Archive of Our Own

“I’ll pull out a 10-second gap with no tyres”

And he did. Damn right he did.

Lando’s grip on the steering wheel tightened with every turn, sweat dripping through his balaclava. Every nerve of his body was telling him to focus on the race, and to only think about keeping the car within the curbs of the track. But oh, how could he?

It was the first time he actually had a clear chance of winning a race since he became world champion. First time since the start of the season that his car acted like last year. First time he was back flying.

And also, first time since who knows how long two papayas were at the front.

It was always bittersweet, for him, to think about those times when it was always him and Oscar, Oscar and him. The two Mclaren boys dominating the season, closer to each other than to anyone else.

That was where they were meant to be, he knew it.

The memories tasted like champagne, sweat and chocolate.

Even then, at 296 km/h, Lando smiled foolishly at the thought.

“Gap from Hamilton is 14.1”

Will’s voice was flat. Lando heard his race engineer but didn’t fully understand him at first. Then, slowly like poison does, awareness started spreading through his body and made him shiver, muscle after muscle.

He genuinely thought for a second that he had dreamt of Oscar being right behind him until two laps ago, and that reality was far beyond that.

He pushed the radio button.

“Oscar?”

Will answered almost immediately, as if he already knew what Lando was going to ask. After all, that’s what Lando always worried about. Oscar.

“His gearbox failed. He had to retire the car,” the race engineer explained. “I need you to focus on the race, Lando”

And he did.

He won.

Yet, when he drove by the wreck of the second Mclaren on the following lap, his grip on his car faltered for a moment.

The highlights of the race started playing on the screen as soon as Lando sat in the cooldown room. Oscar’s overtake in lap 1, George having issues with his car, Max overtaking Liam and Lewis.

Then the frame shifted, focusing on Oscar’s car in the moment that must’ve been right after his pit stop. Lando expected to see the car fly through the overlapped cars, then reach the other Mclaren in the front.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Oscar’s car found itself behind an Aston Martin and a Williams. Carlos, Lando recognized immediately.

It happened so fast. In a second, Lando watched Carlos driving without regard to the car behind him for one, two, six turns before making contact with it in turn 2. Oscar’s car jolted hard, two of his tyres went into the gravel, and Lando could clearly see the way Oscar panickily gripped the steering wheel and turned it, trying to stay on the track.

Kimi said something, but Lando didn’t quite catch it. Though, he felt the thoughtful gaze of Max burning his skin for a few seconds, until the Red bull driver turned his focus back on the screen.

Max had always known about him and Oscar. Not everybody would’ve said it, but Lando knew how he could be perceptive regarding this type of thing. Of anyone on the grid surely, particularly of the ones he knew the most, such as Charles, George and Lando, but lately much more on Oscar, to whom he started having an obvious soft spot.

Lando still remembered the night after Suzuka, when he and Oscar found themselves outside of a wild club at 2am. He remembered how he threw up in the cold grass, still wet from the rain, how Oscar held him gently trying to support him, and how they sat out there, on the ground, for ages. Oscar had an arm around Lando’s shoulder and was kissing his forehead softly when Max, who must’ve gone out of the club to get some fresh air, saw them.

It hadn’t been awkward, or at least that was Lando thought as drunk, tired and sick as he was, but he remembered quite well how he felt Oscar being calm and relaxed too, unlike the way he would stiffen every time someone he wasn’t so close with became aware of something Oscar deeply cared about.

Already then, Max looked at them gently, as if he was watching two stray cats sleeping next to each other seeking warmth on a cold winter night. From then on, Max knew. Or maybe he had always known, Lando thought.

So, it made sense that Max thought about Lando as soon as he saw Oscar struggling on the screen. However, it only lasted a few seconds. Next to them, Kimi didn’t even notice, his breath still uneven from the race.

When the screen showed Oscar slowing down, being overtaken by three cars and then barely stopping off track, Lando stiffened.

He knew cameras were aimed at him, and, in an instant, he became hyperconscious of his facial expression, gestures and body movements.

He tightened his jaw trying to act as normally as possible. After years in f1, that came really easy for him. The bittersweet feeling that now clenched his chest, though, was something that could never.

The happiness over his win was now slowly being overshadowed by the realization that Oscar had been, once again, one step away from winning. That he had been, once again, so close to finally being able to look at himself in the mirror and not feeling disappointed.

And yet, he couldn’t.

Again.

Like last time.

And the time before that.

It was around 7pm when Lando was finally able to go back to the garage. The celebrations took longer than expected, interviewers following anyone from the team, trying to get a portrait of how the team was feeling after their first win of the season.

Lando hadn’t been this happy in a while. He had been dragged here and there by Zak, pr managers and journalists he didn’t remember the name of, but he didn’t find it annoying for once. When the situation calmed down and he could only see familiar faces in the garage, though, he was glad he could finally take a breath.

He checked his phone, finding loads of texts by Max Fewtrell, some from Daniel Ric, then parents, siblings, and lots of fans on twitter. He didn’t open any of them.

Just one.

osc🧡

congrats world champ

you were amazing

“What’cha staring at, Norris? One of your girls texting you?”

Zak’s voice came out as a laugh. The man patted Lando’s shoulder paternally, and the driver could see quite clearly that he had been drinking some champagne during the celebrations.

Dumbass, he thought.

“Sure Zak,” Lando answered unbothered, putting his phone in one of his pockets. He really couldn’t care less about what Zak or anyone from the team thought about his private life. “Have you seen Oscar?”

