Chapter Text
The meeting had been a disaster. Lando didn’t say that out loud, of course, but the way he dropped his camera bag onto the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face said enough.
Max, on the other hand, had no such restraint.
“That,” he said, following him into the studio, “was one of the worst pitches I’ve ever witnessed. And I once watched you try to explain ‘vibes’ to a corporate sponsor.”
Lando shot him a look, already pulling his laptop out. “They didn’t even listen.”
“They listened,” Max said, hopping up onto the edge of the desk. “They just didn’t like it.”
Lando opened Lightroom a little harder than necessary. “They want something staged. Predictable. That’s not what I want to do. I’ve worked my ass off for years, to what, be stuck taking shots of clothing lines or someone else’s vision.”
Max shrugged. “That is what pays you.”
Lando ignored him, clicking through photos, fast, restless. Cars, people, moments that felt real. Unscripted.
“I’m not this Max,” he muttered. “I want to take real photos.”
“And you’re very good at it,” Max said easily. “Just… maybe not in a way that makes the company money.”
Lando leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “I had a good idea.”
“I know,” Max said. “But we work for a clothing company.”
Before Lando could respond, the studio door slammed open.
Both of them looked up.
Ollie stood there, slightly out of breath, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, hanging off his shoulder, like he’d thrown it on mid-crisis. His eyes were red.
“…Oh no,” Max said immediately. “Not again.”
“What happened?” Lando asked, being sincere but knowing exactly what had happened.
Ollie sulked impossibly more, “She broke up with me.”
Max checked his watch. “What is that…number five?”
“Don’t,” Ollie said weakly, already walking further into the room. “Please don’t.”
Lando sat up straighter, concern flickering in. “Wait, who—?”
“Emily,” Ollie said, dropping his bag onto a chair like it personally offended him. “Or Emma. I don’t… it doesn’t matter.”
“That’s a great sign,” Max muttered.
“I liked her,” Ollie insisted, even as his voice wavered slightly. “I did. I just—”
“You forgot her name?” Max guessed.
Ollie stuttered, “… I'm forgetful and busy.”
Max snorted. “Right.”
Lando frowned, trying to piece it together. “What actually happened?”
Ollie dragged a hand down his face. “She said I don’t act like I like her. That I dont make her a priority.”
Max winced. “That’s rough.”
“I brought her coffee this morning,” Ollie added, like that should’ve fixed everything.
Lando tilted his head. “After what, calling her a different name, was that your idea of an apology???”
“I said I was sorry!” Ollie dropped into the nearest chair, defeated. “I don’t get it. I’m not a bad boyfriend.”
“You’re not,” Max said slowly. “You’re just… not a good one either.”
Ollie blinked. “Thanks for your confidence, Max.”
Lando leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, thinking the way he did when something started clicking into place.
“You don’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You just don’t do anything that makes them want to stick around.”
Ollie stared at him. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re inconsistent,” Lando said. “You disappear, then come back like nothing happened. You can’t seem to remember their names and then give lame apologies. You don’t mean to mess it up, but you do.”
Ollie slumped. “So what, I’m just… doomed to be broken up with forever?”
Max opened his mouth—
But Lando spoke first, quieter, almost absentminded.
“No,” he said. “It’s actually pretty easy to mess up a relationship, and besides, you’re still young, Ol.”
Max paused, turning to look at him.
Lando didn’t notice—he was still half in his own head.
“If you think about it,” he continued, “it’s just patterns. Behavior. Do the wrong things consistently enough, and anyone would leave.”
Max’s expression shifted—interest sparked.
“…Anyone?” he repeated.
Lando shrugged lightly. “Yeah.”
Max slid off the desk, now fully engaged. “So you’re saying you could take, what—anyone, any situation, and ruin it on purpose?”
Ollie looked between them, a bit wary.
Lando glanced up at Max, something challenging flickering in his eyes now.
“I’m saying it wouldn’t be hard.”
Max let out a short laugh. “No chance.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think so?”
“I think,” Max said, stepping closer, grin forming, “you’re you, and you rarely miss.”
“That’s not—”
“Name one time, mate,” Max continued, “just one time you failed to make someone fall in love with you.”
