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Chapter Text

It all started innocently enough. Going out for a few drinks with the team to celebrate a McLaren 1-2. Oscar’s plan was to have a couple then head out, he had an early flight the next morning.

What was not in Oscar’s plan was engaging in a drinking game with his teammate, who also happens to be his biggest rival, then waking up the next morning in what was definitely not his hotel room. Fully naked. With said rival sprawled out and fast asleep beside him. Also naked.

For a moment in his half asleep state, he forgets himself, tightening his arm around Lando’s waist. His nose is buried in Lando’s hair and he closes his eyes again, breathing in deeply, before reality hits him like a freight train.

His eyes snap open and he throws himself away from Lando so fast the poor guy is flung over to the other side of the bed.

“No no no no no,” Oscar mumbles, head snapping from side to side as he takes in his surroundings. This cannot be happening. He’s going to wake up any second. He rubs his eyes aggressively, making a pained noise when he reopens them to the same reality as before.

“Hey, what-” Lando mumbles grumpily, having been woken up by the commotion. He rolls over, then he catches sight of Oscar and freezes, his eyes widening. The expression on his face would be comical if Oscar wasn’t trying not to hyperventilate.

“What the actual fuck-“ Lando says, his voice increasing significantly in pitch towards the end of his sentence. Oscar dramatically presses a finger to his lips to shut him up.

“No! Don’t say it out loud!”

Lando doesn’t say anything else, but his face matches Oscar’s, conveying ‘oh my God this cannot be real.’ As soon as he tears his gaze away from Lando’s eyes, Oscar realises his finger is still pressed against his lips. Oh my God.

He removes it like he’s been burned before dramatically scrambling off the bed so fast he trips a little, stumbling backwards. He throws out one hand to catch himself on a chair before straightening up, attempting to regain whatever is left of his dignity.

That, however, is also taken away from him when Lando screeches, and flings his arm over his eyes.

“Oh my God, dude!”

Oscar frowns a little, before glancing down, seeing his naked torso and realising he is in fact fully nude. He feels his cheeks heating up and spins around in a tight circle while looking for his clothes like he’s doing some sort of interpretative dance.

“This is one hundred percent your fault!” He points an accusatory finger at Lando, and it’s only trembling if you look closely.

“Put some clothes on Piastri!” Lando exclaims, “then we can argue about what caused this!”

“I’m trying!” Oscar almost wails, before his gaze finally lands on his boxer shorts. He pulls them on, followed by the shirt and jeans he was wearing last night. There’s a mysterious stain on his t-shirt, but he chooses not to question that right now. One problem at a time.

“Okay,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair. Lando peeks through his fingers, then breathes a sigh of relief and removes his hand when he sees Oscar is now decent.

“Pass me my clothes would you mate?”

Oscar’s cheeks burn, but he grabs Lando’s own clothes from the floor and throws them at him with just a little more force than necessary. He collapses back onto the bed with an agonised groan, half embarrassment, half absolute horror.

To make matters worse, Lando proceeds to throw off the sheet that was wrapped around his waist and pull his clothes on with absolutely no shame. Oscar suddenly finds the wallpaper absolutely fascinating.

He’s desperately trying to think about something, anything else, when he catches sight of a thankfully fully clothed Lando out of the corner of his eye. However, Oscar keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the ceiling, outright refusing to make eye contact.

“So,” he mutters, seeing Lando settle back onto the bed in his peripheral vision, “we’ve got two options here. We can either agree that this,” he makes a gesture around them, “did not happen, and we carry on and pretend everything’s normal.”

“Uh huh,” Lando mumbles, his voice a bit too high pitched.

“Or…” Oscar swallows down the sudden feeling of nausea. “Or we acknowledge something happened and it may well affect us as teammates, and therefore McLaren… meaning we, er, we might…” he clears his throat, again. God this is the worst moment of Oscar’s life, and that includes when he lost a bet to Logan and had to sing the American national anthem from his hotel room balcony in Singapore as loudly as possible. That comes in at a close second.

“We might have to tell Zac and Andrea,” he mumbles very quickly, the flush from before now spreading to his chest. Honestly someone just kill him now and end his suffering. He finally risks glancing in Lando’s direction, who is staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

“Option one!” Lando exclaims incredulously, “definitely option one!”

“Oh, thank God,” Oscar mutters, sighing in relief as he relaxes into the pillow a little. At least that’s one more mortifying conversation he doesn’t need to have. But that doesn’t mean this one is over. No, the Universe would never be so merciful.

“So…” Lando is staring at him intently, chewing his lip, “do you remember anything from last night?” He looks almost afraid of the answer.

Oscar is quiet for a moment. What does he remember from last night? It’s mostly all one big blur, although he does remember taking shots. Several shots. Lando inviting him back to his room, and in his drunken state he jumped at the chance to spend more time with him, all of his usually logical thoughts nowhere to be seen.

Sitting on the floor beside him, how Lando kept poking him, how Oscar pinned his wrists to make him stop, and then…

No, nope, absolutely not. He cannot think about that right now. Oscar is not going there until he’s alone in a dark room. And he definitely can’t replay his memories to Lando.

“No,” he finally says, before clearing his throat and trying again in a much more masculine tone, “no.” There’s a moment of silence before he tentatively adds, “…do you?”

“No,” Lando says far too quickly, looking anywhere but at Oscar. He is trying and failing to look composed, which tells Oscar all he needs to know.

“You do remember!” He points a finger at Lando, who splutters.

“What? What makes you think that?” He’s fidgeting with the edge of his pillowcase, and Oscar may be imagining it, but he thinks he can make out a faint tinge of pink across his cheeks.

“Lando.”

