Work Text:
His intense eyes.
That's what Oscar first remembers about Lando. The eyes of someone who wouldn't let anyone get in his way. They shone a bright light, even through darkness, Oscar could keep his gaze on them. They reflected a million colours, all for their future prize. Lando is going for World Champion, and no matter how many kind talks Oscar had held with the man, he knew with just a second glance, all of it really meant nothing in the eye of the beholder.
Lando Norris has his eyes set on the finish line, and he will smile when he passes the chequered flag as cars pile behind him in the rearview. God's will couldn't stop his unwavering perception of what really mattered to him.
But with all the strengths Lando held, it didn’t yet mask his wavering lip, unsure gaze, and a self-loathing mindset that came from the depths of hell.
Lando needed to get a hand on that if he in full honesty thinks he has a chance against Oscar for the championship.
It was a sore spot for Oscar to speak about Lando's issues, because he felt that it was partially his own fault. In the dead of night, in shifting cities, Oscar would get in his own head about not lifting Lando up after a qualifying that might have not gone to plan, because he never did. He might give him a small pat on the back and some kind words for the camera, but other than that, he steered clear of helping the other out.
I just don't have time.
He'd tell himself- I can't help him.
But maybe he could. He could really, if Oscar honestly thought about it. But this was one step ahead of the other McLaren. It's not my obligation. He would say. It wasn't.
Though, as the darkness swallowed him into the marshmallow of a bed, this flawed strategy attacked him. If he stood Champion of The World at the end of this year, he knows the only thought that would consume his mind would be Lando. His face, covered in champagne with a dark-shattered smile. Oscar could see so clearly the fresh scars that would scatter Lando's thighs when they would find a sunny beach on the other side of the world.
With Oscar's arm swung around his girlfriend's shoulder, he'd keep his eyes strained on the sun and not the giggling Brit that splashed in the ocean, unaware of his rising shorts.
Oscar knew Lando was strong though, but how much? What could he do to help?
What can I do...? He repeated in his mind, until his brain fizzled out, until the words shifted, and he could finally rest his swirling, tired eyes.
What can he do?