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𝑰- '𝒀𝒆𝒔, 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖.'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 10:27 𝑨𝑴.

Mark and Zak find them in the honeymoon suite.

"Nope," Mark says– repeats, for the seventh time, actually. His eyebrows have climbed to his hairline, eyes so wide in disbelief it ironically looks near awe.

"No," and he finally looks directly at Zak, waiting for his input. He shrugs in a way which says, 'Say something?' but Zak has nothing to say. His mouth is dry, and his mind is making donuts at the finish line.

Which is not only bad, but imagine if you did that if you came last in a race. In fact, imagine if you came first, imagine you did your donuts, and imagine you came out underweight because of that. That's what this is like.

The sound of Mark absolutely torturing a paper and then smoothing it out as urgently brings him out of his thoughts. He licks his lips. He rounds to Lando's side of bed, and leans down next to him– unable to hide the grimace at the blooming purple marks peeking from under the covers. 'Rabbits,' he thinks. Then, 'Ew.' He pointedly ignores them in favour of Lando's left hand.

Or, the ring on it, more specifically.

The way Lando's out, the slight snoring, he doesn't even need to be careful to pull it out.

"You get Oscar's," he calls Mark.

"Mate, that's– I– that's on your side as well," Mark pulls back the cover a little bit before making a face and pulling it back up. Well, of course it is. They are 'spooning,' where Lando's head rests on Oscar's bicep. On a King Size bed, they have 𝑣𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 to take as little space as possible.

Lando is so on edge, one twist and stretch and he would be on the floor. But Oscar's other hand can't be anywhere but his waist, keeping him close, so Zak focuses on his left, which is dangling out of the bed.

He's careful with Oscar. "Be careful," Mark warns anyway, making Zak roll his eyes. Leave it to Mark to be as loud as possible, and then tell him to be 'careful.'

"I am," he whispers uselessly, concentrated in the effort to pull the bloody ring out of Oscar's finger. It should be easier with Oscar– his hand is smaller, but it's 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑, which frustrates Zak so much he literally calls Mark over to watch his effort like, 'See? It's not me.'

Oscar also periodically exhales soundly, making him freeze with both his hands literally intertwined with Oscar's left.

He doesn't even know what he's doing. What's the plan? What is the point of this? What if–

"Step aside," Mark clicks his tongue, pushing Zak out of the way and planting himself right in front of Lando's face. He looks like he will be aggressive, but when he actually reaches Oscar's hand, it's so softly that Zak chuckles. Mark glares.

"You don't know how to do this."

"Show me," Zak replies simply, still on his butt after Mark's push.

Mark undoes Oscar's fingers one by one, a move Zak doesn't question considering the deal is only with one of them. Oscar does furl them again slowly, same order, one at a time, giving Mark enough time to loosen it gently.

Zak's knees pop as he stands up, groaning, as it starts to take a while. "Bullshit," he murmurs, accidentally almost sitting on bed in exhaustion. He isn't this tired after a race day. "Sometime today, maybe?" he looms over Mark, watching Oscar's expression.

Mark is quick to respond, 'shut up, man.' but a grunt from Oscar makes him pause, snapping his neck at Zak in panic. Zak almost laughs, it's an odd expression on him. "Don't worry, just finish it. His body knows it's gonna be a hell of a hangover."

"Keep an eye on him," Mark says, but not a second later, "Aha!" He holds the ring against the light like a prized jewel, showing it to Mark.

"Yes, I will marry you," Zak jokes flatly, referring to their positions, but takes the ring and pockets it safely.

"Now what?" Mark stands, looking at the idiots in bed.

Zak doesn't know, but he responds anyway. "Do you know Oscar's phone passcode?"

Mark narrows his eyes at him, "Yeah?"

"That's weird," he states. "Set an alarm 5 minutes from now." He grabs the crumbled stack of papers from the nightstand and makes his way towards the door. He trips over an underwear, but doesn't mistake to look back all the way out for the sake of his dignity.

Mark doesn't laugh anyway, worry setting back in as he places the phone next to Oscar's head. He's frowning, restless, jaw set even in sleep. Mark had told him to relax, take it easy. Oscar definitely did.. something. 'What did you do?' Mark thinks, fighting the urge to pet his hair. 'Do you even know?'

"Mark," Zak calls from the doorway, avoiding looking at the state of the room. That's enough trauma for today.

Mark avoids the underwear on the way. With one last glance at the pair, he clicks the door shut.

𝑰𝑰- '𝑻𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉.'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 10:45 𝑨𝑴.

Oscar's one hand had his wrists pinned above his head, other was on his chest. "All for me," he whispers. "Now that you're mine. Yes?" It's like a promise, as Oscar leans down to suck. Lando gasps, arching off the bed.

"Please," he manages. It's broken and it's a plea and he's begging– because Oscar is still on his throat, marking like every inch of Lando's skin needs to have a stamp of his ownership.

"You are mine, aren't you?" Oscar mumbles against his skin, teeth grazing, before his face comes into view. Eyes blown, pupils entirely swallowed by black.

"Baby. Lando, come back," he calls, voice thick, genuine, waiting for Lando's answer. He's hovering above, surrounded by red lighting, and Lando– Lando's gone. He's thinking, angel, angel, angel. Angel, devil. Good, evil, bad, beautiful, want, need, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. "Please," he repeats. He wants to pull Oscar's hair and get him where he really wants him, but he's restrained. and somehow, he wants that too. "Your's. All– of me. I am here, I want it. Please," he babbles, head swimming.

"I will give you anything. Tell me what you want," and Oscar's hand shifts till he thumbs at the ring circling Lando's finger. "My love." Oh.

"Oh my god," Lando's tears blur Oscar, but it doesn't matter because Oscar is going down, lips trailing on his skin all the way. Lando shivers, hands finally free to grab Oscar's hair. "I want– I want you–"

𝑅𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑅𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔. The light shifts, brighter, harsh. Almost painful. He tries to speak over the shrill noise, but no sound comes out. Please, he tries to say again. Oscar comes back into view, or just his silhouette, a black-grey smoke in red background. He tries to grab him, until a loud groan finally jolts him awake.

