Chapter Text
Lando never expected to be woken up by the sound of something breaking. He jolted upright, heart racing, and staggered out of bed to see what the hell was happening. The second he opened his door, a smell hit him–something burnt, something wrong, unmistakably ashy.
That was how he found Charles in the kitchen, looking completely overwhelmed, staring down at what appeared to be an attempt at pancakes–or possibly a newly discovered disease. That was the first sign from the universe that Lando was in for a very long day.
“Charles, what the hell are you doing?” Lando snapped. “Do you realize it's the butt crack of dawn?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall: 6:30 a.m. Of course it was.
“I know I know it's just that…” Charles hesitated, clearly debating whether this was worth explaining. With a sigh of defeat, he finally admitted, “Max said I can’t cook. I told him I can, so he said to make pancakes and bring them to him so he can decide if it is true.
Even as the words left his mouth, Charles seemed to realize how ridiculous it sounded.
Lando rubbed his face with both hands. He knew how Max and Charles were–this wasn't really about proving Max wrong. This was about impressing him. Charles Leclerc had been head over heels for Max Verstappen since the moment they met, and everyone except Charles seemed to know it.
“Ughhhh,” Lando groaned, rubbing his face again. “Where’s Alex? He’s usually the first one up whenever something in the apartment feels even remotely out of the ordinary.”
“I think he might be at George’s apartment.” Charles said, attempting to clean up the disaster he’s created. “When I got up to make the pancakes, he was already awake. I asked where he was going, and he just said ‘George’s’ and refused to elaborate.”
“That’s… suspicious,” Lando muttered. What could Alex possibly be doing at George’s apartment this early in the morning? “Well, Charles, I’d help you with the pancakes, but we both know I’d end up burning the apartment down.”
Charles chuckled and gave him a thumbs-up.
Lando retreated back to his room. He still had about three hours before his shift, so he showered, got ready, and then wandered back into the kitchen–half expecting the mess to still be there. Instead, everything had been cleaned, and Charles was sitting at the counter eating cereal.
“I see you gave up on the pancakes,” Lando said teasingly.
“Ha ha, very funny. I decided there’s no point in trying to burn the apartment down just to prove Max wrong.”
Yeah, proving him wrong, Lando thought, but wisely kept it to himself. “You know you could just buy pancakes and pretend you made them, right?”
“You're right and I did think of that but…” Charles paused, clearly weighing the pros and cons. “What if he asks me about them? Max is the most annoying person on the planet, and I don’t want to lie–only for him to prove me wrong by making me cook in front of him.”
Lando snorted. There was no way Charles could still be this oblivious. Right?... Actually, no. That checked out. Definitely a problem for another time.
“Well, I’ve got to head to my shift,” Lando said, grabbing his jacket. “I’lll see you later.”
The walk to work was always relaxing for Lando. No matter how much people complained about how awake New York City was at nine in the morning, he loved it. The noise, the chaos–it reminded him that he wasn’t alone in having a wildly unhinged life.
When he arrived, Kimi was already prepping for their shift.
Kimi was Lando’s coworker, and since they usually worked the same hours, they've grown pretty close. Despite the age gap, they got along effortlessly.
“Hey, Kimi. Looks like you beat me today,” Lando said, slightly out of breath–only now realizing he was running late.
“Yeah, that’s because you are late,” Kimi deadpanned. “What happened? You’re usually the first one here.”
“I know. Charles woke me up by nearly setting the apartment on fire. After that, I lost track of time.”
“Wow. What a way to wake up,” Kimi said, smirking. “Mind taking over the register? I’m going to restock.”
Lando nodded as Kimi walked off. It was still early–customers usually didn’t show up until later. It was a sports store, after all.
After what felt like forever, the door finally opened.
And in walked none other than Oscar fucking Piastri.
Of course it was.
Lando Norris had been in love with Oscar since the moment he first laid eyes on him. He’d never believed in love at first sight–until Oscar. Somehow, effortlessly, Oscar had become the most perfect person in Lando’s eyes.
They’d been friends for years. Met in college. Same friend group. Same orbit. But from the very beginning, Lando had been hopelessly, painfully in love with him.
Lando remembered the first day vividly. Oscar had been wearing the perfect shade of blue–loose, straight-leg jeans and a perfectly fitted white T-shirt. His hair looked like he’d just run his hands through it, messy in a way that felt unfairly attractive. From that moment on. Lando had been convinced: that’s it. That’s the love of my life.
The only problem?
Lando was pretty sure Oscar hated him.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed someone walking in right beside Oscar. Lando didn’t recognize him, but they looked close–too close for comfort.
Jealousy hit him hard.
Lando was known for being annoying. Too loud. Too much. Oscar calling him irritating had never really hurt–Lando knew Oscar wasn’t the type to seek out loud people or chaotic environments.
But that never stopped him.
If anything, Lando annoyed Oscar on purpose. He figured that if he pushed enough, if he made his feelings obvious enough, Oscar would eventually understand.
Except Oscar was just as oblivious now as he’d been from day one.
Lando was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize Oscar and the mystery guy were approaching the register until they were right in front of him.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and hoped–desperately–that he wasn't blushing as hard as it felt like he was
And at that moment Lando came to the conclusion that his life was indeed falling apart.