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Oscar wakes up to the shrill sound of his third alarm, the one that’s painful enough to give him no choice but to rub the sleep out of his eyes and get up.
It’s not any ordinary day, today’s race day, and at least that makes getting up a little less agonizing. He likes these days, would race every day if he could.
He’s not going to tell FOM that, just in case they get any ideas. But Oscar takes a quick moment to imagine what it would be like, getting to feel the adrenaline every day, the speed he loves so much, maybe even getting a real win...
His phone starts chirping with the latest snoozed alarm and Oscar snaps out of it, starts getting himself ready. At least today will be an actual race, yesterday’s sprint not one for the history books, and with Lando starting alongside him, he’s confident enough they’ll both actually make it through turn 1 this time.
It’s race day. The idea alone is enough to make Oscar slightly less miffed about having to get up early.
He’s still going to get a coffee in the paddock before he does anything else, though.
*
Oscar’s finding it hard to recall his earlier enthusiasm as he gets out of the car, because if the sprint already wasn’t one for the history books, this race is definitely one to quickly put behind him. Fucking Sainz somehow fucking up his entire race, and he’d shrug it off if it wasn’t becoming a regular occurrence. He’s not going to linger on it, but he’s not going to forget, either.
What he’s also not going to forget, though, is Lando winning. They’d realized fairly quickly in the weekend that the updates worked even better than they’d hoped, but even so, the idea of a win seemed ridiculously far out of reach. Oscar’s maybe even more annoyed with Sainz now, because that could have been his win, too. Or at the very least a podium.
It’s impossible to stay mad when Lando’s glee is so infectuous, smiling from ear to ear, happiness and relief radiating off of him in waves when Oscar finally manages to make his way over. Lando looks good like this, deserves this moment just for himself, but Oscar can’t help but pull Lando into a hug when he’s within arm’s reach.
“You got our first win mate, congratulations!” he shouts in Lando’s ear, squeaking when Lando hugs him so tight he can’t breathe. Oscar can feel Lando’s smile against his own cheek.
“Nah, you got our first, remember?” Lando replies, as Oscar had hoped he wouldn’t. “I can’t believe it, you should pinch me.”
Oscar does so, and while Lando winces, it doesn’t do anything to bring him down. Good.
“Go enjoy your win,” Oscar prompts him. “You deserve it. Don’t break the trophy.”
“Next time we’re both up there,” Lando gushes before he’s rushing off, too many people wanting a piece of him now to stay in any one place for too long.
Oscar hopes Lando’s right. For now, though, he makes his way to the press pen, pointedly doesn’t glare at Sainz (it’s much funnier to see him wait for a reaction that’s not coming, really), and does the obligatory media time before he can go back to the McLaren garage to help set things up for the celebration and the celebratory picture.
After said picture, Lando hangs back, waits until Oscar’s made his way in his general direction and touches Oscar’s shoulder gently to get his attention. Somehow, he’s still smiling. Oscar wonders if his cheeks are hurting yet, but that should be none of his concern.
“I’m off to party tonight, fuck the flight. I’m sure I can get Zak to change it, anyway. Do you want to join?” Lando asks, a hopeful tone in his voice, glancing at Oscar in a way that would be coy if anyone else did it.
In a way, Oscar would like to join. Then again, he’s not sure if he could convince Zak to change his flight, and he does like his sleep, and being in a club… the only upside he can think of is that Lando would be there, and it doesn’t quite weigh up against all the downsides.
“Nah, I’ll stay in tonight, let you have your moment.” He nudges Lando’s shoulder back when it almost seems like Lando’s smile starts slipping. “Just have a drink for me if you miss me. I’ll see you back in Woking, yeah? We can hang out there if you’d like.”
“Fine,” Lando sighs. “Let me know if you change your mind, though. I’ll buy your drinks and smuggle you onto my flight.”
Oscar can’t help but laugh at the mental image of Lando smuggling him in. He’d like to see him try, too, it’s almost enough to convince him to go anyway.
“I will let you know. Have fun, you deserve this.”
Lando crinkles his nose and Oscar averts his eyes, his stomach suddenly sinking. The world feels off-kilter for just a beat, enough for Oscar to sway a little, his balance momentarily gone. Lando grabs his upper arm, makes sure Oscar’s steady on his feet again. It only takes a few seconds, and when Lando realizes what he’s doing, he lets go of Oscar’s arm like he’s been burned.
“You keep saying that,” Lando says, his tone too gentle, looking at Oscar like he’s about to explode or whatever. “You deserve this too.”
“Once I win, I’ll let you drag me out to a party,” Oscar offers, trying his best to distract Lando from what the fuck just happened.
“You didn’t let me when you did win,” Lando points out. “But I’ll hold you to that for the next time.”
Lando’s called over then, probably for some speech that Zak’s been trying to make for the last five minutes. Oscar makes himself scarce, watching the rest of the activities from afar. He doesn’t want to take away Lando’s moment.
Soon, it’ll be his moment too. He knows it.
*
Later that night, after he’s already turned the air plane chair into what’s supposed to be a bed so he can attempt to get some sleep, his phone vibrates with a WhatsApp notification. Lando’s sent him a message, a picture even, so blurry it’s hard to make out. Lando’s smile (and the band aid on his nose) are unmistakable, and Oscar is too tired to suppress how fond he is of that stupid smile.
Wish u wree her
It’s only a few minutes before midnight, at least on Oscar’s phone. Fuck knows what time zone it’s on now, but midnight feels about right. Even if he wanted to (and he still doesn’t, mostly), he couldn’t turn around if he tried.
Next time, he promises himself. Maybe.
Hope you’re having fun, he sends back, silencing his phone all the way and putting it on the nearest flat surface he probably won’t hit as he tosses and turns.
He doesn’t see the clock ticking past midnight.
Why would he? He’s already fast asleep.
*
When Oscar wakes up, it’s just another ordinary day.
Except he’s in a much more comfortable bed than the one he fell asleep in, even if it’s not quite his bed at home. He’s got space, isn’t belted down, his ears don’t feel weird…
He should probably open his eyes to figure out where the hell he is, but he’s pretty sure that once he wakes up, he’s going to have to actually do something about whatever’s going on.
It can wait, probably.
So he hits snooze on his yelling phone (that he could swear he silenced earlier, but whatever) and snuggles further into the blankets.
*
By the time his third alarm sings its shrill and ear-piercing song, Oscar begrudgingly opens his eyes.
Somehow, he’d convinced himself along the way that he’s just very intensely imagining the hotel bed he’d spent the last couple of nights in. Or maybe he just very vividly dreamt that the race was yesterday, that Lando took his first win (their first win), and maybe Sainz wasn’t such a dickhead after all.
No, he’s pretty sure that last bit still stands.
But this is the hotel room he really thought he left yesterday, and his clothes are in the same place he remembers from yesterday morning, and the date on his phone is somehow still the fifth of May.
It’s still entirely possible he did, indeed, have a very realistic dream.
There’s not much time to dwell on it anyway, he’s already running slightly late if he doesn’t get up right now, and he doesn’t really feel like getting another speech about the importance of being on time, like he already got yesterday.
… maybe he just dreamt that one too.
He drags himself out of bed, throws on his team kit and leaves the hotel room, ignoring the feeling of deja vu niggling in the back of his head. He’s going to get a coffee, probably get some friendly ribbing from Lando about always being late (like he’s any better), and ace today’s race.
*
While the deja vu feeling persists, it doesn’t exactly help Oscar when he sees Sainz in his mirrors, once again making contact, leaving Oscar with that broken front wing that he needs to baby on his way to the pits.