Lando scoffed. “There was—“
Max cut Lando off, “Exactly, mate.”
Ollie sat up slightly. “I don’t like where this is going.”
But neither of them were looking at him anymore.
Max held Lando’s gaze. “I bet in one week,” he said. “You’d have someone wrapped around your finger.”
Lando hesitated, just for a second.
“Ten days at least, a week is impossibel.”
Max’s grin snapped into place instantly.
“Ten days,” he echoed.
Ollie dropped his head into his hands. “I cannot believe this is happening while I’m heartbroken.”
Neither of them responded.
Lando leaned back in his chair, already thinking ahead, something sharp and curious settling in his expression.
“Anyone?” he asked.
Max nodded. “Anyone.”
Lando smirked slightly.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll show you how easy it is.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Oscar Piastri liked plans. He liked knowing what was coming, what was expected, and exactly how things were supposed to go. It made everything easier. Cleaner. Predictable.
Which was why, at 8:57 a.m., he was already seated at his chair at the conference table, perfectly out of the way of any lights glaring on his eyes or laptop, and notes neatly to the right, angled just right for optimal handwriting.
“Do you ever relax?” Logan asked, dropping into the chair beside him like gravity had personally wronged him.
Oscar didn’t look up. “I am relaxed.”
“You schedule your relaxation.”
“It’s called time management.”
Across the table, Charles huffed a quiet laugh, glancing up from his phone. “He’s right, you know. It’s slightly concerning.”
“It’s efficient,” Oscar corrected.
The door opened again.
Max Verstappen walked in, expression flat, already halfway through his Red Bull.
“If this meeting could’ve been an email,” he said, sitting down, “I’m leaving.”
“It couldn’t have been,” Oscar replied calmly.
“We’ll see.”
Logan leaned back in his chair, stretching. “So what are we doing again?”
Oscar finally looked up. “We only need to make sure everyone is on the same page before Silverstone, make sure everyone's data matches up.”
Charles nodded. “Simulations look good.”
Max yawned. “See, could’ve been an email.”
“It can’t be,” Oscar said.
“Whatever you say, boss,” Max replied. Max may have been older than Oscar but he usually treated him with a modicum of respect. He did make Oscar prove himself worthy of his position as lead strategist.
Oscar sighed heavily. “Every meeting with you people takes years off my life.”
“And yet,” Max said, “you keep scheduling them.”
“That’s because unlike all of you, I care about maintaining standards.”
Alex looked up from his phone. “You say things like a middle manager trapped in a LinkedIn post.”
Oscar frowned. “I do not.”
Logan smirked. “You saying you’re interesting, Piastri?”
“I’m saying I understand what makes something interesting. Can we stay on task?”
“Do you?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow.
Oscar frowned slightly. “Yes.”
There was a beat.
Then Charles, very casually, said, “Name the last time you did something spontaneous.”
Oscar blinked. “I—what, guys seriously?”
“Something unplanned,” Charles clarified, ignoring Oscar’s protests. “No structure. No schedule.”
Oscar hesitated. “That’s not relevant to the meeting.”
Logan grinned immediately. “Oh, it’s very relevant.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” Max said, leaning back in his chair. “Because you’re saying you have personality and unpredictability, and you have… none.”
“That’s not true,” Oscar said flatly.
Charles tilted his head. “You’re very controlled.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No,” Charles agreed. “But it does make you slightly terrifying to date.”
Oscar paused.
“…What?”
Logan laughed. “He’s right. You’d schedule a relationship like a meeting.”
“I would not.”
“You absolutely would,” Max said. “You’d send calendar invites.”
“That’s—no.”
“‘Hi, are you available for emotional vulnerability at 3:15?’” Logan added.
Oscar stared at them. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” Charles said, trying to hide his laugh.
“It’s not accurate.”
Max smirked slightly. “Alright then.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes. “Alright what?”
Max leaned forward just slightly.
“Prove it.”
Oscar crossed his arms. “Prove what?”
“That you’re not like that,” Max said. “That you can actually… put yourself out there.”
“I can,” Oscar said immediately.
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Since uh, when?”
Oscar opened his mouth and closed.
“…That’s not the point.” He finally said.
