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Oscar closed the bathroom cabinet with a little too much force, the slam echoing in the tiled silence. He stared at himself in the mirror. Jaw tight, curls still damp from the shower, shirt half-buttoned. He looked like he was trying too hard not to care.
The same couldn’t be said for Lando, who hadn’t even changed yet.
“You’re not ready,” Oscar said, emerging from the bathroom with an edge to his voice he didn’t bother softening.
Lando was on the couch, one foot tucked under him, scrolling absently through his phone. His hair was messy, and he hadn’t moved in ten minutes. “We’ve still got time.”
Oscar stared at him. “Dinner’s in forty-five minutes.”
“I know,” Lando said, thumbing down the screen like it was more interesting than Oscar’s growing irritation. “I just need to chill for a sec.”
Oscar didn’t answer at first. He walked to the dresser, grabbed his watch. Slipped it on. Took a breath.
“You’ve been chilling for days,” he muttered.
Lando’s head jerked up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
Oscar turned, arms folded. “I said you’ve been checked out all week. You barely talk to me unless I start the conversation, you’re always on your phone, and I can’t even remember the last time you actually looked at me like you gave a shit.”
Silence. Just the faint buzz of a phone on vibrate.
Lando blinked. “I didn’t realize I was being distant.”
Oscar let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you are. It’s like I’m living with a ghost. You sleep facing the other side, you cancel plans without saying why, and when I ask what’s going on, you say ‘nothing.’ Every time. Do you even want to be in this anymore?”
The words hit harder than he meant, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. Lando’s eyes flickered — not angry, just stunned. Hurt, maybe.
“You know that’s not fair,” Lando said softly.
Oscar’s throat tightened. “What else am I supposed to think?”
“I’ve got stuff going on, Oscar.” Lando stood now, finally, but didn’t move closer. “Work shit. Sponsor crap. People expecting me to be fine all the time when I’m not. But I didn’t want to dump that on you.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Oscar snapped, voice rising. “You don’t get to shut me out and call it protecting me. I’m your partner, Lando, not your emotional support animal you hide things from so I don’t get ‘worried.’ I am worried. Because I feel like you’re slipping away and I don’t even get a fucking explanation.”
Lando flinched.
It was too much. Too raw. Oscar knew he sounded angry, but beneath the anger was something worse — something fragile. Fear.
“I just needed time,” Lando said, quieter now, guarded. “To get my head on straight.”
“Well, congrats,” Oscar spat. “You bought yourself all the space in the world.”
He grabbed his jacket from the chair.
Lando stood there like he wanted to say something, but didn’t.
And Oscar didn’t look back.
~~~~
The Monaco sun had just started to dip low, casting long orange streaks across the marble floor of the Verstappen-Leclerc apartment. Oscar stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight, trying not to look at his reflection in the glass. His own expression only made him angrier—because he looked how he felt: stubborn, defensive, and guilty all at once. He heard Lando laughing distantly from the kitchen. Laughing like everything was fine. Like their argument from last night hadn’t shredded something between them.
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. Hadn’t meant to say that. But he had. And Lando had gone quiet in the way he only ever did when he was really hurt. Quiet like he didn’t want to be seen. Quiet like he didn’t want to be his.
And now they were here, about to sit down for family dinner like they weren’t still splintered at the seams.
“Oscar, sweetheart,” Papa called gently from the dining room, laying out the wine glasses. “Can you call your brother down? Dinner’s ready.”
Oscar nodded stiffly, walking out of the room like his limbs weren’t fully connected. Lando was already at the table, smiling easily at Charles, who was fussing with a roasted chicken and a complicated salad with pine nuts and fresh figs. Max sat at the head of the table, pretending to read the paper but very obviously sneaking glances between Oscar and Lando.
Lando didn’t look up when Oscar walked in.
He took his usual seat beside Lando—and then hesitated. Quietly, with a too-light shrug, Oscar pulled out a chair next to Ollie instead.
The shift was instant. Ollie blinked up at him, confused but quick to recover, smiling nervously and scooting over to give his brother room. Lando didn’t say a word, just smiled politely and turned to Max, striking up a conversation about race strategies and tire degradation. His voice was calm. His eyes were hollow.
Oscar sat and stared down at his napkin, twisting it between his fingers.
The table slowly filled with laughter and the clink of cutlery. Carlos had dropped off a bottle of wine earlier that Max had declared “shockingly decent for someone who only drinks Estrella and eats paella out of the pan.” Charles was talking animatedly about something Lewis had texted him—something about Seb trying to make a TikTok to promote bees—and Ollie was laughing so hard he nearly knocked over his water.
Oscar tried to laugh with him. He really did.
But Lando’s laugh—the one he loved most in the world—was still just a little too light, a little too forced. He wasn’t looking at Oscar. Not once.
Max noticed. Oscar saw him glance over Lando’s shoulder at him, brow furrowing. He didn’t say anything, just poured more wine for Charles and murmured something in Dutch under his breath.
Ollie, sweet, meddling Ollie, was trying desperately to fix it all. He kept swinging conversation between the two of them, offering out little tidbits like a peace treaty.
“Lan, remember when we went paddleboarding last summer and you fell off like eight times in a row?”
“Right, Oscar? You had to pull him out of the water, and he was all dramatic about seaweed touching his ankle.”
Lando smiled. Oscar forced a laugh. No one said what they were all thinking.
Something was wrong.
Oscar could feel his Papa watching him closely, one hand resting gently on his arm now and then, like he knew Oscar was ready to come apart. And he was.
Because they’d never done this before—he and Lando. Not like this. Not with silence and coldness and carefully chosen seats at the dinner table. Not with Lando pretending like he wasn’t hurting and Oscar pretending like it didn’t matter.