“Nope,” Zak replied. “But debrief is in thirty minutes, so you better go shower”.

He playfully waved his hand in front of his own face, as if to say that Lando stank, and then walked away to the inner rooms of the Mclaren garage.

Lando opened Oscar’s chat again. He started typing something, then thought about it, deleted it, and started walking instead through the hallways, reaching the one in which his and Oscar’s driver’s rooms were, in the quietest area of the building.

Oscar’s door was closed.

Shit.

Oscar never closed his door.

Because it had always been just them in the corridor, Lando couldn’t remember a time they kept their doors closed, or even locked.

It started as practical: this way, they could’ve talked to each other without having to leave their rooms. But then, as their bond tightened, it shifted into something deeper. Leaving both doors open meant never really leaving the other. It meant making the other feel less alone. It meant ‘I’m here, always’.

But there had been exceptions.

There had been times when, after a race, one of them couldn’t even bear the thought of being seen by the other.

Oscar had only left his door closed on five other occasions throughout their four years as teammates: Hungary two years ago, Melbourne, Baku and Qatar last year, and Melbourne four months ago.

The first time, Lando didn’t even realize. He opened the door without even knocking and then realized he shouldn’t have. The next time, the door was locked.

Lando knew Oscar didn’t lock him out because he didn’t want him, but because he didn’t want anyone, especially Lando, to see him and be disappointed. As if Lando could ever be disappointed in him.

Usually, the door remained locked for an hour or so before the debrief, sometimes after, but it would always open in the end.

Still, Lando didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

The fact that he couldn’t talk to him, or even check on him from the other room, made Lando’s skin burn.

And now, watching the sign “O. Piastri” on the door, with the little smiley face on the corner that he drew himself after yesterday’s qualifications, Lando couldn’t do anything.

And because he respected Oscar and didn’t want to hurt him, he stepped away and went to his own room.

He left his door open.

“Let’s move on to Oscar now”

Andrea Stella had been standing next to the digital board for about twenty minutes, discussing the race out loud with conviction. In front of him, a dozen people were sitting around a table, including the two Mclaren drivers, their personal engineers, Zak Brown, and familiar faces from the garage that were taking notes attentively.

When Lando had entered the room before the debrief began, his eyes had immediately spotted Oscar. He was listening to his engineer, Tom, explaining something quietly, although he didn’t seem to pay much attention.

His gaze was lost somewhere on the table in front of him, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and a leg moving up and down nervously. Lando had the impression either that he had just woken up from an awful nap, or that he had just finished a long hot shower that had made him even more tired than he was before.

Either way, Lando had the urge to get him up from that chair, take him to the hotel and make sure he slept for once. But he couldn’t do that, so he simply walked to the chair on the opposite side of the table from where Oscar was sitting.

When he sat there, Oscar’s eyes drifted from the table to Lando.

He looked at him for a second, eyes tired, then greeted him with a little smile.

“Hi,” Lando whispered, smiling back. Then Andrea entered the room and Oscar’s gaze followed him walking to the digital board, and the spell was broken.

Oscar never looked at Lando again.

Not when Andrea congratulated Lando and the engineers, nor when they discussed Lando’s car, engine and strategy.

But then the conversation shifted.

“Let’s move on to Oscar now,” declared Andrea exhaling deeply. Most of the Mclaren workers raised their eyes from their notes and quietly waited for what he had to say.

Lando’s attention naturally shifted on Oscar, who looked the same as before, but was now staring at the team principal.

His jaw was clenched.

Oh, he was angry.

Andrea started discussing the initial strategy, how Oscar’s first round of tyres worked and his lap time. It was as if he was trying to procrastinate the elephant in the room. Lando listened carefully, curious as he always was if the topic was even slightly related to Oscar, but still keeping an eye on him, checking.

“We can see here,” Andrea pointed some data written on the board. “Lap time dropped significantly on the second round of tyres. Problems with the pace were reported here and... here. The car was struggling more than during the qualifying, right Oscar?”

The driver simply nodded, arms now crossed.

Someone towards the end of the table coughed awkwardly.

“We will review that during summer break. As for the gearbox,” Andrea exhaled. He paused for three long seconds. “We still need to understand what happened”.

Then he pointed at the board with a small remote control, and replays started playing in slow motion, from Oscar’s pit stop until he had to retire the car. But if the screen in the cooldown room had only shown the most scenic moments and kept away all the data and radio messages, here everything was uncovered.

Lando found himself staring eagerly at any data, move, radio message that appeared on the screen. Next to him, Oscar kept his gaze low.

After the pit stop appeared on the screen, everyone saw Oscar’s car flying back on the main track, only to be slowed down by the two cars in front of him.

“Here was the traffic,” Andrea said, eyes on the board.

One turn. Two. Four. Seven.

“Come on,” whispered Lando, to nobody really, or maybe to Carlos, who was the one slowing down Oscar in the replay. But there wasn’t much he could do now, could he?

“Mate, are these guys stupid or what?”

Oscar’s ragged voice filled the room. Nobody said anything. Lando glanced at him, but Oscar remained impassive.

His eyes went back to the screen right when Carlos’s car made contact with Oscar’s.

“Get out of the fucking way, you idiot!”

Lando didn’t even realize he was tightening his fists on his lap.

The room went silent, some people looked at Oscar with pity, some with disappointment. Andrea was one of these last.

Lando felt sick.

