Archive of Our Own

"What color are my eyes?"

"Osc, what are you talking about?" Lando was glued to his phone, exhausted from his media day. Oscar laid next to him on the bed in their shared hotel room, equally tired but stuck on something he couldn't place.

"We were filming that video today, and you said you didn't know my eye color. Do you really not know?"

"Obviously I know, they're-" Lando turned away from his phone to look at his boyfriend, finding Oscar's eyes conveniently shut. "They're brown. Why are you so stuck on that?"

"I don't know," Oscar reopened his eyes but stared straight ahead. "It just made me feel like... I don't know." 

"You know why I said that, right?"

"I'm not quite sure I do." Oscar could feel the bed shifting next to him, but still kept his eyes straight ahead, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to fight off the anxiety creeping up his chest and into his throat. Lando now faced him entirely, laying on his side, reaching up to grab Oscar's arm. 

Lando's thumb stroked up and down Oscar's bicep, slowly and gently and soothingly, although it didn't do much for Oscar. 

"They can't... they can't know. If I had said that, that I knew you eye color, they might have-" Oscar bit his lip. 

"I know my friends' eye colors, Lan. It's not suspicious to know my eye color."

"Well I-" Lando stopped himself, pausing to think on his next words. "Oscar, look at me. Please." He reached his other hand out to Oscar's face, his touch delicate as Oscar turned to make eye contact. 

"Of course I know your eye color. I look at your eyes every day. I love your eyes. I was scared that if I started talking about them, I wouldn't be able to stop. And I know how you feel like shit when I say I don't want anybody to know, but please know that I love you more than anything. More than any Portuguese model, more than any teammate, more than anybody ever. And if I let myself talk about you for too long, everybody will know. And that can't happen, not because I don't want to be seen with you, but because.... well, you know. No driver's ever dated another driver. Maybe worse, no driver's ever dated a teammate. We don't know what would happen. We've talked about this."

"We can come out when we retire," Oscar smiled, sighing.

"Exactly."

"And I believe it when you say if you start talking about me you won't stop. Because you did it just now." Lando beamed in response. 

"Can I kiss you? Please?" Lando smiled bigger, and Oscar was unable to deny him anything. He smiled as well.

"Yes. Just once though." Lando moved the hand resting on Oscar's arm up to the other side of his face, bringing it closer to him, his eyelids fluttering closed. Lando whispered a soft declaration of love as their faces got nearer, and then, just as their lips were about to meet-

Oscar jolted up from his bed, covered in a sheen of sweat. His room was dark, save for the peek of city lights through the curtains that had opened slightly during the night and the glowing numbers of the alarm clock on his hotel nightstand. 

3:47 AM

Great. This was the third race weekend that had been riddled with vividly romantic dreams of his teammate. His teammate that was sleeping peacefully in the other room. In fact, the only reason he hadn't even gotten a podium in these past weekends was because of the dreams waking him up and keeping him up. And maybe, in addition to the lack of sleep, a part of it was him being distracted by Lando's sea green eyes and the way they stood out against the papaya orange. Maybe it was the way that Lando's dark curls fell so perfectly when he took his helmet off. Maybe it was the way the champagne stuck to him when he sprayed it over himself after a victory, making him shine and almost sparkle in the sunlight.

Maybe it was the fact that he was seeing Lando so often during race weekends, or that they had been sharing hotel rooms (McLaren was dangerously close to going over their hospitality budget and the FIA wouldn't be happy- see Red Bull 2021), and since becoming part-time roommates, for the first time, they seemed like more than co-workers. They seemed like friends. And those friendly feelings had somehow, without him realizing, turned into something more. Something a lot more. And this is when Oscar started spiraling on social media, looking at all the Landoscar posts and edits and theories and, admittedly, fanfiction on occasion, and realizing how many thousands of people had known about his feelings before he even knew himself. And although their suites were luxurious and they had their own bedrooms within them, Oscar was still on the brink of exploding with pent-up emotion.

Oscar flopped back down into the lush pillows, groaning. He was dangerously close to getting on his knees and asking God what he did to deserve this divine torture and begging him to release him from it. Maybe God would hear, and send a thin European model to fall into his lap and in love with him, distracting him from the longing and yearning and pining. But God was never that generous with Oscar, even when he asked really, really nicely.

He kicked the covers off his body, trying to let some semblance of cool air touch his skin, and stared at the blank ceiling, trying to think of anything besides the dream he just had, and how it could have- should have ended.

He thought of Lily. Maybe he could call her. They ended on good terms. They were still friends. She'd pick up if he called at probably midnight London time, right? Tears began to prick up in Oscar's eyes and he felt pathetic for even considering it. 

What about his mum? What time was it in Melbourne? She would pick up. But what would he tell her? Hey Mum, funny story, I think I'm gay and I might be in love with my entirely straight teammate and I can't stop thinking about him and he even haunts me in my dreams. Every single race weekend. And sometimes during the week too. What should I do? 

Yeah, probably not. Oscar just tried to focus on how he was going to drive during practice in a few hours, and manifested pole position in the afternoon. He was going to get a podium tomorrow if it was the last thing he did. Spraying Lando with a sticky white liquid was part of the motivation, yes, but he also needed to prove to everybody watching and analyzing his every move that he was just in a slump and that slump was over.

By the time that his picturesque (and let's be honest, realistic) manifestations began to lull him back into a merciless sleep, the smallest slivers of sunlight were beginning to peek through the Italian horizon. Oscar knew that he'd gain maybe an hour of sleep if he was lucky, then he'd have to face the subject of his worst nightmares and sweetest fantasies in the flesh. Probably shirtless, definitely angelic, and positively unattainable. Oscar was living in hell.

After a quick and fortunately dreamless sleep, a polite knock woke Oscar. He jolted up just as he had the last time, but this time he was bathed in morning sunlight, his curtains now having completely undone themselves. Following the knock, Lando slowly opened Oscar's bedroom door, peeking his head in and then the rest of his body after seeing how alarmed Oscar was, his chest heaving in panic.

"You okay, mate? It's nearly 6, did your alarm go off?" Lando stepped closer into the room, luckily for Oscar wearing a shirt, Oscar grasped at his sheets to ground himself, then checked his phone to see that Lando was correct in the time and also correct in the fact that Oscar had clumsily forgotten to set an alarm the night before.

He cursed under his breath and put his phone back face down, then dug his palms into his eyes. 

"Yeah, no. I'm sorry, I think I just slept through it. I haven't been sleeping the best lately, thanks for waking me up."

Lando hesitated, staring for a second and narrowing his eyes with something even the perceptive Oscar Piastri couldn't read, then nodded. 

"No problem. I'm gonna start some breakfast if you want any. Just some toast and fruit probably." Oscar groaned and hauled himself out of bed, not bothering to fix his rumpled t-shirt and shorts, then pushed himself into the kitchen before Lando could say anything else. 

