts.

‘Well, he’s clearly a dick,’ Oscar shrugs. ‘She shouldn’t be marrying him.’

‘Throwing a biscuit at the TV was hardly necessary.’ Oscar just shrugs, offering a crooked grin. Lando smiles back, his heart feeling warm and light. He could get used to this.

'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand

The days tick by all too quickly, the domestic bliss Oscar and Lando fell into fading away in favour of planes and hotels. Lando begs Max for a lift to Austria, the Dutchman happily allowing both Lando and Oscar passage on his jet. Oscar spends most of the flight passed out cold, testament to how miserable he still feels. Over the course of the year, Lando has yet to see his rookie teammate achieve sleep on a flight, despite being able to nap anywhere else at the drop of a hat. It probably helps that unconsciousness took him before they even take off.

‘He’s not going to disappear if you take your eyes off of him, you know,’ Charles teases wickedly from across the aisle.

‘Ha ha,’ Lando rolls his eyes before moving across the plane to sit in front of Charles and Max. ‘Thanks for the ride, mate.’

‘Anytime,’ Max assures him. ‘Though I am curious to know what’s been going on between you two.’

‘Oscar was ill while we were in Monaco,’ Lando answers. ‘We’re both pretty exhausted.’

‘Is he okay?’ Charles demands instantly, turning to look at the young Australian, still blissfully unaware of the exchange.

‘He’s fine now, I think. Just exhausted.’

‘And nothing else happened?’ Max prods gently. ‘No feelings were shared? No realisations made?’

Lando hesitates for only a second before chuckling and brushing the questions off. ‘No mate. He was sick, injured, and generally pretty miserable. No feelings or realisations involved.’ His voice sounds suspiciously hollow, but Max and Charles don’t press any further, allowing him to return to Oscar and eventually doze off restlessly in his own seat.

Upon landing, Lando and Oscar separate from their companions, heading to their rental car for the weekend. Oscar falls into Lando’s passenger seat, pressing his face against the glass as he yawns deeply.

‘Thank you,’ Oscar says gently as they pull up outside the hotel. ‘For everything over the last few days. And the weeks before that. Just… thank you.’

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ Lando promises him. ‘I’m just doing what a good teammate should do.’

‘No, you’re not,’ Oscar argues. ‘You’re too hard on yourself, as always. A good teammate would share data and make sure I don’t die over the course of the season. A good friend would buy me chocolate and then leave as soon as I started vomiting. You’re doing so much above what you have any obligation to do.’

‘I think you underestimate how much people care about you.’

‘And I think you underestimate how amazing you are.’

Lando hums, unable to prevent the smile from gracing his lips at the words. ‘I won’t continue the argument.’ He switches the engine off, throwing the door open and alighting from the bright green sports car, grabbing their bags from the almost non-existent boot.

‘Come on,’ he swings both onto his shoulder, turning around confused when Oscar doesn’t follow him. ‘Osc? You good?’

‘Can I have my bag?’ Oscar asks softly, amused.

‘Why? Your ribs are still painful,’ Lando furrows his eyebrows.

‘But we won’t be staying together,’ Oscar points out. The words stutter around in Lando’s brain for a few moments. Of course. Why would they be staying together? Last race weekend, Oscar needed him. Needed someone. And then in Monaco, Lando had to practically beg him to stay in his apartment. Of course they wouldn’t be staying together this weekend. It was stupid for him to assume.

‘Of course, I was just going to take your bag up for you. Because of your ribs.’

‘Oh, right. Sorry, it was stupid of me to bring it up.’ Lando waves him off, but he cannot help the flash of heat through his cheeks. The bolt of disappointment which he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

They check in, heavy silence descending as soon as they enter the elevator. ‘Let me know if you don’t feel well,’ Lando worries, refusing to look his teammate in the eye.

‘I, erm… I will,’ Oscar promises awkwardly, shuffling his bag away from where Lando had dropped it at his feet. The doors open with a ding and Oscar exits the lift, turning as though to say something. Before he can, the doors slide shut behind him. Lando stumbles, his back hitting the wall, slumping until his elbows rest on his knees. He misses his stop on the elevator twice, unable to find the strength to stand. Instead, he sits, head in hands, and wills back the tears which prick at his eyes.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He doesn’t realise the doors have opened until a soft voice calls his name. ‘Oh, Lando.’

‘Max,’ he whispers, keeping his eyes screwed tightly shut. He feels a warm arm settle over his shoulders and allows his body to tip to the left, finding himself bracketed by Max’s soft, supportive figure.

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘I know, Lando. I know. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing for the longest time either. I’m still not sure I do most days.’ Lando hums, so Max keeps talking. ‘Feeling this way, it’s so hard. But honestly, no matter how scared you are now, it’s so much more terrifying to think of a life without him.’

Lando finally raises his watery eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The fact that you’re hopelessly in love with your teammate,’ Max shrugs. ‘Why, what did you think we were talking about?’

Lando considers denying it, he really does. In fact, before this week, he would have denied it instinctively. But he has been coming to terms with his feelings slowly, over the course of the year, even if he didn’t have the word for them before.

‘I am in love with Oscar Piastri,’ Lando says the words aloud for the first time. ‘I am in love with my teammate.’

He catches Max’s eye, finding a soft smile staring back at him.

‘I’m in love with a pasty, self-sacrificial Australian.’

‘Hell yes you are,’ Max crows.

‘I’m in love with Oscar fucking Piastri, and he doesn’t love me back.’ Lando leans into Max, as he bursts into tears.

And oh, someone will coming running
And I know, they'll take you home

Thursday passes without issue. Lando avoids Oscar to the best of his ability, and they are kept blissfully separate in all their media engagements. Max remains stuck to him like a shadow, Charles in turn orbiting them both closely. He expects the Monegasque, notoriously nosy, to ask a million questions, but he stays suspiciously silent the entire time.

Lando doesn’t go to dinner, he and Max choosing to hide out in his hotel room instead of face everyone else. Lando has no idea if Oscar will be there, he suspects not, but he doesn’t want to take the chance. Those deep chocolate eyes would be his undoing right now.

Lando spends the night trying not to think about Oscar, pretending he isn’t thinking about Oscar, and failing at both miserably. Every time he thinks he has finally achieved the state of relaxation he needs to finally sleep, his teammate's perfect pink lips appear before his mind’s eye. Or the moles that pepper his skin. The width of his shoulders or his slim waist.

Eventually sleep finds him, but the honey brown eyes in his dreams can only belong to one person. By the time Jon drags him to the track in the morning, he is exhausted and irritable.

‘You slept well then,’ Max chuckles, blissfully unaccompanied. Lando isn’t sure he could have dealt with Charles’ cheery demeaner this early in the morning.

He grunts a reply, making the sardonic grin on Max’s face widen. ‘You look almost as bad as Oscar.’