He knew everybody saw Oscar as “the iceman” and that when he showed the slightest form of anger or sadness, they would have some kind of unnecessary reaction.

It wasn’t fair.

Tom’s voice filled the room, trying to reassure Oscar on the radio, only to be interrupted immediately.

“Mate, just don’t fucking talk to me now”

The tiredness of his voice felt suffocating. Lando had again the urge to get him up from that chair and drive him home. But they were in Hungary, Oscar’s house was miles away, and they were stuck in that room.

Lando stopped caring about the screen and looked at Oscar, trying to get him to look back but failing. Oscar seemed lost.

Apparently, the video on the screen stopped playing, because now Andrea was talking again.

“—saying, some data suggested a possible failure right after the contact with Sainz. We still have to review everything more deeply, but we’re quite positive the gearbox would’ve worked without any kind of issues if the contact didn’t happen. Anyway, that’s a relief, because the gearbox itself wouldn’t—”

“A relief?”

Oscar spoke for the first time since the debrief started. He sounded pissed, and as much as Lando probably agreed with anything Oscar was going to say, he knew that wasn’t the right moment to let out his anger.

Tom must’ve had the same thought, because he leaned towards Oscar and whispered a cautious “Oscar”.

Oscar didn’t seem to hear. He was staring at Andrea, who cleared his throat awkwardly before replying.

“Yes, a relief. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but the contact made us understand that the gearbox itself didn’t have any issues. For us as a team, that’s… an achievement, let’s say”

“Okay so,” Oscar argued immediately, “we’re just going to ignore the fact that he just fucked up my race?”

Shit shit shit

Lando knew that resentment towards the team had been building up in Oscar for long now, and he recognized so easily how it was on the verge of exploding, right there, in front of everyone.

Before he could say anything, Andrea spoke.

“We’re not ignoring that, Oscar,” he said as if he was speaking to a pointlessly angry child. “But Carlos already got a penalty for that”.

“Yeah, for barging into me. What about when he slowed me down for almost a minute?” were Oscar words. He was fuming now.

Tom put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention, but Oscar didn’t seem to care.

Andrea seemed to think of what to say for a few seconds.

“Look,” he started. “Every team had issues at communicating with overlapped cars and the blue flags system wasn’t working for a while. There’s nothing we—”

“There were blue flags,” Oscar said, raising his voice. Lando knew that’s what he would do in an argument if he felt like the other person didn’t really want to listen to what he was saying. “I drove by at least ten of them, so he did too. He just decided to ignore them”

Oscar was helplessly trying to make himself heard. Nobody around the table was saying anything except Andrea, though.

Lando didn’t know what to say. Oscar was right, to a certain extent. But the team wasn’t to blame here, and Carlos neither, Lando could bet that he didn’t do that on purpose.  That was just impossible.

“We will check,” is what Andrea said tiredly, as if to conclude the conversation.

“You had my onboard, you know I’m right,” Oscar kept going. “He saw the flags and didn’t move anyway, and nobody thought of mentioning that to the FIA—"

“Osc, he didn’t do that on purpose”

As soon as Lando’s words flew out of his mouth, the room got quiet.

Oscar, who had been staring at anything except Lando for the past half an hour, finally looked at him. With a horrible feeling, Lando realized he couldn’t quite read his face anymore.

“What?”. Oscar’s voice was almost a whisper. He spit the word out of his mouth as if he couldn’t believe what Lando had just said.

The way Oscar was looking at him made Lando’s skin burn.

 “He got a penalty for the contact,” Lando explained cautiously, trying to sound as little hostile as he could. “But he didn’t realize you were there. You can’t punish him for that”.

Oscar just stared at him.

“Did you just hear what I said?” he asked, not moving his gaze from Lando’s for even one second. “He knew I was there”.

“He wouldn’t have done that on purpose”

“He fucking did,” Oscar lashed out.

“Language,” was what Zak, who hadn’t spoken since the conversation shifted to Oscar, said firmly, and Lando realized he had forgotten for a second that him and Oscar were, in fact, not alone but in front of a dozen of people.

For a moment, no one talked. Lando found himself wishing that Oscar didn’t keep looking at him. Now, all he could see in his eyes was hurt, hurt, hurt.

“Look, Oscar,” Andrea started with a calm voice. Oscar kept his eyes on Lando for a heartbeat, then turned his gaze towards the team principal. “We all get your frustration, alright? Right now, what we can do is take advantage of the summer break and review attentively everything that happened, so that we can arrive at Zandvoort   in the best way possible, yeah?”

Oscar laughed.

“Yeah, of course,” he said sharply. “So you can develop new shit and give it to Lando, while you leave me with the old one that will eventually fall out mid-race, right?”

The room hadn’t been quieter. Everyone was looking at the two men speaking, first at one, then at the other. Even Tom didn’t know what to say.

Lando couldn’t look at Oscar. He felt a sense of guilt glued to his body that made him struggle to breathe. He knew he had always been the team’s first option, and that it made Oscar feel awful. He knew that.

“I’m tired of this,” Oscar kept going, anger shifting into something more vulnerable. Then, quieter. “I know the FIA wouldn’t have given a double penalty to Carlos, but as my team you should be trying and support me anyway. Me. Not Carlos, or whoever it is”.

“We do fight when there’s the possibility to fight, Oscar,” Andrea replied professionally.

Oscar’s expression shifted into something Lando couldn’t quite identify. It was something between disappointment and hate.

“Oh, do you?” he spat out, standing up while looking right into Andrea’s eyes, now at the same height as his.

