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Oscar stands just outside the press conference, pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes locked on the floor tiles. He should go inside. He’s been standing there for almost three minutes, just… buffering. But once he goes in, people will start talking to him and he isn’t sure he can talk back yet. Everyone is so loud today. His ears are ringing.
“Oscar?” Lando’s voice comes from just behind him. “You alright, mate?”
Oscar swallows. “Yeah. Just not ready to go in.”
“I think we still have a few minutes, no rush. What’s holding you up?”
“I’m – ” he hesitates. “It’s the lights. Too bright.”
Lando hums quietly. “Okay. Want some sunglasses?”
“I have some in my bag,” Oscar murmurs. “But people will look at me funny.”
“Because of the glasses?”
Oscar nods. “Because you’re not supposed to wear them inside.”
“Right,” Lando says slowly. “Well, we can tell them you have a migraine.”
“… but I don’t.”
“I know,” Lando says with a quiet laugh.
“So it’s lying.”
“Um. Yeah, just a little bit, but I think it’ll be alright.”
Oscar processes that. Slowly.
“Do you want to sit?” Lando asks.
“… we’re supposed to go inside.”
“It’ll be alright,” Lando tells him. “They can wait another minute.”
“Okay. A minute. But I don’t want to sit. The floor looks dirty.”
“Fair enough,” Lando laughs.
Oscar shifts on his feet, tugging his hoodie sleeves low to cover his hands entirely. “Lando?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course,” Lando nods immediately. “Anything.”
Oscar takes a big breath through his nose. “I don’t… feel so big. Do you know what I mean?”
Lando always had a feeling. Since they became teammates, it was just there in the back of his mind – a suspicion that Oscar was hiding his classification. But Lando’s a caregiver, so he gets that feeling about everyone. His own classification has never meant much, though. No one’s ever actually let him do it.
Being a little is a much bigger deal. Oscar hides it well; the media and everyone would be horrible if they knew.
“I think I know what you mean, Osc,” Lando says. “You don't have to be embarrassed about it or anything. I know people think littles are supposed to be a certain way, but they aren't always, right? There’s no one way to be a little. Just like there’s not just one way to be a caregiver." He waits a second, then adds, "You know I’m a caregiver, right?”
Oscar nods carefully.
“Have you had one before?” Lando asks tentatively.
“Not really.” Oscar shrugs. “They don’t usually get me. I think I can be difficult.”
Lando tries not to seem too excited that Oscar is opening up, tells his brain to stop skipping ahead. But he’s meant to be a caregiver, his heart aches for it, and he’s positive Oscar is a perfect little.
“I’m sure you’re not hard to understand,” he says. “You probably just need someone who listens.”
Oscar’s eyes search his face wearily. “Do you…? Listen?”
Lando’s expression softens. “I can try to.”
Oscar stands near the entryway to Lando's apartment, clutching his backpack straps.
“You can take your shoes off if you want,” Lando says brightly. “Or leave ‘em on. My house has, like, no rules.”
Oscar blinks. “No rules?”
Lando grins. “Well. Don’t set anything on fire.”
“… I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Perfect,” Lando laughs.
They spend the first half hour on the couch, just talking. Lando asks gentle questions, making Oscar feel comfortable and letting him regress. He tries to feel out exactly how old Oscar is, and when he finally has an idea, he claps his hands excitedly. “I think it’s playtime!”
“What are we gonna play?” Oscar asks softly.
“How about legos?” Lando asks, already standing. “I’ve got loads. We can make a car. Or a spaceship. Or a duck – I’m really good at ducks.”
Oscar’s head tilts as he processes. Then he nods once. “Okay.”
Lando beams proudly and they move to the floor. Lando crawls toward a plastic bin under the TV stand, dragging it out with his own kind of childlike enthusiasm. Oscar sits carefully beside him, legs tucked neatly under himself, hands folded in his lap.
Lando flips the lid off the bin and dumps it onto the carpet.
A tidal wave of plastic clatters around them. Reds and blues and yellows mix with wheels and technic rods and dust bunnies. Lando realizes then that he probably should’ve vacuumed, but he's more focused on Oscar.
His whole body has gone tense, eyes wide. His fingers curl tightly against his knees.
“Osc?” Lando asks.
Oscar doesn’t answer. His brows pull together as he stares at the pile like it’s some sort of crime scene.
“Is something wrong?”
“There’s… so many…” Oscar mutters.
“Yeah!” Lando says, smiling uncertainly. “That’s good, right? We have so many options.”
“But they’re… they’re all together.” Oscar shakes his head, voice strained. “They can’t be like that.”
“Um. Can you tell me what you mean, Osc?”
“They can’t be mixed up!” Oscar snaps.
Lando flinches. “Oh – oh, okay. I’m sorry.”
Oscar curls into himself, breath coming quicker now. He’s not crying yet, but he’s definitely overwhelmed. Lando’s heart squeezes, afraid he’s messed up with his very first little. Instinct screams at him – do something, say something, fix it.
“What about – what if we sort them?” Lando asks.
Oscar eyes him skeptically, still grimacing.
Lando doubles down. “Sorting is, like, really fun. It’s probably my second or third favorite hobby.”
“… okay.” Oscar nods slowly, then more sure. “Okay, yeah. Good idea.”
“Okay,” Lando says, jumping up. “Okay, okay. Bowls. We can use bowls. I'll get them, you stay here.”