Lando’s already leading, like Oscar knew he would, and he focuses on trying not to accidentally cause another safety car before he can go back to actual racing. Maybe he can even make his way back up to the points, if the rest of his dream turns out to be as prophetic as the first half was.
He knows it’s futile, but that won’t stop him from trying, no matter how small the track really is and how few laps he’s got left to get all of his moves done. He gets a stern talking to from Tom, that he needs to take it slow and not fuck this up for Lando, and it’s so frustrating but he gets it. They need this win, Lando deserves this win, so he calms down a little and settles for what he knows is going to be P13.
He does finish P13. Lando does win. Oscar’s starting to get the feeling that he’s kind of fucked.
At least he has that hug to look forward to, because he sure could use a comforting touch right about now.
And he indeed runs into Lando, like he knew he would, like he’s done before, and even if he hugs Lando a little tighter than before, Lando still hugs him back even tighter somehow.
“Enjoy the party tonight,” Oscar says when they pull apart this time, and Lando looks confused.
“Do you know something I don’t, Osc?” He winks and Oscar has to look away to not give himself away, his cheeks feeling a little warmer than five seconds ago. “I thought we had a plane to catch after this.”
“Just a feeling, nothing else,” Oscar mumbles. “I think you have to go now, no?”
Lando’s name gets called a few seconds later, and Lando almost looks as disappointed as Oscar feels to hear it.
“Go, I’ll see you later,” Oscar prompts him, gently pushing him in the general direction of the voice. Lando goes easily, but not before shooting him another look that Oscar isn’t about to decipher.
Later on, after the obligatory pictures have been taken, Lando finds him again.
“How did you know Zak is going to book us another flight for tomorrow, if we want?” Lando asks.
“Just a hunch,” Oscar replies. “It makes sense, though.”
“It does, but he only just told me about it,” Lando says. “Maybe you’re psychic. Am I going to win more races this season?”
“Don’t need to be psychic for that,” Oscar chuckles, nudging Lando with his shoulder. Lando nudges him back, and it takes all of Oscar’s willpower to not continue nudging Lando until they get yelled at to stop playing around. Which definitely never happens, not at all.
“Anyways. I’m going to party tonight, now that I can,” Lando tells him. “You should come. I’d like you to come.”
“I should probably still head back tonight,” Oscar deflects, looking somewhere behind Lando’s shoulder so Lando’s puppy eyes don’t convince him after all. “Get my beauty sleep in, you know. It takes a lot of work to look this good.”
“You’ll always look beautiful to your mum,” Lando laughs. “I mean it, though. You should come.”
“Next time, okay?” It’s just as tempting as it was yesterday – er, in his dream – but it’s still a party. He’s not interested in a sweaty and busy club, even if Lando’s asking nicely. “There will be plenty of other times, hopefully in a better place for parties than this.”
“Oh, maybe Monaco,” Lando immediately starts daydreaming. “You should come party in Monaco. First we laugh at all the rich people and then we get drunk enough to act stupid like the rich people.”
“I think you count as the rich people, mate,” Oscar points out. “But yes. If one of us wins Monaco, you can take me out.”
“It’s a date, Osc.” Lando grabs Oscar’s hand, shakes on it. “I’ll see you in Woking, then?”
“Of course. Now, go have fun. You deserve it.”
Lando hugs him quickly, then bounces off to God knows where. Oscar lingers in the back of the garage until the celebrations are over, then heads to the hotel to pack and catch his flight, occasionally checking his phone to see if he got a certain notification yet.
*
When he wakes up in his hotel room again, the next morning, it’s pretty clear what’s going on.
He’s heard of the Groundhog Day situation before, he just didn’t think it would ever happen to him. Doesn’t see any reason why it should, really, but he’s clearly caught in a time loop somehow. And while he definitely doesn’t mind having every day be race day, he would very much appreciate it if it wasn’t this race day. Maybe one where he actually got on the podium himself. Possibly that sprint in Qatar, even if it doesn’t quite count as a win, no matter what Lando keeps saying.
Actually. What if the whole reason for this stupid loop is because he too should be on this podium. It’s entirely possible and the most logical conclusion. He doesn’t think he could get the win while he doesn’t have the full package of upgrades yet, but a podium should be doable. If he manages to avoid Sainz this time around.
At least it’s starting to seem like he’s going to have plenty of opportunity to try and do just that. Fuck’s sake.
Well, nothing to it but to do it. He drags himself out of bed before the alarm goes off again and gets dressed, even has time for a quick shower beforehand.
This time, he doesn’t get a speech about the importance of being on time. No, this time, he gets to give said speech to Lando, who apparently also didn’t exactly show up on time. Watching Lando roll his eyes fondly and pester him for a coffee is well worth getting up early for once.
*
He remembers exactly where Sainz hits him, and the lead-up to it, but that doesn’t make it much easier to avoid. Oscar wants to go, want to fight the fucker, make him give up, but he has to actively take avoiding action himself to not end up with a broken front wing again. It’s not doing much to endear him to Sainz, really, no matter how much Lando seems to like the dude, and the shit-eating grin on Sainz’s face in the press pen later doesn’t help much either.
Because in the end, while Lando does still win (a nice silver lining, honestly, Oscar likes seeing Lando on the top step if it can’t be himself), Oscar still annoyingly doesn’t reach the podium, finishing behind Sainz because there was no safe way around him. He’d still gotten the same call from Tom, to not be too aggressive when he was chasing Sainz down, and Oscar had swallowed his pride and done his best to not jeopardize Lando’s win.
Besides, he’s pretty sure that if he does manage to make Lando lose the win, he’s never getting out of this loop. And he would actually like to get back to Woking at some point, maybe even see Australia again.
“You will learn when to pick your battles,” Sainz tells him in what could generously be described as a patronizing tone. “I don’t give up so easy. I did not think you would, today, but I was wrong.”
“I think there’s a journalist waiting for you,” Oscar points out, very nicely if he may say so himself.
He should check whether Sainz ends up going to that stupid party tonight. If so, Oscar will have to go just out of spite, maybe accidentally find himself in between Lando and Sainz all night.
*
It’s not even a surprise this time when he wakes up in the hotel room again.
Honestly, the biggest annoyance at this point is being confronted with his own messiness every time. And he’s pretty sure that’s the one thing he can’t fix, seeing as he left it like that on the Saturday before going to bed, and he keeps waking up on Sunday.
Still, just to try it, he cleans up a little before heading to the paddock. At the very least, it will make getting ready to leave a little easier.
Once again, he gets to the paddock before Lando, manages to even have a coffee for both of them ready in time before Lando walks in.
“You’re the best, Osc,” Lando exclaims, still with a slight sleepy tone in his voice.
Oscar knows he’s failing to hide his smile, but that’s okay. Lando’s failing at hiding his, too.
*
Once again, he manages to avoid the contact with Sainz, begrudgingly. This time, he even manages to pressure him enough to make a mistake, taking P5 and later on even P4 when he breezes past Checo, but Charles is a bridge too far. No podium, again, and a very stressed Tom in his ear. He understands why Tom was stressed, but Oscar knew he could pull it off without causing an accident. It’s fine. And if not, he can just try again tomorrow.
The more important thing is that Lando still wins, and just because it makes sense to see if there’s anything besides getting on the podium that might stop this stupid loop, Oscar takes the time to go see the podium, watches Lando beam up there. He should make time to do this more often, actually, if this isn’t the thing he apparently keeps fucking up to make the day repeat. Makes the whole Sainz incident a bit easier to swallow.
