Chapter Text
The first time Oscar Piastri met Lando Norris was, contrary to popular belief, not when he signed with McLaren as a driver and became the Briton's teammate. No, their first meeting took the form of a chaotic collision in the middle of Melbourne Airport.
Oscar’s parents and sisters had only just said goodbye to him. There had been plenty of tears, hugs, and kisses. Although Oscar had not initiated any of the emotion at the time, unwilling to upset his mother further by showing his own sadness, the feelings had started to build up now that the reality of what he was doing had set in.
He tried to swallow down the heavy emotions of leaving his home and life behind in Australia, choosing instead to focus on his future. His new home. If he could even call it that…
He was moving to England to start at a new boarding school. The move would bring him closer to major karting events and open doors to European karting leagues, as well as a wider range of sponsorships. Overall, it was the best decision for his dream career.
Although several elderly women threw questioning looks his way, there was a good reason why a fourteen-year-old boy was taking a seventeen-hour flight alone. His mother needed to stay behind to look after his three younger sisters, Hattie, Edie, and May, while his father’s job required him to stay close to Melbourne.
That was how Oscar found himself walking through Melbourne Airport. He wore a black backpack and had his headphones in, blasting a playlist Hattie had made for his flight—something K-pop related, or perhaps 5 Seconds of Summer; he wasn't quite sure. All the while, he fought to hold back a heavy wave of homesickness for his family and the city he was leaving behind.
It was when he got stuck in a long queue of people waiting to go through the departure gate, sandwiched between strangers and wondering if he would have to take out his headphones, that they made contact.
It happened in a sudden, ungraceful blur of neon yellow, stray baggage wheels, and a loud, startled yell. Oscar barely had time to register the shadow approaching from his peripheral vision before something slammed violently into his side. The impact sent his phone flying from his hand and ripped the headphones clean off his ears. The force knocked him off balance, causing him to stumble sideways and collide with a row of plastic airport seats before he finally found his footing.
The airport noise rushed back into his ears in a sudden, overwhelming wave: the chattering of passengers, the rumble of rolling suitcases, and overhead announcements broadcasting gate changes or special deals on fruit baskets.
"Oh my god, I am so, so sorry! I wasn't looking, the wheel got stuck on the rug, and then my bag just went entirely sideways—"
Oscar blinked, steadied himself, and looked down. Sprawled half on the floor and half over a massive, bright neon-yellow suitcase was a boy who looked to be around his own age, maybe a year or two older. He had a mop of unruly brown curls, a face full of frantic panic, and was wearing an oversized, striking orange hoodie that made him look slightly swallowed by his own clothes.
"Are you okay?" the boy asked, scrambling to his feet and immediately diving to scoop up Oscar’s phone from the carpet. "Please tell me it's not cracked. If it's cracked, my mum is actually going to kill me because she told me to stop rushing. She said—" the boy altered his pitch, mimicking an octave higher, "—'You're going to crash into something if you keep going at that speed.' Oh my god, she was right." The boy's eyes widened comically at the sudden realisation, his voice dropping back down to its original register with a slight, puberty-induced crack.
Even with this fresh wave of panic, he still managed to thrust the phone back towards Oscar with both hands, staring at him with wide, anxious eyes while continuing to mutter to himself.
Oscar took the phone, mechanically turning it over in his hands. The screen was completely fine. He swallowed hard, his throat still feeling tight from the suppressed emotions of saying goodbye to his family just twenty minutes earlier. The sudden burst of chaos was jarring, but it oddly pulled him straight out of his own head.
“Oh my god, I did hurt you! You’re not speaking! Did I break your voice box or something? Please don’t tell me I did… WAIT! No, actually speak, tell me your voice works,” the boy added in a low mumble. “I don't want to be sued…”
Oscar smirked. He was slightly amused by the curly-haired boy’s rambling and his complete lack of understanding of the Australian legal system. Now that he thought about it, though, the boy did have an accent…
Oscar opened his mouth to reassure him that he did, in fact, have a working voice box, and that he just hadn't been able to use it because the boy hadn't stopped talking since barrelling into him.
Then, a shout echoed in the distance.
It was in a very similar accent to the boy's.
English.
"Lando! For heaven's sake, what did I tell you?"
The loud voice cut through the airport terminal's ambient drone, sharp and exasperated. Oscar looked past the curly-haired boy's shoulder to see a woman marching towards them. She was navigating the crowd with practised ease, trailing an ensemble of a middle-aged man, two young girls, and a miserable-looking teenager. Her expression was a perfect mix of motherly fondness and total mortification.
The newly named boy, Lando, stiffened instantly, his shoulders hiking up to his elfish ears as he slowly turned around.
"Hi, Mum. I was just—"
“Don't give me an excuse, Lando. You could have seriously hurt yourself. Or worse, someone else!” The woman's hands latched onto her son's cheeks, tilting his head from side to side to check for any injuries. After seeing that he was, in fact, perfectly fine, she thwacked him playfully on the back of his head.
Oscar, realising that this situation was absolutely not where he wanted to be, started to back away slowly. He hoped he could disappear completely into the crowd and leave this whole debacle behind before it escalated any further.