He wanted to say something. But then—
“Remember last year?” Charles asked suddenly, fondness in his voice. “You two slow-danced in the kitchen to Elton John? That was adorable.”
Lando chuckled softly, clearly remembering.
And Oscar… snapped.
“Yeah, well, we were different then, he wasn’t actually avoiding me.”
The room went still.
Charles’s smile faltered. Ollie stopped mid-giggle. Max put down his wineglass, slow and steady.
Lando didn’t respond. His face shuttered. He stood quietly, napkin folded carefully and placed on the table like he couldn’t bear to leave even that messy.
“I can sense that I’m not wanted here,” he said gently, too gently. “So I better leave.”
He turned to Charles first. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Charles.”
Charles stood up, eyes wide, reaching for him. “Mon chéri—don’t go, please, you’re always welcome here.”
Lando smiled—small, apologetic. “I don’t think I am anymore, Papa. I’ll call you. Promise.”
Then to Max, who was already halfway out of his seat: “Thank you for having me, Max.”
Max didn’t say anything. Just looked at him like he wanted to fix it with sheer will alone.
Lando turned to Ollie last.
And Ollie was already running into his arms.
“You’re always going to be welcome here, Lan,” Ollie whispered fiercely, hugging him tight. “You’re always going to be my brother-in-law, even if my actual brother is acting like an idiot now.”
Lando exhaled like he’d been punched. “I love you, little bear. You’ll always be my brother.”
“Don’t say it like you never plan to see us again,” Ollie whispered, voice cracking.
Lando pulled away gently, kissed his forehead.
And Oscar sat frozen in his chair, heart pounding so loud it blocked out everything else. Lando didn’t even glance at him.
When the door closed behind him, it felt like the house went silent.
And then Ollie turned.
“Why would you do that, Oscar?!” he yelled, furious tears in his eyes. “Why would you hurt Lando like this? Are you afraid of being happy?!”
Oscar opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Ollie stomped up the stairs, shoulders shaking.
Oscar felt like his bones had been scooped out of his body. He stood, stumbled upstairs to his room, and collapsed face-down onto the bed.
He cried for an hour straight.
He cried like he hadn’t since he was a kid. Like he wasn’t Oscar Verstappen-Leclerc. Like he didn’t know how to be someone without Lando loving him.
The door creaked open slowly, the hallway light spilling into Oscar’s bedroom in a soft golden hush. Charles didn’t knock this time — he didn’t need to. He could feel it, the way you feel a storm has passed even when the rain has stopped — that heaviness in the air, the quiet ache of something too big to name.
Oscar was curled on his side, facing the wall. His hoodie sleeves were tugged down past his wrists, fingers balled in the fabric like he was bracing for impact, even now. His back rose and fell with shallow breaths, and though he didn’t turn to look, Charles knew he was awake.
He crossed the room slowly, not saying anything yet. He sat down on the edge of the bed like he used to when Oscar was younger and sick, those long nights with warm towels and whispered lullabies, hand on his forehead, making promises the world wasn’t always kind enough to keep.
Charles didn’t say “What happened?” or “Are you okay?” He didn’t ask anything that could be answered with a lie.
Instead, he said softly, “May I hold you, mon cœur?”
Oscar didn’t move for a second. Then, with the barest nod, he rolled toward his papa and collapsed into his arms.
Charles caught him like he always had — arms strong and sure, heart wide open. He pulled his boy close, cradling his head against his chest, letting him bury his face in the crook of his neck. Oscar’s hands clenched in his shirt like he might come apart if he let go.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Oscar shook with silent sobs, the kind that made your lungs ache and your throat burn, the kind you try to swallow down until someone who loves you says you don’t have to.
Charles kissed his temple. Then again. Then the wet trail of tears on his cheek. “You are not broken,” he whispered. “You are hurt. There’s a difference, mon cœur.”
“I said awful things,” Oscar managed, his voice hoarse and cracked from crying. “I wanted to make him stay and I pushed him away instead.”
Charles didn’t disagree. He didn’t soften the truth — he simply let Oscar keep unraveling in his arms.
“I told him I wanted him to fight for me,” Oscar said, quieter now, each word laced with regret. “But he didn’t. He left.”
Charles shifted to brush the hair back from his son’s forehead, kissed the crease between his brows. “And maybe, darling, maybe that was what you needed too. Not because he doesn’t love you — he does. But because you’ve been holding on so tight to the fear that he’ll leave that you’ve been daring him to prove you right.”
Oscar stiffened slightly, breath hitching.
“You push, Oscar. When you’re scared, you push,” Charles continued gently. “And Lando has always pulled you back. Every time. But tonight… he let go. Because sometimes love doesn’t mean chasing. Sometimes it means giving the person you love space to stop running.”
Oscar pressed his face harder against Charles’s shoulder. “I don’t want space. This whole fight was about him being distant!”
“No,” Charles said softly. “You want to be loved without needing to be perfect. And you are. You are loved, even now. Even in the mess.”
Oscar cried again then, deeper this time, trembling against his papa’s chest.
“You are not too much,” Charles murmured into his hair. “You are not too hard to love. And you are not alone.”
They stayed like that, Charles rocking him slightly, just enough to remind him that the world was still turning. That he was still held, still known, still safe.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” Oscar whispered after a long silence.
Charles touched his cheek, thumb warm and sure. “You don’t have to fix it tonight. But when you’re ready — truly ready — to love him in the way he deserves, you’ll know what to say.”
Oscar nodded slowly, eyes closed.