Before Andrea could take it out on Oscar, Lando stood up too, and leaned toward the table, trying to get somehow closer to the aussie.

“Oscar, I don’t think this is the right—”

Oscar got back at him immediately, as if he was an aggressive stray dog and Lando had just touched him without any warning.

“Easy for you to say when they always fight for you, isn’t it?”

Lando didn’t know how helping Oscar turned into arguing with him. Maybe it was because it was easier now, since all he could see in his eyes was anger and hate, and not that vulnerability he saw a moment ago. Or maybe it was because Oscar was shamelessly accusing Carlos, who had been Lando’s best friend for who knows how long, and would’ve never done such a thing on purpose. Lando knew it.

“Excuse me?”. Lando’s voice sharpened just as much as Oscar’s did.

Andrea opened his arms trying to calm the two drivers down, and at the same time Tom stood up, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder, careful.

“They fight for both of us!” Lando raised his voice. “The only reason they didn’t this time is because it was pointless! Carlos made a mistake—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop defending him!” Oscar yelled back.

“Guys, alright, this is not the moment” Andrea tried but got interrupted by Oscar immediately.

“Yeah?”. Oscar turned immediately towards Andrea, who understood in that exact instant that Oscar had reached his limit. “When is the right moment, uh? Cause I’m tired of being a team player, I’m tired of all this, and nobody seems to give a fuck!”

He turned briefly to look at the Mclaren workers, then Tom, then his gaze stopped for a moment on Lando. For a brief heartbeat, they looked at each other and Lando couldn’t move at all, then Oscar’s gaze went back to Andrea. He stepped back before speaking.

“Hope you have a good summer break,” he said, and his voice was flat, tired. He glanced at Zak, then back at Andrea.

“I’m done with this”.

After Oscar walked out of the room, nobody said anything for few seconds. Lando found himself staring at the empty chair where Oscar was sitting, not knowing what to do.

Was he angry that Oscar was putting all the blame on the team and on Carlos, saying that it was all their fault? Or was he worried about him, and wanted to run after him, check on him, and kiss him on the forehead, like Oscar used to do to him every time Lando was upset after a bad race? Was he both?

He didn’t even realize Andrea started speaking again.

“—during the break. I’m sure we all understand Oscar’s frustration after today’s race… but we’ve been through worse, right?” were his words. He exhaled tiredly, then told everybody that the debrief was finished and they could all leave.

Lando never stood up this fast.

He walked to the door, went through it and then ran towards the drivers’ rooms, trying to catch Oscar before he locked himself in his own.

As soon as he turned the last corner and saw Oscar’s back, he stopped running and walked instead towards the taller figure.

“Osc?” he called once.

The other kept walking.

“Oscar!” he called again, angrier. Right when the aussie entered the room, Lando reached out and grabbed his arm, making him turn around. But Oscar freed himself from his grip immediately after.

“Fuck off, Lan”

Lando didn’t care. He entered the room before the door closed, and now it was only them.

Lando’s breath was the only sound filling the room. Oscar had that expression on his face, again, the one he couldn’t quite recognize.

“What the hell is your problem?” asked Lando, incredulous.

“Wha—” Oscar let out a laugh, but he sounded as if he was in pain. “What is your problem Lando? You don’t say shit the whole time out there but as soon as I mention Carlos you start defending him?”

Lando thought about Oscar being sure that he was teaming up with Mclaren and Carlos against him, and his chest hurt. He supported Oscar with his whole soul, but he needed him to understand that he wasn’t alone. That the team didn’t choose to stop fighting for him. That Carlos really didn’t see him as an enemy.

Because if Oscar started to think all that, he would feel alone. It was as if he had been left feeling like a lonely seal in cold waters, surrounded by starving sharks, and Lando realized, in Oscar’s mind, he was now one of them.

“Oscar, babe,” he started, his voice almost a whisper. “I know you’re angry, but Carlos didn’t do that with the purpose of damaging you—”

“Again?”. Oscar sounded in disbelief, hearing Lando’s words. “Oh my God”.

He turned around, letting his hands go through his hair. His gaze was somewhere on the floor while he started walking in circles nervously.

Lando waited a second, then tried again.

“Why would he do that, uh?” Lando asked, and he sounded like he was giving up, voice softer and tone less wary.

“I don’t know!” Oscar replied desperately, “I don’t know, okay? But I saw twelve blue flags, and I was in his mirrors and he just kept going!”

“He made a mistake,” Lando said, and he knew he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t want to believe at all that Carlos would really purposefully hinder Oscar.

“A mistake that cost me the win. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Osc, look, I’m sorry, but—”

Oscar clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned away. He reached for his racing suit on the floor and threw it in a bag that he left on the floor.

“Oscar I’m talking to you, fucking look at me”

Lando’s words were harsh, sharp. Oscar stilled for a moment, then turned around and looked right into his eyes.

“Thank you,” Lando said, calming his voice. He took a step forward, so that he was closer to Oscar. “Things went wrong. There was traffic after your pitstop, which wasn’t the team’s fault, and then the gearbox failed because of the contact, for which they gave Carlos a penalty, yeah?”

While he was speaking, he grabbed Oscar’s hands gently and started caressing them. Oscar didn’t reply. He just lowered his gaze to their joined hands.

“Osc, hey,” Lando whispered, tilting his head, trying to get his attention.

“Before that shit, you drove brilliantly. You took my position in a second and we were on top, you and me,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

When Oscar raised his head, his eyes were glassy.