‘What?’ Lando demands, his head whipping round to face Max.

‘I thought that would get your attention,’ he laughs. ‘Yeah, I saw him this morning. I mean, he’s pale normally, and I could only sort of tell under all the bruises. But he was sickly Victorian child levels of pasty.’

‘Did he say what was wrong?’

‘I didn’t ask,’ Max shrugs. ‘I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to play the white knight.’

Lando grumbles under his breath, but still hastens his pace toward the McLaren hospitality. ‘I’ll leave you to take care of your boy,’ Max calls as he walks away, Lando flipping him off as he goes.

He enters the papaya-coloured building, heading straight for Oscar’s driver’s room. He knocks gently on the door, waiting for a response. None comes, so he tries the handle. It doesn’t budge, so he redirects to the most likely place for Oscar to be.

Just as he hoped, when Lando enters the canteen there are two brunette heads visible in a booth. Kim and Oscar are slumped at a table, the trainer looking as exhausted as his teammate does.

‘Hey mate,’ Lando calls as he makes his way over to them.

‘Thank god,’ Kim groans. ‘You can handle sunshine over here.’ He walks away before Lando has even sat at the table, making a hasty escape.

‘Who pissed in his tea?’ Lando chuckles as he slides onto the bench.

‘Me apparently,’ Oscar sighs deeply. ‘Evidently I’m a misery to be around when I’m sick.’

‘You’re sick?’ Lando demands.

Oscar winces. ‘Yeah, I have been on and off since the other day, but it only started getting bad again last night.’

‘When you say off and on… you mean you were still ill when you were in Monaco?’

‘I mean, not really. Just once. Maybe twice,’ Oscar shrugs. ‘And before you say it, I knew you would care. I thought I was fine, really. And I’m not good at being fussed over. You were concerned about me enough as it was, I didn’t want you to worry more.’

‘But you were ill, I could have helped you,’ Lando protests.

‘You did,’ Oscar smiles softly. ‘You helped more than you realised.’ Lando decides to drop the topic, not wanting to rock the boat considering the strides their relationship has made in the previous weeks.

‘Wait, you’re grumpy when you’re sick?’ He chuckles.

‘Unbearably,’ Oscar confirms. ‘Even my mum stays out of my way when I’m ill.’

‘But… you were fine when we were in Monaco,’ Lando frowns. ‘You weren’t even quieter than usual.’

Oscar’s smile is tender, and once again Lando finds himself questioning the grumpy assessment. ‘You just bring out the best in me I guess.’

Lando tries hard to pretend that his heart isn’t skipping every other beat.

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you

The progression of the day is marked by the change in Oscar’s colouring. Before first practice he is pale, but arguably no more than usual. After he climbs out of the car, a green tinge has replaced the ashen complexion. Lando is unsurprised to see him disappear into the toilets for an hour or so afterward. He does his best to check in, but he is pulled in a million different directions, none of which lead to Oscar.

When the Australian finally emerges, he is now visibly pasty, skin wan and anaemic, but he insists he is capable of driving. Kim and Lando exchange concerned glances, but no one can argue with him.

When he clambers out of the car for the final time, stumbling dangerously, there is no colour left in his cheeks. He looks grey, his forehead beaded with sweat. Andrea takes one look at him before sending him straight to the hotel with Kim. Lando must wait a few more hours before he gets to follow his teammate. Once he is freed, however, he doesn’t even bother going back to his own room.

Lando’s knock is left unanswered for long minutes, until the door is thrown open by Kim, looking harried and concerned.

‘Lando!’ He sighs, leaning against the door. ‘Any chance you can relieve me for a few hours? I just need to have a shower. Change my clothes. Have some time to myself.’ The Australian visibly shudders.

‘You sound like you have a newborn,’ Lando chuckles.

‘I’m not a baby!’ The yell echoes from behind Kim, subsequently followed by retching.

‘He’s not a baby, he’s worse,’ Kim grimaces.

Lando just laughs. ‘Leave him with me, don’t worry, we’ll be fine.’ Kim tries not to look relieved as he rushes from the room.

He finds Oscar in the bathroom, back against the wall, head tipped so it is resting against the cool tiles. ‘I’m fine,’ he groans, but his voice is broken from all the retching, which undermines his point spectacularly.

‘Sure you are,’ Lando raises his eyebrows. ‘Do you think you’re gonna hurl in the next ten minutes?’

‘Please don’t say that word,’ Oscar begs. ‘But no. I don’t think so.’

‘Come on then, into bed.’

‘It’s like… six o’clock,’ Oscar protests. ‘Besides, I said I wasn’t going to go again for the next ten minutes. Not never.’

‘Just get into bed,’ Lando sighs. He half expects Oscar to start arguing, but he uncurls from the bathroom floor without complaint, groaning as he stands.

‘You do feel like shit don’t you,’ Lando chuckles sympathetically at the truly pathetic display currently being put up by the Australian. He gets a smile and a middle finger in response.

Lando makes himself busy collecting supplies, including a small black bin he spotted at the side of the room when he walked in. He has settled in the bed by the time Lando returns, climbing onto the space left beside his teammate. Oscar has changed his sweat soaked top, now wearing a maroon t-shirt that looks old and well loved. It has been washed so many times it pools around his slim waist, almost certainly three shades lighter than it was when he bought it.

Lando wants to bury his head into the soft material, feel the abs lurking underneath and smell that gentle fragrance which is so uniquely Oscar.

But he does none of those things. Instead, he places the bin between them, within easy reach for Oscar should he require it swiftly. He then pulls a packet of traditional English rich tea biscuits from under his arm, something he has noticed Oscar snacking on several times. Finally, his ace in the hole, he reveals a four pack of V energy drinks.

‘Where did you find those?’ Oscar demands, eyes lighting up as he makes grabby hands for a bottle. ‘I’ve never seen them in the UK before. How did you even know I like them?’

‘I’ve heard you talking to Mark about them,’ Lando grins, satisfied by the response. ‘I asked Danny Ric if he knew any way of getting them. I thought you could use a pick me up after the last few days.’

Oscar doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, too busy opening the bottle and taking a few sips before he puts it down reluctantly. It’s the first time Lando has seen him drink anything voluntarily the entire day, and he identifies the warmth at the bottom of his stomach as pride.

Pulling his gaze away from Oscar, who looks half asleep sitting up, Lando grabs the remote, navigating through the menus until he finds what he’s looking for.

‘Top Gear?’ Oscar asks sceptically.

‘Yeah, well, you’re the biggest car nerd I know. I figured it would be comforting. But if you would rather something else, I can put it on whatever, or…’ Lando would have continued rambling if it weren’t for the hand which grasps his own.

‘Thank you.’ Lando presses play, waiting for Oscar to move away. Except a minute passes, and they are still holding hands. Five minutes, and Oscar does not let go. The butterflies in Lando’s stomach are rioting so badly that he thinks he might need to requisition Oscar’s sick bucket in a moment.

