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Oscar’s heart sank as he watched the team flooding the podium, champagne, smiles. Lando grinning as they dumped the drink over his head. An explosion of papaya. He watched the screen, trying his best to keep his face neutral. P4. He hadn’t been quick enough for a podium. He had fallen back, Lando pulling ahead in the championship. McLaren's golden boy, up on the 3rd step. The Constructors Championship secured.
Oscar felt the crack in his chest widening as he thought of all the points that he had given to the team to make it happen. And there they were hoisting Lando on their shoulders as if he had already won the WDC as well. He might as well have, there was no way Oscar was going to be preferred now.
He had been watching the lead slowly dwindle race after race, the team never having been fully behind him in the first place suddenly started buzzing at the idea of Lando regaining the lead. Oscar couldn’t help but feel the icy tendrils of hurt.
Lando had even started behaving differently around him, they hung out less, silences becoming tense and uncomfortable where they had never been before. The heated kiss they had shared after the final race last year, both high on adrenaline and elated to have won the constructors, seemed so far away. The smiles, warm cheeks, the secret glances. Lando coming back to Oscar’s room after clubbing, both exhausted from the race, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. The more the stress that piled from the team, from the fans, the less they saw of each other. Oscar would look across the garage and instead of catching Lando’s eye and getting a cheeky smile or good luck nod, he wouldn't even get a reaction. Lando focused and bent over one of the data screens, no more lingering chats or playful slaps.
Oscar found himself drifting, something fundamental in his connection to the team, to his teammate, was broken. And he couldn’t help but think it was just because he was winning.
Well he wasn’t anymore was he.
He didn’t feel like going back to his hotel, the silence of the empty room would be just too much right now. He makes his way out of the media pen, the team still celebrating behind him. Oscar silently packs up his gear, changing into a nondescript white t-shirt and some shorts. It’s well past midnight in Singapore, but the private clubs will be open all night, many buildings fully booked in advance by the teams to celebrate regardless of position. Here, just finishing the race is worth celebrating.
Oscar watches the citylights flash past as he takes a cab to the club McLaren had booked for the weekend. Oscar doesn’t drink often but he feels this is a valid reason to indulge. He checks his phone, the harsh light in the dark car makes him squint. No new messages. None from the team or Lando. They probably didn’t even notice he had left the track already.
He shouldn’t be surprised, while there was no official second driver, he could tell the unspoken agreement that if it came down to the wire Lando would be given preference. If things were different, he would be going back to the hotel, Lando talking his ear off, both of them curled around each other on the oversized hotel bed.
The club McLaren chose was a penthouse, multi-story with a rooftop restaurant. It was late enough the restaurant was closed, but the club inside was in full swing. Oscar pushed through the throng of drunk dancing to get to the bar.
Shouting over the din he just gets whatever is on tap, not a huge fan of alcohol. He preferred wine with a nice dinner, or if he is on a break, hot chocolate. Coffee and tea made him jittery, and energy drinks didn’t agree with him either.
Sipping his beer carefully, he makes his way to a small staircase. It leads to the roof, small tables lining a glass barrier overlooking the city. The restaurant is dark save for a few solar powered lamps, but the real advantage is it is quiet. Not the awful padded silence of the hotel room, but relaxing. He is out of the stifling heat of the dance floor, and enjoying the slight breeze, he crosses to one of the tables. Setting down his drink he leans on the glass barrier, looking at the city.
He wishes he could see the stars.
Oscar doesn’t know how long he is up there, but he is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the door to the roof opening. He turns, noting that his forgotten drink sits in a puddle of condensation.
To his surprise, it’s Lando that stumbles onto the roof. He strolls over to Oscar casually, and Oscar can tell he’s been drinking. Not heavily, but the champagne has definitely caught up to him. His eyes are bright, a flush sitting across the bridge of his nose.
“Thought I would find you up here.”
“No you didn’t.”
Oscar almost scoffed, turning to look out at the city so Lando wouldn’t read the hurt on his face. Lando just hummed.
“Google maps, I can see your location, muppet.”
Oscar didn’t respond. He felt a tightness in his chest, the possibility of going back to their playful banter, their almost-relationship, being dangled in front of him was torture. He knew Lando saw what they had as a fling, something nice to fall back on after a stressful weekend. But Oscar, god help him, had somewhere along the way, become attached. He hesitated to say that it was love, it was almost more of an obsession than anything else. It was like an addiction. He couldn’t get enough and when Lando pulled back, he got desperate.
“Look, I wanted to find you to celebrate, I mean we just won constructors! We should, I dunno, be doing shots!”
Oscar just turned his head slightly, enough to give Lando a look.
“It looked like you were celebrating just fine at the track,” Oscar tried to give him a reassuring smile but his heart was not in it. It faltered and fell, as Oscar registered the sudden hurt that flickered across Lando’s face. “you should head back, the team is probably missing you.”
“Oscar- that’s not-”
“No no, tell me what it’s not.” Oscar felt months of frustration bubbling under his skin.
“Tell me that you aren’t in the mood, that you want to stay later at the track, that what we had wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t enough.”
Lando’s face shuttered, a frown etched into his mouth. He stepped back.
“So what, you are just up here, sulking? The team is celebrating what we did together, and you are here feeling bad for yourself because you got 4th?”
Oscar felt cold despite the Singapore heat.
“That’s not what this is about and you know it.”
“No no, you are here sulking because you couldn’t do a victory lap around me. You have been ahead all year, since the start you have been winning. And I pull ahead, I finally catch up and get just one fucking win, and you can’t be bothered to show up.”
Lando doesn’t even let Oscar get in a word response before he turns to go back to the party. Oscar doesn’t think. He hadn’t even drunk enough to blame alcohol. This is so stupid, and yet…
Oscar grabs Lando’s arm, spinning him back around and pushing them both up against the wall of the building. Before Lando can protest, Oscar seals his lips over Lando’s. The kiss deepens and he feels Lando’s hands come up to grip his hair. Oscar’s hands wander down Lando’s chest, a hand slipping under the hem of the shirt. They finally have to come up for air, panting as their noses brush. Oscar gets the brief moment of satisfaction before he feels Lando’s hands on his shoulders. Oscar stumbles as Lando shoves him back.
“Are you out of your mind??” Lando looks around frantically, as if there had been paparazzi hiding behind a table.
Lando glares at him, cheeks still flushed.
“We agreed, not in public.”
Oscar, still riding the high of feeling Lando’s hands on him, only stared. Lando frantically straightened his shirt, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.
“We- I can’t. Not here.”
Lando looks back at Oscar once more before retreating back down to the party.
Oscar stands on the rooftop, alone once more. He feels the phantom heat of Lando’s lips, his hands, the warmth of his skin. Oscar looks up at the sky. He still wishes he could see stars.