Lando’s heart shrunk.

“We’re almost there, hm?” he tried. “You did your best”

Oscar waited for a few seconds, then

“But I still couldn’t make it, now, could I?”

Here it is again. That tone that screamed hurt hurt hurt. Lando didn’t know what to say, so Oscar let his hands fall from Lando’s gentle grip, took a step back and spoke.

“I’m tired, Lan. I give everything and more, and once it’s the team strategy, once it’s the gearbox, once it’s that dickhead of Carlos—”

“Stop calling him like that,” Lando said. How could Oscar not see that insulting Carlos hurt Lando, too?

“Stop defending him,” Oscar replied almost desperately.

They were back where they had started, as though every step forward demanded three steps back in return.

Lando felt helpless, his tiredness started hitting, changing into something more similar to frustration and annoyance than exhaustion. Oscar was looking at him as if this whole situation was Lando’s fault.

That didn’t exactly calm him down.

“God, Oscar, it wasn’t his fault! Fucking accept that!” Lando yelled back. Oscar remained still.

“It was nobody’s fault, okay? Sometimes shit happens and things don’t go the same way we want, alright? But stop talking to me as if I didn’t know how you’re feeling, because I’ve been there the same way you did!”

The aussie stayed quiet, not moving his gaze from Lando’s eyes once.

“And I get you’re angry,” Lando continued angrily. “But stop being a crybaby and trying to put the blame on others just because you were unlucky this time! It’s your fourth year in F1, get your shit together!”

Silence.

Oscar kept his gaze locked to Lando’s for one, two, three seconds. Then he nodded slightly and looked away.

When he spoke, he sounded so exhausted Lando felt again that sense of guilt suffocating him.

“Okay,” he said, emotionless. “Get out”.

Lando couldn’t move. Everything in his body was begging him to say something, to do something. Everything about Oscar screamed that he shouldn’t leave him alone. His eyes, his face, his posture, his hands slightly shaking.

He didn’t move an inch.

“Get out, Lando”

Lando took a step back, then hesitated.

“Osc, I—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

The sudden burst of rage hit Lando harder than a punch, heat rushing through his body so suddenly it made him sick.

An “okay” barely left his mouth before he stepped back. Everything was now quiet, except for the uneven sound of Oscar’s breath. Just before the door closed completely, Lando glanced back and barely saw Oscar sinking onto the sofa, hands covering his face, one leg moving nervously up and down.

The door clicked shut behind him.

That night, the club felt louder than usual.

Maybe it was because Lando wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate, or maybe because he hadn’t drunk anything except for a small glass Carlos ordered for him at the bar, almost an hour ago.

His gaze had been fixed on a random spot on the dance floor, where people came and went, laughing and drinking and making out carelessly. He wasn’t even interested in who the deejay was, nor in the celebrities that randomly appeared or in the people coming and congratulating him every now and then.

He had his elbows on a corner of the club bar, back against it, not even caring about looking for something to fill his empty glass with.

Max was standing next to him, smiling and enjoying the party from afar. When he had arrived at the club, right after Lando, he had immediately noticed the mood he was in. Charles, who walked in after a few minutes, did too. But if they had any concerns about it, they chose not to share them aloud.

Carlos joined them after a bit, and that’s how they had been spending their time there: chatting, drinking, laughing.

Now that Charles and Carlos had gone to greet an old friend of theirs, Lando and Max were alone.

“Not feeling it today, are you?” Max asked, eyes still on the room.

Lando exhaled.

“Not really, no,” he admitted, even though it had been obvious from the start.

Max didn’t say anything for quite some time, then turned to him and tried again.

“How’s Oscar?”

So it was that obvious.

Lando glanced back at the Dutch driver, then looked away at his shoes. He shook his head slightly, furrowing his brows.

“We had an argument,” he said, and he felt so pathetic saying it, because deep down he knew, he had known since he left Oscar alone in his room, that he should’ve stayed with him, supported him, believed in him. Not whatever he did.

He was his boyfriend, for fuck’s sake.          

Max had been looking at him for quite a while, Lando noticed.

“About racing?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Also,” Lando replied, voice smaller.

Max nodded. Someone came to congratulate them, and Lando couldn’t even bother to say anything. His smile dropped as soon as they turned around and walked away.

“I think I fucked up,” he admitted, and although he had thought saying it out loud would have made him feel better, Lando felt raw guilt burning his guts.

The other seemed like he was going to say something, but at that exact moment Carlos and Charles came back.

Carlos’s voice was too loud.

“LANDOOO!”

There were many things about Carlos that Lando loved.

There were also some things that he didn’t quite like.

One of them was when Carlos was drunk and he wasn’t. Because while drinking together meant they matched and understood each other perfectly, when Lando remained sober, he couldn’t help but see Carlos as childish, and would find himself answering him with irritated snaps that he couldn’t quite hold back.

Now Lando was sober, Carlos was way past the tipsy point, and he couldn’t shut up. So, it wasn’t really surprising what happened next.

“LANDOOO!” Carlos called happily, throwing an arm over his shoulders.

Suddenly, Lando felt sick.

“Hey Carlos,” he smiled back. He could see Max out of the corner of his eye watching them, quietly. “Don’t you think you’ve drunk enough for tonight?”

While he was speaking Lando laughed, but it turned out more awkward than he had wanted. Carlos didn’t notice anyway.

