Chapter Text
The red light on the camera was the only thing steadier than Oscar's breathing.
"Alright, next question," the PR person said from somewhere behind the glare of the lights. "Who is most likely to forget their passport at the airport?"
Lando didn't even have to think. He pointed a finger at himself, a practiced grin for the benefit of the YouTube thumbnail. It was a game they had played a thousand times in a dozen different countries. They were the "golden boys" of the grid, the perfect teammates, the effortless duo.
But Oscar let out a soft huff of a laugh, Lando felt that familiar, heavy pull in his chest. It was the magnet starting to work.
"And who is the most likely to stay calm when everything... and I mean everything... is going wrong?"
Lando didn't even wait for the end of the sentence. He jabbed a finger toward Oscar, his grin widening. "Him. Absolutely. The world could be ending, the car could be on fire, and Oscar would just be over the radio asking for a lap delta or his tyre temps. He is a vault no one knows what's going on in that head."
Oscar offered a small, knowing tilt of his head, his hands resting perfectly still on his lap. "it's called being professional, Lando. You should try it some time."
"See?" Lando turned his head back to the camera, his heart doing a strange, fluttering skip. "A vault. He's the best secret keeper on the grid because he doesn't even tell himself what he's thinking."
"Next one," the PR person said, checking the time on their phone. "If you were stranded on a desert island, which teammate would you actually want with you?"
Lando snorted, leaning back in his orange chair. "Not Oscar. He'd probably just sit there and calculate the exact angle of the sun to build a sun dial while I'm starving to death. No conversation. Just vibes and math."
Oscar didn't look at the camera this time. He looked directly at Lando, a small, unreadable tug at the corner of his mouth. "I'd build the shelter, Lando. You'd be the one trying to host a podcast for the seagulls."
"See? He's already planning the infostructure," Lando joked, but his voice went a little higher than usual. "But honestly? Probably him. I'd lose my mind in ten minutes without someone to annoy, and Oscar is very, very good at being annoyed by me."
Oscar's gaze didn't waver. "It's a full-time job. I wouldn't want anyone else to have to do it."
For a second, the joking felt thin. Lando felt that "magnet" pull again, the realisation that oscar wasn't just being a good teammate for the video. He was saying he'd stay. Even on a desert island, he'd choose to be the one standing next to Lando.
"Alright, we're almost done, guys. Just two more." The PR person interrupted, their pen scratching loudly against the clipboard. They didn't notice the way Landos fingers were twitching against the fabric of his baggy trousers. "Next one. Who is the most likely to get sentimental over a podium finish?"
Lando blinked, forced to snap his eyes back to the camera lens. The transition back to his "public" persona felt like a physical weight.
"Me. Defiantly," he said, his voice finding its usual pitch. He forced a cheeky grin. "I'm a crier. Oscars a robot. He doesn't have tear ducts."
Oscar let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made Lando's chest ache. "I have them. I just save them for when Landos driving is particularly tragic."
Lando let out a loud, indignant squawk for the benefit of the mic, reaching over to give Oscar's shoulder a playful, lingering nudge. "Tragic? I'm a literal podium finisher, you robot!"
But as his hand stayed a second too long on Oscar's sleeve, Lando's eyes drifted to the playback monitor off-camera.
The breath hitched in his throat. In the small, glowing screen, he saw the way Oscar was looking at him. It wasn't just teammate pride. It was a warm, heavy admiration, a look so open it made the magnet in Landos chest feel like it was doubling in weight.
Then, Lando saw himself. He saw the heart-shaped look in his own eyes, an identical reaction of joy and admiration. They were wearing the same team shirt, two identical flashes of McLaren orange in the grainy footage, but it was the expression that truly mirrored. It was a secret written in the light and pixels that they were trying to hide from the world, as well as each other.
"Alright, moving on. Last question, guys," the PR person interrupted, their voice cutting through the heavy silence that had suddenly fallen over Lando. "Describe each other in only three words."
Lando felt the air leave the room. Three words. He had a thousand words for Oscar, most of them aching and heavy, but none of them belonged on a McLaren social media clip. He looked at Oscar, searching for the "vault" version of his teammate, but all he found was that steady, admiring gaze.
"Oscar first," Lando deflected, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "Give the fans what they want."
Oscar didn't blink. He didn't even lean back. He just looked at Lando with a terrifyingly calm intensity.
"Focused," Oscar said, his voice low and certain. "Relentless." He paused, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips that wasn't for the cameras. "Kindred."
Lando's Heart didn't just skip; it stalled. 'Kindred'. It was a word that felt too big for a press junket. It felt like a confession.
"your turn, Lando," the PR person prompted, still tapping away at their screen.
Lando swallowed hard, his eyes locked on Oscar's. He could say fast. He could say composed. But the "magnet" was pilling too hard now, And the "Double Coating" was starting to melt.
"Steady," Lando whispered, the jokes finally dying out. "Brilliant. My..."
He almost said soulmate. The first syllable was already on the tip of his tongue, a soft 'Soul...' that he barely caught in time.
"...teammate," he finished, the word feeling like a lie and a shied all at once.
"Great! That's a wrap on the YouTube segment," the PR person announced, standing up and breaking the spell. "Five minute break, then we move to the garage for the Instagram stills."
The red light on the camera flickered and died. The sudden silence of the room felt heavier than the noise of the game ever did. The cameras were dark, but the air between their chairs was still charged, sticky and inescapable like a tar pit.
Lando looked down at his lap, his heart still hammering against his ribs from the near-miss of the word soulmate. He felt exposed, like the "heart-shaped" look was still burned into his retinas from the monitor.
Oscar stood up, the fabric of his team kit rustling in the quiet room. He rubbed the back of his neck, his movements heavy and "vault" like as ever, but there was softness in his eyes that wasn't there for the public.
He reached into his pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar shape. He held it out to Lando, the foil of the Kinder bar crinkling between his fingers. "For luck," Oscar said softly. His voice was lower now that the microphones were off. "Since you're the sentimental one."
Lando looked at the chocolate, then up at Oscar. The "magnet" pull was so strong it felt like a physical weight in the space between them. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Oscar's palm as he took the chocolate. The contact sent a jolt through him.
"I am," Lando whispered, finally finding his voice. He reached into his own pocket, producing the gold-wrapped Double Coated Tim Tam he had tucked away earlier that morning. "And you the one who needs the extra layer of protection. Or chocolate. Whichever comes first."
Lando slid the biscuit into Oscar's hand, a silent trade of luck and devotion.
"Don't let the engineers see you with that," Lando added with a Shakey, genuine smile.
Oscar tucked the gold foiled gesture away, his gaze lingering on Lando a second too long for it to be just about "teammates."
"They won't," Oscar promised. "Its a secret."
Lando watched him walk toward the door, the magnet in his chest finally settling into a low, steady hum. For now, in the stillness of the room the secret was safe tucked away in gold foil. But Lando knew the silence wouldn't last . Sunday was coming, and once the "Box Box" commands started screaming through his headset, the world wouldn't feel this soft or this certain anymore.