Lando tries to pay attention to the episode they are watching, but he cannot tear his gaze away from Oscar’s hand. His fingers are long, curling so that his thumb almost meets his forefinger. They are surprisingly calloused, scraping gently against his own, smooth skin. They tell the story of hard work and toil on his journey to Formula One.

Lando gets to revel in the physical contact for twenty-two minutes before Oscar finally rips it away. His hand feels cold, lesser somehow, now he knows what it feels like to hold Oscar’s. Like he has lost part of himself in the contact being severed.

He goes to say… something. Sardonic, or scathing. Potentially even needy and whiny, who knows how it will emerge from his mouth at this point.

Until he realises that the hand Oscar has just yanked from his grasp is grabbing the sick bin, curling over it, and throwing up the few sips of energy drink he had managed to choke down.

The hurt fades and Lando slings his arm over Oscar’s quivering shoulders. It’s going to be a long night.

And when you're broken on the ground
You will be found

Neither of them gets much sleep, Oscar only feeling worse the longer the night goes on. He has managed to refrain from throwing up for three hours by the time they need to leave for the track; a new record. He is pale as a sheet, curled into a hoodie at least four sizes too big for him. It looks like it once belonged to Mark, Lando notes idly, as he manhandles Oscar into the passenger seat of his car, shaking like a leaf.

The trip to the track is silent, Lando in the driver’s seat for once due to how truly lousy Oscar is feeling. They arrive at the same time as George and Alex, who clamber out of the car all smiles and teasing quips.

‘Where were you Thursday?’ George calls.

‘You look like you had a long night,’ Alex winks, clearly trying to insinuate something. Lando is too exhausted to try and guess what, as he watches Oscar climb out of the car, unable to straighten to his full height. Any healing his ribs had achieved has been duly reversed by the continuous heaving of the previous night, spending what little sleep he managed curled around his abdomen tenderly.

‘I take it back,’ Alex winces. ‘What happened to both of you last night?’

‘Oscar is sick,’ Lando offers succinctly, scrubbing a hand over his face to try and banish the exhaustion.

‘Oh fuck,’ George rounds the car to look at the younger man, wincing at the bags beneath his eyes and pasty skin. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Thanks,’ Oscar chuckles softly, voice husky and broken from the constant abuse.

‘You’re having a bad few weeks, aren’t you,’ Alex sighs. ‘Come on, you should go to the medical centre.’

Oscar follows the Thai driver without complaint, knowing Zak and Andrea will not let him near the car if he is not cleared first. ‘Come on, Alex has Oscar. The two of us should grab a coffee before you face anyone else.’ Lando feels an unexpected wave of anxiety at the thought of being separated from Oscar, but he bats it back. Alex will be with him the whole time, and he’s only going to the medical centre before returning to McLaren.

‘Okay,’ he concedes, finding George tapping at his phone when he turns around.

‘Great!’ George is so enthusiastic Lando can only groan. No one should be this chirpy in the presence of someone so exhausted. George bypasses the McLaren hospitality, and Lando assumes he is being taken to the Mercedes kitchen instead. But he is lead straight into the heart of Ferrari. Lando baulks, until he spots Carlos and Charles waiting for them.

‘Set up,’ he mutters sulkily.

‘Are you complaining?’ George chuckles. ‘Ferrari has the best coffee. By far.’

‘And all you drivers love to drive our catering budget up by abusing it,’ a voice comes from behind them. ‘I’m going to bill Mercedes for all the coffee you steal from us, Mr Russell.’ Lando recognises the voice of Fred, turning around expecting to find an expression of annoyance. Potentially even to be told to clear out. But there is nothing except unbridled mirth in his eyes.

‘You know you love having the drivers around, Freddie,’ George laughs, throwing an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. ‘It keeps you young.’

‘Ahh, only because it is easier to poach drivers when they are constantly hanging around in my hospitality,’ Fred winks. ‘Now, get this one some coffee, he looks as though he needs it.’ Fred turns away, and for the first time Lando notices the stack of four espressos in his hand.

‘Who is Fred getting the coffee for?’ Lando asks. ‘I’ve never known a team principal to do a coffee run.’

‘Coffee run?’ Charles asks with a chuckle, coming up from behind them. ‘No, those are all for him.’ There mere thought makes Lando shudder as George orders two coffees, one with a double shot, no doubt meant for him. They take a seat with their cups, glancing up when a familiar navy polo shirt enters.

‘I told you to stop bringing those in here,’ Charles rolls his eyes, glancing distastefully toward the Red Bull can in Max’s hand.

‘Also, it’s like 11am,’ Carlos grimaces. ‘That’s not normal.’

‘Says you all, sitting here with your coffee. I just prefer my caffeine in a different form,’ Max exaggerates a sigh of pleasure as he slurps loudly. Charles glares at him until Max huffs, grabbing a napkin from the table and wrapping it around his can. ‘Better?’

‘So much better, baby,’ Charles winks. Lando’s eyes widen, examining George and Carlos’ expressions carefully, worried they will notice the outwardly flirtatious words. But they don’t flinch, just rolling their eyes and changing the subject.

‘Sorry, hold up,’ Lando interrupts them, pouring five sugars into his coffee to make it just about tolerable. ‘Was I really the last person to know?’

Carlos laughs heartily. ‘Lando, you were the only person who had to walk in on Max and Charles to realise they were together. Let me guess; even Oscar knew before you did.’

Lando stirs his coffee sulkily. ‘It’s not my fault Oscar’s an observant freak.’ The laughter is uproarious, and, despite the fact it’s at his expense, Lando just sits back and enjoys it. Enjoys being surrounded by safety. By family.

So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again

The day goes as well as can be expected, Lando qualifying eighth and Oscar ninth. He throws his arms around his teammate once they both climb out of the car. He’s so proud, of the way Oscar continues to pick himself up after the shitshow that has been this season. Oscar stiffens momentarily beneath his grasp, and Lando immediately backs off. They have hugged a limited number of times, and it has only been during the most trying occasions. Certainly not in celebration for finishing qualifying. But then Oscar is smiling at him and clapping him on the shoulder. So, they must be fine. Right?

They are herded into the media pen separately, though Lando cannot help but track Oscar’s movements as he worries whether he overstepped. It is for this reason that he spots Oscar duck rapidly out of an interview and exit, his press officer calling after him. Lando finishes his interview before following, ignoring the calls of both their press officers echoing after them.

‘Oscar?’ Lando calls as soon as he is in the paddock. He doesn’t get an answer, but he has become intimately familiar with the soft sounds of distress over the last few days, finally tracking him to a small alcove between the media pen and the Williams hospitality.

‘Osc,’ he whispers, watching the man in question stumble away from the mess he made, sliding down the brick wall until his elbows rest on bent knees.