Unfortunately, his escape plan was interrupted when Lando's mother's eyes suddenly locked onto his own.
Shit.
Her eyes widened similarly to Lando's earlier.
“Lando! You did hit someone!” she exclaimed.
“Lando did what?” a lower, masculine voice joined in.
Oscar now realised that, while he was trying to escape, the rest of the family had caught up.
Behind the mother were two girls. One was definitely younger, probably about Edie's age, and had long, dirty-blonde curly hair similar to her mother's. The other had slightly wavy, dark brown hair and looked about the same age as him.
Behind them stood a man whose facial expression was confusing for Oscar to decipher. He looked somewhere between concerned and angry; Oscar couldn't quite tell. The man took one look at Lando, then at the fluorescent suitcase on the floor, and finally at Oscar, who was still clutching his phone. He sighed, then took a deep breath in and began to speak.
“Lando… what did you do this time?”
Ah. Oscar had misread the expression. The man was resigned. He was completely and utterly resigned, like someone who had faced this exact neon-yellow brand of disaster a thousand times before.
“I didn't mean to, Dad! I swear!” Lando squeaked, his voice cracking again on the high notes.
Ahh, puberty.
He waved his arms around dramatically, pointing a finger at the suitcase. “The wheel! It's a design flaw! I'm going to write a very strongly worded review on their website, just you watch.” The boy was back to his rambling.
“Lando, shut up,” the final member of the family muttered from the back, rolling his eyes so hard Oscar thought they might roll right out of his head. The miserable-looking teenage boy was leaning heavily against a baggage trolley, looking like he would rather be anywhere else on Earth. Oscar decided that he, too, would rather be anywhere else on Earth at this exact moment.
“Oliver, don't be rude to your brother,” the mother chided automatically, though she didn't take her deep green eyes off Oscar. She stepped forward, entirely ignoring her son's frantic, silent pleading, and stopped right in front of the young Australian.
“Are you alright, sweetie? Are you hurt at all?” she asked in a warm, motherly tone that sounded as if it had been wrapped in a fluffy blanket.
“No, ma'am,” Oscar said, his thick Melbourne accent drawing immediate, curious looks from the two girls behind her. “I'm completely fine,” he added with a closed-mouth smile after noticing that the mother's worries were still displayed heavily across her face.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighed, her worried eyebrow creases relaxing as she placed a comforting hand over her heart. “Well, I'm Cisca. This is my husband, Adam, and these are Oliver, Flo, and Cisca.” She motioned to the family behind her, then glared back down at Lando. “And this menace, who clearly needs to be put on a leash—”
"Hey!" Lando interrupted, his cheeks flushing a bright pink that matched the undertones of his orange hoodie.
“—is Lando,” she finished, smiling back at Oscar.
Oscar offered the same closed-lip smile and gave a slight wave in greeting, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up.
“Oscar,” he murmured.
“What?” Lando questioned.
“My name… it's Oscar.”
Just as Oscar saw recognition dawn on Lando's face, Adam interrupted.
“Well, we're terribly sorry for whatever Lando may have caused, but—” he glanced down at his wristwatch “—we have to get to the back of the queue before the line starts moving…” The father looked as though he was trying his best to be polite, which Oscar respected. He was also extremely grateful for the interruption; it meant he wouldn't have to keep up this incredibly awkward interaction with the British family.
Not because they weren’t kind or anything!
He just wanted to get back to listening to Hattie's playlist and completely dissociating from the world for the next seventeen hours.
Sue him.
“Right then! Let's get moving,” Adam said, giving Lando a firm nudge on the shoulder to get him moving towards the end of the line. “We'll let this young man get back to his flight. Come on, everyone, to the back of the queue before it grows any longer.”
“Aww, but Dad!” Lando protested, dragging his fluorescent yellow suitcase backwards with a loud, dramatic whine. “I wanted to ask him if he's ever wrestled a crocodile!”
“Lando, stop being an idiot and just move,” Oliver muttered, already walking away without looking up from his screen.
Cisca gave Oscar one last sympathetic, fluffy-blanket smile. “Again, so sorry about him, sweetheart. Have a safe flight to London!”
"Thanks," Oscar muttered, offering a polite nod as the family of six finally peeled away.
He watched them retreat towards the very back of the massive airport queue, Lando still gesturing wildly with his arms and bouncing on his heels as his mother scolded him.
Finally, he was alone. To be honest, that was one of the things he had been looking forward to when he found out he'd be flying by himself. He’d be able to completely disappear from the world for seventeen hours, and he’d be fine.
The queue had just started moving as he pulled his headphones back over his ears and resumed his music.
He would be fine.
Everything would be fine.
He moved fluidly through the boarding gate with ease and started the trek to his seat.
He was finally able to properly relax once he had boarded and shoved his backpack into the overhead locker. He texted his family's group chat and then turned off his phone.
He sat in his window seat, the optimal spot for dissociating, and closed his eyes.
He could still hear people boarding around him through his headphones, but he paid them no attention. This flight was between him, his headphones, and—
“OH MY GOD! OSCAR!!”
And Lando.