“Love conquers, mon cœur,” Charles said. “If he loves you — and he does — he’ll come back. But you have to love him enough to be better too.”
It was sometime past midnight when the knock came again — this one hesitant, a kind of tentative rhythm that Oscar recognized immediately.
Ollie.
Oscar sat up in bed, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s open.”
The door creaked open just enough for Ollie to peek in, his face lit faintly by the glow from the hallway. He looked younger in the dark — bare-faced, curls a bit messy, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and Oscar’s old race shorts.
He stood there awkwardly, arms crossed. “I didn’t want to go to bed without saying something.”
Oscar motioned him in. “You can sit, you know.”
Ollie padded over and climbed onto the bed, folding himself up at the foot like a cat who wasn’t quite sure if he was welcome.
“I shouldn’t have yelled like that,” Ollie said, not looking at him. “But I… I meant it. Maybe not in front of everyone. And maybe not like that. But I meant what I said.”
Oscar rested his arms on his knees. “I know.”
“You love him,” Ollie said simply. “And he loves you. So figure it out. Please.”
Oscar looked over at his little brother. “Why do you care so much?”
Ollie shrugged. “Because I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you. And because… I believe in you two.”
Oscar smiled, a little crooked. “Even after that fight?”
“Especially after that fight,” Ollie said. “It’s like… I don’t believe in forever. Not really. But I believe in you. And I believe in how real it felt. All of it. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Oscar leaned back against the headboard, letting the weight of his brother’s faith settle on his chest. “He’s endgame, huh?”
Ollie grinned. “Yeah. And I say that as someone who thinks most people are full of shit.”
Oscar laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Says the guy who cried because Lando toasted his heart.”
“It was sweet!”
“You were sobbing before he finished the first sentence.”
“Shut up,” Oscar muttered, throwing a pillow at him.
Ollie ducked, then crawled up the bed and leaned into his side, letting his head fall against Oscar’s shoulder. “Just don’t give up on him, okay?”
“I won’t,” Oscar said quietly. “I don’t think I could, even if I tried.”
They sat like that for a while — two brothers in the dark, stitched together by blood, belief, and the bone-deep certainty that love, once real, doesn’t disappear.
Oscar blinked slowly in the quiet that followed. He glanced at the door, then back to Ollie. “Where’s Dad?”
Ollie yawned against his shoulder. “He left.”
Oscar tensed. “Left?”
“After dinner,” Ollie clarified. “Right after Lando walked out. He looked at Papa, didn’t say much, just grabbed his jacket and keys.”
Oscar sat up straighter, heart lurching. “You think he went after him?”
Ollie hesitated. “I think… he couldn’t watch Lando leave like that. Not when he knows how much you love him.”
Oscar’s throat tightened, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think he’s mad at me?”
“No,” Ollie said instantly. “I think he’s doing what he always does. Protecting you. Even when you don’t know you need it.”
Oscar stared down at his hands, trembling just slightly. “Lando… he didn’t even say goodbye.”
“He didn’t need to,” Ollie said, soft. “Sometimes love doesn’t need words. Sometimes it just shows up — even when it’s hard.”
Oscar closed his eyes.
And for the first time that night, he let himself hope.
Lando didn’t know what time it was when he ended up at the marina, only that the wind stung against his cheeks and the ache in his chest hadn’t dulled even after two hours of walking. His hood was up. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his hoodie. The boats rocked gently in the water, indifferent to everything. He sat down at the edge of the stone breakwater and stared at the black sea, like it might reflect something back he could understand.
He’d said too much, or maybe not enough. He didn’t even know anymore.
It hadn’t been a fight with Oscar in the explosive sense. No yelling, no doors slammed, no accusations screamed at the ceiling. It had been quiet. Cold. A series of jagged, unfinished sentences and a thousand unsaid things behind every glance.
“I’m not pulling away,” Lando had said, defensive. “I’m just—”
“You’re not here, Lando!” Oscar’s voice cracked on the words. “You’re in the room, but you’re not with me. And I’ve been trying to be patient, trying to figure out if I did something wrong or if you’re just done with me—”
“Don’t you dare,” Lando had snapped, voice trembling. “Don’t you fucking dare say I’m done with you. I love you so much it hurts, okay? That’s the problem.”
Oscar had frozen. “Then why does it feel like you’re disappearing?”
Because I am, Lando wanted to say. Because I’m drowning in expectations, in pressure, in your love and everyone else’s, and I don’t know how to breathe when it all sits on my chest like a weight I can’t share. Because I didn’t want to tell you that I’ve been hurting. That I’m scared. That being loved by someone like you is the best and most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.
But he hadn’t said any of that.
He’d walked out tonight, he walked out and couldn’t look Oscar into his eyes because he knew it was his problem that gotten them into this mess.
He thought being alone would help. But the more the wind blew and the ocean churned, the more he realized he wasn’t just missing Oscar.
He was missing them. All of them.
The Verstappen-Leclercs had never felt temporary. They’d felt like a room he could always return to. But now—
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Footsteps broke through the hush of water and wind. Lando didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He knew that gait — quiet but purposeful, a weight in each step like the person carrying it had made peace with burdens long ago.
Max sat down beside him, careful not to crowd.
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It was full — thick with everything they weren’t ready to say.
Lando was the first to break it. “Did Oscar send you?”
Max shook his head. “No. He doesn’t even know I left.”
That made Lando turn slightly, brows drawn. “So why are you here?”
Max sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked at the ocean the way he used to look at the racetrack — searching for clarity in motion, meaning in risk.
“I’m here,” he said slowly, “because you looked at me tonight like I wasn’t your family anymore.”
Lando blinked.
“And I need you to know,” Max added, “that you were wrong.”