He wishes he was up there himself, both because he really does like standing on a podium, but also so he can see Lando from up close, see the emotions when the anthem plays, get to spray him with the deserved champagne and maybe even hug him while the emotions are still running high.
At least he still got the earlier hug, and he manages to give Lando another one when they meet again after the team pictures. Lando seems surprised when Oscar wraps his arms around him but still hugs him back, as tightly as ever, even rubbing Oscar’s back. Maybe that’s even nicer, making Oscar melt a little more against Lando.
It’s so tempting to take Lando’s invitation this time around, but while the day might be resetting, his body doesn’t quite seem to take to the reset the same way. Racing every single day is already starting to take its toll, a lot quicker than Oscar had anticipated.
Oscar takes a rain check again. He does linger this time, though, following Lando through the crowd and even joining in the conversations. Maybe the crowds aren’t so bad after all, not when Lando’s shining and smiling next to him, basking in their praise.
*
Well, the experiment of cleaning up failed, and Oscar’s not planning to repeat that again.
Honestly, at this point, he might as well not even bother packing and just leave his shit. Sure would save him a lot of dragging stuff around, probably even allow him a little nap between leaving the paddock and getting on the plane.
He’s a little too loose with things today, maybe, somehow late again in the morning because he figured he’d pick up some coffee for him and Lando instead of making it at the McLaren hospitality. His only saving grace is that Lando ends up walking up at the same time he does, and Oscar quickly realizes there is no real explanation for why he bought Lando a coffee.
Lando sure doesn’t stop teasing him about it all morning.
Except there’s no teasing anymore in the afternoon, because while Oscar is trying to replicate his moves from the previous day, he fucks up and hits Sainz on the sidepod, catching a tyre in the process. There’s no way Sainz can continue the race, skidding to a halt on the side of the track, and Oscar isn’t actually sure whether he can limp back to the pits either. The safety car is called swiftly and Oscar can hear Tom’s disappointed tone even over the shitty connection, not helped by the loud whistling of wind in and around his helmet.
“Try to make it back in one piece, okay? We will talk later.”
Oscar still feels like Sainz could have moved to the side and avoided all of this, especially when Oscar avoided him earlier when he really shouldn’t have had to, but it’s too late for that now. He makes it back to the pits, front wing somehow hanging on for the ride, and retires when they realize he also managed to fuck the suspension enough that there’s no way he’ll finish the race.
Instead of trying to pick up the pieces, he gets a front row seat to watching Lando lose the win, Max overtaking him this second time around and not quite speeding off, but also not giving Lando any opportunities to overtake him again. It’s another P2, and while the team’s disappointed and Oscar’s sure Lando is too, it’s still a decent result.
It’s just not the result that it should be.
The Dutch anthem has never sounded so bad, and the Austrian is even more grating when Oscar knows there should only be one anthem played today.
Lando’s hug afterwards isn’t as tight as Oscar’s been starting to anticipate, his smile a little more forced than normal.
God, he fucked up so bad.
Even having Lando on the plane back to England, his snores easily distinguishable in the small space, doesn’t quite make up for it. Oscar rummages through his bags (that he begrudgingly packed) until he finds his phone, checks the time.
Half an hour until midnight.
God, he hopes he didn’t fuck this up. He’d relive this day for a lot longer if it meant Lando would still get that win.
*
For once, he’s actually glad to be waking back up in the hotel room.
He splurges and grabs an energy drink out of the hotel fridge, makes his way to the paddock and waits for Lando to arrive before he gets him that coffee.
Lando’s small thank you and his adorable smile makes something flip in Oscar’s stomach. Or it’s just the energy drink, also pretty likely. He probably should’ve eaten something before slamming that one, honestly, one more thing to keep in mind for the next loop.
This time, he’s hesitant to try and change anything, unsure of what he could even do. It doesn’t feel like he’s had a moment to really think this through, note down all of the eventualities of the day and make a plan about what he can try to change still. Maybe it really is dependant on him getting that podium. He doesn’t know yet how he could get there, not now the obvious ways have all been crossed off.
Except… when Tom calls him in to the pits the first time, he pushes back. It’s almost instinctual, a brief moment of recognition that he really didn’t try anything with this particular moment in time yet, and after a short conversation, Tom relents and tells him he gets one more lap.
Sainz peels into the pits – maybe he finally won’t have to battle him again – and Oscar drives on, waiting with baited breath to see whether the safety car is coming out this time, too.
He’s pushing but he’s also losing his tyres quickly, the risk he knew he’d take when leaving the pit stop for a little later than planned, and when the expected safety car then comes out, it somehow comes out in front of Oscar.
Fuck.
He hopes that at least Lando still made it into the pits, this safety car one of the few unchanging factors every single loop, surely the team must have chosen to box Lando instead when Oscar argued against coming in. He does his best to try and read the screens on the side of the track, and it looks like Lando is still in P2. Oscar thinks the gap between them is big enough to give Lando that chance to pit after all.
Tom comes back on the team radio then, telling Oscar to box this time around, no more room to argue there. Oscar knows he’s losing his tyres too quickly, even if he manages to keep it on the track he’ll be a sitting duck, and it’s probably better to box while there are still some gaps for him to slot into. He just hopes he won’t slip out of the podium places now, won’t have to risk anything to check this one off the mental list.
He peels into the pits, gets back into the queue at P3, which honestly isn’t bad. He was half expecting worse, but if he can hold onto this he’ll have his first podium of the year, will get to share it with Lando probably. He does like the sound of that.
The restart goes smoothly, Max trying to go after Lando but not able to stay too close, Oscar notes gladly. The Red Bull seems a lot slower than normal, not as nimble as Oscar usually sees it, and it’s easy enough to stay in DRS range until the DRS is allowed again and his tyres are warmed up enough.
It’s surprisingly easy to overtake Max on the straight, then. Not something he expected to be able to say this season, but a welcome surprise anyway.
Lando’s already off in the distance, and Oscar does his best to catch up, but a stern Tom in his ear once again tells him he shouldn’t try to fight. Oscar doesn’t even know how he’d get close enough to Lando to even try. After this race, he’s going to have to pour over the data to figure out how the fuck Lando’s so damn consistent, what kind of magic he’s weaving to somehow go faster on tyres that are getting more worn by the lap.
The gap to Max keeps increasing, Tom’s telling him Charles and Max are fighting for the third place, he shouldn’t worry right now as long as he can keep building that gap, keep his focus, keep pushing, five more laps to go, three, two, one…
While he would have preferred the order to be reversed – he’s still a racing driver after all, the day he stops wanting to win is the day he quits racing – a 1-2 for the team is incredible, and being on the podium is a relief after so many attempts.
He parks the car in parc fermé, watches as Lando launches himself into the team’s arms and waits for his turn to get the congratulations.
Before he manages to make his way to the team, though, he finds himself with an armful of Lando, smiling even brighter than the previous days, clutching him so tight Oscar thinks he might explode.
“We did it! We fucking did it!” Lando yells. Oscar huffs out a fond laugh, makes sure Lando is back on his feet before letting go. Lando keeps an arm slung around Oscar’s shoulder and Oscar decides to return the gesture.
Which may or may not have been a mistake, because that enables Lando to start pulling Oscar towards the team. Before he knows it, the two of them are pushed together again by many arms grabbing, squeezing, hollering their excitement and squishing them in the process.
He can hear Lando’s laughter next to his ear and can’t contain his own anymore either. God, it’s exhilarating. This is definitely worth going through all those loops for.