"Fuck," Oscar curses, blindly patting around him to stop the alarm. His left arm refuses to cooperate, as if something is weighing it down. The right is blind, angling it this way and that but not finding his phone.

"Damn it," he finally sits up, left arm finally free to rub at his aching eyes. His eyes burn, head pounds, arms ache, and he's sweaty. Before he can open his eyes, there's a movement and sudden chill in the air, his body gives a shudder. For the first few moments, his vision is black before it starts coming back. Only to notice he's.. naked. Huh. He turns around to shut the bloody alarm for good.

Somebody literally squeals for Oscar to finally gasp, realising he's not alone. He hastily covers himself with a pillow. The said person is standing, wrapped in a blanket– Ah, thinks Oscar, as both hands of the person cover his face.

Tan. Undeniably, "Lando." Oscar deflates. Then panics. Because– he's, no, well, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦'𝑟𝑒 naked. But what's the point? So, he sighs and relaxes again. "Lan," he calls again, when he doesn't move from his position. "I covered myself," he offers.

"Who are you?" Lando squeaks, turning around regardless. Yeah, that's definitely Lando, Oscar thinks, looking around for his clothes. He spots his boxers just about the door, which is almost comical if his head wasn't killing him right this moment.

"The hell, mate," he says instead, walking over to his undies. "Find your clothes," hands on his hips, Oscar looks at the room, finding the rose petals the most absurd despite Lando tripping over a wine bottle. It rolls towards him.

"Can you look for my shirt while you're down there?" Oscar picks up the bottle, empty, a red ribbon around its neck. It's oddly romantic. Everything around the room has the Valentine vibes, destroyed enough to not be obvious. He should leave because that seems reasonable, ignoring Lando to wiggle like a worm on the floor.

Oscar turns around and opens the door, before shutting it back. There's a hallway and he's in nothing but his fucking undies. He wants to be calm, mature, reasonable, but his body's buzzing and he doesn't know how to handle this. He doesn't handle this usually. He has always been silent. Up and gone and unknown before the other person even knows where they are. Sometimes he's too tired, he gets late, and then there's NDA.

Overall, it's been so few, so less, he can still count them with his fingers. Mostly the year the 'mutual' breakup happened, with his girlfriend. God, and even then, he left silently. Left the NDA on the nightstand as a cruel joke, padded down her stairs like a hook-up, a one night stand, like he didn't know every corner as a second home.

So, yes, he only knows exits in silence. He also knows Lando's going to make this anything but that, so he has to act fast.

"So I see some pants under the bed– dibs on that because I can't find, like, anything." Oscar watches as Lando literally shimmies into them under the covers, upper half still under the bed. He expects Lando to bang his head, but Lando already does that before Oscar can get out the warning. He sits on the floor, head in his hands, palming his eyes like that was his last straw and he wants to tear his scalp apart.

Oscar swallows, hand still holding the wine bottle, in his undies, looking ready to bolt out the door the next second. Lando coughs, awkward, before he finally unwraps the blanket from around him. He's so awkward, he's slow, so it almost looks like he's giving a strip show.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, mate," Oscar tries, to dissipate the tension.

"Yeah," Lando replies, biting his lip. "Every– yeah, after almost every race," referring to ice-baths. But when the blanket actually slips off from his shoulders, Oscar looks away. There's, 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 stuff he hasn't seen before. Maybe he did, last night. He doesn't remember. He does vaguely remember 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 it, maybe because he always wanted to do it.

He stops himself from trying to remember more, or remember anything from last night, frankly. Now's not the time to deal with that. He has to run away before Lando decides the opposite.

"There's a shirt on the cupboard– top of it," Oscar realises in the middle of trying to avoid eye-contact with Lando. Normally, one cannot physically make him not-drown in those eyes. But holy shit. Lando is looking, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, at him like, 'Please make this right. You always do. Can you be good at this because I am not?' and that kind of pressure is even worse than the one Lando gives him on track.

"I'll get it," and Oscar does, slipping in on quickly before Lando can even ask for it. He has to leave, that's all on his mind. He doesn't allow a single other thought beyond that. His head chants leave, leave, leave. His ears are ringing.

"I think– I will leave, now. We will– are you okay?" Lando's eyes are misty, face crumpled. Lando tries to bring his eyes to focus before he replies, "My head hurts."

"Yeah? Me too," he shifts, body angled towards the door but not actually leaving. "Let me call room service. They can send us some water?"

If Lando senses the uncomfortable air around him, he doesn't show. Now that the panic has worn off, and they have both accepted: yes, that happened, they both look.. 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒. Drafted for war. Last night catching up to them.

"Yeah," Lando swallows. "Need water," Lando, still on the floor, plants his face on the bed, realising his pleading eyes are going unnoticed– or worse, 𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑑, by Oscar. They are not going to talk about it. Not now, at least.

Oscar nods, walking over the other side of the bed to dial them up. His eyes drift to Lando's head, hair so messy and bruises purple, going all the way down. Oscar is parched.

Lando lifts his head to look directly at Oscar, eyes glazed and cheeks red, making Oscar feel like he has been caught with a hand right in the cookie jar, but by a very high man. He's so out of it, Oscar thinks. It tugs something in his heart. He needs to be careful, Oscar decides. Men will make him cry just to see this. Oscar can't allow that.

"Sss-er? Sir, ma'am, hello?"

"Yes," Oscar turns around, closing his eyes and breathing out. "Here. Send us some water, please. Painkillers too, if you have them. And.. clothes? Do you have clothes? Like, suits?"

Oscar hears a breathy, "Wow." from behind him, briefly turning back to see Lando looking at his waist. He raises a brow. Did he get a tramp stamp? Fuck.

"I don't– I don't know the room number. Wait, okay. I see it. 481– ha, wow."

When he finally keeps the receiver down, he falls back on the mattress, wanting to bury in it and never come out.