For a grown man who lives alone during the off-season, Lando was astonishingly bad at cooking. Like, ramen noodles and dry cereal bad. Oscar was shocked that he hadn't hired a personal chef yet. So he had learned to take up most of the cooking while they were temporarily living together during race weekends. Oscar didn't really consider it a chore. The real chore was trying to ignore the pressing domesticity of chopping and mixing and frying while Lando sat at the island and watched, giving affectionate comments and bursting into giggling fits at his own jokes, giggling fits that made even Oscar smile wide, then hurry to hide it.

Oscar floated into the kitchen, empty-headed from fatigue, and grabbed some random array of ingredients from the refrigerator and started the stove. As was clockwork, Lando sat himself at the island, facing Oscar and began chatting away on the smallest thoughts that crossed his mind, and within a few minutes Oscar and whipped up an admittedly Australian breakfast, offering Lando eggs with tomato and mushroom and toast topped with avocado and lemon. It was something his mum would have made him before a race when he was karting, and the thought of his family reminded him that he had more important things to miss than a dream about kissing the teammate in front of him.

After getting his dopamine hit from seeing the way Lando's hungry eyes lit up at the sight of his new meal, Oscar settled for what was left and grabbed a second piece of avocado toast to tide him over while he returned to his room of the suite to get dressed for the day.

Race weekends used to be easier than the rest of the week for Oscar. This included what he wore. It was simple enough to grab an outfit without thinking, always opting for a shirt from the team kit and and some black jeans or something, instead of spending an hour getting ready with heavy input from his stylist at 6 in the morning for a function he didn't want to go to. Then, Oscar would go to a circuit that he knew like the back of his hand and drive like he had been doing all his life. But now his favorite part of his job was being tainted. Though, if it hadn't been affecting his performance so much, Oscar wasn't sure he would have minded.

The predictability of his McLaren uniform brought Oscar little comfort, but what lifted a weight from his shoulders was finding Lando had scarfed down most of his breakfast and was sitting quietly as he ate the rest of it, bringing a rare peace to their suite. Oscar was, for some odd reason, relieved that Lando enjoyed the food, even though it was a meal he'd made him many times and knew that Lando liked. 

Trying his hardest to keep his air of nonchalance about their blooming domesticity, Oscar approached his teammate and nudged his shoulder. 

"We should head down to the track soon, I reckon. Don't worry about the dishes, I'll do them when we get back." Lando nodded in response, then headed off to get dressed himself. It was almost like they were getting so close, they didn't need words to communicate. Like they were meant to be living together like this. If they weren't roommates for the time being, Oscar would have slept through free practice and Lando would have probably passed out from malnutrition by the time he stepped out of the car. It was almost a twist of fate, ending up in the same suite.

Oscar and Lando ended up walking to the track together from their hotel next door, bathed in the early morning sun in a way that felt far from platonic, and as was typical and expected, Lando split away and put a good distance between Oscar and himself by the time they were about to enter the paddock. Oscar knew it was subconscious and not personal in the slightest, but of course it still hurt.

Some time later, they were both suited up and sent out for their last practice, in which the pair got P2 and P3. Good, but not the best. And what was McLaren if not the best?

Oscar decided to sit in his driver room with his thoughts in the time before qualifying. Lando, Zak, Andrea, and their head mechanic decided to head out for lunch, not wanting to miss out on their opportunities on authentic Italian food, but Oscar just waved them off so they would leave him alone. He told himself he'd get something from hospitality for lunch. He told himself he needed to eat lunch or else he'd be trying to get pole position and win back his spot on top with even less energy, but something made him nauseous.

Oscar hadn't done better than P3 in the last two races. Getting second best should be the highlight of the European leg so far. He had beat Lando. He should be thrilled. But Oscar felt empty. Maybe he knew it was only practice and he had the real challenge ahead of him. 

He curled up on his couch, clutching his queasy stomach and tried to distract himself with pleasant thoughts, like his therapist had recommended.

Think about home, he reminded himself, think about Mum and Dad and Hattie and Edie and Mae. They're probably proud of you right now. They watched you and they smiled. Think about going back to Melbourne after this race, when summer break starts. 

Don't think about driving as fast as you can in a couple hours. That will come when it does. Think about the book you're reading right now, that's waiting for you in the hotel room. Think about how good you're going to sleep tonight. 

And surely enough, the pleasant thoughts Oscar was trying so hard to conjure eventually lured him into a short nap.

This rest was agreeably dreamless, until the void of black keeping Oscar's tired eyes company started talking. Vague, blurry voices, that he wasn't quite paying attention to. Just background noise. They got clearer, little by little, until he was able to make out the creak of a door and somebody walking towards him.

Oscar was shaken awake by his personal trainer, gently bringing him back to life. 

"Osc, mate, you've got to get down to the garage in like 15 minutes."

Oscar rubbed his eyes as he rose from the couch, movements languid and lethargic from his nap. It must have been at least 2 hours. Good thing he had stayed in his race suit, even if it was tied around his waist. 

"Sorry, I guess I lost track of time. I didn't sleep much last night." As he passed by his trainer through the door way, he punched Oscar in the shoulder.

"Mate. You've got to do something about that. I can get you pills or something, you know." The two of them started walking down to the garage together.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't know, bad dreams or something. I'll be fine."

"Have you at least eaten lunch?" Oscar stayed conveniently silent, avoiding eye contact. He got punched again. "Damn it, Osc. I'll go grab you something, you need to hurry down to the garage, they've been looking all over for you. Chop, chop, mate." 

Oscar hurried into a jog down the white McLaren-branded hallways, employees noticing him and moving out of the way as he went.

Usually, Monza was a pleasant track for him. It wasn't Oscar's favorite, not by a long shot, but it was nice to drive on. He definitely didn't have as many fans as Ferrari and Charles did there (he didn't expect to, by any means), but he still got a nice bit of support, which was nice after his risky overtake the year before. But for some reason, Oscar was awfully nervous. He chalked it down to not being on the podium for a while and being scared to let the team down.

Well, the team wasn't too down in the dumps. Lando had been doing pretty well. Winning 2 of the last 4 and making the podium for the others. But Oscar knew that a stern talk from Zak was coming for him if he didn't get his act together. Really, he should be talking to Lando. Oscar was hardly the problem in this situation, the way he saw it.

Oscar was greeted happily by some of the pit crew when he got to where his car was parked, receiving some pats on the back and friendly waves. It was all too much physical contact and social interaction for just having woken up, but he tolerated it. Oscar located his assistant, Rebecca, leaning against a wall and looking puzzled about a clipboard with the FIA logo slapped on it, a photographer next to her, scanning it as well.

When she looked up to see Oscar, her eyes lit up, then turned mildly furious as she reached out to grab Oscar's arm and pull him in to see what she was so bewildered by.  

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. How was your nap? Do you feel oh so refreshed?" Oscar winced at his assistant's sass, although this tended to be how she talked about half the time. The other half was affirmative and pleased, but that was usually saved for when Oscar had a good result. And of course, he hadn't been having many of those.

"We needed you probably half an hour ago, but Mark insisted we let you sleep. I hope it was worth it. Change out of your race suit, ew, and get your team kit on. Q1 is in an hour. Maybe take a shower too if you've got the time? You smell kind of awful, I don't know if anybody's told you." Oh, Rebecca. Ruthless as ever. She tilted the clipboard she was holding so Oscar could read it, pointing to the timestamps on it with a pen.