Lando swallowed. “I don’t know what I am anymore. To any of you.”
“You’re someone we love,” Max said quietly.
Lando laughed — not cruelly, just bitter, tired. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t feel like it.”
Max turned toward him. “You walked out because it hurt. I get that. But you didn’t have to walk out alone.”
“I don’t want pity.”
“This isn’t pity,” Max said. “This is home.”
“I didn’t mean to shut him out,” Lando said quietly. “It’s just… everything got loud in my head. Sponsors, press, expectations, future, the way everyone always looks at me like I’m supposed to be fine. And Oscar—he always sees things. He started asking what was wrong. And I—God, I didn’t want to make it his problem.”
“So you tried to protect him,” Max said softly.
Lando nodded.
“By hurting him.”
Lando flinched. “Yeah.”
They sat in that truth for a while.
“I didn’t mean to,” Lando whispered.
“I know.”
“I love him so much it’s scary. And I thought if I kept my fears to myself, he’d stay happy. I thought if I held it in long enough, I could ride it out. But he noticed. Of course he did. He’s Oscar. And I couldn’t give him answers, so we just… fell apart.”
Max was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “You’re not the first person to try and protect someone by disappearing.”
Lando turned toward him slowly.
“I used to think Charles deserved someone better,” Max went on, voice low. “Someone less… closed off. Less angry. He’d ask what I was feeling and I’d just freeze. I didn’t want him to carry my pain. But you know what he told me one night?”
Lando shook his head.
“That loving someone means letting them see the storm. Not just the calm after.”
Lando blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears back.
“I’m not gonna pretend to know what’s next for you and Oscar,” Max continued. “That’s something only time and honesty can decide. But what I do know is this: you don’t have to be his boyfriend to be our family.”
Lando choked on a breath.
“You’ll always have a seat at our table,” Max said simply. “Whether you’re in love with Oscar or just trying to find your way back to yourself. We love you. And you don’t need to earn it.”
Lando turned away and let the tears come, shoulders shaking.
“I always knew you loved me,” he said, voice watery and broken, “you soft bastard.”
Max huffed out a laugh and pulled him into a hug.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”
Lando clung to him like something was coming loose inside, like part of him had been holding his breath for weeks and Max’s arms had finally let him exhale.
~~~~
The sound of the door opening was soft, but for Oscar, it cracked through the silence of the house like a lightning strike.
He was already pacing in the hallway, heart a thunderstorm in his chest. He hadn’t slept, not really. Hadn’t eaten much either. The fight, the silence that followed, the hollowness of his bed without Lando in it — all of it clung to him like a second skin.
And then came the sound of footsteps. Familiar. Steady.
“Dad?” he called before he even knew he was speaking.
Max had barely stepped into the hallway when Oscar moved. It wasn’t a walk or a stumble — it was a collision. Oscar slammed into his chest with such sudden force that Max let out a surprised breath, arms catching him instinctively, wrapping around his trembling son like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Oscar’s fingers curled into Max’s jacket, gripping like a drowning boy clinging to driftwood.
“Daddy,” he sobbed, voice high and cracking, “I messed up. I messed up really bad.”
Max didn’t speak at first. He just held him.
Oscar’s shoulders shook violently. He was sobbing so hard his knees almost gave out. Max bent his legs slightly to keep them both balanced, arms strong, one hand smoothing over the back of Oscar’s hair as the boy broke apart in his arms.
“It’s okay,” Max murmured, pressing his lips to Oscar’s temple. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“I was so mad at him, and I didn’t know why,” Oscar cried. “I just—he pulled away, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Like I was watching him leave in slow motion and I didn’t know how to stop it, and then I made it worse—”
Max gently guided them to the couch, never letting go. Oscar curled into him like he was seven years old again, head tucked into his father’s neck, arms around his waist.
“I thought we were happy,” Oscar whispered. “I thought I was enough. But he was going through something and I didn’t see it. Or I did, and I was so afraid of what it meant, I didn’t ask. I just… got angry instead.”
Max exhaled through his nose, fingers still in Oscar’s curls.
“I saw myself in you tonight,” he said softly.
Oscar blinked up at him, face blotchy and wet. “What do you mean?”
Max tilted his head, eyes filled with memory. “I’ve loved someone so deeply it hurt. And I didn’t know how to hold it. Didn’t know what to do with all that feeling. So I got cold. Shut down. Said things I didn’t mean. Pushed him away before he could leave first.”
Oscar swallowed hard.
“Papa?”
Max nodded. “I almost lost him. More than once. Because I thought love was something I had to earn by being strong. Silent. Stoic. But Charles… he didn’t fall in love with silence. He fell in love with me. The whole of me.”
Oscar closed his eyes, like that hit somewhere deep.
“I look at you,” Max continued, brushing his knuckles along Oscar’s damp cheek, “and I see the best of both of us. You love with your whole heart. You feel it all. Don’t let fear or anger twist that. You’re better than I ever was at your age. Be better. For both of you.”
Oscar’s lips trembled. “What if I already lost him?”
Max kissed his forehead, firm and full of warmth. “Then you tell him the truth anyway. You let him know he wasn’t wrong for hurting. And you weren’t wrong for feeling scared. Love isn’t about being perfect, Oscar. It’s about choosing each other anyway. Every time.”
Oscar let out a shaky breath and tucked himself closer to Max, feeling smaller than he had in years — but somehow safer than ever.
~~~~
Two days passed like the sun forgot to rise.
Oscar barely left the house. He floated between his room and the living room like a ghost, too wired to sleep, too heavy to function. His family hovered quietly, never pushing, just being there. Max brought him tea he didn’t drink. Charles sat on the armrest and kissed the top of his head wordlessly. Ollie left a note on his door that read: Still team LandOscar. No pressure.
