Chapter Text
“Osc”
Damnit.
Oscar hates that nickname. He hates how it makes him feel. Hates all the buzzing he gets in his stomach when he hears it. How just the sound of it makes his shoulders relax involuntarily, like the one syllable is capable of releasing all the tension in his body. He hates how he reacts to it, how his head snaps up when he hears it, always searching for the one who called, how his cheeks turn a little pink when it’s said in front of the cameras. How he physically can’t suppress the smile it conjures. He hates how, even without the cameras, he still flushes when he hears it. How it’s call from down the corridor gets his heart rate up.
Oscar hates the butterflies. Hates the blush. Hates the heart palpitations. And worst of all, he hates that he knows why. He knows why this name affects him. He knows why he can’t downplay these emotions. He just can’t seem to get a freaking grip. He needs to get over this crush. The one he has on his teammate. His rival. He needs to get over his crush on Lando.
Easier said than done.
Lando is always just there. He’s there before a race when all the weight comes down onto Oscar. He’s there to coax him through the pressure. Help him to that headspace where nothing but driving matters. He’s there when they get out of their cars at parc ferme, always there, congratulating Oscar, smiling that big goofy smile as his helmet comes off. He’s always there after the chaos, too, celebrating wins and podiums or offering a shoulder when the day goes to shit.
That’s what’s most frustrating. Lando is always there, and now he’s here. He just won. And his home race at that! But Oscar still hears the name as he stalks back to his drivers room after all the excruciating media was over and done with.
“Osc! Hey, Osc, you okay?” Lando calls down the hall.
Oscar groans as he pauses, sighs a quick huff, and looks up at his teammate, who made his way to his side.
“I’m all good, mate.” He says quickly as he opens the door. He fights the blush spreading up his neck and loses terribly. As he ducks into the room, a hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes gently.
“Osc, I know you’re beating yourself up. If you need anyone to talk to, I'm here.” Lando says, smiling a soft smile that makes Oscar literally melt.
“Thanks, but I don’t want you to waste your night like that.” Oscar mumbles as he turns away. He shrugs Lando’s hand off and shuts the door behind him leaving the race winner in the corridor.
Lando blinks at the door. He sighs and leans his forehead on it.
“Osc, I don’t want to celebrate anything if you’re not there. You’re p2! That’s something worth celebrating, too.” He says against the door, hoping the younger can hear.
“I’d rather hang out with you, even if you’re upset.” He whispers as he hears shuffling within the room.
That makes Oscar’s stomach flip in an amazing and also terrible way. Who wouldn’t want their crush to admit that they love being with you? But on the contrary, what is this guy talking about? Who in their right mind would rather spend a night consoling a sore Oscar rather than partying and truly soaking up a home win? It makes Oscar feel incredibly guilty for wanting Lando all to himself. Don’t get him wrong, he would love to spend the night with Lando. Maybe they’d watch a movie, house some junk food, be with each other until well into the hours of the morning, but no. Oscar can’t ask for that. Oscar can’t want that.
This is his teammate we’re talking about. Lando. It’s all too much, and Oscar can’t bear to drag Lando down to where he currently is mentally. That penalty is really fucking with his brain. He can’t have Lando witness his shame spiral. He’s embarrassed about how robotic and frustrated he acted on the podium. How he didn’t truly congratulate Lando. How he was so caught up in his failure that he didn’t fully recognise his teammate’s success. He felt completely awful. So, no. Oscar will not be hanging out with Lando tonight. He won’t do that to him.
“Osc, if you blame yourself for having the feelings you have and being caught up in the moment on the podium, stop it.” Lando’s voice sounds through the door.
He was still there, like always.
“You’re allowed to have emotions. Especially after what happened. To be honest, I probably would’ve exploded if it were me. I don’t blame you for having to work with that out there. What matters now is how you’re going to make it up to me.”
That got Oscar’s attention.
How was Oscar going to make it up to Lando? He had no idea. What did Lando want? What could Oscar possibly give that would be able to counter the hole of guilt that was slowly eating away at him? Well, all Oscar knew was that he needed to get out of this funk to be able to give Lando anything he deserved.
“Lando, go have fun with the rest of them.” He says in a soft, tired voice.
When he hears no response, he deflates into himself and sits there with his head in his hands, waiting for the wariness of the day to go past. Eventually, he gives up, noting that he’ll probably carry the weight of frustration with him for the rest of his life.
He concludes that going back to the hotel and rotting away in his room would be the best way to spend the night, so he gathers himself up to the best of his ability and opens the door.
As he steps out into the hallway, he is met with Lando sitting on the floor, curled up against the wall with his knees pulled to his chest. His eyes were closed, and his head rested slightly crooked. Oscar swears he hears a faint snore as he stares at his teammate on the floor.
Why is he still here? Why didn’t he leave? Something blossoms in Oscar's chest as he takes in the scene. He laughs in disbelief to himself as he leans down to poke the sleeping boy awake.
“Lando, hey, wake up. What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you with the team?” He asks the man who is not budging from his spot against the wall. Oscar continues his attempts until he is just short of full-on shaking the guy. Oscar huffs at yet another failure and decides he’ll just have to take care of it.
He repositions his backpack to be more comfortable as he squats down to pick up the sleeping man. He walks out of the paddock and towards his car in silence; his brain short-circuiting over the insane situations he’s gotten himself into. Him, carrying Lando, his teammate, rival, crush, princess style. What the hell is happening?
He sets Lando down in the passenger seat and buckles him in like a toddler. Lando is still passed out with his head resting crooked on his shoulder. Oscar climbs into the driver's side and starts the car with familiar ease. It’s a good thing he knows where Lando’s apartment is. It is also a good thing he knows where Lando’s spare key is. But, he remains a little apprehensive. Is it weird to carry your teammate/rival/crush into their own house while they are dead asleep? What does he do afterwards? Does he just leave?