Once they’re finally released, it’s the usual routine – interview, cool down room, then onto the podium for real. And, god, it’s even better than he’d imagined up close, getting to watch Lando’s emotions play on his face, see the pure joy and relief roll off him in waves when he gets the trophy. The only thing that’s better is getting to spray Lando with the champagne, he and Max teaming up to spray Lando in the face until he has to back away to take a breath, Lando taking quick revenge on Max first before trying the same with Oscar, but he doesn’t quite have enough champagne left in his bottle.
Instead, and he really should’ve seen this coming when he noticed the cheeky smirk appear on Lando’s face, he’s suddenly enveloped in a very drenched, sticky and sweaty Lando, barely able to get his own arms around Lando on instinct.
He knows this will probably be the picture that will grace the newspapers and online media tomorrow, but he also doesn’t give a shit. He likes having his arms full of a very happy Lando.
Hopefully, he can do this more often.
*
While he definitely likes the silverware and the recognition, the one thing Oscar dislikes about getting podiums is how many people suddenly want a piece of him.
He has to be front and centre too, suddenly, for the team picture. And this time, he can’t quite disappear back to his hotel room for the following celebrations, because they’re also for him. He can’t even talk to Lando in between, both of them being kept busy enough. The only time they’re near each other is when Zak is giving a half-drunk speech, offering to charter another flight for the next day if people want to party, while Andrea next to him says something more contained about how happy he is with the progress the team has made, and he hopes this will be the first of many more podiums and wins.
As soon as he can, Oscar finds a way out, quite some time later than the earlier loops.
He’s considering going to the party, Lando might not have invited him this time but it’s not like that matters, except he’s so tired. Even more so than other days, because he’s not only carrying the exhaustion of the crowd and the adrenaline, but he’s also carrying almost a week straight of racing in his bones.
Besides, this must have fixed the loop. Right? It can’t be anything else. There is no way to win this with his current skill set, he’s realistic enough to admit that (unless fate intervenes somehow, but if that was about to happen, he wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place), the 1-2 was a very nice touch, he’s done what he had to.
He’s going to sleep through the entire flight, he can feel it. And then wake up in England, finally take a day off from racing, and enjoy this moment.
*
He’s not one to scream, but he maybe does muffle a shout in his pillow when he wakes up in that fucking hotel room again.
If he really does have to win, he’s quite simply fucked. He knows he could get there, if given enough time, but he might get exhausted before he even manages. The worst part is that he can’t even analyse the race data, see where there might be more opportunities, because whenever he actually gets the time to do so, the race hasn’t happened yet.
He’s starting to run out of ideas, really, and that’s not a feeling he likes.
Maybe, to preserve some of his energy for the following loops, and to plan out his next attempts, he should just let this race play out like it did the first time. Excuse himself earlier from the celebrations, take the time to watch highlights, read race reports, maybe even take some notes that will probably disappear again in the morning, but should stick in his memory.
That’s a plan. It’s the plan.
Honestly, Oscar’s starting to run out of ideas.
*
He hates finishing out of the points, especially when he knows how easily avoidable it is now, when he knows how to get on the podium himself, but he’s got to do what he’s got to do.
At least Lando still wins. It truly is the one silver lining about all of this. Getting to have an ecstatic Lando in his arms, seeing the emotions play on his face on the podium (even if it’s not quite as powerful blown up on a screen as it is from close by), watching Charles and Max almost drown him in champagne… man, fuck it all next time, Oscar’s getting back on that podium actually. Standing underneath the podium really doesn’t compare to standing next to Lando.
Sainz again manages to get a dig in that Oscar pointedly doesn’t respond to, but it’s okay. He’ll get him back later. He doesn’t know when, or how, but he just has to bide his time. Maybe beating him to the podium will be enough, in one of the next loops.
He’s tired, still running out of ideas and the adrenaline quickly fading too, and when he finds Lando again at the McLaren garage, he gladly falls into the familiar hug. Lando rubs his back again and it feels so nice. Oscar kind of wants to pull him away and curl up like this, have a nap that maybe finally gets rid of the exhaustion nestling under his skin.
Instead, and he really doesn’t know where this comes from, he brushes his lips against Lando’s cheeks when he starts to pull away. He’s not thinking about it, just going on instinct, and maybe he shouldn’t ever do that again because what the fuck even was that?
Lando looks at him strangely and Oscar wants to sink into the ground, wants to crawl into bed, maybe even miss the fucking flight so he can start this day over and not do this ever again.
Except Lando then smiles that soft smile of his, the one Oscar can’t even look at because his chest feels funny whenever he does, and kisses him back, on the lips this time.
It’s a brief kiss, barely more than a brush of their lips, but it loosens something in Oscar’s chest anyway. If Lando didn’t need to go be the shining star of the celebrations right now Oscar would be pulling Lando away to a quiet place. Not even to nap this time but to kiss him silly instead, until Oscar can finally look at Lando again without wondering in the back of his mind what his lips feel like, what sounds Lando would make if Oscar bites his lip, if he kisses as playfully as he teases Oscar, and... Oh fuck’s sake, he needs to bury these thoughts before they fuck this up entirely, or before Oscar does something stupid while they’re still in public.
There’s no time anyway, not for this and not for Oscar’s quiet little freak out, because Lando gets called away again, once again wanted somewhere else.
“Sorry,” Lando mouths. Oscar shrugs, there’s nothing to do about it.
There’s more Lando wants to say, Oscar knows him well enough to see the words trying to burst out by now, but he leaves without saying any of it.
Oscar resists the urge to reach out and stop him. It’s not his place.
He’s going to slip out to his hotel room as soon as he can and forget all about this.
*
Oscar’s never been happier with how quickly the press works sometimes. He’s working his way through some race reports, watching the highlights (definitely not taking too long to look at footage of Lando on top of the team and on the podium, not at all), even taking some actual notes occasionally when there’s a knock on his door. It almost sounds like someone’s falling against his door, actually, and that can only be one person.
Lando doesn’t even look twice at the absolute state of Oscar’s hotel room. It’s worse than usual, papers everywhere to add to the rest of the chaos, but it just seems to elicit an endearing glance from Lando.
“I always knew you were a nerd,” Lando says fondly. Oscar wheezes out a laugh.
“Just have some homework to do,” Oscar says.
“That doesn’t make you less of a nerd,” Lando replies. “There’s a party tonight, by the way. I don’t know if you were still around when they said it. I’m going there after this, I just wanted to stop by here first, maybe see if you wanted to join… and I get it if you don’t, I know it’s not really something you’re into but I’d like it if you came, even just for a little…”
Oscar’s maybe very fond of the way Lando rambles when he’s not sure of what to say. And it’s clear what he’s trying to talk around, too, what the thing is that he really wants to bring up but is too nervous to bring up directly, and if he won’t remember this in the morning then there is no real risk in Oscar taking the initiative for once.
He takes that step forward, Lando halfway through the next meaningless sentence but swallowing the next words when they’re so close together they can feel each other’s body heat.
“Just kiss me if you want, you idiot,” Oscar says, because if he’s digging this grave he might as well go for it.
And the thing is, Lando does. There’s a hand in Oscar’s hair again, gently nudging Oscar’s head down until Lando can fit their mouths together, and Oscar can’t help but rest his hands on Lando’s hips, pulling them even closer.
He still clearly doesn’t know Lando like he should, because Oscar definitely expected Lando to be overenthusiastic, almost overbearing, but he’s very much not. Lando’s as playful as he imagined, teasing with his tongue and teeth, but still letting Oscar take his time, set his own pace, and maybe he’s got to deal with these stupid butterflies in his stomach at some point.