“He’s not listening to me,” Charles said quite exasperatedly, but smiled fondly. “Maybe you should try instead”.

Meanwhile, Carlos had let his arm fall from Lando’s shoulders and stepped back so they were all talking at the same distance from one another. He left a hand on Lando’s shoulder, though.

“Mate what did you fuck up?” he asked, now suddenly interested in the conversation he had just interrupted a few seconds before.

Maybe it was Max and Charles’s presence that prevented him from snapping back and telling Carlos to mind his own business, or maybe it was because he was tired and he didn’t have the energy for that, but he did give an answer.

“I, uh—I had a fight with Osc,” he said, really hoping the vulnerability in his voice wasn’t so obvious to the others as it was to himself. “It’s okay”

Lando couldn’t bear to look at the person the fight was mostly about, so he returned Charles’s look. His fond smile had turned into something that Lando couldn’t quite place between worry and pity.

“Oh, I’m sorry Lando,” he said genuinely. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon”

Lando simply nodded, his gaze now glued to the floor.

Then, Carlos

“Can’t even be happy for you and has to ruin your win because he’s jealous?”

Nobody said anything for a beat. Around them, everything kept going.

“Carlos?” Charles asked incredulously.

Max simply stared at the Spanish driver, his gaze harder than ever.

Lando’s head snapped to him as soon as he heard those words.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked pissed, brushing Carlos’s hand off his shoulder

“I’m just saying, you won for the first time this season and yet you’re here all sad and depressed just because a guy was upset about his race,” Carlos explained, unaware of how messed up his words were.

Lando stepped toward him and looked at him right in the eye. When he talked, his tone was sharp.

“Stop saying bullshit without even knowing what happened, and—”

Carlos laughed, as if Lando was joking. “Come on Land—”

“—and that guy is my boyfriend, you fucking asshole”.

It could’ve seemed like a playful drunk bicker between friends, but Lando wasn’t drunk, and he wished they weren’t friends, either.

“Okay guys, why don’t we—” Charles tried to step between them, only to be interrupted by Carlos.

“Tch, boyfriend?” Carlos replied, stepping past Charles and getting almost chest to chest with Lando. His eyes were dark and cruel as he spit out the words.

“As if you didn’t fuck him just so he wouldn’t race you hard”

Lando’s punch reached his jaw right after.

The hit was clean and raw, and Carlos brought a hand to his face while taking a few steps back. Charles froze next to them, while Max stood up and went to Lando’s side, but didn’t intervene.

Carlos stood up straight after a few seconds, then walked fast towards Lando, pushing him back.

“You can’t hear it, can you?” he asked accusing the other. “He’s probably doing the same with you, no shit he started dating you when he had a chance for the champ—”

Lando grabbed his shirt and pushed him back harshly. Carlos fell on the floor, and Lando followed him, kneeling in front of him while his grip on his collar was still firm.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare”

Then, everything happened so fast. Somehow, Carlos started fighting back and Lando found himself back on the floor while being hit by the other. At one point, Max managed to shove Carlos aside roughly, and took him away, and Charles knelt next to him.

“Merde! Are you okay?” Charles asked and he had never sounded this worried.

Lando’s mouth tasted like blood.

He sat up and wiped it with his hand, wincing at the pain. Everything was now amplified: every sound, every light, every smell.

“M’fine” he murmured, trying to stand up. Lando realized someone he didn’t know was checking on him, but he didn’t really care.

“Let me help you,” Charles said, holding his shoulders when Lando stood up and slightly stumbled. “Wanna leave?”

Lando couldn’t remember what he answered, fact was that he found himself sitting on a bench outside of the club right after.

Charles was standing in front of him, walking nervously in circles. It reminded him of Oscar, back in his driver’s room, when they were arguing and Lando kept defending Carlos.

Lando suddenly felt like throwing up.

“—can’t believe, I mean, what is wrong with him?!”

Charles had been talking for a while, Lando realized. Not knowing what to say, he lowered his head and started staring at his own white shirt, stained with blood.

When he realized after a while that Charles had stopped talking, he raised his head to look at him.

“I’m sorry he said that” Charles said suddenly, softly.

Lando shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” he simply answered, and his voice was slightly shaking.

“But you know it’s not true, what he said, right? Because it’s not, Lando,” Charles continued.

Lando knew that. He knew neither Oscar nor him were using each other to get some kind of advantage. He knew what Carlos said was complete, utter bullshit. It was the fact that he said it, that made Lando want to rip his skin off.

“Oscar loves you”

And oh, how bad Lando wanted to cry.

He replayed and replayed and replayed the fight with Oscar in his mind, guilt building up in a slow and devastating way.

Was Oscar waiting for him in Lando’s hotel room? Or did he lock himself in his own, the untouched one they kept as a cover but never really used?

Suddenly, Lando wished Carlos never stopped punching him.

“Do you want me to drive you back?” Charles asked after a bit, cautious.

Lando shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he said, and won a worried look.

“Alright, but call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Yeah”

Like that, Lando found himself alone, his skin caressed gently by a soft summer breeze.

He wished he knew what to do. Usually, when Lando found himself in a situation like this, Oscar would be the one to help. He would somehow always manage to find a solution or an explanation for everything that was going on in Lando’s head, calming him in a way that not even himself could’ve explained.

Yet, right now, at 1am in a random Hungarian club, he was terrified of the thought of Oscar not answering his call.