‘Fuck. I hate this so much,’ Oscar pants desperately.

‘Did they say what it could be when you went to the medical centre?’ Lando asks as he takes a seat against the cold ground.

‘Generic sickness bug probably,’ Oscar groans. ‘Made worse by the painkillers I’ve been taking for my ribs. Apparently, a common side effect is nausea, which is just exacerbating the vomiting. But the constant throwing up has put my ribs in worse condition than they were before I was beaten, meaning I need the meds even more than I did before this whole shitty situation started.’

Lando huffs a laugh, running his hands through his sweat soaked curls. ‘You don’t do anything by halves, do you?’

‘Apparently not,’ Oscar shrugs, catching Lando’s eye and dissolving into hysterical laughter. They are both more than a little sleep deprived, and honestly Lando has no idea what they’re even laughing about at this point. It is the most mirth he has seen from Oscar, who is laughing almost silently, clutching his ribs as pain ripples through him.

Lando finally regains control over himself, wiping his watering eyes as Oscar hiccups. ‘I’m sorry, if I made you uncomfortable with the hug.’

‘Made me uncomfortable?’ Oscar asks in confusion, laughter finally drying up. ‘We shared a bed last night; I think we’re past the point of propriety.’

‘I know you don’t always appreciate physical contact,’ Lando explains awkwardly. ‘I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to reciprocate when I reach out if you’re uncomfortable.’

Oscar stays silent for a few minutes; considering his answer. ‘You’re right. I’m not someone who naturally initiates physical contact. I’m… I don’t know. Shy? Awkward? But that doesn’t mean I don’t like physical contact.’

Lando digests these words for a second, the realisation flooding through him. ‘So, you mean every time I’ve avoided hugging you…’

‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted those hugs,’ Oscar admits, gaze fixed on his hands. ‘I just don’t know how to initiate them.’

Lando is leaning on the wall opposite from Oscar, but he shuffles around until they are next to one another, shoulders touching. He throws his arm around the younger man, who remains as stiff as a board in his grasp for a few seconds. But now Lando knows the contact isn’t unwelcome, he has the courage to stick it out until Oscar settles, resting his head against Lando’s chest. Another few minutes and Oscar has all but melted into him. It takes only another five for his breathing to even out, falling deeply asleep as the long night and the physical exertion take their toll on him. Lando looks down at the caramel brown head against his chest. The face which relaxes in sleep, revealing just how tightly he is holding onto that unbothered mask he wears as armour every day.

Five minutes, he thinks to himself. I’ll give him five minutes, then wake him up so they can both go back to media.

Lift your head and look around
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found
You will be found

‘Fucking hell.’

‘Really? All this time?’

‘Only Lando.’

The loud voices in close vicinity lure Lando back to consciousness. He blinks his eyes open, groaning as pain lashes his back and legs. Falling asleep against a brick wall does nothing for your spine.

‘Oh God!’ Lando gasps, jolting away from the side of the Williams hospitality once he realises where he is. ‘Oh fuck!’

‘What?’ Oscar asks sleepily from where his head has dropped onto Lando’s thigh. ‘What’s happening?’ He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, perfectly happy where he is.

‘What time is it?’ Lando demands, glancing up at Max and George, who have identified them in this small alley.

‘Nearly six,’ Max answers, looking amused.

‘Fuck!’ Lando curses. ‘Oscar, we need to go.’

‘Hmm,’ Oscar murmurs, snuggling deeper into Lando’s thigh for approximately forty seconds. Forty seconds of bliss until he throws himself away as his stomach rebels once again.

George and Max wince sympathetically as Lando strokes his hand across Oscar’s trembling back. He pulls back eventually, wiping his mouth as he collapses back against the wall.

‘At least you won’t need to worry about the weight limit for the rest of the season,’ Max tries for a silver lining, which makes Oscar chuckle at least.

‘Mark won’t be moaning at me for eating Tim Tams for a while,’ Oscar cracks a weak smile.

‘And I guess that’s a new record for you not vomiting?’ Lando shrugs, struggling to his feet as his back alights with pain.

‘Yay me,’ Oscar’s answer is characteristically dry. ‘Can you help me up?’ Lando moves to do just that, grasping Oscar’s arms as his legs shake.

‘We need to get some food in you,’ Lando frowns, concerned at the weakness being displayed by his teammate. ‘Especially considering the bollocking we’re about to get.’

‘Bollocking?’ Oscar frowns, finally getting his feet beneath him. ‘What did we do?’

‘Oh, let me see,’ George puts a hand on his left hip and Lando can only groan internally at the lecture he knows is coming. ‘First, you skipped out on media duties. Which I can only assume was because you were throwing up, so I’m not going to have a go at you for that.’

‘Magnanimous of you,’ Oscar comments, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Lando finds himself becoming temporarily distracted. An intelligent man is… so fucking hot.

‘And Lando rushed out after you, which was stupid but forgivable,’ George continues his tirade. ‘Except then neither of you come back. So, we all just assumed that you skipped out on media duties and went back to the hotel. Except your trainers said you weren’t there. And you didn’t show up to debrief. And then you didn’t show up for three more hours.’

‘I was asleep that long?’ Oscar asks, eyes wide.

‘Apparently so,’ Lando shrugs. ‘I was asleep too.’

‘Three hours we’ve all been losing our minds thinking you’d been murdered…’

‘Unlikely,’ Max interjects.

‘Kidnapped!’

‘Technically I think Oscar would have been adult-napped...’

‘Rude,’ Lando huffs, reading the insult into his maturity level.

‘Or… I don’t know… attacked.’

‘Been there, done that,’ Oscar interrupts this time. ‘No interest in doing it again.’

George finally deflates. ‘We were worried about you.’

‘We’re sorry for worrying everyone,’ Lando apologises sincerely. ‘Now, shall we get out of here so that everyone can stop worrying.’ George mutters something shockingly crude beneath his breath before moving aside, allowing Lando to lead Oscar out.

‘It really took them three hours to think of looking next to the media pen?’ Oscar says into his ear, making Lando bark a laugh. The sound is loud and distinctive enough to attract the attention of Zak and Andrea, who are both lingering outside the McLaren hospitality.

Zak is a large guy, but the speed with which he gets to his drivers is truly astonishing. ‘You didn’t come to debrief,’ the words are stern, but the hug he engulfs Lando is anything but.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Oscar apologises. ‘I felt ill, and I had to leave the media pen. Lando was worried, so he came after me. Last night was pretty bad, so we passed out, we didn’t mean to miss debrief, or to worry anyone.’ Lando can hear the undertone of anxiety in his tone. That underlying fear of being abandoned by his team.

Lando’s first instinct is to jump to Oscar’s defence. But there is no need to. ‘It’s okay mate, we’re not angry at either of you. Just worried,’ Zak reassures him.