"We were supposed to get some Social content with you over lunch, maybe a quick chat for Instagram, but of course you were getting your beauty sleep, so we're having the socials manager follow around you and Darren for the time being, I guess." Darren, the photographer that McLaren hired before Oscar was even in F2, smiled at Oscar apologetically. He knew Oscar didn't enjoy doing social content much. "They'll probably just get some candid shots of you, nothing crazy. You should keep track of the both of them though, don't lose them or you'll be sorry." Rebecca glared threateningly at him, but her short stature and clearly unserious expression almost made Oscar laugh. "I've been talking to Joe about a post he and the graphics team could make- 'Piastri's Comeback Win,' or something like that. So qualify good, buddy. But you know I don't have to tell you that. You've been doing alright in the practices anyways. Now go along, get dressed." Rebecca shooed Oscar away back to his driver's room, but he knew she'd want him back as fast as possible, so he jogged back again.

Although her demeanor tended to be aggressive, whether it be positively or negatively, Oscar knew that Rebecca did care about him a lot and truly wanted what was best for him. They had been working together since his rookie season, after all. During race weekends she was flustered and knee deep in work, making her a little less personable, but the rest of the time she was incredibly warm and loving, and Oscar considered her a good friend. She was getting married over the winter break, and had even jokingly asked Oscar to be a bridesmaid (to which he politely declined but made her promise to reserve him a front row seat). 

When he closed the door on his driver's room, Oscar quickly sniffed his fireproofs, wondering if he really needed a shower, but gagged at the smell and decided that Rebecca was right. 

As quickly as possible, Oscar stripped down and showered, then changed back into a fresh set of fireproofs and his race suit tied around his waist, and ran back out to hear his assistant's next orders. 

The garage was happy to see him again, as it always was, but Rebecca was on the other side of the pit lane, chatting with Zak, seeming more cheerful than she was when she was scolding Oscar.

Oscar jogged over the the track to the pit wall, waving at Rebecca to get her attention. She stopped her conversation with the team principal, smiling but looking a little bemused. When he got up to her, she reached up to touch his hair and the grimaced. 

"Wet hair, Osc. Go find a hair dryer or something, you can't be looking soggy in your pictures" She tapped him with her pen. "Anyways, I was just talking to Zak and you've got a quick meeting with him and Lando and the strategy team. Probably to warn you about risky Lap 1 overtakes, huh?" She smiled impertinently at Oscar, shoving him gently. 

"'Too close for comfort,' 'clean racing,' 'papaya rules,' I get it. It's only quali, it isn't like it matters." Rebecca laughed, then noticed a messy, scribbled note on the margins of the schedule that only she could decipher and had clearly been a reminder for herself.

"And your trainer says he's got a late lunch for you. I think he'll bring it to you at the meeting, which is in..." She checked her watch, far cheaper than the ones that the drivers had to wear, then returned her eyes to Oscar. "Five-ish minutes. Sorry to make you run around like this, mate."

Oscar threw his head back in mock frustration, groaning, then jogged back across the pit lane, through the garage, and down the hall to the meeting room. At least he'd see Lando again. Even though they'd been together pretty much all morning, after his nap it seemed like an eternity. Maybe he was just hopelessly in love, though.

The meeting was in fact quite brief, and did, in fact, go over Oscar's dangerous lap 1 overtake last year, which is when Lando looked across the table at Oscar and smiled in a "no hard feelings" way, which made his stomach do a backflip but he chose to ignore. Then they walked out to the garage together, before going their separate ways to be strapped into their respective cars. Something about Lando willingly wanting to be near Oscar made his chest tight, but he attributed it to the photographer and socials manager trailing the 2 of them. The fangirls would love to see them together, of course.

When he drove out of the pit lane onto the track, Oscar's heart was pounding in his ears, though he wouldn't admit it to anybody. Oscar knew that if he wanted to make his comeback win, like Rebecca had recommended, it all started with qualifying good. Luckily for him, even in his slump he hadn't made a single Q1 or Q2 exit yet this season, so part of him was telling the anxiety that everything would be fine. 

And everything was fine. Oscar breezed through Q1 and Q2, and ended up setting the second fastest lap in Q3, putting him in the front row for the next day's race. It hardly could have gone better, the only better scenario would be Charles being 5 hundredths of a second slower, putting Oscar on pole. But he felt so on top of the world he didn't really care. 

The press conference following the qualifying session went by smoothly as well, which was a shock to Oscar. Some journalists from Sky and F1TV asked him predictable questions about if he thought he could get on the podium this weekend, to which Oscar responded humbly and said he'd just have to see how he performs tomorrow. His publicist smiled and nodded hearing that. She had pulled him aside before press, telling him it was crucial that he didn't let a good position get to his head too quickly. But letting things get to his head was never something Oscar was too good at. 

Lando was caught up talking to some other drivers post-press conference and looked like he was enjoying himself, so Oscar let him be and walked back to the hotel himself. If you count being "by himself" being surrounded by screaming fans and solemn bodyguards protecting and analyzing his every move. This was the part Oscar hated most about being an F1 driver. Couldn't he just drive fast and be left alone? 

The hotel was cold and quiet and empty without Lando. After doing the dishes from breakfast, Oscar was left with a whole lot of nothing to do. If his family were in town, or if he had a girlfriend, Oscar would've gone out to dinner. But neither of these scenarios were true, so he was left alone to curl up in joggers on the couch and zone out while Italian news he couldn't understand droned on in the background and he scrolled mindlessly through social media.

People were saying good things, a rarity in the Formula 1 community. Fans were tweeting about how their goat is "so back", and everything they usually said. He tried not to let the unceasing, outpouring support swell in his chest, but it gets to a point where you have to have a bit of pride, because all this is for you. Even after you didn't finish a race higher than P4 since the start of the European leg. Even after you only qualified second-best to the hottest man on the grid (even Oscar could admit that much). 

Oscar was pondering on why his fanbase hadn't given itself a nickname yet when Lando busted through the door, burnt out and exhausted from his long, napless day. He flopped down on the couch, less than a meter away from Oscar, and sighed a long, drawn out, dramatic sigh.

"I'm hungry, do you wanna grab some dinner together?" He looked over at Oscar, staring, his head tilted and eyelashes batting in a way that almost seemed seductive. But Lando was always kind of seductive about eating.

There was a huge lump in Oscar's throat that he couldn't get rid of, amongst other strong feelings swelling so big in his ribcage it felt like he'd break all of his ribs this time. 

"I qualified P3, you got P2. We should go out for dinner! I don't wanna make you cook again, and we all know I can't cook for shit. So let's go out."

"Out?"

"We could just go to the restaurant in the lobby, if you want. I'll pay." Lando seemed quite stuck on going to get dinner, so Oscar let him.

"Alright then, let's... go out. I'm gonna get changed into something nicer, maybe you should as well." Oscar knew that it might look sloppy if Lando was still out wearing his sweaty team kit to dinner with his teammate. But Lando still beamed, almost radiating light when he smiled.