But the silence from Lando was a knife that twisted deeper with each hour.
Oscar stared at his phone again, sitting on the floor of his bedroom, back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. His thumb hovered over the screen more times than he could count.
He missed everything.
The dumb jokes. The soft smiles. The way Lando would squeeze his thigh during long car rides. The way he’d whisper “Mine” into Oscar’s hair after making love, like it was a promise stitched into their skin.
He didn’t know if he was allowed to miss it. Not yet.
So when the phone vibrated in his palm — the screen lighting up with Lando 🧡 — he nearly dropped it.
His heart seized.
He stared for one breath, then another.
Then answered.
“…Hello?”
The line was quiet. Then came Lando’s voice, quieter still — like a whisper on the edge of rain.
“Hey.”
Oscar didn’t breathe.
“Do you… do you still want to talk?” Lando asked. His voice cracked on the last word.
“Yes,” Oscar said, breathlessly. “Of course. Yes.”
Another pause. Then a soft laugh, watery and sad. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even pick up.”
“I wanted to call,” Oscar said. “I just… I didn’t know if I had the right.”
“You do,” Lando whispered. “You always do.”
Oscar closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I didn’t know how scared you were. I should’ve seen it.”
“I didn’t want you to,” Lando replied. “I thought if I could carry it alone, I’d be enough. But the pressure kept building, and I kept folding, and I was afraid that if I told you the truth, you’d see me as weak.”
“Lando,” Oscar breathed, “loving you has never made me think less of you. But watching you hurt and not knowing how to help? That almost broke me.”
Silence.
Then Lando said, in a voice that was barely more than breath, “Can you come over?”
Oscar’s heart surged forward like it had been waiting at the door.
“I’m already standing,” he said. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Before he hung up, Lando spoke again — fragile, like glass. “I still love you, Oscar.”
Oscar pressed the phone to his forehead and whispered, “I love you too. I never stopped.”
The ride over was silent. Oscar couldn’t even hear the streetlights hum or the car’s soft turn signals. Everything inside him was louder — his heartbeat, his panic, his rehearsed apologies cracking at the seams. The streets blurred past, but all he could think about was the curve of Lando’s shoulder, the way his voice used to dip when he was half-asleep, the look he gave Oscar across a crowded room that always made him feel chosen.
And now?
Now there was a door in front of him. His heart tried to climb out of his throat.
He knocked once. Soft. Too soft, maybe. Then once more.
Lando opened the door slowly. He looked like he hadn’t slept much — hoodie wrinkled, curls messy, his face that tender sort of tired where every emotion is paper-thin beneath the surface. For a heartbeat, neither of them said anything. They just stared.
And then, quietly, Lando stepped aside.
Oscar entered like it was holy ground. Like he didn’t know if he still belonged.
The door shut behind them.
Silence followed, but it didn’t feel empty — it was full of everything unsaid. Of the ache, the doubt, the unbearable love. They found the couch without a word. Not touching. Not even facing each other fully. Just… sitting. Breathing. Trying.
Time slowed.
Oscar broke first, voice soft but soaked with truth.
“I didn’t know how much I loved you until I thought I’d ruined it.”
Lando looked over, his eyes wet already. But he didn’t interrupt.
Oscar kept going. “I thought we had this thing, this golden kind of safety, you know? Like we’d made it. But then you got quiet, and it wasn’t just the silence. It was the way you looked through me instead of at me. Like I was something you were holding onto out of obligation. And I didn’t know how to sit still in that.”
He laughed bitterly, wiping a tear away. “I panicked. I thought if I loved you hard enough, it would fix everything. But love isn’t a bandage. And anger… anger isn’t glue.”
Lando’s voice cracked open then, raw and trembling. “I wasn’t pulling away because I stopped loving you. I was pulling away because I didn’t know how to be inside my own skin. There’s been so much pressure — not from you — just… from everything. Everyone. And I didn’t want to drop that weight on you too.”
Oscar turned toward him fully, voice sharp with emotion. “That’s not how this works, Lando. You don’t get to choose which parts of you I carry. I want all of it. Even the heavy stuff. Especially the heavy stuff.”
Lando stared at him, breathless. “I didn’t think I was allowed to be the broken one. I thought I had to be the older one, the fun one. The strong one. I thought if I cracked, you’d look at me differently.”
“I do,” Oscar whispered. “I look at you now, and I see someone who thought he had to suffer in silence to protect me. And I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.”
Lando reached out — hand trembling — and Oscar met him halfway. Their fingers laced.
And then Oscar leaned in.
Foreheads touched. Noses brushed. Their eyes fluttered shut.
“I’m sorry,” they said in near-unison, breaths mingling. Then they laughed — a tired, broken sound, but real.
Lando cupped Oscar’s jaw, brushing away tears with his thumb. “You’re still my safest place.”
Oscar nodded slowly. “And you’re still my favorite person.”
The kiss was soft at first. Careful. A test.
Then it deepened — like forgiveness.
Lips moved with urgency, not desperate but needy, like they were trying to breathe each other back in. Oscar’s hands gripped Lando’s hoodie, tugging him closer. Lando climbed into his lap, straddling him on the couch like instinct. Their kisses grew longer, hotter, until they were moaning into each other’s mouths — not out of lust, but relief. Gratitude. Crushed longing.
Lando’s fingers slid into Oscar’s hair, tugging gently. Oscar groaned against his lips, hands splayed across Lando’s lower back, holding him like he might disappear again.
They pulled back, panting — eyes wild and glassy.