‘Thank you, for finding them,’ Andrea addresses George and Max. ‘Oscar, can I speak to you for a second? You can head back to the hotel as soon as we’re done. I think we both know you need to rest more than you need to debrief.’

Lando knows Oscar well enough by now to notice the briefest flash of fear in his expression, but he goes without argument.

‘Do I need to worry about that?’ He asks Zak. The man in question just laughs.

‘Are you kidding me? I’ve got to be honest with you Lando, you might be my favourite child, but Oscar is Andrea’s. I don’t think that man would survive the two of us together if he didn’t have Oscar too.’ At another time, the words would have sent Lando into a spin. Would have made him question his seat and his place in the team. Would have affected his relationship with Oscar and sent him into a spiral of self-loathing. But somehow, while Lando has been repairing his relationship with Oscar, Oscar has been repairing something broken in Lando. Some deep, fundamental insecurity which mean Zak’s words make him smile. Make him chuckle at the thought of Andrea dealing with him and Danny Ric as teammates.

There's a place where we don't have to feel unknown
And every time that you call out
You're a little less alone

‘How was your conversation with Andrea?’ Lando asks when they both clamber into bed. There had been no discussion tonight over sharing rooms, both of them tumbling back to Oscar’s without argument.

Oscar’s answering smile is bright. ‘It was good. Andrea kept saying how he knows who the bad influence is, and it isn’t me,’ he chuckles.

They remain quiet for a few minutes. ‘You know, my worst fear is being alone,’ Lando admits, unable to look his teammate in the eye. ‘That’s one of the reasons becoming close to you was so hard. Because everyone leaves. Friends. Teammates. Both.’

Oscar digests the words for a few minutes. After this length of silence, Lando would usually be rambling awkwardly. Regretting he’d ever said anything and wishing he could stuff the words back into his mouth. But Oscar doesn’t make him feel like that. Lando trusts that, whatever he says, Oscar will be there for him afterwards.

‘My worst fear is never having a home,’ the admission is soft. ‘But I think, this year, I might have found one.’

Lando smiles softly. ‘McLaren is good for that. This has become my home too.’

‘I never said it was McLaren.’ Oscar’s expression is direct, making his intention clear.

‘Oh,’ Lando mutters softly, as the meaning finally strikes him.

‘I left my home once, Lando. I have no intentions of doing so again.’

The words are simple, and beautiful. He struggles for something to say to convey something just as profound, but he doesn’t have the words. Instead, he reaches for Oscar’s hand against the duvet, intertwining their fingers together.

Home. He likes the sound of that.

If you only say the word
From across the silence your voice is heard

Canada 2024

The last two race weekends have been… emotionally draining. Lando is relieved they have a two week break before the final charge toward the summer break. That relief lasts as long as it takes to get home to Monaco, unlocking his front door and dropping his bag before the quiet hits him.

He realises he has been near enough living with Oscar for two weeks straight now. Oscar is far from a noisy roommate, but somehow, somewhere along the way, Lando grew used to his dry comments. That huffing chuckle whenever Lando makes a joke, bending over at the waist whenever he’s particularly tickled. The way he had hovered awkwardly in the centre of the room when Lando brought him home the first time, to his relaxed slouch on the sofa the day before they left.

Oscar has spent the last year wriggling into his heart, and apparently his personal space. It’ll pass tomorrow, Lando decides. He’s tired and becoming accustomed to living alone again. It’ll pass.

Except, when he wakes up the next morning, he instinctively listens out for Oscar’s breathing to judge if he is still asleep; which he almost always is. Except there is no breathing to listen for. Because the space beside him in the bed is empty. Lando rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. When he stumbled into bed last night, Lando was so tired he didn’t register that he stuck to the left side automatically. Girlfriends have complained to him in the past over his tendency to hog the centre of the bed, relegating them to the very edge as he is unable to stick to an assigned side. Yet last night, the ghost of Oscar Piastri haunted him enough that he suppressed his instincts to starfish without even needing to try.

The absence of Oscar has more of an impact on him than the presence of any of his previous girlfriends.

Lando ends up climbing out of bed far earlier than he customarily would, the empty half feeling hollower than it ever has done before. He means to go to the kitchen. Really, he does. But his feet guide him into the guest bedroom, where he instructed the cleaner not to touch. Despite the usual upheaval within which Oscar lives his life, the guest room is pristine.

Lando curses himself for being stupid, about to turn around and leave when something catches his eye. He switches on the light, banishing the shadows and allowing him to identify the shape which doesn’t belong.

Frowning, he picks it up, snapping a picture and sending it to Oscar with the caption ‘think you forgot something, mate.’

Considering Monaco is an hour ahead of the UK, and Oscar is a late riser, he doesn’t expect a response for several hours, so he sends a text to Max simultaneously, asking if he is up for a game of padel.

Exactly as he expects, Max is the first to reply with a resounding no, then an apology and a promise to play tomorrow. Lando can only imagine the atrocities which are currently happening in the Leclerc-Verstappen household. The thought sends a shiver through him, his next messages directed at both Alex and George.

Once again, he is rebuffed, both needing to spend some quality time with their girlfriends. Max Fewtrell is on holiday, Carlos at home in Madrid. Danny Ric is in Australia, and Lewis didn’t return to Monaco. The realisation of how small his circle has become slaps him in the face, leaving him reeling and lonely.

Lando can feel his thoughts begin to race out of his control, until he is thrown from his musings by the sound of a notification on his phone.

A photo stares back at him, of a homemade toy koala with Oscar’s sleepy face beside it. The same plushie currently sitting in his guest bedroom, because he assumed Oscar had left it behind. This answers precisely none of his questions until Oscar’s message pops up a moment later.

“According to my sister, koalas deserve friends.”

“So, she made two?”

‘Yep.”

“One for me?”

“Yep.”

Lando feels hot tears sting his eyes and blinks them away in embarrassment. Why is he crying over a, frankly subpar, homemade stuffed animal? He knows it has absolutely nothing to do with the plushie really. It’s the way Oscar reached out to him when he was in the depths of his loneliness, despite it being before 8am. It’s the fact he knows those bears were made by Oscar’s smallest sister, because she doesn’t want them to be alone. It’s the fact that, whatever his other feelings for Oscar Piastri, that man is his best friend, and he would give anything to be able to see him right now.

So, he decides to do something about it.

‘Morning mum,’ he greets when she answers the phone.

‘Lando, are you okay?’ She asks immediately. ‘It’s very early for you to be calling.’

‘I’m good,’ he chuckles. ‘Guess I just don’t really want to be alone during the break. Do you mind if I come home?’

He can imagine his parents, sitting side by side in their bed, his mother probably with a tray on her lap containing the remnants of a boiled egg. His father nursing a coffee and reading the newspaper, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he struggles to overhear the conversation.

‘Darling, that would be lovely. Are you sure you’re okay?’