“That’s exactly the point,” Charles said smoothly.
Oscar frowned. “I’m not scared to date.”
“No one said scared,” Logan said.
“I would,” Max chimed in.
Oscar looked at him. “I’m not.”
Max shrugged. “Then it should be easy.”
Oscar exhaled slowly. “Easy for what?”
Max’s expression shifted—just slightly, something more challenging settling in.
“Find someone,” he said. “Go on a date, actually start something.”
Oscar blinked. “That’s—very vague.”
“Fine,” Logan said, sitting up now, fully invested. “You have one week.”
Oscar let out a short laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Charles asked.
“Yes, at least give me ten days.”
Max tilted his head. “If you’re not scared, and you’re not… whatever we just described—then, yeah, I’d say ten days is more than enough.”
Oscar hesitated. It was a stupid bet. Completely unnecessary. Logically flawed.
“…Define ‘find someone,’” he said.
Logan grinned. “Knew it, Oscar loves a good challenge.”
Charles smiled slightly. “Someone you genuinely want to see again.”
Max added, “And who wants to see you again.”
Oscar considered that, ten days. It wasn’t impossible, it was just… inconvenient.
“…Fine,” he said.
Logan sat up straighter. “Wait, seriously?”
Oscar nodded once. “Ten days.”
Max smirked. “And you’re actually going to try?”
Oscar met his gaze, calm but just a little sharper now.
“I don’t do things halfway.”
Charles let out a quiet laugh. “This should be interesting.”
Logan leaned back again, shaking his head. “I give it three days before you panic.”
“I’m not going to panic.”
Max raised his red bull slightly. “Ten days.”
Oscar shuffled his papers, almost absently.
“Ten days,” he repeated.
And just like that—
The plan for his week was gone and he ruled the meeting a disaster.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The club was loud. Loud enough that conversations blurred together into something constant and indistinct, like background noise Oscar couldn’t quite filter out. He stood near the bar, drink in hand, shoulders relaxed but posture still just a little too straight. Watching, more than participating.
“Have you talked to anyone yet?” Logan asked, appearing beside him like he’d been tracking his movements.
“I’ve been here for five minutes.”
“It’s been fifteen.”
Oscar frowned slightly. “That’s not possible.”
Logan just smiled. “It is.”
Across the room, Charles was already deep in conversation, laughing easily. Max stood nearby, half-turned toward a group but clearly only half-interested in whatever they were saying.
Oscar exhaled, ten days. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d agreed to that, or why he agreed to come out tonight.
“Go talk to someone,” Logan said.
“I will.”
“When?”
Oscar took a sip of his drink. “Soon.”
Logan opened his mouth to argue—
But then Max was suddenly there, sliding into the space beside them like he’d been waiting for the exact right moment.
“You’re wasting time,” Max said simply.
Oscar glanced at him. “I just got here.”
“And you’ve done nothing.”
“I’m thinking.”
Max gave him a look. “That’s the problem.”
Logan nodded. “Exactly.”
Oscar sighed. “You’re both incredibly unhelpful.”
Max ignored that, scanning the room briefly before his gaze landed somewhere across it.
He smiled. Not a big smile. Not obvious, but devious.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll help you.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes slightly. “I didn’t ask for help.”
“You need it.”
“I don’t.”
Max gestured subtly across the room. “See him?”
Oscar followed his gaze.
Leaning against a wall, camera hanging from his shoulder, talking to someone but clearly not in the conversation. He looked distracted, yet somehow you could tell he was listening to every word.
“…What about him?” Oscar asked, still watching the man across from him.
Max shrugged. “He’s cute.”
“That’s your criteria?”
“It’s a starting point.”
Logan leaned in slightly. “He looks like your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Max snorted. “You absolutely do. You just haven’t realized what it is.”
Oscar looked away.
“No,” he said.
Max raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“I’m not just going to walk up to a random person because you pointed at them.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s—” Oscar paused. “—weird.”
“It’s a club.”
“That doesn’t make it less weird.”
Max tilted his head, studying him.
“…You’re overthinking it,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Logan nodded. “You definitely are.”
Oscar exhaled slowly. “I just—prefer a more natural approach.”
Max’s expression shifted slightly—like he’d been waiting for that.