He tried with somebody else. The phone rang twice before a warm voice interrupted the sound.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hi mum”

Lando’s mum’s voice was filled with pride and love. Somehow, today it felt inappropriate, as if Lando hadn’t won the race, or anything at all.

“I’m so proud of you, darling! You were great!”

She filled him with compliments that, on a usual day, would’ve made him smile. Lando must not have answered, because when she spoke again, her tone was less joyful and more worried.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, and oh, how could a son hide something from his mother?

“Uh—” he tried, his voice shaking. “Not really, no”

“Oh, what happened?” she asked softly.

Lando’s whole family knew about Oscar, and they had even invited him over during the holidays since he and Lando started dating. The mum in particular, for a reason that Lando couldn’t quite tell, had a soft spot for the aussie.

Maybe it was because she had listened to Lando talking about him over and over again, months before he even introduced him to her as his boyfriend and not as his teammate anymore.

Because of this, Lando had never felt uncomfortable talking to his mum about his relationship with Oscar.

And yet, Lando hesitated before speaking.

“It’s Oscar,” he only managed to say, but his mum could read him like an open book, so it didn’t really matter.

There was a pause, then she spoke again, gently.

“Did you have a fight?”

“Yeah,” Lando started. “I don’t know what to do”

The admission sat there, and Lando could feel the anger toward himself building up in his chest.

“Oh, darling, I’m sure you can fix it—”

“I don’t know I—” Lando’s voice started trembling, and he realized she could definitely tell that he was on the verge of tears. “I said stupid stuff, like really stupid. And he told me to get out and I did but I shouldn’t have and then he was actually right and Carlos is a dickhead and I am too and I’m scared because what if he isn’t—”

“Lando”

Her voice was steadier than before, but still careful, gentle.

“Breathe”

He did, once, twice, then

“What if he’s not waiting for me to come back?” he asked, scared.

As soon as the words left her mouth, though, Lando realized it was so obvious.

“It’s Oscar. He’ll always wait for you”.

By the time he arrived at the hotel, his breath was calmer and his chest hurt less. When the elevator doors opened in front of him, Lando finally stepped into the hallway where his and Oscar’s suites were.

He walked hesitantly towards the end of it, stopping in front of the last two numbers, 480 and 481. He stared at them, one before the other.

“Look, Osc!” Lando had said three days ago when they arrived after the flight, luggage in his hand, Oscar by his side. “We got our numbers”

Oscar had laughed, shaking his head, then walked towards the other room.

“I’ll leave my racing stuff here and then I’ll come, okay?”

“Yup, be quick”

Lando thought for a second of knocking on the 480 door, then turned around and walked towards the other. If Oscar wasn’t there, he’d figure out what to do later.

He really hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He turned the key twice, unlocking the door, then stepped inside.

The hotel room was completely dark except for a dim light coming from his left, around the corner.

The faint sound of the TV drifted from the same point.

Breathing came easier once he realized that he hadn’t left the TV on before going to the club, and that it must’ve been someone else.

He slowly removed his shoes and left his keys on the glass table near the entrance with a loud sound. Then, he walked carefully around the corner.

The air was warm, the window slightly open overlooking a small balcony where Oscar’s racing suit was hanging to dry next to Lando’s.

The room was lit by the TV broadcasting a 90s movie Lando couldn’t quite name. The volume was barely on, as if whoever was watching simply didn’t want to sit in silence more than to actually understand the movie.

On the couch, Oscar was lying on his side, staring blankly at somewhere right below the screen.

He was wearing a hoodie Lando couldn’t remember if it was his or Oscar’s, and the hood was on, like he used to keep sometimes when they were watching TV together at home.

If he had noticed Lando, he didn’t let it show.

The brit looked at him for a while, trying to think of what to say and how to say it, but soon gave up realizing he would’ve never come up with anything he could be satisfied with.

He stepped towards the couch, then crouched in front of Oscar, slowly.

“Hey babe”

His voice was barely a whisper, but Oscar’s eyes drifted towards him, locking his gaze with Lando’s.

He didn’t say anything, just let his eyes touch his eyes, cheeks, nose, jaw and then his eyes again. Lando realized he probably still had blood on his face, and he didn’t even think about it.

The urge to kiss him struck him like cold water, but the guilt that had built up inside him since their argument kept Lando still. He didn’t know what to say, now that Oscar was so close to him, but he tried anyway.

“Do you want to—”

Oscar sat up slowly from where he was lying without even looking at Lando, pushed himself off the couch and walked away without a word.

Lando kept staring at the empty couch, while he felt that feeling of guilt and sadness growing and clenching his chest once again.

That’s it, he thought.

He’s going to leave.

He didn’t even try to call Oscar and ask him to stay, because deep down he knew he had every reason to leave.

He waited to hear the sound of the door closing, but nothing came. Instead, muffled noises started to come from the small kitchen. Then nothing.

After a while, Oscar appeared from behind and sat on the couch in front of him, hood off, carrying a small first-aid kit.

Lando’s panic dimmed.

“Sit,” Oscar said tiredly but steady. He didn’t even look at him.

While Lando stood up from where he was crouching and sat next to him, Oscar looked for some kind of medication. The other couldn’t stop looking at him.

Having found what he was looking for, Oscar left the box on the sofa next to him and sat crossed-legged, looking straight at him.

“Stay still,” he said quietly, and started to treat the wounds.

Lando felt something sting on his face and winced slightly, but he didn’t move his gaze from Oscar’s face.

Nobody said anything for a while, then Lando finally spoke, eyes moving away then going back every second.