Lando hesitates for a second, debating how much to tell her. ‘Right now,’ he settles on. ‘I’m great. I’m going to pack a bag and get a flight out today. Can dad can pick me up from the airport?’

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ she promises. ‘Just let us know when you land.’ He makes the relevant assurances before hanging up. As he books a flight for that evening, he cannot help but be proud of himself. For feeling the downward spiral coming and doing something about it. When the low episodes come on, he usually hides out in Monaco, ignoring everyone who loves him until he ultimately feels worse. Identifying unhealthy behaviour and rectifying it are two vastly different things, something he has been aware of for many years.

Until now.

Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
When you're broken on the ground
You will be found

Lando holds out for three days before he finally takes one of his precious cars, using it to make the drive from Glastonbury to the outskirts of London. He has never seen Oscar’s flat before, but he managed to dig the address out from the depths of his phone. It takes him three hours, the small, stuffed Koala sitting in his passenger seat secured with a seatbelt. He’s become oddly attached to it over the last few days.

Lando doesn’t realise how insecure he feels about the whole affair until he has fought his way into a parking space, reversing at least fifty times in order to parallel park. He sits in the car for ten minutes, debating whether or not he should knock on the door, or just go home.

He is about ten seconds from driving away when his phone rings.

‘Max, hey, is everything okay?’ He asks, concerned by the unexpected call.

‘Oh, I’m fine. I just wanted to check in with you.’

Lando sighs deeply. ‘Who told you to call me?’

‘No one,’ Max answers immediately. Lando hears the lie, but chooses not to press it further.

‘I’m currently sitting outside Oscar Piastri’s flat, and I don’t think I can go in.’

‘Okay,’ Max says slowly. ‘Why wouldn’t you go in?’

‘Because I’m lingering outside like a stalker! He doesn’t even know I’m in the country; he’ll think I’m a freak!’ He laughs almost hysterically.

‘Also, he might realise you’re in love with him,’ Lando can imagine Max’s shrug.

‘Yes, that as well,’ he rolls his eyes. ‘This was such a bad idea. Why did I come?’

‘Why did you come?’ Max repeats the question back to him.

‘Because I miss him,’ Lando admits immediately, the words rolling off his tongue.

‘So, what matters more?’ Max lays the situation out. ‘Your pride, or your relationship?’ As soon as he says it, cutting out all the bullshit of Lando’s anxiety, what felt like an insurmountable decision mere minutes ago is now an obvious choice.

‘Thank you, Max. I don’t know how you knew to call me, but I needed that.’

Max hums, considering his next words carefully. ‘Let’s just say, I’m pretty confident that Oscar will be happy to see you.’

Lando blinks. ‘You mean he was the one who told you to call?’

‘You are parked outside his window,’ Max chuckles. ‘It wasn’t exactly a stealth mission.’

‘Why didn’t he just come and get me himself?’

Max hums again. ‘I asked that as well. He said he didn’t want you to come in if you weren’t ready. He was worried that if he came and spoke to you, you’d feel obliged to.’

Lando cannot help the smile which pulls at his cheeks. ‘I really like him, Max.’

‘Ugh. You’re disgusting,’ he groans in response. ‘But I think he might really like you too.’ Lando doesn’t let himself consider the prospect for too long. He isn’t in the habit of inviting more disappointment into his life than he must.

‘Thank you, Max.’

‘Anytime,’ he can hear Max’s smile from over the line. ‘But if you dare call Oscar Piastri your best friend, I will need you to take it back. There’s only room for one of those in your life, and the role is already filled.’

‘Promise,’ Lando assures him before he hangs up, grabbing the patchwork koala from the passenger seat and finally leaving the car. Oscar is the top floor, so he rings the buzzer.

‘Who is it?’ Comes Oscar’s voice through the intercom.

‘Like you haven’t seen me through the window,’ Lando calls into the microphone, the door clicking open a minute later. He climbs three flights of stairs once he realises there is no working lift, finding himself in front of a green painted front door. He knocks, it swings open within seconds.

‘Max wasn’t supposed to tell you,’ Oscar says in greeting.

Lando shrugs. ‘He got me to make the decision to come in before he spilt the beans, if it makes you feel any better.’ Oscar grumbles under his breath, but finally allows him entrance into his flat. Lando is led into a modestly sized living room, shockingly tidy considering the state that he has seen some of Oscar’s hotel rooms. Through a door there is a connecting gally kitchen, with what must be a guest bedroom in the room beside it.

‘Nice place,’ he comments.

Oscar rolls his eyes. ‘You could fit my apartment in yours three times, but I like it.’

‘I wasn’t being sarcastic,’ Lando promises. ‘To be honest, I kind of think it’s nicer than mine.’ The more he looks around, the more he believes it. Oscar’s flat is filled with photographs and, to his surprise, books. There are blankets over the backs of the sofas and a small helmet display in a wooden cabinet. It is warm, and cluttered, and a home. Lando’s apartment is all clean lines, white furniture, and glass accessories. He purchased a show home and, despite having lived there for three years, it has remained such. There is nothing to prove he even lives there outside of his helmets.

‘You brought your koala,’ Oscar observes.

‘You said the koala needed a friend. I figured I should reunite them,’ Lando chuckles.

‘You don’t have to keep it,’ Oscar assures him. ‘It’s stupid I know. But Mae really wanted to give it to you. She wanted it to keep me company on the road, and I guess she wanted the same for you.’

‘Oh, I’m keeping it,’ Lando looks horrified. ‘This is my favourite possession now.’

‘Over your Fiat Jollie?’ Oscar raises an eyebrow.

Lando hesitates. ‘I mean… it’s up there.’

Oscar laughs heartily, that wheezing, breathless laugh that makes him double over.

‘You’re not going to ask why I came?’ Lando presses once Oscar has stopped laughing.

Oscar just shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter why you came. It just matters that you’re here.’

So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again
If you only look around
You will be found

Silverstone 2023

Silverstone is the race Lando looks forward to most on the calendar. The fans, the atmosphere, the everything. The icing on the cake is the upgrades package they are bringing this weekend. From all the testing they have done, it looks like this is going to be a massive step forward. For the first time this season, it really feels like he might have a chance to compete.

He spends most of the week before the British grand prix being ferried from one media interview to the next. Oscar is present for the majority, the two of them bouncing off one another with a level of ease they have established over the previous weeks spent together.

Despite them spending so much time together, by the time Thursday rolls around, Lando feels as though he has hardly seen his teammate. They might have spent time in one another’s company, but all their interactions have been manipulated by the various interviewers they have seen. There has been no time for them to just exist in the same space. Lando talking his ear off about something while Oscar feigns indifference. Watching one of their guilty pleasure shows while pretending that the snacks between them on the couch are part of their meal plan.

Lando finds himself dreaming of the few hugs they’ve enjoyed, waking up cold, because the warmth of Oscar’s arms is only in his mind.