He angles his head up, almost face to face with Lando. "Why are you on the floor? Come up. Rest up."

Lando's face remains engulfed in the bed, but his ears turn pink.

"Can't hear you, Lan. Sorry? What hurts?"

Lando turns his face the other way, deliberate. Hesitating, voice small and almost like he didn't want to say it at all, "Knees. Knees feel weak. Back hurts. Can't– get up." Somehow, he keeps his voice from cracking, but he does tuck his face back in the mattress. He had all but forced the words out, because Oscar asked.

Embarrassed, hiding, ashamed. Oscar realises. All the feelings Oscar wants to protect him from, while simultaneously feeling the exact same thing as he looks at the ceiling, face aflame. He wants to respond, doesn't. Minutes pass in the uncomfortable silence. Knock on the door.

"Room service!"

Things are fast from there. Something about food, bathroom. Even check-in and check-out. Lando feels something dip next to his head, and a soft, gentle hand cradling his curls. "Lan?"

𝐻𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑠ℎ𝑙𝑦. "𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑒, 𝐿𝑎𝑛. 𝐸𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑔𝑜. 𝑆𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑦, ℎ𝑚?" 𝑂𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑠, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛. 𝐴 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑝 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑘, 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠. "𝑆𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦, 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦. 𝑇𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ?"

Lando doesn't want to look up, so he doesn't. He 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡. His headache has made his tears fall, the memory burning inside his head, branding.

Too much.

He just wants to shower and sleep for three days. Hide and disconnect from the world. Not exist.

When he shakes his head, the hand slips away. Lando misses it immediately, but suppresses the humiliating whine which threatens to leave his chest. It's almost like he answered the memory, not Oscar. But they are both Oscar, all Oscar. Just him.

"There are clothes next to you. Water and painkillers as well," there's shuffling, and Lando knows Oscar's getting dressed. Quick, methodical. Something akin to fear burns in Lando's chest. Oscar will never talk to him again. Will he pretend he doesn't exist?

He imagines, smiling at the social media admins approaching. Forcing them to do some ridiculous challenge, which Lando would do happily– with a little too much enthusiasm, because he will get a chance to talk to Oscar. Maybe Oscar would be pretending, or maybe it will be obvious that they're done, making everyone around them uncomfortable. Either way, Lando will try.

This time, instead of the memory, the dream claws it's way to the forefront of his mind. It's humiliating, but he 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠, which is worse– he can still replay it in his mind. It's so clear, the picture. Clearer is the feel, of the ring. One on his finger, another against his skin– everywhere, so 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 it almost stings against his burning body. They were married, Lando realises. In the dream. A dream so real it couldn't be a dream. It was like a vision then, Lando decides. A glimpse of the future, which will now never come true. A throaty croak echoes in the room before he can stop it.

The door stops creaking. Oscar was going out. He's paused, right at the doorstep. Now very sure of facing the hallway that he's not just in his undies. "Lan?" he calls. Questions, almost worried.

Lando shakes his head quickly. Then regrets instantly. What if this is the last time Oscar acknowledges him? Talks to him? Calls him?

That's impossible. But he's so unsure of their future it's making him paranoid. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤? Lando thinks.

"Take a shower. Breakfast should be here in a few minutes. I will call your manager. Or Max," the door shuts all the way so quick Lando knows Oscar didn't hear or see his disapproval to that idea. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. Except Oscar. Only because he's already seen him. He's like this because of him.

𝑰𝑰𝑰- '𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 11:32 𝑨𝑴.

'I should have apologized,' Oscar mumbles, fiddling with his phone. He almost bumps into the breakfast cart, limbs un-coordinated. This has to be bad manners. Bad bedroom etiquette. Or bad 'morning-after-batshit-drunk-hate-sex' etiquette because that disastrous bedroom the way he left it is not his concern.

What does one even do the morning after? They weren't close enough for him to offer to shower together. In fact, had he found his clothes, he would have left immediately which was even worse than the standard send-off to booty calls. Did he even clean him last night? He would have. Right? His dick feels sticky, but not like– completely soiled. Must have washed him down, at least. But what if he didn't?

He imagines Lando texting his Twitch friends, cum dripping out of his ass in yesterday's pants he found under the bed, unable to even get up. The total smear campaign on the Piastri name in the group chat. Going back at least 3 generations.

He shuts down the overwhelming urge to go back and take care of Lando. Lando's a big boy. He can handle himself.

And honestly, he isn't even sure it was ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒 sex. He doesn't remember anything. Drunk, yes, but hate? Sure, they were both DSQ'ed but, did it affect Lando that much he said yes to crazy sex?

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
Call him
Lando

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
what happened?

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
Just call him
Please.

Because Oscar would never say no. In fact, he would be the one to ask, always. If his down-bad yearning eyes haven't given him away to everyone but the one who actually matters, his terrible hints definitely have. He thinks he's obvious enough. Everyone agrees. Lando remains clueless.

There's no doubt he has the vote for having the terrible idea. Surprise, surprise. One who casually jokes about handling the competition pressure by wrestling in a hotel room just leaned in over your G&T and suggested, 'Fuck it. Let's get out of here?'

Well. Oscar hopes it went down like that.

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
he isn't picking up
everything alright?
is he ok?

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
[Location attached]

He hopes he didn't say anything too desperate. Whatever. Lando had said yes. Maybe he was being annoying on purpose, asking for it. Maybe he was talking too much. Maybe he was blaming Oscar, riling him up. And Oscar kissed him, hard and fast, shut him up. Lando kissed back, too drunk, brain finally turning off– not by any drink, but getting the brat fucked out of him.

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
that's like vegas dude

He thinks of calling Mark, before his phone displays a 'Battery low' message and fucking dies. He sighs. He scratches at his ring finger, an itch not going away since he woke up. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺? Oscar thinks.

𝑰𝑽- '𝒀𝒆𝒔, 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (?)'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 10:50 𝑨𝑴.