“I doesn’t get much more natural,” he said easily. “Don’t overthink it. Just go say hi.”
Oscar didn’t move.
Max smirked.
“Or,” he added, just lightly enough to sound like nothing, “you could admit you don’t actually want to do this.”
Oscar’s gaze snapped back to him. “That’s not true.”
“Then prove it.”
Oscar looked back across the room.
Lando had shifted positions slightly, now half-turned away from whoever he’d been talking to, attention drifting, looking around the room, body language open.
Oscar watched, hesitated.
“…Fine,” he said.
Max’s smirk deepened, but he stepped back and motioned for Oscar to move.
“Go on, then.”
Oscar set his drink down on the bar, rolling his shoulders back slightly, like he was preparing for something far more serious than a conversation.
“Relax,” Logan muttered. “You’re just saying hi.”
“I know.”
“You don’t look like you know.”
Oscar ignored him.
Across the room, Lando glanced up.
Their eyes met, neither of them looked away.
Max watched the entire thing unfold, arms crossed, entirely satisfied. Because He already knew something Oscar didn’t, and that made this infinitely more interesting.
Oscar took a step forward, then another.
Oscar stopped a comfortable distance away.
“Hi,” he said, unable to hide his smile or blush.
Lando tilted his head slightly, studying him for a second, like he was deciding something.
“Hi,” he a grin stretching across his face.
Oscar gestured vaguely toward the room. “Bit much, isn’t it?”
Lando huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to leave for like… twenty minutes.”
“Then why haven’t you?”
Lando lifted his camera slightly. “Work.”
Oscar nodded. “That’s fair.”
Another pause, a bit awkward. Just… unhurried.
“I’m Oscar,” he said.
“Lando.”
They shook hands, Oscar questioning what the heck he was doing.
Lando let go first, leaning back against the wall, but his attention stayed on Oscar.
“So, Wa—” Lando started.
At the same time Oscar began, “Wanna— No you first.”
That earned him a small smile, “Wanna get out of here?”
“I was gonna say the same thing.”
Walking the streets of London, they talked about nothing at first. The club, friends, how neither of them really wanted to be there. Then it shifted, slowly, into something a little more real. Work. Travel. The weirdness of always being around people but not really with them.
The city felt different without the music and voices pressing in on it.They walked side by side for a minute, hands in pockets, not rushing.
“So,” Lando said, glancing over, “do you always look like you’re about to analyze a situation from every possible angle?”
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Only when I’m in a situation.”
“Right now?”
Oscar considered it. “…Less than before.”
“I’ll take that as progress.”
Oscar glanced at him. “Do you always deflect questions with sarcasm?”
“Only when I don’t want to answer them.”
“Good to know.”
Lando smiled slightly.
There was a place on the corner, still open, lights warm against the dark street.
“Dessert?” Lando asked, nodding toward it.
Oscar looked at the sign, then back at him.
“…Sure.”
It was quiet inside. A few scattered people, soft music, the kind of place that didn’t rush you out. They ordered and ended up at a small table near the window.
“So what do you do for work?” Oscar asked, gesturing to the camera.
Lando leaned back slightly, stretching his arms along the back of the booth.
“I’m a photographer.”
Oscar nodded. “That explains the camera.”
“Yeah. I travel a lot. Studio work, mostly.” His words trailing off.
Oscar tilted his head slightly. “You don’t like it?”
“Sometimes,” Lando said. “I love photography. I am just more into candid shots.”
“And you?” Lando asked before Oscar could say more. “You seem like you have a job that involves spreadsheets.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “That’s offensive.”
“It’s accurate.”
Oscar shook his head. “I work in strategy.”
Lando blinked. “Strategy… for what?”
“Motorsport,” Oscar said. “Mostly F2, a little F1.”
That got his attention.
“Wait, actually?” Lando sat up slightly. “Like for the teams?”
Oscar nodded. “I’m not making big decisions or anything. Mostly data, projections, race simulations. Trying to figure out what should happen before it does.”
Lando watched him for a second, more focused now.
“So you’re the guy telling everyone when to pit,” he said.
Oscar huffed. “Not quite. I’m the guy helping the guy who tells them when to pit.”
