Chapter Text
The chaos began, as it always did, precisely at 7:03 AM.
Oscar Piastri heard it before he saw it the muffled curse, the thump of a shoulder against a doorframe, the frantic scrabbling of keys on the polished concrete floor of the penthouse foyer. He didn't look up from his tablet, his thumb scrolling smoothly through the overnight Asian market reports. The espresso machine beside him hissed its final sigh, producing a perfect, crema topped doppio just as Lando Norris, CEO of NxGen Technologies, stumbled into the vast, sunlit living area.
“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late oh, bless you, you beautiful, beautiful man,” Lando chanted, his voice a sleep rough garble. He was a tornado of mismatched sartorial energy one shoe on, the other in his hand, a suit jacket thrown over what was unmistakably last night’s t-shirt, his hair a glorious, cinnamon brown disaster.
“Board strategy review starts at 7:30. You’re not late. You’re predictably, manageably behind schedule,” Oscar said, his voice a low, even calm. He pushed the espresso cup across the kitchen island with one hand and, with the other, snagged a navy blue silk tie from the back of a barstool. “Your 9:15 with the venture capitalists from Berlin has been pushed to 10 due to their flight delay. I’ve updated your calendar and sent apologies to your 11:00, who will now take a working lunch with you.”
Lando seized the coffee, draining half of it in a gulp that had to scald. “You’re a wizard. A saint. The actual beating heart of this corporation.” He shrugged into his jacket, missing the armhole twice before managing it.
“I’m the Chief Financial and Operations Officer,” Oscar corrected dryly, coming around the island. “Turn.” He looped the tie around Lando’s neck, his movements efficient and impersonal. Up close, he could see the faint shadows under Lando’s eyes, the result of another night spent tinkering with prototype code instead of sleeping. “You finalised the Q3 projections I left on your desk?”
“Yes, boss,” Lando said, tilting his chin up obediently as Oscar fixed the knot. His eyes, a bright, restless hazel, darted over Oscar’s face. “I made one tweak to the R&D allocation. Emailed it to you at… 2:47 AM. Did you see it?”
“I approved it at 6:15. It was a good tweak.” Oscar gave the knot a final, neat tighten and smoothed down Lando’s collar. There was a faint, familiar scent clinging to him expensive sandalwood soap, the sharp, clean note of his deodorant, and underneath, the unique, warm scent that was just Lando. Oscar had catalogued it twelve years ago, in a university dorm that smelled of stale pizza and ambition. He stepped back, breaking the proximity. “The car is downstairs. Your presentation for the board is loaded on the tablet in your briefcase. I’ve highlighted the sections you tend to ramble on. Stick to the script.”
“I don’t ramble,” Lando protested, finally putting on his other shoe. “I expound. It’s charismatic.”
“It tries the patience of men who control our liquidity buffers. Charisma doesn’t pay the bills. My spreadsheet does.” Oscar collected his own things a slim laptop bag, his phone, a keysmart. His own appearance was a study in contrast to Lando’s beautiful disaster charcoal wool trousers, a crisp white shirt open at the collar, a navy knit jumper draped over his shoulders. Impeccable, controlled, ready to deflect the day’s chaos before it could reach his CEO.
This was their dance. The foundational rhythm of their lives since they’d scribbled the first business plan on a napkin at the campus pub. Lando was the visionary spark, the irresistible, chaotic force that could charm investors and conceive of technology that bent the future. Oscar was the architecture built around that spark the foundation, the wiring, the safety nets. Lando dreamed in sweeping, brilliant strokes. Oscar dreamed in balance sheets and logistical flowcharts. Together, they had built something formidable from that napkin NxGen, a titan in green tech and AI integration, with its shining headquarters on the South Bank and a valuation that made the financial press swoon.
Lando owned the public face, the family name, the CEO title. But the engine, the relentless, quiet engine that kept the entire edifice from vibrating apart, was Oscar.
The drive to the office was a continuance of the morning’s ritual. Oscar in the back of the Bentley with Lando, reading out the day’s headlines, filtering the relevant from the noise.
“…and the FT is running a profile on Max’s new acquisition in Rotterdam,” Oscar said, scrolling.
Lando, finally looking almost composed, perked up. “Oh! Are you seeing him and Charles this week?”
“Tomorrow night. Dinner at their's in Mayfair.” Oscar kept his tone casual, easy. He’d been openly gay since university, and his closeness with his cousin Max Verstappen a business titan in his own right, if in the more traditional world of logistics and shipping and Max’s husband, Charles Leclerc, was no secret. They were his family, his refuge of normalcy away from the NxGen whirlwind.
A complicated shadow flickered across Lando’s face, too fast to decipher. It was a look Oscar had seen more often recently a fleeting tension around the eyes, a closing off. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a slightly forced grin. “Say hi for me. Tell Max I still want a rematch on the simulator he’s got hidden in that basement of his.”
“I’ll convey your challenge,” Oscar said, marking the end of the personal. “Now, the board. Remember, Henderson is going to push back on the Bristol expansion. He’s old guard, thinks it’s too fast. Your counter argument is on page four.”
Lando nodded, his focus snapping back to business, the earlier shadow forgotten. Or buried. “Right. Page four. Got it.”
They entered the NxGen tower in a synchronized whirlwind. The lobby staff snapped to attention. “Mr. Norris. Mr. Piastri.” Lando offered waves and distracted smiles. Oscar gave curt, acknowledging nods. In the private elevator, Lando fidgeted with his tie the one Oscar had tied until Oscar reached over and stilled his hand with a touch.
“Stop. You’ll ruin it.”
Lando stilled,his fingers warm under Oscar’s. For a second, the elevator was silent save for its hum. Then the doors pinged open on the executive floor, and the world rushed in.
“Lando! Oscar! Thank God.” Sarah, Lando’s increasingly harried PA, descended on them, a tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. “The coffee machine in the boardroom is dead. IT says it’s not their problem, Catering says it is, and Mr. Henderson is already here and asking for coffee.”
Lando looked momentarily panicked, his eyes darting to Oscar. A silent, familiar plea Fix it.
Oscar didn’t sigh. He turned to Sarah, his voice a pillar of calm in her storm. “Sarah, send someone to the café on the ground floor. Get two French presses, their best blend, and a selection of pastries. Put it on my corporate card. Tell Henderson it’s a new, artisanal trial we’re considering for the staff kitchens. He’ll be too busy feeling opinionated to be annoyed.”
Sarah sagged with relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Oscar.”
“He’s the CFO,”Lando said, the grin back, real this time, bright and fond as he clapped Oscar on the shoulder. “He’s my lifesaver.”
As they parted ways at the junction of corridors Lando to his office for a final, frantic prep, Oscar to his own serene domain to check the markets Oscar felt the usual, quiet thrum of satisfaction. The engine was purring. The chaos was contained. This was their equilibrium. This was their life.
He had no way of knowing that Lando, standing in his office staring blankly at his reflection in the glass wall, was quietly, terrifyingly, about to throw a grenade into the very center of it all.