In short, the race hasn’t even started yet, and already his head is spinning.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Oscar asks nervously, as he throws open the door to Lando’s driver room and slumps onto the massage bed.

Lando grins, proud of the growth of both his teammate and their relationship. Oscar used to knock, then linger in the doorway until Lando verbally invited him into the room. Now he invades Lando’s personal space without a second thought.

‘I can’t promise the answer will be helpful,’ Lando chuckles. ‘But you can always ask.’

‘Your Thursday night get together… who’s turn is it to host?’

Lando frowns. ‘You expect me to know that?’

Oscar sighs, banging his head against the wall. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. Brilliant. Text Alex, would you?’

‘Why does it matter who’s hosting?’ Lando asks as he types out the requested message. ‘You know you have a standing invite.’

‘I… I know,’ Oscar hesitates. ‘It just… I… I don’t just want an invite.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Lando chuckles, watching as Alex begins typing immediately. That man is chronically online.

‘I want to host,’ Oscar blurts out. ‘I don’t just want to be a guest. I want to be part of it. A real part of it.’ Lando’s first instinct is to protest. To argue that Oscar is a real part of it without offering up his hotel room. But for Oscar to ask this of him… Lando knows it is significant to his younger teammate, even if they all know Oscar is already one of them.

‘Apparently Charles is hosting tonight. Believe me, he will happily hand over the responsibility to you.’

‘You don’t think it’s a dumb idea?’ Oscar asks nervously.

Lando cannot suppress a smile. ‘I think it’s a great idea. You’re permanent, Osc. You’re not a guest, you’re not an imposition. You’re one of us. If this helps you feel like you are, I think it’s brilliant.’

Mere hours later, Lando finds himself knocking on the door of Oscar’s Hilton hotel room. He’s never early, but he wants to speak to Oscar before everyone arrives.

‘You’re here,’ Oscar sighs. ‘Thank you for coming. Is this okay?’

‘Is what okay?’ Lando frowns. ‘You do know all we need is a room and… oh wow,’ he breathes as he gets a glimpse at the small kitchen area in the corner of the room.

‘There’s not enough food, right? Or too much? It’s stupid. I know how stupid it is.’ Oscar is rambling. Actually rambling. The unflappable Oscar Piastri is anxious over this stupid weekly ritual they have. Lando doesn’t think he’s ever seen Oscar nervous over nothing before, and he is about to tease the man for it. Except then he thinks about it for a moment longer. Oscar never broadcasts when he’s anxious, because he never shows people when he’s vulnerable. This is a new side to him. A side that wrings his hands and rambles when he is nervous. A side Lando knows he has never been comfortable to show before.

Instead of teasing him, Lando finds himself throwing his arms around Oscar’s shoulders tightly. ‘This is perfect.’ Oscar melts into the hug faster than usual, sinking into his embrace until they are the same height.

Lando breathes in the feeling of the hug, soaking it in, trying to commit it to memory until Oscar finally pulls away. ‘Right, come on. Let’s finish that Top Gear episode in Vietnam.’

‘I thought you hated that programme,’ Oscar snorts, not arguing as he sets it up on the TV. ‘Sounds like you were paying attention.’

‘I mean… it’s just polite,’ Lando grumbles. In truth, the thing he likes about Top Gear isn’t the cars, or the presenters or the moments of genuine comedy. It’s the way Oscar lights up when he sees something he finds fascinating. How he uses his hands to try and describe the engineering behind the cars. The way his inner nerd comes out, just for Lando.

Before long, there is a knock on the door. It seems they all travelled to the Hilton together, as when Oscar opens the door, he is bombarded by Charles, Max, Carlos, Logan, George and Alex, all at once. They each wrap him in a hug as they enter, leaving him looking bewildered but delighted at the warm reception. Lando had made sure to mention Oscar’s inclination toward affection, even if he isn’t comfortable offering it.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Oscar says softly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

‘Are you joking? I got to delay hosting!’ Charles grins.

‘And look at all this food,’ Alex observes. ‘Oscar my word, where did you get all this?’

‘I mean the pizzas are from a place Kim told me about,’ Oscar scratches the back of his neck. ‘The rest of it is some classic Australian stuff. Mostly my nan’s recipes to be honest.’

‘Your nan sent us baking again?’ George asks.

‘Uh…’ Oscar looks adorably awkward. ‘No, no. Whenever she tries to send this much stuff it gets kind of mushy in the post. So, I asked her to send me the recipes.’

‘You made these yourself?’ Max raises his eyebrows.

‘I mean, they might taste like shit.’ Oscar shrugs, showing none of the insecurity of Lando has just witnessed. He proceeds to talk them through the dishes laden across the surfaces, before pointing out the final one.

‘These are rum balls. I’ve done half with my Grandma’s recipe, and half using the original recipe.’

‘What’s the difference?’ George asks, as Charles and Max each grab one. Oscar doesn’t get a chance to respond before Max has taken a bite, and subsequently spits it out dramatically, spluttering and coughing hard.

Charles looks confused at his reaction. ‘Yeah, that’s the difference,’ Oscar chuckles. ‘Half have rum in them, half don’t.’

‘That doesn’t just have rum in it,’ Max chokes. ‘That’s the equivalent of a shot soaked in sponge.’

‘I put in the amount the recipe said,’ Oscar frowns, taking a bite of one of the laced ones. ‘Tastes fine to me.’

Curiosity strikes, each of them taking a small ball from the dish and biting into it. Lando manages to avoid spitting it out as Max did, having had some forewarning, but his eyes begin to water miserably at the burn of the alcohol. Alex has been more cautious with his bite, laughing heartily at their struggle. George’s eyes are so wide, they look as though they will fall out of his head, while Charles is trying hard to avoid coughing up a lung.

‘Now I know why I’ve never seen you drunk,’ Lando chokes out.

Out of the shadows
The morning is breaking
And all is new, all is new

The race is… amazing. Securing a podium in front of his home fans is a dream come true. And in the 2023 season, second place is as good as a win.

Lando climbs out of the car and throws himself at his team, listening to the emphatic cheers from the crowd. It is awash with papaya, and Lando knows these are all McLaren fans.

The cheers buoy him to the cool down room, where he registers for the first time who he has been joined by.

‘I thought Oscar was P3,’ he frowns, glancing over at Lewis.

‘He was,’ Lewis answers. ‘The safety car allowed me to get close enough to overtake.’ He huffs a laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I almost felt bad for doing it. That kid’s had such a hard time this season, he deserved something good to happen for him as well.’

Max glances at Lando. ‘Don’t worry. I think for all the bad Oscar’s had to endure this season; he’s had an equal amount of good.’

The podium passes in a flash, and before Lando knows it, he is back in his driver’s room peeling off his champagne-soaked race suit for the fan stage. He is only half dressed when there is a knock on the door.