"Awesome! Thanks Osc, I'll be right out!" He dashed into his respective bedroom, signaling Oscar should get up from the couch he'd been rotting on and change into something sharp that he could be seen in public in.

Usually, when it wasn't some red carpet event that his stylist directed him on, Oscar just thought: if this gets on Instagram in 2 hours, what would I want to be seen in? And that idea pointed him towards a white button up shirt and some brown pants, slightly baggier than he usually wore, per the recommendation of his younger sister who insisted that the jeans he wore were too skinny and extremely outdated. 

Waiting for Lando, Oscar sat at the island in the seat Lando had eaten breakfast in that morning and texted his publicist, updating her on the dinner situation, to which she vivaciously approved, saying she was just about to bring up that he should be seen in public with his teammate more, and that the other teams weren't really doing that yet. Oscar replied with a thumbs up emoji.

He waited for 20 more minutes, occasionally looking up from his phone to hear clothing being flung around the room with fervor (Oscar wondered how much Lando had packed in his tiny suitcase), until Lando stepped out of his bedroom, not disheveled in the slightest as the war sounds in his room would lead you to believe, giving a small spin to display his outfit, similar to Oscar's, and grabbed his own phone and wallet from the counter. 

"Alright, let's go!" Lando almost skipped out the door, his enthusiasm almost leading Oscar to forget a room key. The way he was so unbothered by anything unnerved Oscar. Ever perceptive Oscar Piastri theorized Lando was trying to run from his feelings and didn't want to be left alone, but there was also the possibility that Lando was genuinely enthralled by getting to spend quality time with Oscar. But that wasn't likely. And he had no right to even speculate on what feelings he'd be trying to run from. 

It seemed Lando never wasted a second to make conversation. He let a silent moment pass in the elevator as it descended to the lobby, before started to chat up Oscar again.

"So, are we good with the restaurant in the lobby? I kind of don't want to go anywhere else. It'd just be flash photos and madness as soon as we leave the building."

Oscar nodded. "Yep. I mean, I haven't checked the menu, but it's Italian, right? And if the team is paying for the best hotel next door to the track, it must be good, huh?"

Lando smiled, clearly pleased with the choice of restaurant. Oscar guessed he'd been wanting to go here for a while, maybe even since Monza last year. Another uncanny moment passed, where Lando rocked back and forth on his heels and Oscar stared at his shoes, until Lando stopped his movements and looked up, directly up, at Oscar.

"Osc, have I ever told you you've got beautiful hair?" Oscar's heart dropped to the bottom of his feet. His eyes widened and eyebrows shot up before he could regulate his expression and return to his neutral state, the state his face had to be in before he even thought of meeting Lando's eyes.

"Huh?"

"I dunno, I was just looking at it and man, you have got some great hair. Like it's... it's ravishing, a little bit. For the record. Sorry if that's weird, I was just thinking about it."

"No, it's no problem." Oscar prayed that Lando didn't hear the slight crack in his voice. Why did this elevator ride have to be so long? All of a sudden, Oscar felt the overwhelming need to find the nearest window and jump out of it for whatever semblance of fresh air he could get his hands on. "You.... you've got nice hair too, i suppose."

Oscar wanted so badly to make an Oscar clone so the clone could strangle him and beat him to death. What on earth was he talking about? "You've got nice hair too???" "I suppose????" Was it too late to just go back up to the hotel room and make himself some dinner from the scraps in the refrigerator and leave Lando to go eat alone? Because however cruel it sounded, it would save Oscar from any more embarrassment before it happened. Which was much needed right now.

In the most fortunate nick of time, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a busy lobby bustling with people leaving and entering and chatting. Most of them had to be motorsport fans, or else why would they be in the nicest hotel in Monza this weekend?

Oscar kept his head down and let Lando lead the way, hoping he wouldn't get noticed and asked for a photo or autograph on the hopefully short walk to the hotel restaurant.

He balled his hands into fists, squeezing as hard as he could, then released them and stretched his fingers all the way out. Then again, and again. A hardly noticeable strategy for emotional regulation in hard situations just as this, when your first crush since high school calls your hair ravishing then carries on as if nothing happened. That tends to work pretty well until there's dents in your palms from your fingernails and you realize you may be hopeless. 

Dinner flew by in a blur for Oscar. He tried to let his brain tune out and just let his heart do the talking, which wasn't something he was particularly accustomed to. But it would be easier then letting himself overthink and freak out over every tiny thing Lando says and every tiny movement he made.  

Lando was amazing at being social. He did most of the conversational heavy lifting, although it didn't even seem that heavy to him. He profusely complimented Oscar, saying how amazing his P2 was, and how he was a little jealous not to be starting on the front row, but that Oscar's position was entirely more deserved than another Lando P2 or Pole. Oscar just tried not to blush too much and smiled awkwardly. 

Since he was paying, Lando ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, opting for pasta dish. Oscar just got himself a shrimp risotto that he'd pick at for a while and ultimately not eat much of.

The waiter took both their plates back to the kitchen after two or so hours had passed since they'd sat down, and with the absence of the food also came the absence of Lando's conversation. Oscar concluded he was probably just full and didn't want to talk any more.

Oscar's eyes stayed staring at the candle burning on the table between them, bringing light to the dim, romantically lit restaurant, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Lando's eyes burning holes in his face.

"Osc, are you okay?" Oscar's head zipped up to meet Lando's. His gaze was a little apologetic, and, if Oscar didn't know any better, pitiful.

"What- what do you mean? I'm fine. Why would you even ask that?" Oscar tried to smile to prove himself as "fine," but it was hardly convincing. 

"You've hardly been sleeping, like, at all. Everybody can tell. And you ate two bites of your dinner, even though you must be starving from quali. I certainly was."

"I ate before you got back to the hotel. I wasn't that hungry. I'm fine," Oscar insisted.

"I'm sorry, I don't really believe that."

Oscar crinkled his nose, starting to scowl at Lando, which he hated. "Why can't I just not have an appetite? Since when are you my trainer? This has nothing to do with you!" But it had everything to do with him.

"You're my teammate. We're meant to be fighting for the constructor's championship together. You're half of the team, if you aren't performing, we aren't performing. We've dropped like 3 places in the championship since you've been acting like this." So this was just about the team. Ever since Miami last year, it seemed like all Lando cared about was winning. So that tracks. Oscar was foolish to think that Lando was actually worried about his wellbeing. 

Oscar stood up, grabbing his phone from the table, where it had been sitting face-down the entire dinner. "Alright. Great. So all you care about is the team, is that it? Well I'll go to bed extra early for you tonight. I'm sure that the team will appreciate it."  It felt naive and immature to storm away from dinner. But Oscar did it anyway. It was a knife in his gut to fight with Lando, that twisted with every word that was said, so he just preferred to escape it altogether. They could fight tomorrow. On the track. For all Lando cared, Oscar would be locked up in his room until the last possible minute. Lando could make his own breakfast in the morning.