Well, yes, that seems obvious; it’s not like he can just stay. That would be weird. But does he mention it to Lando tomorrow? Or does he just live with this interaction tattooed onto his brain for the rest of his life, and every time Lando looks at him, he will imagine himself carrying the boy in question around the paddock? Yup, sounds like torture.
Oscar pulls into the parking garage of Lando’s apartment and swiftly gets out of the car. He wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans before picking Lando up once more. He briefly questions why the man had been able to sleep through this whole thing, but pushes it aside, concluding that the adrenaline of the race must have worn off.
He carries Lando to the elevator because even though he’s muscular, he is not suicidal. Choosing the stairs would mean death. As he arrives outside of Lando’s door, he grabs the spare key and hesitates before unlocking it with surprising ease. Who knew using your hands while carrying someone wasn’t as hard as he thought? He steps inside quietly and makes sure the door locks behind him before walking through the dark apartment to the bedroom on the opposite side of the flat, swiftly and slipping off his shoes.
Oscar has been to Lando’s before for small things like friend get-togethers, little parties(if you could even call them that), and dinners here and there, but this feels different. It feels domestic in a way that has Oscar buzzing. Like he is coming home for a long day at work and is ready to flop down and go to bed. Oscar blinks the thought away quickly.
He places Lando down on his bed and cracks his back with a satisfied hum. Sue him for having old man bones that aren’t used to carrying a human around. He looks around the room with potent awkwardness.
Now what? He should probably leave… but does Lando really want to sleep in jeans? The answer is most likely no, but Oscar would cut his own hands off before he changed the older’s pants while he was unconscious.
No, he’ll just have to suffer. Oscar turns on his heels to walk out of the room when a voice pierces the silence. Soft, sleepy, but there.
“Osc, where are you going? I thought you were going to hang out with me.”
Osc.
Damnit.
“Lando? Of course, you wake up now, idiot.” Oscar says mostly to himself, with a face palm you could feel in America.
“I’ve been awake, you muppet. I just couldn’t think of anything to say, y'know." Lando explains with a half-shrug and a yawn.
Alright, what? Oscar just carried an awake Lando around just so he would have no choice but to go to Lando’s apartment, so that he couldn’t rationally argue when Lando asked him to hang out? Seriously? That is probably the most Lando Norris thing he’s ever experienced.
“So, you’ve been awake this whole time?” Oscar asks with the biggest sigh in modern history.
“Nooooo, I was asleep outside your door, but you woke me up when you put me in your car. For that, I dock your uber rating to 4.5/5 stars. The rest of the trip was lovely.” Lando says with a small grin as he hops off the bed and makes his way to stand next to Oscar.
“Cmon, Osc. You’re already here; we might as well order pizza and watch a silly movie.” Lando flashes that dazzling smile. The one that makes everyone within a 20-meter radius stare, melt, and short-circuit all at once. And Oscar is no exception.
“You’ve exhausted all of my excuses.” Oscar sighs as he lets Lando guide him to the living room sofa. He focuses on their hands, how they are intertwined in the softest way. He can feel his palms start to sweat, and he curses himself. Damn him and his normal bodily functions. He hopes Lando won’t notice because the hand holding is really nice. It brings back the warm, fuzzy feeling Oscar knows so well.
Man, what was he doing here in his teammate/rival/crush’s house, being led to a big sofa, that they will no doubt fall asleep on later(together?), blushing like a tomato and hating his brain for wishing that every 1-2 ended with the two of them alone to celebrate.
Lando grabs the remote from the coffee table before plopping down on the sofa with a dramatic sigh.
“Cmon, Osc. I’m not going to bite.” He says as he pulls Oscar down onto the couch, forcing Oscar to sit a little closer than he would have otherwise.
What Oscar zeros in on is the lingering connection between them. Lando does not let go of his hand. Oscar opens his hand just to test that he’s not carrying the weight of this, and yup. Sure enough, Lando is gripping his hand like a vice.
Interesting….
Seeing as Mr. teammate/crush/rival is currently very focused on scrolling through movie options on the tv. Oscar lets his hand curl back around Lando’s, giving a little squeeze that he didn’t totally mean to do, but he can’t say he is mad at his unconscious for sneaking in.
Lando settles on Rio after a while, a great choice if Oscar had a say(which he doesn’t). As the opening song plays, Lando opens his phone with his free hand and pulls up DoorDash.
“Is pizza fine, Osc?” He asks, turning his head to the younger, who had yet to fully relax into the cushions. He was kind of in that in-between where he was not quite sitting just on the edge of the couch with impeccable posture, but not sunken into the cushions like he lived there. He looks a little silly in an awkward, cute way that Lando just had to comment on.
“Osc, you know you can lean back? Like, relax into the sofa, it’s just me. No need to be so nervous.” He laughs softly as Oscar stares at him. A little flush spreads on Oscar’s ears, and he leans back onto the cushion, his shoulders visibly relaxing, but only slightly.
“Yeah, pizza is fine. Just don’t tell anyone.” Oscar smirks a little as Lando grins.
“Of course, Osc, it’ll be our little secret.” He whispers, leaning in close to whom Oscar froze and flares at the same time. The tone of Lando’s words has him worked up, but his nonchalant exterior is working in overdrive to not give himself away. The nickname was so sickeningly present, Oscar’s insides are molten puddy, and the whisper, oh the whisper, just suggests thoughts and scenarios that have continuously plagued his dreams ever since he joined McLaren. Lando, you have no idea what you are doing!
Or do you?