"Why didn't we just call them to wake them up? Why would Oscar have a random alarm set up for 10:47 AM?"

"Why didn't you round it up for 45? That would be less suspicious."

"How?" Mark asks, exasperated, dragging the menu over to him. They're sitting in the restaurant of the same hotel they found the boys in.

"Just because," he shrugs. "Latte and a croissant," he says to the waiter.

Mark pulls a face at the unhealthy options. "Eh. Uhm. Soup," he says, mostly to get the waiter out of there. "How do you even have an appetite right now? And why does it have to be here?"

"Webber, please," Zak pulls out his phone and shows him the time. "We have been fucking running around Vegas for almost two fucking days. I am old. So are you. We fucking need rest."

Mark decides that this is the perfect time to bring up Zak's dietary choices. Boast about his lifestyle. Which leads to an argument, before the argument switches to performance under pressure, then to race choices– half of which had nothing to do with him but Andrea, then Oscar.

"Give me his ring," Mark demands, putting his hand face-up in front of Zak. Zak raises a brow, "He's a bit too young, Mark."

"I am his fucking manager," Mark hissed. "What is wrong with you? Just– give me his ring."

Zak shrugs, patting his pockets. "Oh, that's Lando's– I think," he pockets it back again. Mark finally pulls his hand back, putting it against his forehead instead, staring at his bland soup. This is the worst day of his life. Somehow topping yesterday, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 that stupid crash in Korea. That day had been his, 'At least it isn't 2010, haha' for well over a decade– done undone in less than 50 hours. Mint.

"There we go," Zak smiles, honest, presenting him the ring. "Pretty bland honestly, compared to Norris's. Did you see the rock on–"

"O-M-G! Say yes! Say yes! Are you going to say yes?" A girl squeaks, clapping and gaining the attention of absolutely everyone in the restaurant.

For fuck's sake. "Please go away–" Mark begins, snatching the ring from Zak, an action which seals the deal for him. People near him stand up and congratulate, patting his back, a young couple even showing off their rings. The employees get into action. Zak spots one signalling, 'C-A-K-E' to the one on the counter.

He would have laughed if Mark wasn't getting up looking very much like he was going to punch everyone and everything in his 2 metre radius. "Webber," he calls. "Calm d–"

"I told you! That's Mark Webber! Oh God, do you remember me?" someone shoves him to get to Mark, which is, okay, rude. It's his proposal day for God's sake. "It's been so many years. We met during the–" and Mark's glare to him is so pissed off Zak believes it will laser-blast him away.

"Age is just a number," someone whispers with a knowing smile as if they have him all figured out. "It's not what it looks like," he says. They pat his shoulder anyway, nodding their head at him as if it's one of those 'boy brought up in homophobic environment realises love is love at 50' stories.

He pushes his grey hair back, before attempting a feeble, 'Excuse me?' that even Mark ignores. It all comes to a halt when he actually sees a cake being brought out of the kitchen and being wheeled right in their direction. He properly snaps when someone shoves a camera over his head, capturing every little detail of Mark's expression when the lady mentions Vettel, over-enthusiastic and situationally deaf. Most of them are filming for the sake of filming, hearing Mark's entire career biography from the lady themselves.

Zak doesn't apologise for the phone getting crushed in the small crowd. Or for shoving a couple others. He grabs Mark's wrist, pushing his way till the cake cart blocks their escape. He almost wants to have it. Instead, he drops some cash next to it, goes around and out the exit faster than any lap time he has measured in his life.

𝑽- '𝑾𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕!'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 11:36 𝑨𝑴.

Oscar looks around the lobby, hoping to borrow a charger from someone. Everything's a little red and white in this hotel, like a declaration of romance at every step. He passes by the Hotel's Restaurant, a crowd formed somewhere in the middle as he glances through the glass windows.

"What's happening?" he grabs someone coming out.

He shrugs, "Gay ass proposal." and walks away.

That's enough information for him before another passerby couple decides he needs to know more, "Very common, wedding resort and all. The drive-thru thing is also half an hour from here. Couples go down, marry, come back, boom! Honeymoon hotel, baby." He shows off his right hand, ring-less. The girl on his arm exclaims, "We did that!"

Oscar didn't understand half of that. Sounds like a bad idea. The words do ring familiar to his ears, a sense of deja vu. But right now deja vu is nothing more than a headache. "Do you have a charger?" he asks instead.

"Nah, bruh." The stranger turns and gives a, 'Hell yeah! Pride!' to the restaurant before giggling away with his girlfriend or wife or whatever.

Oscar gives one last look at the restaurant, a black tuff of hair visible over the crowd. When he squints, the pounding in his head increases enough to book it out of there. He needs to contact Mark.

𝑽𝐼- '𝑨𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒚.'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 11:45 𝑨𝑴.

Lando is so calm, it's scary. He puts a sugar cube in the coffee, and then says fuck it to himself before putting in one, no, two more. He actually went ahead and asked the room service for a Kinder egg, who unfortunately informed him, 'We.. like, from us?' He politely shut the door on their face because they kept on looking at his chest. He knows the buttons are misaligned, thank you.

The screen lights up with 'Max😋💣' for the fourth time. And then 'Mark,' his manager. He picks none of those. In fact, his eyes keep on falling at a pack of cigarettes he kept beside his phone. Looking at it, he almost remembers something. Some memory. Oscar's in it. So are Oscar's hands. It's so foggy it's almost like trying to remember a movie scene you saw when you were 8.

The kind you aren't even sure is real until you see it again accidentally.

Coffee's good, he thinks. Dabs his mouth with tissue and even nods to himself like, good. Good meal. Would definitely leave a tip. 10/10. Would recommend.

If he tries hard enough, it's almost like any other morning after a race day. Yes, most times he's the one sneaking out. He's not the one left sore, aching, almost in pain. Most times there's no other feeling involved other than satisfaction. Even his splitting headache is testament of a great time.