“Been wanting to do that for a bit,” Lando breathes when they pull apart ever so slightly, to breathe and to readjust, and Oscar nips Lando’s lip for that just because he can.
He’s filing the ensuing gasp straight into his fantasies, honestly. He wants to know what other sounds he can pull out of Lando.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Didn’t want to risk it,” Lando says, earnest as always. “We work good together. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Oscar wants to reassure him, tell him there’s no way he could ever fuck it up, but he knows what’s going through Lando’s head when he says it like that. He understands. Oscar wouldn’t risk it, either, not in his own shoes and especially not in Lando’s shoes.
Hell, the only reason he’s not already regretting this, is because he’s pretty sure this is not what’s going to break the loop. Lando won’t remember this when he wakes up again, and Oscar won’t let this affect anything.
He wants to take this to a chair, maybe the bed, to get more comfortable and maybe see where this ends, but he shouldn’t monopolize Lando like that. Not today, maybe not ever, but he wants to so badly, and that’s quite possibly what’s scaring him the most.
“Please come to the party with me,” Lando pleads. “Not as anything, just as friends if you want, but I would really like it if you were there to celebrate. Let me buy you a few drinks to apologize for Carlos, too, I know he won’t but he really should.”
Oscar can’t decide whether he wants to kiss Lando some more so he shuts up, or whether he should run before he even jeopardizes himself for the next day.
He doesn’t know what to do, and that scares him the most.
“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Oscar says, trying to wriggle his way out of Lando’s still very tight grip. Lando lets him, too, and Oscar can’t tell if that’s because Lando is giving him space as always, or whether he’s just fucked this up enough that Lando doesn’t even want to try anymore.
Nothing about this is logical in any way, there’s nothing rational about this, and Oscar needs to sort his thoughts.
“At least you won’t remember this in the morning,” he huffs, going for a joking tone but probably failing miserably.
“I’m not going to get that drunk,” Lando defends himself, finally taking a step back. Somehow, the extra space doesn’t make Oscar breathe any easier.
“No, you don’t get it, this day has been repeating forever, and I don’t know how to fix it, and I’m pretty sure this won’t do it either, and it’s driving me insane…” Shit, he’s rambling much like Lando now. He’s waiting for Lando to laugh at him, but that never comes, Lando just nodding solemnly like this is a regular occurrence.
“Yeah, that happens sometimes. I know Carlos had this for his first podium, I think… he told me about Groundhogging it at least. I’m glad it never happened with me, I don’t think I could figure out what does it, but I can try to help you out if you want?”
The question is a lot more tentative than the rest was. And Oscar would like the help, that’s not it, and he wouldn’t mind Lando sticking around either, but it’s getting late, he doesn’t have time to explain what he’s already tried and what he thinks is left to try, and Lando really deserves that party. He doesn’t want to stop Lando from a party in his honour, especially not after his first win.
“It’s fine,” Oscar hears himself say. “You should go to the club. Have a drink for me. Now that I know you’ve heard this before, I’ll tell you tomorrow before the race.”
“But we have no race… oh, right, right.” Lando covers his eyes with a hand. “Sorry. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Oscar reassures him.
“Okay then.” Lando still lingers, looking at the door and then looking at his feet, before suddenly making a decision.
Oscar can’t hide his surprised sound when Lando kisses him again, arms tight like a vice around him, the kiss a lot more desperate this time around. Much more like Oscar had expected the first time, really.
“Please don’t think this was the mistake,” Lando rambles again when he does let go. “I don’t know if you mean this or if it’s something else, but I hope you do wake up tomorrow and send me a text, maybe call me if I’m awake, anything, just… Fuck, I’ll just leave you alone now, yeah, see you in Woking…”
“Have fun,” Oscar manages to call after Lando as he rushes out the door.
He really isn’t sure whether he hopes this did the trick or whether he desperately needs to start over again.
*
Like clockwork, he wakes up in the hotel room again. But at least he still remembers how Lando tastes, and that’s something that can get him through the day.
And at least he can cross off kissing Lando from the non-existent list of things that might break the loop. Not that he’d thought that would do it anyway, wasn’t even planning on testing it out, but it’s nice to know that it’s yet one more thing that won’t do.
Maybe he really does need to win the race. It’s the only thing he can think of, the big thing he thought of a while ago but hasn’t been able to try out yet. Honestly, with what he knows about the race by now, he really doesn’t think he can win it. Unless somehow, he manages to make the safety car come out at a different time, but he can’t exactly help Logan avoid Kevin, unless…
Shit, he might as well try.
He’s in the paddock even earlier today, knowing Logan usually shows up long before he does. Logan always told him, back at Prema, that he just liked being on time. Oscar very wisely never took that to heart.
Logan’s almost inside the Williams hospitality when Oscar spots him, and he needs to pull a fast sprint to still catch him before it becomes suspicious. Papaya always sticks out like a sore thumb, there’s no way he could simply walk in after Logan and not have it raise some eyebrows, okay.
“Logan! Wait!”
“Oscar? How are you this early?”
“Very funny.”
At least Logan smiles at that, even if his eyes won’t entirely smile along. Oscar knows why that is, and god, he hopes that he can help that a little by warning him in advance.
Logan deserves a race where things go well. If Oscar can help him with that, he should take the opportunity.
“I need to tell you something. It might sound weird, but you need to trust me, okay?” Oscar really hopes Logan won’t ask too many questions.
“Go on,” Logan says, nodding at Oscar, who takes a deep breath before he manages to get it out.
“Today. In the race. Magnussen is going to attempt a move on you and cause a safety car, with you DNF’ing. It’ll be in lap 27, just after the start-finish straight. Just. Try to avoid it, okay? If you know he’s coming, maybe… I don’t know.”
He sounds certifiably insane, that’s for sure.
Logan’s looking thoughtful anyway, one hand rasping over the stubble on his cheek.
“Lap 27, yeah? I’ll keep an eye out for it. Mind telling me where you heard this?”
“I’ve done this race so many times, mate,” Oscar sighs.
“Ah, you’re Groundhogging it? That’s tough, man.”
“Does everyone here have this happen to them?” That’s certainly one thing Mark never told him about, and if he ever makes it out of Miami, he’s going to pay him back by telling Mark in excruciating detail about this. Maybe even ask him if he ever had this happen and why Vettel was involved.
“You hear about it, sometimes,” Logan shrugs. “From what Alex told me, it’s usually the weirdest thing that breaks it. This one time, he had it, and he thought either stopping Lewis from hitting him in the race or even winning it would solve the loop, but it ended up having something to do with George instead.”
Oscar pulls a face, making Logan laugh.
“I sure hope mine doesn’t involve George,” Oscar groans.
“I doubt it does,” Logan chuckles. “I hope this does it for you, really, I do. Thanks for the warning. Maybe I’ll see you later tonight?”
“I think we have an early flight,” Oscar hastens to say. “Maybe some other time?”
Logan’s smile drops a little and Oscar wants to kick himself.
“Yeah, sure thing, man. I’ll see you around. Good luck with the thing.”
Oscar wants to give Logan a hug, but he’s already gone.
Goddammit. Yet another thing he needs to solve.
*
He doesn’t beat Lando to the McLaren hospitality this time around. There’s no speech on punctuality either, luckily, Lando's too busy at the coffee machine trying to make himself a drink.
“Stupid thing, why can’t… Oh, hi Osc! Do you know how this thing works?”