Lando whispered, voice ragged: “I thought I’d lost you.”
Oscar kissed his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “You didn’t. You never will.”
And then the tension spilled into motion.
Oscar stood, still holding Lando, lifting him easily as Lando wrapped his legs around him. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
The bedroom door barely shut before they were kissing again — deeper now, mouths open, hands under clothes. But it wasn’t frantic. It was tender. Reverent.
Clothes came off slowly. Not ripped — peeled away like layers of fear.
They lay together in the dark, bare skin against bare skin, just… touching. Lando’s fingers ran along the curve of Oscar’s spine. Oscar kissed his chest, his throat, his shoulder.
“I want to top you,” Oscar said, barely above a whisper. “Not because I need to control anything. I just… I want to show you what you mean to me. I want to take my time and make you feel so fucking good you forget your own name. I want to love you like that.”
Lando stared at him, wide-eyed. Not because he was shocked, but because—God—it was so Oscar to make even this about love.
He leaned in, kissed him slow. Then he pulled back, lips brushing Oscar’s ear as he whispered, hot and shaky:
“Take me, Osc. I want you to fuck me.”
Oscar’s breath hitched.
Lando kissed below his ear, lips trailing down his neck. “You want to love me like that?” he whispered. “Then do it. I want you to. I want you.”
Oscar’s hands trembled as they gripped Lando’s waist. “You sure?”
Lando nodded, pupils blown wide, skin flushed. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Oscar kissed him again, this time deeper — with that same sweetness, that quiet reverence. And then he got up slowly, reaching into the drawer beside the bed.
The lube clicked open with a soft sound that echoed through the silence, and Lando shivered.
Oscar came back and settled between Lando’s legs, kissing up his thighs, his stomach, his chest — everywhere — like he was memorizing him with his mouth.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, slicking his fingers. “You’re perfect.”
Lando’s breath hitched when the first finger pressed in — slow, gentle, patient. Oscar kissed his knee as he moved carefully, watching his face for any sign of tension.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you, baby.”
Lando moaned, his hips twitching, eyes fluttering shut. “Oscar—God—don’t stop.”
Oscar didn’t. He worked him open with aching tenderness, fingers curling, stretching, coaxing soft, desperate sounds from Lando’s throat. The second finger made Lando gasp. The third made him beg.
“Please, Osc—please—I need you.”
Oscar kissed him hard, breath shaking. “I got you,” he whispered. “I’m gonna love you so good, you’ll feel it for days.”
When he finally lined up, Lando pulled him down by the nape of the neck and whispered, hot against his mouth, “Fuck me.”
Oscar pushed in slow, trembling — not from nerves, but from awe. From the feeling of Lando opening for him, giving him everything, trusting him this much.
And as he sank in, Lando’s breath caught like it was being pulled from his lungs. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, Oscar—just like that.”
Oscar didn’t move at first. He just held him, forehead against Lando’s, breath shared. “You feel incredible,” he whispered. “You feel like home.”
And when he started to move, slow and deep, Lando’s legs wrapped around his waist and his whole body melted.
Oscar made love to him like he’d waited his whole life for this. Like Lando was fragile and holy. Like he was trying to burn every inch of love into his skin.
And Lando took it all.
Eyes wet. Lips open. Letting himself be loved the way only Oscar could — with reverence and fire and worship.
Oscar didn’t rush.
That was what undid Lando more than anything — the stillness in Oscar’s touch. The care. The unbearable intimacy of being looked at like that, like Oscar saw everything and loved him more for it. He kissed Lando as if his lips were honey and he was desperate to drown sweet. Every brush of tongue, every slow drag of his mouth down Lando’s jaw, his throat, his chest — it was like being set on fire and cradled in velvet at the same time.
“I love you,” Oscar whispered, over and over, like a spell. Like a promise. Like a sacred truth etched into his bones. “I love you, Lando. God, I love you.”
And Lando felt it. Everywhere.
It curled in his belly like heat. It sparked in his throat like a sob he couldn’t quite let out. It pulsed in his fingertips, in the soles of his feet, in the arch of his back when Oscar slid deep inside him and stayed there, forehead pressed to Lando’s, breath mingling in that space where nothing else existed but them.
Lando’s fingers clutched Oscar’s shoulders, his nails digging in, breath hitching as Oscar moved slow — deep — grinding in with a deliberate drag that had Lando arching, moaning, wrecked already.
“You feel that?” Oscar murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth, then the hollow of his throat. “That’s me. That’s all of me. Inside you. With you. For you.”
Lando whimpered, overwhelmed, hips jerking helplessly. “I feel it — fuck, I feel everything.”
Oscar shifted — deep — and Lando gasped, eyes wide and hazy. “Osc—”
But Oscar just smiled — low, hungry, tender. “You take me so well,” he whispered, voice like silk over raw skin. “My everything. My Lando.”
Lando’s spine bowed, tears springing to his eyes not from pain but from pleasure so sharp it was nearly holy. He gripped Oscar tighter, thighs shaking, skin flushed and shining with sweat.
“I want you to feel how much I love you,” Oscar said, voice thick, hips rolling slow and perfect. “Want it in your chest. In your throat. Want it so deep you taste it when you breathe.”
“I do,” Lando choked out. “Osc, I— I taste you everywhere. It’s like—” He broke off with a strangled sound as Oscar shifted the angle just right, hitting that spot inside that made the world shatter behind his eyes.
Oscar kissed him again — not sweet now, but hot, tongue tangling with his, teeth grazing just enough to make Lando groan into his mouth. His hand threaded into Lando’s curls, tugging just enough, grounding him.