Luckily for Oscar, the crowds in the lobby had thinned out significantly, making it easy to slip through to the corridor holding the numerous elevators. Looking behind him every two seconds to make sure Lando wasn't following him, which he wasn't, Oscar approached the elevators, frantically pressing the up button so he could be in the elevator as soon as possible, because as soon as the doors shut in front of him he knew he'd be safe, as least for however long it took to get back up to the top floor they were staying on.

A door opened behind him, indicated by a loud ding, and Oscar whipped around to see a group of maybe 4 or 5 people file out, certainly headed for a party by the looks of it, and Oscar darted over, smiling politely as the group passed.

He pressed the topmost button feverishly again, then the door-closing button, wishing nothing else than to be curled up in his bed, probably crying himself to sleep. That did sound soothing, no matter how depressing. 

The doors joined with a soft click, and Oscar immediately started to rise through the levels, trying not to let his mind wander. But it did. And Oscar thought to himself, Lando was right. Something was wrong with him. Oscar wasn't alright. 

He was sleeping 5 hours a night, if he was lucky. His appetite was wretched, his anxiety was out of control. He felt like crying probably half the time. His mum had even noticed over the phone, and was worried he was depressed. He couldn't tell her yet, though. He wasn't depressed, he was just cursed to be in love with a man who could never love him back.

He needed to talk to his trainer about those sleeping pills. That would do him a lot of good. 

Their suite was only a few doors down on the top floor, a relief for Oscar in this moment, making it so he wouldn't have to walk far to get to his temporary bedroom. The door opened with ease in response to Oscar's room key, and he practically ran over to his side of the suite, almost slamming the door behind him and locking it promptly after. 

Oscar changed immediately after, a result of his shirt feeling like it was suffocating him, and returned to his old joggers and t-shirt. Then he burrowed himself under the plush covers of his hotel room bed, and cried. 

He didn't really cry because he was mad at Lando. Lando didn't do anything wrong, really, besides being so focused on the team that the only reason he checked in on Oscar was to make sure the team could still be on top. He was just so tired. Obviously, he was physically exhausted, but mentally too. He was so tired of acting like he wasn't in love with Lando. Sickeningly in love. So in love that he couldn't sleep, or eat, or drive. And driving was the one thing that he had always been good at.

Lando didn't take long to come back to the hotel room. He knocked on Oscar's door and called for him, sounding apologetic and really, genuinely sad. But Oscar was too tired to respond. He didn't want to talk to Lando, nor did he want to talk to anybody, really. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, he just wanted to lay there.

Tomorrow was the race. His "comeback," as people were starting to call it, relied entirely on Oscar's performance tomorrow. A good quali session didn't mean anything if you threw it all away on the first lap. The angel on his shoulder was scolding him, telling him he should've eaten more despite his lack of appetite, and he should be sleeping right now despite the fact that however tired he was sleep would refuse to come. 

But soon enough, laying motionless in bed did slowly lull him to sleep, his tiredness pulling him somehow deeper and deeper into the mattress until he was out cold. 

"Lando, the eggs, please."

Lando was acting particularly clingy this morning. His arms were wrapped around Oscar's waist, his chin resting on Oscar's shoulder. 

"I'm cold. Can we go back to bed?" Lando whined.

"Hm. Maybe while the cookies cool," Oscar hummed, entirely planning to ignore his boyfriend. Lando lifted his head in offense.

"You haven't even baked them yet!" Lando frowned and buried his head into Oscar's neck, frustrated. Oscar smiled. It was impossible to be annoyed with Lando, no matter how annoying he was considered by others. 

"Get me the eggs from the fridge and maybe that could change." Oscar measured some vague dry ingredient and poured it into the bowl.  Lando groaned dramatically, seemingly melting off of Oscar's body and sulking to the refrigerator, grabbing two eggs from the carton and presenting them to his boyfriend, who was very grateful, allowing him a kiss on the forehead for actually listening to his instructions, which was a rarity in their relationship. Not that Oscar minded much.

There was a party at George's apartment tonight to celebrate the summer break, this being the literal only night that everybody was home in Monaco before and in between their picturesque beach vacations all over the world before returning to racing in September. George and Carmen had wanted everybody to bring some snack food for the party, and although he could have made something more skillful, Oscar had completely procrastinated and just decided to make some cookies his mum made a lot when he was little.

Their last race before break couldn't have gone better. Oscar won. Lando got P2. McLaren was on top of the championship. Their relationship was healthy. They were living in bliss. Oscar's life was idyllic. It was perfect.

Using an ice cream scooper, Oscar placed small bits of the now mixed cookie dough onto a pan that he had enlisted Lando to spray with oil before, then slipped them into the oven and set a timer on his phone. It wasn't long before the nostalgic smell of the cookies filled the kitchen, making Oscar's heart swell. After the party tonight, he'd start packing to head home to Melbourne for a few weeks, bringing Lando along with him to meet his family. The cookies reminded him of this more, exciting him. Although he's lived in Monaco for a long while now, Australia was still his home. He missed it.

"Osc, are you alright?" Lando was now sitting on the counter next to the oven, patiently awaiting the cookies, but waving his hand to get Oscar's attention. 

"Sorry, yeah, no, I'm fine. The cookies made me think of home. I miss it a lot, I don't know. I'm excited to go back though, especially with you,"  Oscar softly smiled, although he still had a hint of melancholy in his eyes. Lando pulled him in, tucking Oscar's head into his neck, because for once Oscar was shorter than him, courtesy of  the counter. "You don't need to do that," Oscar mumbled.

Lando moved his hands up to Oscar's cheeks bringing his face out to kiss him. In another relationship, Oscar would be taken off-guard, but seemingly random affection was incredibly common from Lando.

He reciprocated the kiss, ardently and willingly. He could feel Lando smile, wide and unexpected against his lips. His heart beat faster. He was at peace.

The loud ringing of Oscar's alarm ripped him from his blissful fantasy. It was still dark outside. But it was race day. And maybe today he could actually do something worth remembering. 

The thought of winning in Monza pulled Oscar up from his bed. He was suffocating the thoughts of his dream. Thinking about it, yearning for it to come true would do nothing for him. 

After a moment of returning to Earth after a deep, much needed sleep, Oscar realized his alarm was still going off and crawled over to his bedside table to turn it off, since he had rolled almost to the other side of his king-sized bed in his sleep.

5:31 AM

Below the time was a collection of messages from Lando, seeming desperate. He must have heard him crying. Oscar ignored them, feeling completely numb about his hopeless crush, and instead gave attention to the text below it from his dad, wishing him a good race. He smiled, this giving himself the energy to swing his feet over the edge of the bed and touch the ground. He then stood up, stretched his arms over his head, feeling like a cat in the sun, and retreated to the shower.

Oscar was started to feel kind of good, despite the melancholic end to his night. It was a new day, it was a new race. He just had to avoid a risky lap 1 overtake, which he would, thanks to the constant reminders, and he'd be alright. His weekend had started well, making him think that even if he didn't win, he'd place good well and score good points for the team. And even if he didn't, he'd still be okay.