Oscar pushes the mug underneath the right spout, hits the proper buttons for Lando’s preferred coffee to come out.
“Have you been stalking me, Osc?”
“Uh. What?”
“How else do you know how I take my coffee?” Lando giggles. “Check and mate, mate!”
It’s so stupid, but Oscar can’t help his own laughter. He hands Lando the cup, making one for himself while he’s at it.
“I’ve been making your coffee for days now, if not weeks,” Oscar says, testing the waters. Just because Lando reacted well last time, doesn’t mean the same happens now.
“But we’ve only been here a few days?” Lando looks so adorable when he’s confused. Anyone with eyes would agree with that, really.
“This day has been looping for me for I don’t even know how long,” Oscar sighs. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“That does explain the coffee,” Lando says, like that’s the important bit. “So then you know how the race ends. Tell me, do we get a podium?”
“I don’t. You win, though.”
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” Lando chuckles, bumping their shoulders together, only barely avoiding spilling his coffee. “I hope you’re right, though. Would be nice to have a psychic.”
“Is it really psychic if I’m just reliving it?”
Lando seems to consider it.
“No, I guess not,” he concludes. “But I like the idea of you with a hotline and one of those starry coats.”
Oscar rolls his eyes fondly, but chuckles along with Lando.
“If you want to, I can help you figure out what might be the cause later?” Lando offers. “There should be time before we leave, and if not then maybe on the flight.”
“You won’t have time, mate,” Oscar points out. “You’ll be too busy celebrating, unless I fucked that now.”
“Why, what did you do?”
And he might as well tell Lando now, because taking out the safety car definitely jeopardizes Lando’s win, and that’s the one saving grace about this whole stupid situation.
“There’s supposed to be a safety car on lap 27,” Oscar tells him. “With Logan and Magnussen. But I just told Logan about it, because I need him to have something actually going his way once. I think, if you save your tyres enough, you can still have a free pit even without the safety car.”
“You know I’m good at saving the tyres,” Lando replies. “I can try it out. What will you be doing, though?”
“I’ll be avoiding Sainz again,” Oscar sighs. “Dude’s got it out for me. Can’t you tell him to fuck off?”
“Ah, he doesn’t mean it,” Lando waves it off. “It’ll be fine. We’ll try your way and see if that works, okay?”
“Sure, can’t ask for much more.”
Lando winks at him and rushes off to wherever he’s expected, probably where he had to be ten minutes ago.
Honestly, how often does this happen, if everyone just accepts his confession this easily?
He’s really going to need a good talk with Mark, or maybe with a psychologist if he doesn’t manage to snap out of this soon.
*
Somehow, the safety car still comes out on lap 27, giving Lando the free pit stop after all. But it’s not for Logan, Oscar quickly hears – somehow, Magnussen managed to fly off track all by himself, Logan just collateral damage in earlier loops.
While the safety car still means Oscar’s race is kind of fucked, at least Logan doesn’t have to limp back to the pits now, gets to finish the race. He ends up P13, in front of Oscar, who still somehow managed to be magnetically attracted to Sainz’s right front tyre, even though he did his best to avoid it again.
Well, no matter. Logan had a good race, which is about time at this point. Lando still wins. The safety car seems inevitable.
It’s good information to have, really.
And at least he again gets to hug Lando after he wrestles himself away from the team, gets to hug Logan afterwards too, once again watches Lando be overcome with emotions on the top step of the podium.
He can’t complain, except he could use a day off at this point, and he really hopes that helping Logan out was the secret all along. Bros before hoes or whatever. Even if Lando isn’t really a hoe, and hopefully still a bro too.
He’s heard Zak’s speech so many times now he could probably give it himself, and just to amuse himself he does mouth along with some of it, Lando trying to hide his giggles when he notices.
When the obligatory speeches and celebratory hugs are over, Lando finds him again, where Oscar’s just trying to pour himself a drink. Lando takes the cup from his hands, finishes it in one enormous gulp, then hands it back with a wink.
Oscar fills it again, then grabs a new cup for himself.
“Okay, so. Either you are psychic or you really are in a loop. I still like both options,” Lando says.
“If only I was psychic,” Oscar replies. “Maybe I’d cash in big on those gambling sites.”
“You could come join us and live in Monaco,” Lando nods. “Look, there’s a party tonight. Do you want to join me? Zak’s booking a new flight for tomorrow.”
Oscar pulls a face.
“Always that stupid party,” he complains. “You have fun, though. You deserve it.”
“Do you ever go to the party?” Lando asks. He’s standing a little closer to Oscar than strictly necessary. Maybe Oscar lets himself lean into Lando a little. Other people want the drinks, okay, he’s just making space.
Why is he even still trying to rationalize all of this?
“No, why would I,” Oscar defends himself. “I don’t do parties. Not much, anyway. I need my sleep.”
“No, you like your sleep,” Lando corrects him. “You should go. Maybe that works.”
“If this is your way of trying to convince me, it’s not working.” Oscar sighs. He hates how Lando might be right. Then again, he did already try something else today. Worth a shot to see if that broke the cycle, if it helps him avoid the party.
Lando looks like he wants to push some more, maybe even physically drag Oscar to that damn party, but there’s still more people who want to congratulate Lando for his win. It’s a decent opportunity to slip away for Oscar, which he happily takes.
At least Lando doesn’t come to his hotel room, this time. Oscar isn’t even sure if he’s disappointed or not.
*
He’s not even surprised when he wakes up in the hotel room again. At this point, it’s almost as familiar as his home. He’s going to miss it if he ever breaks this loop.
Speaking of which. Helping out Logan clearly wasn’t it, which was somewhat to be expected. Trying to mess with the race itself clearly also isn’t actually helping. Neither did kissing Lando, although Oscar maybe does want to try that one again.
There’s only one relatively easy thing he can still think of.
Maybe trying to win won’t be the worst idea after all. It’d be better than going to the damn party, but it would also require Oscar to very quickly improve his tyre management, learn from Lando’s consistency, and probably attach the magnets in his car to someone else’s so Sainz stops trying to mess up his race and targets anyone else instead.
Look, he knows it doesn’t happen that often in the grand scheme of things, and he’s going to let it go any second now, but for him, it’s been happening almost daily for fuck knows how long at this point. Eventually, it’s costing him more energy to not get annoyed than it does to take a moment to imagine Sainz spinning out instead.
Ugh. He has to get going if he wants to beat Lando to the hospitality again. No use in sulking about it.
Maybe this once, he’ll not try to manipulate the race. He remembers what Logan and Lando said, and he has to admit that they might have a point. Maybe it’s not the race.
There must be something else he can still try.
*
It’s become strangely comforting to get Lando a coffee after he’s finally made his way into the McLaren hospitality, after trying and failing to find Logan in an attempt to warn him again. Catching Lando off-guard with it is well worth getting up earlier for, actually, even if Oscar knows he’s probably not going to do it ever again after he finally gets out of this loop. Mostly because he’s sure he won’t be this familiar with Lando’s schedule in the future, although if Lando ever decides to take his morning latte in the afternoon again, there’s some options.
Seriously, he shouldn’t be thinking about those things, not when Lando’s smiling at him over the steaming cup, Oscar quickly averting his eyes to make himself some too.
“Since when do you know how I like my coffee?” Lando teases.
Oscar debates whether he should just tell the truth or not. He can’t come up with a believable lie quickly enough, so truth it is. Not like it matters much anyway.
“After like two weeks of getting you coffee, it’d be weird if I didn’t.”