Then he stilled, still fully buried, eyes burning into Lando’s.
“Ride me,” Oscar whispered. “I want to watch you fall apart.”
Lando stared, pupils blown wide, mouth parted in shock and lust. “What?”
Oscar kissed him — slow and filthy. “You heard me. Take it. Show me how much you love me back.”
And Lando did.
He moved like the room wasn’t real, like he was floating in honeyed fire, like everything Oscar poured into him was blooming under his skin. He slid up slow — almost torturously so — until just the tip of Oscar was inside, then sank back down in a controlled drop that had both of them gasping.
“Oscar—fuck—”
Oscar moaned beneath him, hands gripping Lando’s hips. “That’s it, baby. That’s so good. You’re so good.”
Lando rode him with intention, eyes locked with Oscar’s the whole time. His rhythm wasn’t frantic. It was powerful. Slow, deep rolls that had Oscar’s back arching, breath faltering.
Every time he sank down, he let out these soft little sounds — breathy moans, broken whimpers, gasps that felt too tender for how filthy this was, and yet somehow exactly right. Oscar met his hips with small thrusts, but he let Lando lead, let him take.
And Lando did. With reverence. With devotion. His hands laced with Oscar’s, pinning them over his heart as his thighs moved in steady, grinding rhythm.
Oscar was unraveling beneath him, eyes wild and lips swollen, whispering things like mine, and you’re perfect, and you’re everything, Lan.
And Lando believed him.
It wasn’t just sex. It was something deeper, something that cracked him open. He wasn’t just being loved — he was being known. And Oscar was giving him everything, letting him take control while still holding him steady, grounding him with touch and voice and love that was louder than any moan.
Oscar pulled him down again, their chests pressed together, their hearts beating in staccato rhythm. “You’re still my safest place,” Oscar whispered against his lips, breath hot and breaking. “Even when I’m inside you. Especially then.”
Lando kissed him — messy, open-mouthed, hungry — and rode him harder, the pace picking up but never losing that reverence, that unbearable tenderness.
Oscar reached between them, wrapped a hand around Lando’s cock, stroking him in time with their rhythm. Lando keened, falling apart, trembling.
“Cum, love,” Oscar said softly. “I want to see you let go. I’m right here to catch you.”
Lando sobbed, a broken sound, his entire body tightening. And then he came — with a cry that tore from deep in his chest, spilling hot between their bodies as his eyes rolled back, mouth open, thighs trembling. Oscar followed seconds later, coming deep inside him with a low groan, pulling Lando down as their bodies spasmed together, locked in something that felt like the collapse of time.
And then the stillness after.
The kind that felt like the air had gone soft.
Lando collapsed onto Oscar’s chest, both of them panting, kissed out and wrecked and so in love it was unbearable.
Oscar wrapped his arms around him. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured, kissing the side of his head. “Not just when we fuck. Always.”
Lando nuzzled against his neck, heart still racing. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. “Anything.”
Oscar’s voice was almost broken from tenderness. “You already have.”
They lay there, tangled and sweating and flushed, but calm. Full. Like the world had cracked open just wide enough to let them fall in, together.
And neither of them would ever let the other go.
The room was a hush of shadows and moonlight, the aftermath of passion softening into stillness. The sheets were tangled around their legs, skin sticky with sweat and breath still shaky. But everything inside Oscar had gone quiet — not numb, not empty, just… quiet. Like the storm had finally passed. Like the weight of everything he hadn’t said had melted into Lando’s skin, into the way their fingers were still laced between them, like they didn’t ever plan to let go again.
He lay on his side, blinking slowly, studying Lando’s face in the dim light. His jaw was pink from where Oscar had kissed it too hard in the middle of everything, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded but still open, like he couldn’t quite believe it either — that they’d made it through. Oscar reached out, brushed a thumb gently under his eye, following the path of an old freckle, his touch reverent, worshipful.
“You’re here,” he whispered, like it was something fragile. “You’re really here.”
Lando smiled, small and tired, but real. “Told you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Oscar didn’t answer. He just leaned in, pressing a kiss to Lando’s brow, then his temple, and then curled his arms tighter around him, pulling him back into his chest. Lando let him, sighing softly, his back warm against Oscar’s chest. Oscar buried his nose into the space beneath Lando’s ear and breathed him in — the scent of his shampoo, his skin, the lingering echo of what they’d just done. He felt like he could cry, but not from pain. Just from relief.
“I thought I’d pushed you too far,” he admitted into Lando’s neck, voice barely more than a ghost.
Lando was quiet for a moment. Then, softly:
“You didn’t. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you I was drowning.”
That broke something open in Oscar — not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, aching sort of shatter. He pressed a long, slow kiss to Lando’s shoulder, tasting salt, sweat, skin.
“Next time,” he murmured, “tell me. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy. You don’t have to keep me safe from your feelings. I want them. I want all of you, even the overwhelmed parts.”
Lando rolled in his arms, just enough to face him. His eyes were glassy again — not from lust this time, but from sheer emotional release. He looked young. Soft. Brave in a different way.
“I was scared you’d think I was weak.”
Oscar’s voice turned fierce in the quiet. “You’re the strongest person I know. But even strong people… even they need somewhere to land. You have me. You always have me.”
Lando gave a broken little laugh and leaned in, kissing him slow. Not urgent. Not apologetic. Just full of something heavy and warm and endless. When they broke apart, they were breathing in sync again.
“God, I love you,” Lando whispered.
Oscar closed his eyes, letting it settle deep. “I love you more.”
“Impossible.”
Oscar chuckled softly. He reached out and smoothed Lando’s hair back from his forehead, then rested their hands over Lando’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath their joined palms.