He also never ghosts Max. Quite the opposite. Max hears all about it until he's like, 'T-M-I, dude.' They check his bank account together. They each quickly throw a random figure– a superficial bet, before the statement loads, and it's almost always Max who goes, 'Woo-hoo, knew it. Damn, that's a lot, man.' He responds, 'I don't remember spending that much, T-B-H.'

His fingers shake as he pops the painkiller. But some mornings are like these. Where the random fuck slips away before him, and he has the hotel room all too himself. An easy, 'sorry' for Zak yelling in his ear about missing the plane. It's as sweet as a good morning.

He stretches, ignores the protest of his back, and pads to the bathroom. Make most of the room while he's at it, like he always does. He puts the water hotter than he usually likes. Hotter than what is comfortable. Seep the tension out of him.

There's nothing different about this morning, he repeats to himself. I like this. I chose this.

He feels tears burn in his eyes, and decides that's normal too. He works in a high pressure environment. Willingly gets in a death machine and drives it to 200 every other day. Sometimes that ought to catch up to him.

But then he turns and looks at the mirror, all air knocked out of him. He tries to start it again– the stupid imitation of his morning routine. The only way he cannot think and stay sane. Ignores his face, his eyes, his chest, his body, until he has nothing left to look at. Yet, he physically can't tear his gaze away from what he sees. He looks.. 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥.

The hickeys trail all the way down his chest, a quantity even his race suit can't hide. He's turning scarlett, blooming alongside the purple and the pink, and suddenly there's a twitch that he's almost humiliated by. He's so 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, but then some more of his memory returns: Oscar's burning eyes holding his, mouth which refused to let go of his heated skin. 'No. Don't hide, look at me– baby,' it is almost like a reprimand, soft as silk. Oscar hovers over his nipple, not going back at it until Lando had removed the arm from face and fisted it in the sheets.

He turns around and drops the water temperature a few notches. That'll do it.

When he dresses, he even picks up the tie to wrap it close 'round the collar. Out of his– or everybody's sight, out of his mind.

"Lando?"

Zak. "Come in," he calls hurriedly, speeding up the YouTube tutorial on wearing a tie.

"Can you open it for me?"

"Yes," he replies, walking over. He hastily opens the entire door, before closing it all the way a second later. Always his body running faster than his mind. He had convinced himself so much that this was normal, that this was.. not. Certainly not.

Zak remains an orange blur, a smudge right on the other side of the door who didn't even get the time to take a breath to speak. 'Come in,' he had said. Come in and then what?

He wants a hug so bad, he will take it from absolutely anyone right now. But how will he answer the questions? How will he explain? He looks around the room, and swallows.

"I can't–" his voice cracks.

How could he even pretend? How did he even allow this? Cut, bite, chew, swallow food like this was how it should be? F1 driver, in a title race– no less, left feeling cheap and alone in a room so thoroughly ravaged, it almost mirrors his mind and body. By his 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦.

"You can, Lando. Stop spiralling in there. Let me in," Zak tries the handle, but Lando presses his back against it, breath speeding up. Zak stops. "I can handle this, lad."

Lando looks at the shirt Oscar found at the top of the cupboard. It was Lando's. He knows it was because Oscar's biceps looked really huge in it, buttons fighting for life. Next to it, the pants under the bed. Oscar's. Too long for his legs. He couldn't get up anyway, but too long. Knees weak. He starts sliding down the door, head almost in his hands.

"Lando, I am not here to scold you. Nothing's going to happen. It's no big deal. Come on, let's go."

I belong here, he thinks. I am a mess and this is a messy room so I must be a part of it.

Zak rattles the door enough to understand there's nothing he can do without sending Lando flying away further into the room.

Zak sighs. Tries again, "How about you come out? I won't look into the room at all– if that's what you are worried about. Do you want me to walk away? Send you a plane tic–"

"No! Just give me a minute," Lando responds, wiping away his cheeks though the tears hadn't fallen. "Don't go, Zak."

"I am right here." And he is when Lando opens the door, just a creak.

"How did you find me?" He asks. Zak, for his part, doesn't stare too intently. In fact, he doesn't look anywhere Lando doesn't want him to look. His eyes briefly do flick down, but only to the stupid, un-made tie.

"Oscar told us," he shrugged, like it was no big deal to find both his drivers sleeping with each other. "Do you want to grab anything? I think it's best we leave. Some drama happened downstairs," he scratched his neck.

"Just my phone," not like he would attempt to find anything else under the wreck anyway. He grabs the Marlboro and then sets it back down, licking his lips.

"Ready," he whispers, shimmying out of the small creak he made in the door. He offers a small smile, hoping Zak doesn't comment on his wet lashes.

"It can't be that bad," Zak jokes, even as his eyes dart around, cautious.

Lando chuckles, uncomfortable. "You have no idea. What else did Osc– Oscar tell you?" he coughs.

Zak's responses are so quick, he doesn't give Lando one moment to overthink. "Nothing. You have been both missing for a day now. He told us we would find you here. We kind of put the rest of the pieces together ourselves," he informs, gesturing at the hotel, as he walks them towards the elevator.

Lando finally takes his surroundings, feeling like he had spent ten lifetimes in that room. 481. 'Wow.' He gives one last glance, but Zak nudges his elbow softly, looking ahead. It's some sort of love hotel, Lando realises. Did Oscar pick it? This has to be too much.. for a one night stand, surely. It's so red, it reminds him of the petals on the bed and the floor. Not to mention the scented candles.

He looks at Zak, who looks like he can't give one less of a fuck about the whole ordeal except for getting out. He shares the sentiment. But there's a nervous energy surrounding Zak that unnerves him.

"You and Mark?" Lando questions.

Zak pauses so abruptly it's comical. He looks at Lando, slamming the 'G' button on the elevator so hard as if it could just teleport them. He momentarily looks away from Lando to glare at a couple attempting to make their way inside, and they back off together, hand in hand. Lando gives a shy apology, but they are too bewildered by Zak to react.

"Me and him, what?" Zak doesn't relax even in the empty elevator, scratching his elbow and then letting both his arms fall by his side. It's so awkward that even such a natural movement looks odd and misplaced.