His mum would be proud of this mentality he was approaching, all by himself. He was thinking rather positively in a way that he'd forgotten how to in past weeks. But somehow he knew that if he checked his messages from Lando his positive outlook would tank. Although talking to him would be inevitable, since they were living in the same hotel room. 

Oscar's shower was as cold as he could make it, washing all his anxiety off his back. A new day, a new race, he still thought, breathing deeply to avoid getting ahead of himself. He ruminated on how his day would go, trying to ease anxiety before it came.

Get dressed, eat breakfast, then walk to the paddock. Well, maybe drive. Crowds would be crazy today. He silently felt for the Ferrari drivers, who would be experiencing their usual insanity from fans, but double. Then I go to the motorhome and talk to Rebecca, then I have the strategy meeting. Then I can watch the F2 race and eat lunch. Maybe hang out with Lando. The thought of spending time with Lando was immediate and almost a reflex. Oscar winced and continued through his schedule. And then we have our race briefing, and I get warmed up, and I race. And I celebrate with the team and go eat dinner. Then I go to sleep and fly out to Monaco in the morning.

With the mental completion of his schedule, Oscar turned off the shower, stepping out to dry off and get dressed in his team kit yet again. 

The sun was starting to emerge now, peering through the curtains that Oscar hadn't bothered to close last night. He cracked open a window, breathing in the fresh morning air. He'd have to leave his room soon and see Lando. And all of a sudden, his optimism for the race was replaced with the returning numbness. Lando. He flopped back onto his bed and grabbed his phone, deciding to read the messages anyways.

Lando

8:23 PM

i'm sorry if i upset you mate. i really didn't mean it

8:25 PM

i shouldn't have worried idk it really isn't my business

8:36 PM

and yeah i care about the team obviously but i do care about you a lot and its been concerning me seeing you spiral like this

9:07 PM

i just wish you would open up and tell me whats wrong

9:08 PM

you can trust me

9:08 PM

im really sorry osc 

9:42 PM

i'm sorry i know youre ignoring me im just really worried please come out and talk to me when you read these

All of a sudden, the numbness that was built up like a wall against crushed against his ribcage, suffocating Oscar with guilt. He was being such a dick. He had no right to storm off after dinner. Lando really was worried, even if he brought it up as fear for the team. 

Oscar crept out of his room, weary of Lando waiting for him, formulating an apology in his mind, when he was shocked by the sight of Lando, still in his clothes from last night, curled up on the couch, his phone face up next to him. 

Lando stirred a little at the disruptive creaking of the door, but ultimately stayed asleep. Oscar's heart throbbed. He longed to go up and touch Lando's face, run his fingers through his dark curls. He instantly pushed the thoughts, down, protecting his peace as he explained it to himself.

Lando snored softly as Oscar opened the barren refrigerator once again, deciding on making the same breakfast as yesterday, and ignoring his pettiness to make Lando breakfast as well. Oscar's optimistic outlook for the day had been pretty much fried almost instantly.

He tried to turn on the front burner on the stove as quietly as he could manage, trying to let Lando sleep as long as he could. Although his last text wasn't sent too late, Oscar recognized the spiral he went down, verbalized in a way that Oscar just knew that he must have stayed up late, letting his thoughts deteriorate.

After spreading butter on the hot pan he had set out, Oscar cracked multiple eggs onto it, surfacing memories of his dream that he disregarded as hard as he could. Once the eggs were almost done, he took a couple slices of bread from the loaf that Lando had bought after landing in Milan and let them toast on the pan with the eggs until they finished, slicing a tomato and halving an avocado while he waited. 

This time he plated equal amounts of food for Lando and himself, a slice of toast topped with the avocado and tomato and two fried eggs for each. Oscar's lack of appetite from yesterday was starting to catch up to him, and he felt famished. Turning around from the stove to put the plates next to each other on the island, he was shocked to see Lando stirring, rubbing his eyes and groaning quietly. 

"Good morning. I made you breakfast." Oscar tried to keep his voice soft and tone neutral, wary of Lando's possibly vulnerable state. "I'll get you some water."

Lando mumbled a hardly intelligible thanks, getting up from his spot on the couch and stretching generously before sitting at his usual spot on the island, still disoriented from sleep.

Oscar filled a glass with the amount of ice he knew Lando liked the best and circled around to his spot next to his teammate on the island. Lando wasted no time digging into the breakfast, seemingly not affected by their argument last night. Oscar was hesitant to even call it an argument, rather Oscar getting angry at an expression of worry. 

Oscar took a few bites, then stopped, watching Lando in the least suspicious way possible.

"I'm sorry about last night," Oscar said so timidly it was almost a whisper. Lando looked up, shocked and sort of confused.

"What are you talking about? It's fine, it's whatever. I was out of line. It's whatever." Lando continued on his breakfast, nearly done.

"No, really it isn't. I overreacted. I was kind of a dick. I shouldn't have left dinner and I shouldn't have ignored you. And you weren't out of line, I really... you're right. I haven't been doing great."

Lando stopped eating, now curious. Oscar knew that this was what Lando wanted to know, assuming as much from his desperate texts. 

"Something's been going on with me, and I can't really talk about it, and for that I'm truly sorry. I want to be able to tell you, I just can't."

"That's okay," Lando said gingerly, as if he were speaking to a scared dog. "I just want to help you. I'm not just worried about the team, I'm worried about you. A lot." 

Oscar was unsure on how to respond. How could Lando help him? The easiest options would either be leave him alone and move far far away forever, so he'd be far from Oscar's mind forever, or drop everything and kiss him silly until he couldn't breathe and skip the race to run away together. Either works, but neither were plausible in the slightest. 

"Lando, I... I don't know. I'm gonna talk to my trainer about sleeping medicine. That will probably make me feel better."

"I mean, yeah, that's good, but you just seem so sad. And kind of really irritable. Like last night." Oscar almost lashed out at this, wanting to say that Lando would be sad and irritable as well if he was in a slump. But then he realized that was him being irritable and swallowed it down. "I can tell you're really anxious, and I mean, I get anxious too, but you're like biting your nails and pacing and just generally being restless. It's just really worrying." Oscar tried to inconspicuously check his fingernails, and lo and behold, they really were bitten down. He hadn't even realized.

"I don't know what to tell you. I won't lie and say that I'm fine because I'm not, but that's all there is to it. I'll get better. I'm- I'm feeling better already. It's not really that serious. I'm just in a bit of a slump." Oscar continued to pick at his food, feeling wholly done with this conversation. "But really, I am sorry for being so pissy last night. I was an asshole, so.... yeah, I'm sorry. I saw your texts, I felt bad."  

"It's whatever. What time is it? Should we head down to the track soon?"  

Oscar nodded. "It's 6:30. You should get dressed soon. I can clean up, if you're done." Out of character for himself, Lando stood up and scraped the crumbs off of his plate into the trashcan and rinsed it off in the sink, subsequently placing it in the dishwasher next to the plate's from yesterday's breakfast. He said nothing and retreated to his room.