“Still counts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does a little.”
Oscar shook his head, but there was a small smile there.
“You go to races a lot?” Lando asked.
“Not really,” Oscar said. “I’m usually at the office. I am more… behind the scenes.”
“Hidden mastermind,” Lando flirted.
“That’s not what that is.”
“Spreadsheet mastermind, then.”
“You’re hilarious.” Oscar groaned thinking maybe this while putting yourself out there thing wasn’t so bad.
Lando grinned, taking a drink of his chocolate milkshake.
Oscar took a bite of his double chocolate ice cream, then glanced back up. “Do you enjoy all the travel?”
“Most of it,” Lando said. “It gets a bit… repetitive sometimes. Same places, same people, same angles.”
Oscar nodded slowly. “So you look for something different.”
“Yeah,” glancing up at Oscar when he adds, “when I can. People are more interesting when they’re not performing,” Lando added.
Oscar held his gaze for a second. There was a subtle shift then. The conversation slowed, not because it ran out, but because it didn’t need to fill every second anymore.
Oscar glanced out the window briefly, then back at Lando.
“I’m glad we left,” he said.
“Me too.”
Then Lando smirked slightly. “You’re less intense out here.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes. “I’m not intense.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Oscar shook his head faintly—but he was smiling.
They stayed longer than they planned, getting kicked out by the owners so they could close the shop. Laughing together on their way out.
Not wanting the night to end, Oscar asked, “Would you, uh, want to come over?” It came out more shy and hesitant than he'd planned.
“Sure.” Lando grinned
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Dim lighting, a space that felt lived in but not cluttered. Papers were scattered on the dining table, as if Oscar had left in the middle of working.
Lando took it in quickly, not quietly.
“See, spreadsheets,” he said, nodding papers and thumbing what was in fact a spreadsheet.
“Some of it,” Oscar said, dropping his keys onto the counter. “Some of it just makes me look more professional.”
Lando smiled faintly. “It’s working.”
Oscar glanced at him while he quickly organized the papers, blushing. “Good.”
Oscar set his jacket down, turning back just as Lando stepped into his space—not rushed, not hesitant either.
The first kiss was soft. Testing.
Oscar stilled for a fraction of a second, not expecting such a bold move, then leaned into it.
Lando smiled slightly against his mouth, like he’d expected that.
A second kiss followed, a little more certain this time.
Lando pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to stare at Oscar and smile. Glancing back and forth between his eyes and what he now considered to be very kissable lips.
Oscar frowned slightly. “What?”
Lando shrugged, a hint of something playful in his expression. “Nothing.”
“You can’t just kiss a guy and then say ‘nothing’.”
“It wasn’t bad,” Lando said, like he was evaluating it. “Just… testing.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes slightly. “Testing what?”
Lando tilted his head. “If you’re unravel-able.”
Oscar let out a quiet breath, somewhere between amused and challenged. “And?”
Lando stepped back just a little more, creating space again.
“Undecided.” Lando smiled at Oscar, teasing him.
That shouldn’t have been as adorable as it was.
Oscar crossed his arms loosely. “You’re kind of annoying.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Recently?”
“Frequently.”
That pulled a real laugh out of Oscar.
Lando watched him laugh another smile spreading across his face. Causing Oscar’s breathe to catch.
Feeling spontaneous Oscar leaned in for the kiss this time catching lando off guard.
“Do you want to stay?” Oscar asked, casually.
Lando hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, if this wasn’t a bet he probably would’ve—but because there was also something about the way Oscar asked said it… intentionally unclear. Like he wasn’t fully committing to the question.
“…I should probably go,” he said instead.
Oscar nodded easily, putting up no argument, like he’d expected that. “Yeah. Probably.”
At the door, he paused,“…This was nice.”
Oscar leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Yeah. It was.”
Lando studied him for a second—like he was trying to figure something out.
“I’ll see you around?” he said.
Oscar’s mouth twitched slightly. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
And then he left.
The door clicked shut.
Oscar stood there for a second, staring at it. Then exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“Alright, that was easy,” he muttered to himself.
One night down. He could do this.
Running his hands through his hair, he moved to get ready for bed. Noticing that Lando had left his jacket.