They lay there like that — tangled up in the dark, nothing between them but truth. Lando’s breathing slowed. Oscar’s eyes burned. It was like lying in a cathedral made of each other’s forgiveness.
And just as sleep began to tug at the edges of him, Oscar leaned in close and whispered:
“We’re endgame, remember?”
Lando didn’t open his eyes, but he smiled, one hand curling tighter in Oscar’s.
“I remember.”
The morning came slowly, like it knew they needed gentleness.
Oscar stirred first, the weight of sunlight washing over his back in warm, honeyed ribbons. Lando lay tucked into his side, one leg tangled with his, an arm splayed over Oscar’s ribs as if anchoring himself. His face was soft with sleep — unguarded in a way that made Oscar’s throat tighten.
Oscar didn’t move at first. He just watched him.
He brushed a knuckle down the curve of Lando’s cheek, reverent. “Still here,” he whispered, as if the world might shatter if he spoke too loudly.
Lando blinked awake slowly, lashes fluttering like moth wings. His eyes met Oscar’s, and his face broke into the sleepiest, softest grin.
“Still here,” he echoed in a raspy mumble, voice soaked in dreams. “Told you. Forever’s a bad return policy.”
Oscar snorted, but the tears prickled anyway. He leaned down and kissed Lando’s forehead — slow, unhurried, grateful.
They stayed like that for a while. Breathing. Holding.
Eventually, Lando whispered, “We good now? Really good?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah. But we talk better now. We don’t disappear on each other.”
“Even if it’s ugly?” Lando asked, tracing idle circles on Oscar’s chest.
“Especially then,” Oscar said. “Because loving you isn’t the scary part. Losing you is.”
Lando kissed his heart. “You’re not losing me. You’re stuck with me.”
And they stayed in bed until noon, sharing coffee and sleepy kisses, smiling like idiots every time their eyes met. When they finally got dressed, it was only because Lando was wearing Oscar’s hoodie and Oscar wanted to show him off again.
When they arrived at the Verstappen-Leclerc household they stepped through the door hand in hand — Oscar in jeans and a soft navy t-shirt, Lando in the oversized hoodie that swallowed him whole, his curls wild and wind-tossed. He looked blissfully, annoyingly in love.
And Ollie, of course, saw everything.
He practically skidded across the marble floor in socks, hair a mess and grin feral. The moment he saw them, his mouth dropped open.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, then launched himself at Lando without a second thought.
Lando barely had time to brace himself before Ollie wrapped around him like a vine, hugging tight. “I missed you, Lan,” he mumbled into his chest, and Lando huffed a breathy laugh, blinking fast.
“Missed you too, troublemaker,” he whispered back, his voice cracking.
Ollie pulled back with a smile that was way too pleased. He smacked a kiss to Lando’s temple and ruffled his curls, just to be annoying. “You guys are so in love again it’s disgusting.”
Oscar was about to respond when Ollie yelled at full volume toward the stairs, “Daaaad! They’re disgustingly in love again — you can get your sick bags from wherever you hid them!”
From behind, a smack echoed, followed by the unmistakable laugh of Charles and the flick of a kitchen towel as he descended. He whacked Ollie’s behind lightly with a dramatic shake of his head.
“Bear, behave,” Charles said, slipping easily into the kitchen and over to his boys. “Leave my boys alone — you and Kimi are the worst offenders. I’ve seen you two whispering on the couch like you invented love.”
Ollie huffed but leaned into his Papa’s side, smirking. “Still think you’re all gross.”
Charles rolled his eyes and went straight to Oscar and Lando, cupping their faces and kissing each of their cheeks. “But I’m so, so happy,” he murmured, pulling them both into a hug. “Love really does conquer in the end, bébé.”
Oscar’s eyes welled, unbidden. “Yeah,” he said thickly, glancing at Lando, who smiled back like the sun had landed behind his eyes. “Yeah, it does.”
Charles beamed at them both, his hands lingering briefly on Lando’s cheeks, thumb brushing affectionately across his jaw. “Welcome home, mon cœur.”
Max came down the stairs last — deliberate, steady. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood at the bottom step with his arms crossed, watching them.
Lando tensed subtly under Oscar’s touch, but Oscar squeezed his hand tighter.
Max’s eyes flicked between them — at their clasped hands, their easy smiles, the way Lando leaned into Oscar like it was the only place he wanted to be.
Then came the smirk — barely-there, but genuine.
“Heard the title of son-in-law isn’t off the table anymore,” he said, voice low and dry. “Glad you two pulled your heads out of your asses. Now go set the table — we’ve got champagne to pop and water for the kids.”
Oscar’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, are we really celebrat—?”
But Max had already crossed the room, pulling Oscar into his arms and kissing his forehead like it was second nature. Then he turned to Lando, who blinked as Max reached out, cupping his cheek.
“You feeling good now, zoon?” Max asked, his voice softer now. Earnest.
Lando looked around — at Charles setting plates, at Ollie stealing bread from the counter, at Oscar grinning at him like nothing else mattered.
He smiled.
“Better now,” he said.
Max nodded once. “Good. Now go grab the champagne flutes.”
Oscar wrapped an arm around Lando’s waist as they walked into the kitchen, and Lando leaned into him shamelessly.
“You really put the stars in my sky, you know that?” Lando whispered against Oscar’s ear.
Oscar laughed. “Disgusting. Say it louder so Ollie can die of cringe.”
“I LOVE YOU!” Lando yelled toward the hallway.
“NOPE,” came Ollie’s voice from the living room, “I’M MOVING OUT.”
But laughter followed — laughter, and love, and the clinking of glasses.
The house was full again.