Oscar found himself a little dumbstruck by this, but continued to copy Lando, shortly after scarfing down the rest of his breakfast since his appetite had suddenly returned as soon as Lando disappeared. 

Not long after, Lando came out from his room matching Oscar in a team kit shirt, shockingly smiling a little bit. Oscar had gotten the idea that Lando would be unhappy the rest of the day, but apparently all he needed was some breakfast and a change of clothes. Almost skipping out the door, Lando grabbed his room key and phone from the couch, along with his backpack sitting on the third unoccupied stool at the island.

It nearly gave Oscar deja vu, the way he just ignored all his other feelings and smiled, the same as last night before dinner. But he didn't really think much of it and followed Lando suit with his own bag. Maybe he should take a page out of Lando's book, though. What ever happened to the optimistic mindset that he had an hour ago? It was almost like seeing Lando so demoralized had drained it completely. 

Their ride down the elevator was silent. It was thick and awkward, but also somewhat normal and domestic. Oscar brought his hand up to his mouth to chew on his fingernail, but then realized and stopped himself. How had he never caught that before?

Since it was so early in the morning, there weren't many fans patiently awaiting them, allowing the walk to the track to be calm to a certain extent. They could never really escape the asking for photos and autographs. 

Entering the paddock, there were cameras galore, as always, but Oscar still thought it appropriate to continue the talk they had started over breakfast.

"Are we okay? Like, still friends? You're kind of acting like nothing happened," Oscar murmured loud enough that only Lando could hear as he scanned his paddock pass on the gate.

"We're fine! It just seemed like it was hard for you to talk about, so I didn't want to make you uncomfortable." Lando scanned his pass right after Oscar did, granting himself access as well. There was media all around them as soon as they stepped foot through the gates. They should probably watch their words.

"I suppose you're right," Oscar replied simply enough, secretly thinking to himself that Lando's response seemed like a psychotic cop-out and he had to be hiding something. But if Oscar had to be transparent with his feelings, why didn't Lando have to be?

The pair waved to some cameras and answered a few quick questions on the way to the briefing. Well, it really isn't any of my business what Lando is or isn't hiding, thought Oscar. The same with how my shit isn't any of his business. He just got it out of me because I'm in love with him.

The briefing was calm. The strategists were confident. They walked the drivers through their plans for the race, specifying their proposals for tires and numbers of pitstops. They admitted they were slightly prioritizing Oscar today, and he was ashamed of the swell of pride inside his ribcage. That didn't happen much anymore.

The rest of Oscar's day went by in a blur. Probably because he didn't see much of Lando, who was out in separate meetings and whatnot. It seemed like time went faster and consecutively slower while he was with Lando. Oscar got to watch the F2 feature race, which he very much enjoyed, and noted a couple drivers that could become a threat to him in coming years if they were put in the right cars. He ate lunch in the motorhome with Rebecca, who had lots of insults to sling and an equal amount of praise to bestow, then she shooed him away after long enough to get in his place for the driver's parade. 

The parade went about as smoothly as ever. Oscar stood next to Lando and they talked about mundane things like what they were thinking about for dinner if either of them won the race. The domesticity, again. The smart devil on his shoulder told him he was making that up completely, and this "domesticity" he was convincing himself of was the reason he was having dreams about baking cookies with his teammate and bringing him home to Australia. The angel couldn't argue with that. 

After a good amount of waving at fans cheering from the grandstands, the parade ended and Oscar had to be separated from Lando again so they could return to their respective driver's rooms to prepare for the race, only having a short slot of time before the national anthem. Lando turned on his music in his room next door, something that would have irritated Oscar a little bit last year but now, he found himself increasingly fond of the annoying habit.

His music abruptly stopped after a little while, and Oscar then heard the door next to him open and close, and then the soft padding of Lando's feet as he walked, then began to jog away to the garage. 

This snapped Oscar out, making him realize he had been spacing out the entire time, not even bothering to change into his race suit. He changed as quickly as he could and dashed out behind Lando.

Rebecca was there to talk him through the pre-race schedule when he showed up, standing in the same spot where she was leaning against the wall with the photographer yesterday. She nudged him in the side and encouraged him to get a podium. Oscar smiled but still told himself he'd be fine if he didn't. He'd be fine.

The usual race anxiety made the national anthem and buzz before the race started fly by. Then Oscar stepped into his car, feeling the eyes of the world on his back, and took a long deep breath. 

He drove out of the pit lane onto the track, and did the formation lap, ending in the front row for the first time weeks. Then he watched as each red light flashed, then went out.

Starting P2 was already a dream for Oscar, but he was able to overtake Charles on the first lap (cleanly, with lots of wiggle room, he might add), leading for about half the race, ending in second again after Charles reclaimed his spot in the lead following a well timed pitstop. Lando ended P3. They sprayed each other with champagne for the first time in 4 races and the pit crew embraced him tightly. Rebecca screamed when she saw him after the race, hugging him and kissing him on the cheek, repeating over and over how proud she was. But a part of Oscar was ashamed that he was being praised so highly for a result he would've usually gotten anyways, on a bad day at that. His almost fictitious yearning had lowered the standards for him so incredibly he was being exalted for second step on the podium as if he had gotten the first one.

Oscar silently swore to himself that he'd get first in the next race if it was the last thing he did. Then he headed back to the hotel to take another shower. 

Lando came back much later than Oscar did, the same as last night. Evidently, he took his podium celebrations seriously. Oscar was drying his hair in his bathroom when the door creaked open, cautiously and quietly. For some reason, he thought Lando would be loud and wasted, but he seemed rather sober.

Lando was rustling around in the kitchen for a few minutes, then peeked into Oscar's room. 

"Osc? Are you in here?" 

"Yeah," Oscar called in response. "I just took a shower, let me get dressed."

Lando stuttered over his words for a moment before answered. 

"Alright. Come out when you're done, I wanna.... I wanna talk to you." Oscar furrowed his eyebrows at that. What could he possibly want to talk to Oscar about? He surmised that it Lando was mad about getting P3, but Oscar had told himself all night that he deserved to beat Lando. He drove faster, he drove cleaner. Lando still got a podium, at least. Still, he braced for argument as he changed into an old t-shirt and shorts.

Lando was sitting out on the couch, his posture shockingly good, in a creepy way. Lando would usually be more relaxed, but he was sitting up perfectly straight, staring at his socks. Hearing the door open, Lando looked up.

"Hi. Sit down, please," Lando said, appallingly unsure of himself. Oscar did as he was told, sitting next to Lando but leaving a good distance between them. Lando turned to face him, bringing his legs up on the couch with him.

"I'm really proud of you, you know. You drove great today," Lando smiled. Oscar tried his hardest to stop his face from contorting in an expression of disgusted confusion.

"If you're trying to butter me up so I apologize for placing higher than you, it won't work." Lando didn't seem as concerned with hiding his expressions, because his disgusted confusion was apparent.

"Why would I want you to apologize? I really am happy for you, mate. You had an amazing comeback. Even if I didn't win, we still got a double podium and the team is getting back on top for Constructors'." Lando gasped, like he had upset a sick child. "I mean, good for the team, but also good for you. You're back where you deserve to be and driving how I know you're able to. Really, I am proud. I'm not jealous that you got higher than me. Not at all."