“But this is the first time you’ve done this?”
Oscar just looks at Lando until he can see it click.
“Oh shit. You’re Groundhogging it? Oh my god that sucks. Can’t imagine having to hear the Dutch anthem every day for weeks on end.”
“Yeah, about that.” Actually, would telling Lando fuck this up again? Has he tried that before? He honestly doesn’t remember at this point.
“Hmm. So if you don’t hear the Dutch anthem, which ones do you hear?” Lando’s about to go list off everyone but himself, Oscar is fully aware of that, and he kind of just wants to see Lando’s face when he realizes. And hopefully still have it come true.
“Only the one, mate. The British one is even more boring than I remembered,” Oscar says, in as deadpan of a tone as he can manage.
“I thought Lewis… wait, when do we only hear one?” Lando takes another sip from his coffee, almost spills it when Oscar throws meaningful looks at him and he finally realizes. “Oh, shit. You better not be fucking with me.”
“Yes, because fucking with you is the most sure-fire way to get me out of this mess.” Oscar has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He can’t exactly blame Lando for his reaction, anyway. He doesn’t know, doesn’t have the images seared into his memory by now.
Someone calls Lando’s name. It sounds like Jon, even looks like Jon from a distance.
“I think you have to go,” Oscar says, nodding in Jon’s direction.
“If you want, I can help you think of things to break the loop later,” Lando offers, not paying Jon any mind. “Unless you’re just psychic instead. I could use a psychic on my side, really. You wouldn’t use your powers for evil, you’re too pretty for that.”
Oscar huffs out a laugh.
“I promise I’m not psychic, but you won’t have time later. That, I can guarantee. Now go off before Jon murders me for keeping you.”
“I wouldn’t let him!” Lando says, mock offended, but walks off anyway with a quick wave.
Actually, maybe if Jon does kill him, that might help. Oscar’s putting it on his mental list, just in case.
*
He doesn’t exactly remember how he drove this race initially, without all the hindsight and knowledge he’s gained in the meantime, but he can take an educated guess. After all, he knows himself the best, knows how he usually approaches things, how he drives instinctively, and it’s not hard to revert back to those initial instincts.
Which doesn’t make it suck any less when he gets called into the pits, just one lap before he knows the safety car is coming. He doesn’t complain, follows the original strategy, but it’s a little hard to give up his position as race leader when he knows he’s not going to have a chance to regain it.
And while he knows warning Logan doesn’t actually do anything except give Logan a better race, he just couldn’t find the time to do so, and he pushes that regret to the back of his mind, along with all the other regrets he’s sure to have accumulated along the way.
The most annoying part of it all is having to let Sainz kill any chance he has of scoring points, again. He needs to figure out what the dude’s problem is, even if there probably isn’t actually a problem, but maybe Oscar wants there to be one. Just because that wouldn’t make it his problem anymore.
It’s hard to reason with himself when the adrenaline’s coursing through his veins, especially when he knows he could have had points if only he’d done things a little different, and he tries to distract himself from the bubbling frustration by fighting through the field again. At least until the familiar voice of Tom comes through the radio as usual, reminding him to not jeopardise the race, that there’s something else at stake now.
It’s still frustrating, but if there’s one thing Oscar’s good at, it’s at keeping the bigger picture in mind. And he knows the bigger picture will be worth it.
Eventually, as always, Lando wins. Oscar manages P13, and he’s not pleased with it, but he also doesn’t give a shit. He can always go for the podium again tomorrow, just to remind himself of how that feels.
He knows where to find Lando by now, wraps his arms around Lando in the familiar hug, squeezing tightly but Lando still squeezing him even tighter.
“You really are psychic,” Lando tells him, still a little breathless. Oscar chuckles.
“I just like seeing you on that podium,” he replies, going for teasing but probably not quite managing it. Not like Lando will notice, anyway.
There’s barely any more time for them to talk, Lando having to do the other obligations that come with winning a race, but that’s okay. At least Oscar got to talk to him and give him the hug, that’ll get him through the rest of his own obligations.
He helps the team set up for the celebratory picture, as always, follows them into the hospitality for the rest of the celebrations, mouths along to Zak’s half-drunken speech again (Lando trying and failing to hold back his giggles when he notices) and escapes to the drinks station as soon as he can.
Lando finds him there. Maybe he should get a drink more often at this part of the day.
“Zak’s getting us a new flight tomorrow if we want, so we can party tonight,” Lando says, stealing the cup Oscar had just filled, chugging it down in one go and thrusting it back out at Oscar, who dutifully fills it up again before grabbing a new cup for himself.
Oscar just hums non-committally as a response.
“I’d really like it if you came, too,” Lando continues, when Oscar’s still staunchly refusing to give a more eloquent answer. “I want to cheer you up after your race, I could buy you a few drinks, maybe dance a little. It’ll be fun, I swear.”
“I don’t really like parties,” Oscar tries. Lando clicks his tongue and sighs dramatically.
“I thought Ozzies were supposed to be fun! Where did your fun go!”
“I’m plenty of fun, I just need a good night’s sleep,” Oscar defends himself.
“Do you ever go to the party?” Lando asks, and Oscar winces as he realizes he’s gotten backed into a verbal corner here.
“Why does that even matter,” Oscar says, sipping his drink just in case there’s something strong in it. (There’s not.)
“What if you going to the party is what breaks the loop?” Lando suggests. “I’m going to pick you up tonight. No whining. You need to let loose, Osc.”
“I’m plenty loose,” Oscar says, chuckling himself when Lando laughs at the (not quite) deliberate choice of words.
“You’re going to let me take you to the party, let me buy you a drink, and then you’ll have fun,” Lando says decisively.
Oscar would argue some more, but Lando’s pulled away suddenly, other people wanting a piece of Formula One’s latest race winner, and Oscar can’t blame them.
Looks like he really is going to that party, then. Fuck’s sake.
If this breaks the loop, Oscar’s going to have some words with someone.
*
Oscar really hoped Lando would forget his (threat) promise, but he’s barely able to pack before Lando’s at his hotel room, knocking on the door in a much more polite way than he’d expected.
“There’s a party to be had,” Lando declares, almost pulling Oscar out into the hallway already before Oscar pulls him inside instead.
“I need to put on shoes first,” Oscar points out, nudging Lando’s calf with a socked foot.
“Why are you not ready yet,” Lando complains, but lets go of Oscar’s wrist nonetheless. “I told you I was picking you up.”
“You never told me when, though,” Oscar says. “I could’ve been out the door already.”
“Right, and that half packed suitcase would have stayed there and not be on the way to the airport with you?”
Sometimes, Lando’s too clever for his own good. Oscar usually loves it, unless Lando uses it against him, like he’s doing now.
“Shut up,” Oscar mumbles, grabbing his wallet and room key. “Where are we going.”
“That’s a surprise for you, but not for me,” Lando says. “Now, do I have to drag you or are you coming along willingly?”
Oscar can’t even respond to that, Lando’s already grabbed his hand and drags him out of the hotel room, all the way into a waiting cab.
*
And, okay, maybe the party isn’t so bad.
It’s busy, sure, but the drinks are good, there’s enough people he knows, and the club isn’t as dingy as he’d feared.
Logan’s made it out too, and Oscar spends most of the time talking to him, catching up for the first time in what feels like forever. He can’t tell whether it actually has been forever, or whether he’s been stuck in this stupid loop for so long that time has lost all sense of meaning. Judging by how many stories Logan has to share, it might be the former rather than the latter.