‘Osc, you know you don’t need to knock,’ Lando calls.

‘Not Oscar,’ comes a familiar American voice. ‘Congrats on today, mate. What a drive,’ Zak booms, pulling Lando in for a loose embrace.

‘Thank you for the car,’ Lando grins in response. ‘It’s a pleasant change to be able to compete after the beginning of this season.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ Zak groans. ‘Listen, can I ask you for a favour?’

‘After driving that rocket ship?’ Lando asks with a chuckle. ‘Go for it.’

‘Keep Oscar distracted for me until the fan stage? I have a little surprise for you both.’

Lando agrees, intrigued by the request. He rushes through changing, before heading to the young Australian’s driver room. Oscar has no knock privileges in Lando’s space, but his teammate values personal space more than he does, so he waits for the call before he enters.

‘Hey mate,’ he says gently, half expecting to find Oscar curled up on the massage bed considering how dissatisfying the race was for him.

Instead, Oscar is standing, motionless. in the centre of the room. He is in just his fireproofs, a small smile affixed to his face as he drinks in the sight of his teammate.

‘Are you okay?’ Lando asks guiltily. ‘I know it was a disappointing race.’

‘You did it, Lando,’ Oscar smiles tenderly. ‘You came honorary first. In your home race, in this shitty season. You did it.’

‘You were so close, Osc. It was just bad luck, and you’ll get a podium soon…’ He trails off as Oscar cups his hands around his cheeks.

‘You muppet, stop talking about me. This is the British grand prix, and you just scored P2.’ His smile is wide enough now to be splitting his face in two, honey eyes shining.

‘I scored P2,’ Lando breathes.

‘Hell yes you did.’ The words are soft, filled with such awe that if Lando hadn’t already reached cloud nine, he certainly has done now. He is so filled with heady joy, he doesn’t even pause to consider his next statement.

‘I love you.’ He doesn’t process the words until they have already left his mouth, and he expects to feel horror course through him. But he feels nothing except relief. Because he just jumped off the ledge; and he trusts Oscar Jack Piastri will be there to catch him.

‘You stupid idiot,’ Oscar grins, a tear slipping from his eye. ‘What took you so long?’

Lando laughs wetly. ‘What can I say, I had my head in my ass for a while. But I’ve been wanting to say that since Austria.’

Oscar hums gently, rubbing his thumbs across Lando’s cheeks, swiping the falling tears away gently. ‘I’ve been wanting to say that since Zandvoort.’

Lando’s heart stutters in his chest. ‘You mean… all this time?’

‘Always,’ Oscar admits. ‘Now kiss me you fool.’

It's filling up the empty
And suddenly I see that
All is new, all is new

It’s a good thing both Lando and Oscar have a reputation for being late, because they nearly miss Zak’s surprise altogether. As it is, they end up giggling like teenagers, hand in hand as they tear through the McLaren hospitality.

They stop outside the canteen, Lando pulling Oscar in for one last kiss.

‘Lando,’ Oscar chides, though he is grinning so widely it is hardly discouraging. ‘Someone could see.’

‘So?’ Lando shrugs. ‘I can think of nothing better than telling the world I love you.’ Oscar blushes deeply.

‘I think that’s a conversation for another time.’ And Lando knows it is. He knows it will be hard. That there will be more bad days than good days. That the retaliation from dating a fellow driver, let alone a teammate, could easily ruin their careers. But he also knows that Oscar Piastri is worth it.

‘Come on,’ he finally forces himself away. ‘Let’s go see what this is then.’

They unlink their hands, Lando holding the door open for Oscar. As soon as they enter, they are near enough drowned in party poppers and confetti. There is a huge cake dominating one of the tables, and every single member of the McLaren staff present.

Oscar looks shellshocked, and rightfully confused.

‘What’s going on?’ Lando asks, laughing heartily. The room looks like a five-year old’s birthday party, covered in balloons and confetti, everyone wearing a cheesy party hat.

‘We thought it was about time we welcomed Oscar to the team. Properly,’ Zak says firmly. ‘This season has been… rough. Harder than I think any one of us ever imagined it would be. I don’t think we made you appreciate that this is your home. Here, with us, at McLaren. So, we thought we would take this opportunity to make that clear.’

Lando is shocked with a burst of pride for his team, immediately holding out a hand for a hat. Zak understands the request, offering him one so that Lando can strap it over his dishevelled curls.

‘I don’t… this is…’ Oscar looks overwhelmed, unsure of what to do. And so full of joy that Lando’s heart feels like it may swell out of his chest.

‘This is your family, son,’ Zak claps him on the shoulder. ‘And I rather think you have something to tell them.’

Oscar looks to Zak with wide eyes, and Lando can only furrow his brow in confusion. Their CEO nods, and the smile that Oscar gives him is brighter than sunlight.

Oscar turns to survey the team, who are all looking at him with devotion in their eyes. ‘At the beginning of this season, I was the upstart rookie who made a bad name for himself before even getting into a Formula One car. To this day, I still sort of don’t know how that happened. But I do know that coming to this team was just about the riskiest thing I could have done. I had no idea what to expect, and the pressure was so high, I thought I might drown in it.’ Oscar pauses, examining them all carefully. ‘But then my wonderful race engineer, Tom,’ the man in question blushes at the attention being drawn to him. ‘Made it his personal mission to make the car feel as familiar to me as he could. And Doris,’ he calls, gesturing to the barrister behind the counter. ‘Learnt my coffee order in three days. Andrea and Zak called me son, my engineering team defended me and teased me at every opportunity. Even the cleaners, Mel and Dan began to leave me small bottles of air freshener in my driver’s room, so I could eat salmon in there.’

‘You never told me that,’ Lando gasps, affronted.

‘For this reason,’ Oscar laughs. ‘And Lando, my first ever Formula One teammate. The best one I could possibly have imagined.’ The look they exchange is tender and soft. Promises of what is to come. Memories of what has been.

‘Zak is right, in six months, we’ve built a family here. A home. A home I’d really like to stay at for another three years, if you’ll have me.’

Silence reigns for a few seconds as the team processes the meaning. As Lando processes the meaning. And then the cheering begins. It is deafening, almost louder than the entire Silverstone crowd.

‘You’re serious?’ Lando demands. ‘You signed a new contract?’

Oscar’s smile is shy as he nods, and it takes every ounce of self-control Lando possesses not to press a kiss to those soft lips. Instead, he hugs Oscar so tight the boy can barely breathe. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he whispers.

‘I’m so proud of us,’ Oscar answers.

They pull back for a second, but that is long enough for the team to pounce on them. Lando loses himself in the moment, watching Oscar finally accept that, for the first time since he was fourteen years old, he has a family. One that won’t betray him, or hurt him, or belittle him.

He has a home.

You are not alone
You are not alone
You are not alone