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Lando wasn’t paying attention.
Jon was mid-sentence, rattling on about hydration or stretches or something and Lando, half listening, half scrolling through his phone, let his feet carry him blindly through the paddock. The buzz of voices didn’t register to him.
What did register was the sharp crack of his face colliding with the door.
“Shit!” Lando staggered back, phone slipping from his hand as his palms flew to his face.
Jon froze. “Lando—”
“Bloody hell.” Lando mumbled, blinking hard. His eyes watered as pain bloomed across his nose. Warmth trickled downward, and when he pulled his hand back, his fingertips were red.
Great.
“Don’t just stand there, do something!” Lando snapped, though the words came out muffled and nasally.
Jon swore under his breath. “That’s what happens when you don’t look where you’re going.” He grabbed Lando firmly by the elbow before the cameras could swarm. “Come on, let’s get you inside before someone turns this into a headline.”
Half-dazed, Lando let himself be steered through the familiar hallways. Every step he could feel the trickle from his nose, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. Jon pushed open the door to his driver’s room and nudged him inside.
Lando was already muttering about how it wasn’t even that bad when he realized the room wasn’t empty. Oscar was there, sitting on the small couch with his laptop balanced on his knees. He looked up at the commotion, eyes flicking from Jon’s hand on Lando’s arm to the streak of red across Lando’s face.
“What the hell did you—” He started, but the words cut off. His face went pale.
Lando frowned. “What?”
Oscar’s laptop slid off his knees with a dull thud as his eyes rolled back. He slumped sideways onto the couch, out cold.
Lando froze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jon groaned like this was the most predictable disaster in the world. He shoved a box of tissues into Lando’s hands and moved to check on Oscar. “Great. One nosebleed, and we’ve managed to lose both drivers.”
“It’s not my fault!” Lando protested through the wad of tissues he was now clamping to his face. “I’m the one bleeding here!”
Oscar, completely unconscious, didn’t respond.
Jon shot Lando a look. “Sit down before you faint too.”
Lando sat heavily in the chair, still glaring at Oscar’s crumpled figure on the couch. “Unbelievable. I’m the one who looks like I’ve gone ten rounds with a boxer, and he’s the drama queen.”
But beneath the irritation, something twisted uneasily in Lando’s chest. Oscar hadn’t just looked grossed out, he’d gone down hard. And with his head tilted awkwardly on the armrest and lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, Oscar looked unfairly fragile.
Lando sat back, tissues pressed to his nose, watching Oscar’s chest rise and fall. The joke he’d been about to make died in his throat.
“Is he—he’s breathing, right?” Lando asked quickly, glancing at Jon.
Jon checked Oscar’s pulse, gave a short nod. “He just fainted. Must be squeamish. He’ll come around.”
Lando shifted restlessly in the chair, leg bouncing. He hated how small Oscar looked slumped there. It wasn’t like him. Oscar was supposed to be steady, unshakable. His calm against Lando’s chaos. Not… this.
“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, put him on his side or something?” Lando blurted.
Jon gave him a pointed look. “You’re the one with the nosebleed. Sit still.”
——
The world came back in pieces. Sound first, then light, then the sharp ache in his skull.
Oscar blinked against the blur above him, disoriented. Suddenly there was Lando’s face, far too close. A wad of tissues was pressed crookedly under his nose, streaks of dried red marking his skin.
Oscar frowned, his voice rough. “What… happened to you? Are you okay?”
Lando let out a shaky laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. His eyes flickered across Oscar’s face, like he couldn’t decide where to land. “Tell me that you’re okay,” he said quietly, almost desperate, “and I’m fine.”
“You’ve got blood all over your face,” Oscar muttered, because it was easier than admitting how much Lando’s expression unsettled him.
“And you,” Lando countered immediately, “passed out cold. So forgive me if I’m not worried about my bloody nose right now.”
Jon, crouched nearby, let out a theatrical sigh of relief. “Finally. Both of you awake. Can we please get through one race weekend without an injury, a fainting spell, or an impending heart attack?”
“Oi, he’s the one causing a fuss.”
Oscar shot him a glare. “You walked into a door and somehow I’m the problem?”
“Correction,” Lando sniffed, tissues still crammed under his nose. “I walked into a door and kept standing. You saw a bit of blood and dropped like a sack of potatoes.”
“That’s not—” Oscar stopped, because, well, it was.
Lando smirked, the first hint of his usual self shining through, though his voice was still rough around the edges. “Bet the media are gonna love this. McLaren drivers taken out by door and nosebleed. FIA investigates.”
Jon muttered something about idiots under his breath, but Oscar caught the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
Oscar folded his arms,“If you tell anyone I fainted—”
“Oh, I’m definitely telling everyone.” Lando interrupted, grinning. “This is going in my next Twitch stream. Might even make it the thumbnail.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me.”
Jon finally clapped his hands together, exasperated. “Alright, circus over. Lando, bathroom. Wash your face.”
“But-”
“Now.” Jon snapped, herding him toward the door like he’d done a hundred times before.
Lando groaned, dragging his feet. “You’re so bossy.” He let himself be pushed along, but just before stepping out, he paused and glanced back.
Oscar was still on the couch, pale but upright now, watching him with that unreadable look he always had.
“Bye Oscar. Love you Oscar.”
And before Oscar could even blink, let alone reply, Lando slipped out into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him. Oscar stared at the empty space, heart thudding far harder than it should for someone who’d just fainted.
“Bloody idiot.” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth curved upward anyway.