"You and Mark.. figured it out? Us?" Lando asks, quickly stepping out of the elevator as if he could physically run away from the tension. And this isn't even about him and Oscar.

Zak pulls him back almost immediately. "We will go through the back," but his shoulders look a little relaxed. He nods at the direction and expects Lando to follow him. Lando does, because what else can he do.

"Would Oscar–?"

"No," he holds the door open for him before looking around like a secret agent. Lando half expects to talk to his sleeve.

'be here,' Lando finishes to himself, before climbing in the backseat. Zak follows. "Drive," he grunts.

Zak huffs like he has successfully extracted Lando from a terrorist zone. "Yes," he sighs. "Mark and I, we figured it out. Nobody else knows. At least nobody who doesn't need to know. What do you remember?" Zak chews his lip a little bit, and it looks so stupid on his face Lando turns away. His doesn't want to face his inner turmoil just yet, but now is better than ever, he guesses. Zak would have to know eventually.

Lando slaps both his hands on his face, slipping down the seat. "I don't know, Zak.. I– I really don't. We– definitely slept together. That's all I remember," admitting such a shameful part out loud, in front of his boss, no less, makes him groan and twist away a little more. Zak gently pulls him back. 

"Stay away from the window," he sighs. Zak taking it so calmly makes him want to melt and un-exist even more. It's like, it's like he's a child, a teen. They expect him to be immature and reckless and stupid and go ahead and sleep with his teammate because obviously he did. A bad night, Vegas, and Lando, and everyone's like, of course. Obviously. Very Lando of him.

He wonders how Oscar is handling Mark. Then doesn't wonder at all because Oscar in his thoughts would do him no good. He doesn't need to know how calm Oscar is, how unhurried and steady he is in such situations. How Lando can not think at all next to him because Oscar's got him, Oscar's going to do it for him.

"Well," Zak begins. Pauses. Begins again, "Well. It's just a night. Nothing's changed." Zak smacks his lips like the lie tasted like ash in his mouth. He still tries to stiffen his posture enough, not to give Lando a perception that he's fucking ecstatic he doesn't remember he's married the bloke, though he is. Very much.

"Something definitely happened, Zak. It can't be," Lando finally removes his hands from his face, blinking away at a distance.

"What do you mean?" Zak tries to meet his gaze, Lando doesn't. A blush creeps its way up his chest, visible beneath his unmade collar and contrasting the blue-purple marks Zak's trying to avoid looking everytime.

Before he can help it, he reaches and tugs at the boy's tie. "Give," he says. Lando ducks his head wordlessly, allowing him to slip it free. "Continue," Zak puts it around his own neck to re-make it properly. "And close all your buttons. Is Oscar an animal?"

Lando whines. "Zak, come on. I– just. It was an entire day, Zak. We couldn't just be.. sleeping. Like, we couldn't just be in the hotel the entire day?" He sounds so mortified, as if someone has forced these words out of his throat from within his body. His hands stay at his collar button, fiddling.

He watches silently as Zak doesn't respond, just adjusting the tie for Lando. When he thinks it's alright, he passes it onto Lando. Lando just tilts his head forward, like accepting a medal. Zak indulges, rolling his eyes. Lando still manages to tighten it askew. Zak sighs, going back to rest instead of correcting.

His eyes are closed when he asks, "Then what do you reckon happened? I haven't seen Oscar, but you definitely look like someone who spent a day in bed." with a cannibal, he bites back the joke. Lando doesn't need more reminders, he believes.

Lando manages to keep his voice steady. "I am remembering some.. some of it. Like–"

"You are?" Zak shoots up from his seat, searching his eyes.

Lando gulps. "Yeah.. I– how do I tell? When I look at some things, things which were there yesterday. I kinda remember it. Blurry, but, yeah."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Uh. Yeah. Like, I saw a pack of cigarettes in the room. I remember smoking them. I remember Oscar next to me. We were in some black, top down car. He was– uhm. He was driving. I remember," his voice comes down to a whisper by the end. He looks at Zak in a way which tells him he doesn't quite believe the memory himself.

And that's exactly what Zak needs. "Anything else you remember? In this memory?"

The pink returns in his cheeks. "I don't know. I remember.. hands. Oscar kept taking my h–"

"Sounds like a dream, Lando," Zak cuts him off. Lando sputters, but nods. "Right. But–"

"You both must be drunk out of your minds. Car? Oscar's driving? And why would you both smoke?"

"I don't know! That's what I'm telling you. It's fragments," Lando sounds desperate. He furls and unfurls his hands, like the answers would just drop in his palms by God himself.

"I am not saying they're.. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 false. There's some truth, I guess. Let's say, you smoked in the room. You must have blacked out somewhere. You imagined the car, the drive, whatever. And the real-false is all mangled in your head. Do you remember any other such.. memories?" Zak looks out of the window, wiping his palms on his trousers.

Lando's face burned. "Yeah. Uhm, I get it. You're right."

The car falls into silence. Zak pulls out his phone, furiously texting someone.

"Rest up," Zak sighs. "You look like hell. Don't think anymore."

Lando's been trying. He's trying real hard not to think about Oscar. How's Oscar's doing, what he's thinking, when they will meet. Lando pulls out his phone, only for Zak to slap it away.

"Avoid the news," he gives a wry smile.

Lando wants to be angry, but he's just tired. He doesn't need anything else in his head anyway. He nods and sends the first text suggestion to Max, and switches off his phone.

𝑽𝐼𝑰- '𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒂𝒚?'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 12:25 𝑷𝑴.

"Economy?"

"Are you seriously in 𝘢𝘯𝘺 position to complain?" Mark bites back, looking around the Airport. "We should find a quiet corner till the take-off."

Oscar rolls his eyes, walking forward. "Exactly what we need– your attitude. Like you didn't create this mess in the first place," Mark grabs his shoulder, slowing him down. "We can't have people recognise you. We have to buy a mask."