He really should make a better effort to stay in touch with Logan. He’s been too focused on his career, which makes sense, but that shouldn’t mean he has to focus on it exclusively.
“I’m going to get a drink,” Oscar says eventually, when his throat is starting to feel dry. Logan raises his own glass in agreement, gives him a quick hug and walks off in the direction of Alex.
The bar’s busy, but not overly so. Before Oscar knows it he’s leaning on the counter, patiently waiting for a bartender to notice him.
“Oh my god, you’re still here!” That can only be one person and sure enough, when Oscar looks to his left, he’s met with a familiar mop of curls, a bright smile he knows too well and a small band-aid that’s still stupidly endearing.
“I’m not going to sneak off after you went to all this trouble,” Oscar huffs. “What do you even think of me.”
“I just thought you were having a nap,” Lando jokes, nudging Oscar with his shoulder. “You need your beauty sleep, of course.”
Oscar chuckles at that, notices the bartender coming their way from the corner of his eyes. “I should buy you a drink, race winner. What do you want?”
“No, no, none of that,” Lando says resolutely. “I said I would buy you drinks if you came. We’re doing shots.”
Oscar doesn’t even bother protesting. Lando orders and before long, there’s two tiny shot glasses with a menacing looking liquid in front of them.
“Cheers,” Lando says, handing one over.
“Bottoms up,” Oscar replies, before slamming the shot. The alcohol rushes to his head immediately, or at least that’s what he blames it on when he’s face to face with Lando, so close he can feel Lando’s body heat. Someone bumps into Lando, sending him stumbling into Oscar, who steadies him with a hand on the small of his back, their chests pressing together.
Oscar doesn’t move his hand, nor does he step away when Lando’s clearly steady on his feet again. Lando looks up at him, his cheeks almost as pink as his lips, the freckles on his nose starting to appear again after this time in sunny Florida, and Oscar suddenly wonders why he’s still pretending he’s not halfway in love with Lando.
“I’m going to kiss you in about five seconds,” Lando says. “I’m just saying, in case you don’t want me to.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Oscar says, and then Lando’s lips are on his own, sticky and sweet from the alcohol.
It’s only a quick peck, nothing too incriminating while they’re in public, but it’s surprisingly hard to convince himself that this really isn’t the place. Lando’s seemingly having much of the same struggle, not quite moving away from Oscar.
“I think we should find a more private place,” Oscar suggests. “Or we go to a hotel room.”
“We could do both,” Lando says, before once again grabbing Oscar’s hand and pulling him along.
Lando honest to god tries to pull him into the toilets, which Oscar immediately puts a stop to. He’s still got standards, okay, and he’s not about to drunkenly make out in a bathroom stall at a club. Lando pouts a little (seriously testing Oscar’s resolve), but pushes him against the wall in the nearby hallway instead.
It’s easy to forget there’s other people around, were it not for the fact that it really is a small hallway, and people keep bumping into them whenever they try to pass. Oscar doesn’t mind Lando getting pushed further against him every time, but he’s already accidentally bit his own tongue once and he’s kind of planning on needing that one later.
He slides his hands underneath Lando’s shirt – slightly sweaty but that’s alright – just to feel Lando gasp softly, push even closer. Oscar turns his head to break the kiss, Lando’s whine almost too adorable for Oscar to keep his resolve.
“I think we should continue this in a hotel room,” Oscar says, and like clockwork, someone bumps into them again.
“But that’s so far,” Lando complains, even if he does start to peel himself away from Oscar. “I really hope you won’t change your mind before then.”
Oscar leans back in to press a kiss against Lando’s lips, a chaste one that he hopes reassures Lando. It seems to work, Lando finally letting Oscar move away too, although that does mean Oscar has to stop gently stroking Lando’s back.
Then again, it also means Lando can take Oscar’s hand again, holding it almost as tightly as he was holding Oscar earlier.
“I’m going to buy you another drink,” Lando decides, once again pulling Oscar along.
Oscar has a feeling he might as well start getting used to it.
*
They end up sticking around for another hour or so, Oscar pointedly ignoring all the daggers Sainz stares at him. Honestly, this might be the best payback for all the times Sainz ruined his race. He should keep this in mind for the next time he gets frustrated with the guy.
Lando brings Oscar back to his room, where this time it’s Oscar pulling him inside and to the bed, kicking aside his suitcase when it’s in the way.
“Someone’s excited,” Lando says, but lets himself be dragged, getting on the bed and taking off his shoes before Oscar needs to prompt him to do so.
“I just want to make use of the time,” Oscar says, taking off his shoes and sticky shirt before joining Lando on the bed. “I don’t know how long until the day resets. I can’t go through this every time.”
Lando grabs his phone out of his jeans, checks the time before he puts it on the night stand, then turns towards Oscar before jumping up and grabbing his phone again.
“Osc. You’re not going to believe this.”
“Stop fucking with me,” Oscar groans.
“No, look!”
Lando shows Oscar his phone. It’s almost too bright, Oscar can barely make out the squiggles, but when his eyes adjust he sees the numbers form.
The clock says 01:18. And underneath it – Oscar rubs his eyes, hoping the numbers don’t suddenly change – there’s a definite 6 in the date.
“It might still loop back?” Oscar offers weakly. “I don’t know when it resets.”
“Have you ever still been awake at midnight?” Lando asks.
“… no,” Oscar has to admit. “Maybe that was it, then.”
“I think it was the party,” Lando says, gently pulling on Oscar’s arm to get him to lie down in bed. “Maybe all you needed was a kiss from the Prince of Miami at the party.”
“Please never call yourself that again,” Oscar laughs. There’s a sense of relief in his chest, like a weight has been lifted suddenly, and he doesn’t know if this means he really broke the cycle or whether it’s having Lando here, tantalizingly close. Maybe it’s both. He’ll know for sure in the morning.
“If it helps, I could keep you awake tonight,” Lando shrugs.
“That is such a bad line, oh my god,” Oscar giggles. He’s still moving closer, though, letting Lando draw him in further until they’re flush together, Lando somehow looking down at Oscar for once.
“It’s not bad if it works!” Lando teases, before ducking down to make sure Oscar can’t respond.
And, honestly, Oscar doesn’t even want to. He just hopes he doesn’t wake up with an empty bed.
Then again, Lando does a pretty good job at making him forget all of his worries.
*
It’s almost a shock when Oscar wakes up and he’s not alone.
He checks the time on his phone, still in slight disbelief. But it’s hours later than his alarms for the race, the date still saying the 6th of May, and his suitcase is still halfway packed.
It’s also rather hard to ignore Lando’s snoring, but that’s alright. Oscar doesn’t mind, not now.
Although he does gently nudge Lando awake, if only to exchange a few more sleepy kisses before his alarm does go off.
They stay in bed until they absolutely can’t anymore, Lando quickly popping over to his own room for clean clothes and to pack his suitcase, Oscar doing the same before they rush to the airport.
And then, as he has done so often lately, Oscar finds himself in a plane to England, watching as Miami gets smaller and smaller until it eventually makes way for nothing but ocean.
He doesn’t quite want to go to sleep, still not entirely convinced he won’t wake up in the same hotel room again, but at least he’s still got Lando next to him now.
Lando grabs his hand, squeezes it tight. Oscar laces their fingers together, squeezes back.
“So, how often did I win for you?” Lando asks, turning in his chair until he’s facing Oscar. It can’t be a comfortable position.
Oscar chuckles to himself, of course that’s the first question Lando asks, but he doesn’t mind. He’s got a few days to catch Lando up to and a whole flight to do it on.