Oscar hummed in assent.

"Thanks. Really, it does mean a lot. I think a part of what kept me down so long was seeing you get podium after podium while I'm stuck scoring 8 points, or whatever," Oscar smiled, his voice soft.

"Well, to celebrate our double podium, I got us some champagne. Just to drink, not to spray. I know you just took a shower." Lando got up to grab the bottle of champagne on the counter, which looked rather expensive. Oscar didn't know how he had missed that when he entered the room. 

Ensuring that Lando couldn't see, he smiled affectionately as Lando struggled to open the champagne bottle without spilling it all over the counter, watched contently as Lando poured the champagne flutes nearly to the brim. Oscar wouldn't even drink half of that, but he was sure that Lando would finish it off without a problem.

Balancing the flutes and trying not to let them spill from the short walk from the counter to the couch, Lando walked with an almost absurd gait. It took everything in Oscar not to let out a giggle. 

When Lando returned, Oscar took a generous sip of the sweet champagne and realized how long it had been since he had tasted straight champagne without all the spraying. It was kind of nice.

"This is really good, Lan. Where'd you get it?" Oscar implored, less out of curiosity and more out of just wanting to talk to his teammate, now that he knew he wasn't mad.

"I have my ways," Lando grinned, downing a good fraction of his champagne in his first sip. "Shit, this really is good." He brought the flute up to his eyes to examine it. Oscar laughed, realizing after how enamored he sounded, and how the editors on TikTok would've had a field day with his laugh if it had been on camera. 

Oscar let himself watch Lando for a few more seconds, fueling his obsession, then looked back at his champagne and took a tiny taste to seem like he hadn't been staring. Even though he would if he could.

Then, peculiarly enough, Oscar felt Lando's eyes on him, almost boring a hole in his skull. He ignored it for as long as he could, then turned his head back to meet his eyes. Lando's head was slightly cocked, his eyebrows furrowed like he was in the midst of making a revelation. 

"Oscar," he whispered, probably quieter than Lando had ever talked, and leaned his face in closer to Oscar's. 

Oscar, flustered and confused, scrambled back. Lando whined. But it wasn't in the way he usually did, loud and dramatic and performed, but this time soft and slightly frustrated. 

"Osc. Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes are. I love them. I just think, maybe I never brought it up because I think if I started talking about them I wouldn't be able to stop." Oscar felt like he was having a panic attack. He tried to ignore the blood rushing to his face.

"Lando, how much have you had to drink?"

Shakily, Lando put his flute down on the coffee table. "Nothing. Just the champagne, actually. I know you won't believe me."

"What are you doing, then? Why are you.... why are you talking about my eyes? What is this? Why'd you get me the champagne?"

"I got you the champagne because you deserved it. I.... I'm...." Lando bit his lip, searching for words. "How long have you liked me?"

Oscar's heart lurched. He thanked God that he didn't have any champagne in his mouth because he would have spit it out. He couldn't even meet Lando's eyes. He thought of denying it, in fact, it was his first and most glaring thought, but then decided Lando would have found out eventually.

"I.... I don't know," Oscar whispered. His voice came out timid, cracking in the slightest. "Um... a while, I think. I'm sorry." He waited for Lando to say something, but he was silent. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It just... I don't know. I reckon maybe a few months, though. That what made me so.... you know. Not sleeping, not eating."

"Because of me?" Lando exhaled, almost like a shocked laugh. "I thought, maybe a family member died or something... I guess I'm sorry." 

Oscar found it in him to laugh as well.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. It's... it was all me. You didn't do anything wrong."

The pair was silent for a few more beats again. 

"How long have you known about me... you know," Oscar murmured, afraid to raise his voice any louder. 

"Hm. I've had my suspicions since last season. I think I really started to know when we became roommates." Now Oscar was just embarrassed. "But I wanted to tell you- I wanted to know because I think I like you too. I do like you. A lot. Well, I don't want to scare you but, really I might be in love with you. For a while now, as well."

Oscar nearly vomited. He had to bring his hand to his mouth to prevent it. His vision started spinning. He felt more like he was going to pass out than when he raced without eating breakfast. Whatever small bit of alcohol he'd drank must be really taking its toll.

He thought he said something like "what?" but his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that he couldn't really tell. He looked over at Lando, who was still talking, but his words were completely unintelligible. 

It took Oscar a moment to regain his bearings, trying as hard as he could to breathe evenly and deeply, but the panic in his lungs prevented it. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking harder than the first time he'd driven a Formula 1 car. 

Lando reached over to touch his shoulder, the contact making Oscar's heart start up again, but now he was able to hear Lando's voice start to fade into audibility. 

"Oscar. Oscar, are you okay?"

The gentle weight of Lando's hand grounded him significantly. Oscar reached up to his face, his movements still shaky, and felt his cheeks were wet with tears. He didn't even know when he started crying. 

"Is this a joke? Did somebody put you up to this? I haven't even told anybody." Oscar could see the way Lando's heart broke in his eyes when he heard that.

"No, it's not a joke. Why would you think that? I- I'm sorry for freaking you out so bad, I really didn't mean to, I just thought you deserved to know." 

"This is probably so unattractive. You tell me you're in love with me and I nearly have a panic attack," Oscar laughed bitterly, but Lando didn't.

"I mean, it's not the hottest thing I've seen, but I'll bear with it." This time Lando did laugh. It was a sweet laugh straight from his chest, and it was music to Oscar's ears. His heart beat was slow and calm now. He could begin to think straight.

"Wait, I didn't know you were-" Oscar struggled to find the words without wanted to offend Lando. "I didn't know you were...."

"Gay?" Hearing it out loud made Oscar cackle, amusing something deep inside of him, some denial that he'd been pushing down for months that dearly needed to be entertained. The sound of Oscar laughing made Lando laugh too, although that wasn't nearly as unusual. "Yeah, I don't know. I don't really know what I am," Lando said as he caught his breath. "I just know that I think you're like the most beautiful person I've ever seen and I want to be with you more than anything. Like, anything ever."

"You want to be with me? Like, as a boyfriend?" Oscar was genuinely confused now, but Lando laughed again. Loud enough that whoever was in the hotel room next door would be wondering what could be so funny. 

"Yes, together like a boyfriend. Obviously. What else would I mean?" Oscar's heart started to pound again, and he felt the panic set in. It must have been obvious by the way Lando quickly jumped back in. "Or not. We don't have to if that's not what you want."

"Of course it's what I want," Oscar cried. "It's all I've ever wanted." Before he could think, Lando crushed him in a hug. His chin fit nicely on Oscars shoulder, Oscar noted. They hadn't really hugged like this before.

Lando pulled away, and moved his hands up to Oscar's face, which he assumed was still quite flushed. 

"My boyfriend," Lando gasped. "Beautiful."

"You're just saying that."

"Can I kiss you? Please?" Lando smiled, and Oscar was unable to deny him anything.

"Just once." And this made Lando beam.