He scrambles into the kitchen, throwing open cupboards. He returns with an assortment of big and small mixing bowls, a cereal bowl, and, for lack of a better option, a christmas themed cookie tin.
He sets them down around the chaotic pile of plastic and asks, “How should we sort them? Colors? Shapes? Sizes?”
Oscar’s gaze drifts from the mess to the bowls. He whispers quietly, “Colors, I think.”
Lando finally smiles again. “We can do that. Absolutely. Just tell me where you want ‘em.”
Oscar tentatively picks up a single blue brick and places it into a mixing bowl. “This one is for blue.”
“Blue. Got it.”
Lando picks up a red brick next and waits for further instruction.
Oscar points to the cookie tin. “In there.”
Lando places it inside.
They continue like that, brick by brick, until Oscar’s breathing steadies out and his tension drains.
“Hey, Oscar?”
Oscar doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”
Lando risks a soft, curious question. “Does sorting help your brain feel quieter?”
Oscar pauses, a yellow brick suspended over the correct bowl. Then he nods.
“Good to know.” Lando feels his chest warm with a quiet victory. He adds, just as gently, “I like when you tell me what works for you. Makes it easier for me to be good at this.”
Oscar’s ears go pink. He ducks his head, looking at the bowls with sudden, intense focus. “… okay, Lando.”
Lando feels a surge of something so pure and protective it almost hurts. He wants to be good at this for him. Wants to be the person Oscar trusts.
Oscar keeps working:
Red in the cookie tin.
Blue in the big bowl.
Green in the medium bowl.
Yellow in the littlest bowl.
Special ones in a jar with the lid that goes ‘click’ (Oscar likes that one best).
He finishes the last of the scattered bricks. Finally. He sits back on his heels, arms wrapped around himself. The mess is gone. The noise is gone. This is much better.
Lando’s voice startles him slightly. “This looks so cool!”
Oscar doesn’t know if ‘cool’ is the right word, but it does look correct. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“No need to thank me, Osc,” Lando says, smiling at the neat arrangement of colors. “Do you want to build something now?”
Oscar shakes his head no.
“Oh,” Lando pauses. “Um. Okay.”
He seems disappointed about not building, but Oscar doesn’t want to mess it all up.
“Can I have a snack?” he asks quietly.
“Of course!” Lando says. “Let’s get a snack.”
He leads them into the kitchen, much more excited about the whole thing than Oscar is.
“Do you like cheese puffs?”
Oscar wrinkles his nose. Cheese puffs taste good, but… no. “They make my fingers dirty.”
“Right, yeah. We don't want dirty fingers. Totally fair.” Lando rummages around in the pantry a little more. “How about cookies?”
Cookies do taste good, Oscar thinks. But crumbs get stuck on his lips and in the corner of his mouth and sometimes on his shirt and then he has to wash his hands for too long and –
“No.”
“Are you suuure?” Lando asks. “I have chocolate chip! Everyone loves chocolate chip.”
“Crumbs,” Oscar mumbles, looking away.
“I see. Alright. No crumbs then,” Lando sasy easily.
Oscar just blinks at him. Lando acts like every rule is normal. Not weird. It’s new. Oscar hears more rustling, something clatters, Lando says a bad word and then – “Aha!”
He turns around holding a bag of big white marshmallows.
“Yes,” Oscar says immediately.
Marshmallows won’t make his fingers dirty.
Marshmallows don’t make crumbs.
Marshmallows are soft and sweet.
Lando opens the bag and pours a few onto a plate, smiling so bright that Oscar can’t help but smile back. He picks up one marshmallow and inspects it for wrinkles or imperfections. It’s smooth. Good. He pops it in his mouth and it’s perfect.
“You know what would be amazing with these?” Lando says, leaning forward like it’s a secret. “Hot chocolate.”
Oscar pauses mid-chew.
Hot chocolate is his favorite.
He nods quickly.
“Yes?” Lando practically jumps. “Okay! I’m on it. One hot chocolate for Mr. Piastri.”
He moves fast, excited-fast, humming through the kitchen. It’s so silly, Oscar giggles. Lando returns triumphantly, handing him the steamy mug carefully.
Oscar looks inside and –
the marshmallows are in the hot chocolate.
In it.
Melting.
“No.”
Lando freezes, smile dropping. “Huh?”
Oscar’s breath speeds up. “No no no no – ”
“Hey, hey – what’s wrong?”
Oscar stares at the mug, horrified.
Lando follows his gaze. “Is it the marshmallows?”
“Why did you put them in it?” Oscar whines. “They’re getting wet. They’re melting! They’re… not supposed to go in. Lando – ”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lando assures him, gently taking the mug back. “We can fix it.”
Oscar presses his palm against his eye to keep from crying. “They were supposed to be separate.”
“I’m so sorry, Osc, I didn’t know. I can make a new one, yeah?”
Oscar swallows, shoulders trembling. “ … okay,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Lando says. “This one can be for me.”
He makes a fresh mug of perfectly plain hot chocolate and Oscar exhales.
Lando sits beside him, watching his face carefully. “Better?”
Oscar nods and Lando grins like he just won a prize.
“Good,” he says softly. “You just tell me if anything feels wrong, yeah?”
Oscar leans a tiny bit against Lando’s arm.
“I told you,” he murmurs.
Lando’s smile grows even softer. “Yeah, you did.”