"Yeah. Sorry for being a bitch, Mark. Head's splitting in two," He pauses, patting his pockets. "I also forgot my wallet in the room. Now what?" he asks, checking out a little stall while passing. "Hi, this is free of cost!" the salesgirl perks up immediately at his interest, referring to little horoscope cards at the front. "You can also check out our cups collection! It's new, fresh, the designs.."

Oscar tries to smile politely, ignoring the headache– both physical and Mark. He respected him, but holy hell is he close to snapping at anything that talks. He might even snap at Pat Cummins if he bumped into him, tell him to not fuck up the ASHES. It's genuinely one of those days. He sighs, "What would I be? I am born April 6."

Mark shoves their documents in his hands, "I'll go find masks. Make yourself small."

Oscar nods without looking back. "April 6," he repeats in a whisper. The girl giggles softly, looking through the cards.

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
seriously. what happened?

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
Did he reply?

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
ig??
he said "Haha! Thank you for catching me up."
is he kidnapped

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
What.

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
[Screenshot attached]
tell me what happened
i can take it

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
What the hell were y'all talking about before?
"did you wear the lingerie i sent you"???
?

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
it was his birthday. making jeoks

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿
And he replied "nah tits 2 fat"?
Are y'all something?

𝗠𝗮𝘅 𝗙.
dude LMAO
r u asking if we are fucking😭
he's mate
i didn't even remember his bday. wished him late. was kidding
oscar👀 wana tell the audience something? did something happen between yall?

Oscar goes a little pale on the cheeks, all blood rushing to his ears, then promptly going downwards. Tits too fat. Fair enough. His mouth waters in a way he's almost ashamed of. An ache in his teeth to 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦. Eat, rather. It was impossible. But, he intended to leave no skin un-marked to show that Oscar hadn't at least 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥. "Oh, so there is one?" the salesgirl asks, interested.

Oscar remembered Lando, his face, some hickeys visible under the blanket he wrapped himself in. Hiding. Oscar didn't mind, had he remembered giving them. He racked his brain, but all he remembered was kissing, kissing, biting Lando's lips so hard Lando almost pushed him away, panting.

"Huh?" Oscar blinks back to focus, trying to think of war and everything terrible to kick the mental image out of his mind. He hadn't even pictured the lingerie yet.

"Lover? I mean, it is Vegas. Anything can happen," she hands him the horoscope card.

"Uh, well," he takes it, skimming over it to know what exactly she was referring to. It was easy to spot. '..𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥! 𝘚𝘰, 𝘈𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳?'

Before he can respond, a mask appears in his sight and fits over his face, almost like a kidnapping. Mark takes the documents back a second later– a bit too aggressive. "Did you open this?" Oscar shakes his head. He trusts Mark with his passport.

"Would you like to check your's?" the girl asks, acknowledging Mark, who was in the process of dragging Oscar away. She grimaced in a way which suggested she was actually witnessing a kidnapping.

"No, thanks."

"August 27th," Oscar replied cheekily. "His birthday." He ignores Mark's glare.

"C'mon, Mark. Nobody's too manly for horoscopes. Oh, look, you're a Virgin," Oscar laughs, flipping over and checking his sign. Mark makes a complicated face and snatches it away before grabbing the back of Oscar's neck and guiding him away. It stings a little bit, like a razor cut. Oscar wonders if his stylist pierced him accidentally, though the back of the neck is an odd place for that to happen.

"Wait," he pauses suddenly. "I'll be back. Why don't you read this week's fate in the meantime?" he gives a one brow wiggle, but his head swims for a second. Damn. He decides to get water on the way back. Before Mark can stop him, Oscar slips out of his hold.

Mark sighs and looks around. There's a pair of boys nudging each other and looking at him. Fuck, he thinks. He's so concerned about Oscar he forgot he's also somewhat famous to be recognised. Or maybe it's the.. news. It has to be in the news, right? He pulls out his phone.

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Are we on the news?

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
Yes
Well, twitter mostly There's a silver lining
The boys are not
Somewhat?
Someone said they spotted them but it got buried
Under us

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Now what about us?
Please don't let the social media people know.
We can handle this.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
How?
How's Oscar
There's another issue
Actually I already told the PR team

>𝑁𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑠?
Eh
Don't go breaking my heart Mark

Mark's thumbs danced over the screen, wondering which message to acknowledge first. What can of worms needs to be prioritised.

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
>𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑃𝑅 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑚
What the hell is your problem.

>𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑒
Now what.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
Lando's remembering
Piece by piece
When he sees something from yesterday
It triggers his memories

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Make sure he doesn't see anything which
you know.

>𝐻𝑜𝑤'𝑠 𝑂𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟
Looks dead but he'll hold up. Still doesn't remember anything.
How's Lando?

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
Clumsy. He's not taking it well. He's worried about
IDk. His future
Like him and Oscar
But we can't let them talk

>𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤
What a brilliant idea! Why didn't i think of that? 🙄🙏

>𝐿𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒'𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑢𝑝. 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.
Phew. Plans working. We can do this

What plan? Mark thinks, accidentally crumbling the horoscope card. What fucking plan? He looks around for Oscar, and finds him in the stall again, with the salesgirl, looking almost like a heated debate. He slaps his hand across his face, looking warily at the passerby's. They give Oscar amused glances, not even recognising him. Plain attention because Oscar has decided to switch his answer from 'Engineer' to 'Astrologer' for 'What would you be if you weren't a F1 driver?'

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Lando's always clumsy.
You know they will talk.
Eventually.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
>𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑠𝑦.
He's kinda spiraling this time Mark

>𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘.
Lando won't call
Would Oscar?

Mark notices Oscar finally walking back towards him, a little package in his hands, handled with such care like it's a bomb and not something he purchased with his own free will. He sighs.

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
No.
But both would pick up.

"Scorpion on a cup is a little weird," Mark pushes him lightly through the waist.