“I’m sorry for today,” he stated, his voice almost a whisper.

Oscar’s hand stopped moving for an instant, then got back to work.

“You were right, Carlos is an asshole”

There was no reply for a few moments.

“Did he do this to you?” Oscar asked then, while cleaning a corner of Lando’s mouth. He seemed casual and maintained a steady voice, although Lando knew this wasn’t how he really felt.

“You should’ve seen him,” Lando laughed awkwardly, then winced when his right cheek made contact with a piece of gauze.

“I said still,” Oscar said, but moved his hand away after hearing the small sound Lando made. He looked at him, and Lando looked back. They stared at each other until Oscar lowered his gaze and then started cleaning Lando’s jaw.

When Oscar spoke, his voice was a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“I told you not to get this wasted”

“I wasn’t”

Oscar’s hand hesitated once again, and this time it didn’t move again for quite a while.

“I’m not,” Lando repeated firmly.

‘I’m not saying this just because I can’t think straight. I mean it. I’m so sorry and I love you’ is what he really meant, but it didn’t matter if he said it or not, because it was Oscar, and Oscar knew him more than he knew himself.

The aussie lowered his hand for good and placed the unused pieces of gauze back in the kit without replying. Then stood up and walked back to the kitchen.

Lando waited, thinking of what they had just said, how they said it. He was terrified that, despite his attempts, he wouldn’t eventually be forgiven entirely.

He tried to picture himself after a horrible race, arguing with Mclaren, and tried to imagine Oscar simply sitting there and watching silently, then defending someone who clearly didn’t deserve the effort, leaving and going to celebrate with his friends until 1am.

Oh, he fucked up.

Lando realized Oscar hadn’t been back for minutes now. Worried, he stood up and slowly walked to the kitchen.

Oscar was standing with his back to Lando, hands on the counter, head slumped slightly forward. Lando walked towards him carefully, deliberately moving a chair out of his way so as not to startle him.

Oscar didn’t move an inch.

When Lando got near enough, he wrapped his arms around his torso, slowly and delicately, as if he was touching something so fragile it could have broken any moment now.

He felt Oscar tense under his touch, then slowly melting into it, so slightly that Lando almost didn’t catch it. Lando pressed his forehead softly to the nape of his neck and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he started whispering. “For your race today, for not having defended you at the debrief, and mostly for having said what I said after”.

He continued.

“Even if Carlos wasn’t a prick, I shouldn’t have believed in him more than in you. I shouldn’t have left you like that and just… go to a random club”

Ten seconds passed. Nothing.

Then, Oscar turned around and slightly leaned back against the counter. Lando’s arms fell at his side.

Oscar’s expression didn’t have any trace of anger anymore. Just tiredness.

“Was it at least any good?” he asked.

“What?”

“The club,” Oscar replied, and the tone conversation seemed to shift into something more usual, comfortable.

“Oh man,” he said smiling slightly shaking his head. “It was awful”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth rose for a second, and Lando felt warmth heating his chest in a heartbeat.

“I can see that,” Oscar declared, pointing with his chin Lando’s face and grinning just slightly, although his voice still sounded tired. “Did you start the fight?”

Lando swallowed, then spoke.

“Yeah. I mean, not out of the blue. He started saying bullshit and I just lost it”

Oscar looked at him for a second without saying anything. Then

“What did he say?”

Lando kept his gaze at him, steady. What was the point in telling him, especially today?

Oscar seemed worried for a second, that kind of worry that carries unease and discomfort.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed it off. “Just know that he deserved it”

“I bet,” Oscar replied after a beat, and there was no sharpness in his tone anymore.

Then, they just looked at each other, Lando trying to stop smiling by biting his lower lip. He stepped closer, and in a gentle move he smoothly put his hands on Oscar’s hips and pressed their foreheads together.

At the touch, the aussie closed his eyes immediately, giving Lando the chance to look at him more closely.

There were faint eyebags shadowing his pale skin, and his eyes were red and swollen, as if Oscar had been crying. His breath was slow, his Adam’s apple moving every time he swallowed.

It hit him harder, in that moment, the thought that Oscar had a horrible race, and Lando still hadn’t checked on him.

“Osc”

Oscar opened his eyes, faintly, staring at Lando’s lips before moving to his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

Lando didn’t know why he was whispering, but it felt like anything else, any sharper tone, or movement, could have then been too aggressive, too painful for both of them.

The few seconds that passed before Oscar replied felt too long for Lando’s liking.

“I hated it today,” he admitted, and his voice wasn’t anything more than a broken whisper that Lando felt straight in his bones.

They both knew he wasn’t only talking about the race.

Lando just barely nodded, acknowledging his words but giving him space to talk. Oscar, though, didn’t say anything more. He just slumped his head into Lando’s left shoulder and breathed heavily. He looped his arms around Lando, the embrace loose and barely firm.

When Oscar’s breath started to seem less calm and more unsettled than before, Lando raised a hand and let it run through the soft hair on the back of his head, reassuring.

Oscar spoke again, quietly.

“M’sorry this ruined your win”

“Shut up, Osc” Lando replied immediately. “We’re okay”

The other didn’t move or say anything, and for a moment Lando thought he had just fallen asleep, there, in his arms.

Then,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

He smiled through Oscar’s hair and pressed a soft kiss there.

From the window, a soft breeze caressed their skin.

When Lando spoke again, his words held that familiar, gentle vulnerability, their own and no one else’s.

“Could never get that far away from you, could I?”