Chapter Text
Everyone knows Formula 1 was not a forgiving sport, one slip-up could cost a driver everything, on track and off. That was even more true for Oscar. While the world outside was slowly opening up to the idea of littles in high pressure environments, the pinnacle of motorsports remained exclusive to caregivers and neutrals. Or so they thought.
The 2025 driver’s world championship fight had left Oscar exhausted in every way.
Every race since Monza had felt like a hand pushing down on his throat, choking him further until there wasn’t even a scrap of air left in his lungs. Every weekend had added its own layer of stress, bearing down and deepening the cracks in his already fractured psyche. Managing to stay big and not slip into the soft haze had become more and more difficult, with his thoughts becoming hazy more often than not as the season went on.
The slippery slope of wanting soft things was not something he could afford to fall on, so he suppressed it. He kept it locked away in the most secretive part of mind that yearned for things he simply could not have.
By the time Abu Dhabi came around, he was hanging on by a thread, the urge to slip constantly tugging at his mind like a pulsating heartbeat, consuming every thought. He was honestly glad it was over, more than anything. He had needed a small miracle to win and wasn’t surprised by the final result.
He wasn’t mad at Lando for it, not at all. On the contrary, he was so damn proud of his teammate. Oscar had watched him come up through the junior formulae and known that he would win it all someday.
Still, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to lose.
Lando was another problem entirely though. Online, he was portrayed as a chaotic neutral, with the occasional childish comment. In reality he was a caretaker, which was obvious to anyone within two seconds of interacting with him.
He was always the first to ask how someone’s day was, if they needed a break or a snack. Poor Oscar was not exempt to his kind actions. In his head he knew, he knew, it was just a friendly gesture born from instincts but his heart had a tendency to run away with it, especially during his rookie year. He had often caught himself at the edge of the slippery slope with his thoughts becoming slightly hazy just from a few words of sympathy or a guiding hand at his back.
All in all however, the season was over, so he deserved a break right? Wrong. Oscar was pulled into one media commitment after the other, each journalist asking about the loss of the championship. Each wearing down his already razor thin composure just that little bit more. By the time he was finished with the last one for that day, he had a raging headache, causing tears to well up behind his eyes.
He needed to be home but the thought of returning to his lifeless apartment was even more distressing. His space had been a mess ever since the second half of the season started, returning it after long days at the MTC just to crash for the night. He imagined his fridge, that had maybe a protein smoothie and a couple of pieces of fruit. Nothing worth a meal though, especially for a little. The thought made him scrub his hand across his face, if just to physically push back the tears threatening to fall.
“Oscar, are you alright?” The voice of a vaguely concerned journalist broke his stupor. Huh, he must’ve zoned out. He probably looked stupid just standing outside his car.
“Yeah, all good. Just got lost thinking about something.” His voice is dry and scratchy, probably from the amount of talking he just a few minutes ago. He gets a small side eye and hum from the journalist before he decides to end his misery and hop in the car. It’s only when he puts his hands on the wheel to reverse out, does he see the subtle tremor in them. His hands are so cold, he can barely feel them in the first place. Just get home. He scrunches his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Almost there.
The drive home passes in relative peace however, each passing sound grates on already pounding headache like a reverberating bass. Every click of an indicator or passing car horn is a direct attack to his senses. He reaches his Woking apartment in a daze, as though he’s perceiving the world through a layer of fog. Every sense is dulled, he can barely pick up any sights and smells now. Thankfully he knows his way around his apartment well enough to navigate the path to his bed without bumping into too much stuff. He stills steps on the occasional laundry and haphazard objects that he hasn’t had the energy to pick up.
He flops onto his bed face down, the soft haze threatening to take over more than over. It would be so easy. He still one final day of media tomorrow though, he knew that if he slipped now he would very likely crash drop and stay down for a while to recover from the time he had spent delaying it. Not to mention he would probably regress to a far younger mindset than he usually did due to the crash drop.
Just get through tomorrow, he thought. Then he would clean the apartment, buy some groceries, maybe some toys too and drop for as long as he needed.
None of that stopped the pull of soft clothes and quiet thoughts now though. Oscar inhaled deeply, his breath stuttered several times. Hold. Then he slowly pushed the air out of his lungs, or as slow as he could anyways. Good. Ok, a few more . He kept a hand on his chest and kept taking deep inhalations until the each breath no longer felt like an internal battle and the edges of the soft fog had rescinded.
Oscar lied on the bed for what felt like hours but a quick check on the digital clock told him it had only been a few minutes.
Alright, take it easy, you just need to make it through tomorrow.
With that he swung his legs off the bed and made his way to the fridge, grabbed the lone protein smoothie and headed to the living room. He opened the cap of the smoothie bottle with some difficulty, his fingers were heavy like lead, not listening to what he wanted them to do. He fumbled with the lid until eventually he got it open, he chucked back the smoothie and immediately started coughing as some of the liquid made it into his windpipe. Tears started welling up behind his eyes as violent coughs rattled his body.
A brief surge panic arose as each coughs seemed to give him no reprieve, demanding air he didn’t have. After what couldn’t have been longer than a minute, the coughs died down in intensity but left his throat feeling raw and aching. Oscar waited until his breaths weren’t so laboured until he gripped the smoothie bottle with a hand either side and carefully tipped the bottle back, making sure to take smaller sips this time.
After he consumed about half of the bottle, he put it aside and searched for the TV remote. He huffed, eyebrows pinching together, when he didn’t find it in his immediate vicinity but after lifting up the cushions with a bit more aggression than strictly necessary he found it. A small upturn of his lips and he was flopping onto the couch again. His tried to remember which button was for turning the TV on, he stared at the remote in his hand with intense concentration, deciding the big red button must do something important.
A small click and suddenly the apartment was filled with sounds of Bananas in Pyjamas, as the big screen displayed introduction to the cartoon. Oscar didn’t notice the remote falling out of his hand, nor his head gradually finding the couch. He watched with rapt attention, his mouth hanging slightly open and small collection of drool forming as his eyes remained fixed on the screen. When the Bananas on screen bumped into each other, a soft giggle escaped his lips.
Usually this would have alarms bells ringing in his head but the mental fatigue kept those thoughts far away as he unknowingly drifted off to sleep.