"Mark, please," he says, pushing the mask even further up his nose, effectively hiding everything except the uncertainty in his eyes. Mark feels a tinge of guilt. Bloke doesn't even remember what happened yesterday. He's essentially buying a gift for his 'husband' thinking this will repair an awkward one-night friend/colleague situation. If Mark wants to give any advice, he doesn't because he did the same with Vettel and Button and Rosberg. Though he ended up marrying none. Button wasn't even his teammate to be the most difficult.

"How did you even pay for it? I thought you lost your wallet."

"Google Wallet," Oscar shrugged. "Even bought some ridiculously expensive water. Then washroom. Washed my face." Mark had noticed.

"Had a debate with the astrologer lady."

"Not a debate," Oscar fiddles with the cup in his hands. "Just– random. Stuff. I was talking." Mark bit back a reprove. Now's not the time for Oscar to talk to anyone, except maybe him. The irony doesn't get lost on him. Nothing like a lying father figure to trust in Vegas.

"So.. are they compatible? Aries and Scorpions?"

"Scorpio. Do we need to have this conversation?"

"Tell me," he encourages. "Here's a quiet corner."

Oscar doesn't want to. But he never declines Mark. They work because they are comfortable being uncomfortable. "Don't know," he replies, bringing up the Scorpio horoscope card from underneath the package. "It says something about 'realisations about yourself' and 'changing your entire life– uhm, in a single moment.' Like this is the week for life altering decisions. Mine is something about.. it's completely different, so."

"It's just this week's, right?" Mark asks, finally looking at his own. Un-crumbles it. Virgo. Oscar nods.

"Do you believe in this bull?"

"No," Oscar replies quickly. Not a lie, just certainty. "It's stupid. But it's fun. It gives you something to be happy about. Lando loves this stuff." Oscar surprisingly manages to not tumble over the name. "What does your's say?"

Mark finished reading. "Something about 'unexpected partnerships.'" Mark keeps his mind blank, voice neutral.

"Yeah? Let me go find a mask for you. Those boys have been following you for a while." He pushes Mark down before he can even protest, dumping the gift package on his lap. "Rest. I am young." Right. Like Oscar wasn't two seconds away from exploding the entire day.

"Grab something to eat, boy," Oscar practically runs away before Mark can suggest medicine. He watches his retreating back, exhaling softly. Mark slides the horoscope next to their marriage certificate and waits for Oscar to come back.

𝑽𝐼𝑰𝑰- '𝑼𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔.'

25 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 2025. 11:44 𝑨𝑴.

"Give that to me!" Mark snatches his hand away from Zak. He actually brushes it off too, like there's dirt on it.

"You're so dramatic," Zak makes a show of brushing off his shirt as well, which looks so ridiculous he just appears snappy.

"The papers, give me the papers," Mark starts walking them away from the entrance, an embarrassed frown on his face as people still look over at them, nodding and smiling.

"Why? I should have them."

"And may I know why, Mr. Brown?" Mark looms over him, eyes scanning his face as if he's going to launch off any second.

That was kinda hot, Zak thinks. Then he shakes his head like that idea physically repulses him and it'll just fall out of his head. "Here," he hands over the crumpled paper to Mark. He's tired of having debates with Mark. Tired of fighting. He just wants to work together. "I am going to fetch Lando."

Mark smoothens out the paper delicately, as if he wasn't the one to absolutely dismantle it in the first place. "Of course you would go to Lando. Do you even care about Oscar? You always–"

Zak snaps, "Okay, I will go to Oscar then."

"No, I–" Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "I will go to Oscar. You just– you go to Lando."

"We have to stop this, Mark," they end up roaming in circles around the lobby, finally stopping near the elevator. "We can't make this work if you just disagree with me on every step. It's like, it's your instinct. You have to start trusting me, yeah?"

"Whatever," is what Mark manages. He knows, and yet he doesn't know how to. He doesn't do.. 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵. "What's the plan?"

"Let's see how much they remember first. We will go from there. I am gonna go get Lando's head out of his ass. You reckon Oscar's gonna be there?"

"No, he's on the way to the Airport."

Zak pauses, finger hovering over the elevator button. "Huh? How do you know that?"

Mark shrugged. "He texted me his location."

"Show," Zak says. Mark hesitates, but ultimately does. Trust, or whatever.

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗣𝗶𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶 𝗙1
[Location attached]

"That's not nice," Zak says mildly, pointing at a few texts above it.

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗣𝗶𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶 𝗙1
[Screenshot attached]
Can you confirm this from someone?
Like Seb or Nico Rosberg?
It sounds legit. It's from pop crave

𝗠. 𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
What the hell is that.
And why do we care if George and Max were spotted together?
Can we go over your last week's race instead.

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗣𝗶𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶 𝗙1
This is important
Also this meeting at 5
Can you convince zak or something
I don't want to attend

𝗠. 𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Sure.
I am not going either.

>𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡
No. It's gossip. Avoid.

𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗣𝗶𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶 𝗙1
>𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.
[Reacted 😂]

>𝑁𝑜. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑝. 𝐴𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑.
[Reacted 👍]

𝗠. 𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
[7 Missed Calls]
Oscar. Where are you.
[1 Missed Call]

"You should reduce these stupid meetings which repeat the same thing over and over again," Mark pushes him in the elevator, which had been held open for the past 2 minutes, much to the annoyance of all the people who give them dirty looks getting down from the other lifts.

"I am sure he would be the first in attendance had Lando been there," Zak gives a sarcastic wave, as the doors close. Mark barely holds back from giving the middle finger. Focus. Oscar needs him.

He's not even fully out of the back door and fetching a taxi when he gets the text.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
We will go private. Lando needs it

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Does he now.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
Teach your boy decency. Does he know the state he left the boy in?
He won't even come out

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Ask your boy to cut his nails first.

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
Huh
Want me to book plane tickets?

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
>𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑡𝑠?
[Reacted 🖕]

𝗭𝗮𝗸 (𝗠𝗖𝗟)
That's not a thumbs up

𝗪𝗲𝗯𝗯𝗲𝗿
Oh my God.