Lando deflates. He slumps forwards and puts his head in his hands with a rather dramatic groan. “Alright, fine. I do remember some things…”

“What exactly do you remember?” Oscar asks slowly, half curious and half worried about Lando’s version of events.

Lando sighs. “I remember drinking. A lot. And then, I um…” he grimaces a little as he glances at Oscar, “I might have had the not so brilliant idea to challenge you to a drinking game,” he admits.

“I remember that part,” Oscar says dryly, “I told you it was your fault.”

“Oh, shut up!” Lando says defensively, “I don’t exactly remember you protesting!”

Oscar goes quiet because he’s right, he didn’t protest. In fact, he suddenly remembers how he went along with everything Lando said like some kind of lovesick puppy. God, as if this could get any more embarrassing.

“Alright whatever,” he mutters, “what else?”

Lando is starting to look like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. “Um… then we came back here, and I might have gotten a little,” he holds up his thumb and index finger, “drunk.”

“A little. Sure.”

Lando gives him an unimpressed look, “like you were any better.” Which Oscar can’t exactly argue with.

“Then we got a bit, rowdy…” he’s still refusing to look at Oscar, “we playfought, and you um… you.. you were on top of me-”

“Okay, okay stop!” Oscar doesn’t need to be reminded of that.

“You asked!” Lando exclaims. Oscar is deeply regretting that. Lando’s face is now definitely red, much like Oscar’s own. They both look away awkwardly. Oscar rubs his eyes as Lando flops backwards with a groan, looking like he wants to disappear too.

“Do we really have to talk about this?” He mumbles.

“No, we do not,” Oscar says quickly, standing up at the first opportunity to escape this soul sucking situation, “this never happened.”

Lando nods way too quickly. “Yes! Exactly! We are never speaking of this again.”

“Okay. So we agree?”

“Agreed.”

“Good.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Lando jumps up and gestures towards the door awkwardly. “So, I’ll just… show you out then?” The way he says it makes it sound less like an offer and more like a demand.

“I can find my own way to the door thank you,” Oscar says stiffly, to hide his humiliation at being dismissed like a small child. He strides towards the door, grabbing his McLaren hoodie from the back of the chair as he goes past. Lando stands there with his arms folded, watching him like a hawk.

“I guess I’ll see you in Hungary,” Oscar says hesitantly, glancing up at Lando for confirmation. Lando nods once.

“Yeah mate. See you.”

Oscar doesn’t hang around, quickly slipping out of the door, feeling like he can finally breathe once he hears the lock click behind him. He wastes no time, power walking down the corridor to his own hotel room, shutting the door behind him with only a little too much force.

Once inside, he collapses face first onto the bed and lets out a muffled scream into the pillows. Once he feels marginally less like he might burst out of his own skin he rolls over and stares blankly at the ceiling.

“What the hell have I done?” He mutters to himself, tugging at his hair before throwing the pillow at the opposite wall. It’s one of the floppy ones, and instead of making a satisfying thump it just lands in a crumpled heap. Oscar sighs, because of course. Even throwing shit isn’t going his way today.

As he's now recovered enough from the shock to actually check his watch, and he's missed his flight. He lets out another half groan half sob. 

He closes his eyes, but as soon as he does he’s hit with memories. Lando’s smile, his laugh, his touch, his smell… Lando beneath him, his hands in Oscar’s hair, his mouth on his neck-

“Fuck,” Oscar whispers to himself, his arm over his face. Just the thought of Lando has his heart clenching in his chest. “I’m so fucked…”

He has to stop. He can’t, can’t, let himself relive last night. Because if he does, he’s going to fall apart. And he’s fine. He’s totally fine.

Except that he now has to make alternative travel arrangements. 

Meanwhile, Lando spends the next couple of days in an almost manic state, barely allowing himself to breathe, let alone think. It’s half panic, half denial. He acts like everything is fine, and that every time someone so much as mentions Oscar’s name he doesn’t look like he’s gonna throw up.

And of course, there’s the very minor issue that now every time he thinks about his teammate he gets this weird fluttery feeling in his stomach. But he can ignore that, right?

Yeah. Everything is fine.

Chapter Text

Oscar makes his way through the paddock as efficiently as possible, only stopping to sign a couple of autographs. Although he feels physically ill, to an outsider he would still seem perfectly fine. Oscar’s good at that, keeping his poker face on, but his eyes give him away, darting around constantly for any glimpse of Lando.

It’s only been three days since he last spoke to him on that fateful morning in his hotel room, but it feels like an age. Not that they really talked outside of race weekends anyway, only sending each other the occasional meme or quick text about travel arrangements.

But still, the silence is hard. Oscar has no idea how to break this weird tension. Does he pretend everything’s fine? Do they acknowledge the weirdness and hope that by admitting it, it will go away?

What’s worse, is that he has absolutely no idea what Lando is thinking. He can’t even try and read his body language, because he hasn’t seen him. Although, knowing Lando, he’ll be exactly the same walking golden retriever he always is, and Oscar will be the only one suffering.

Which would make sense. As why would Lando be affected? It’s weird, sure, but to Lando he just got a bit too drunk and engaged in some slightly too friendly activities with his teammate. It’s one to laugh about in the years to come.

But for Oscar, it’s more than that. It’s always been more than that, but he cannot under any circumstances share that information. So, suffering in silence it is.

He has a team meeting this morning, a beginning of the weekend discussion about set up, practice, and various other things. Oscar is deliberately cutting it fine, which was pre-planned. As he didn’t want to arrive early only to find that Lando was also early, but doesn’t want to talk to him, causing awkward silence while they wait for the meeting to begin. Whereas if Lando does want to talk he can find him after the meeting is over, or not, but either way they won’t have to be in forced proximity.

This way means Oscar has some semblance of control. He probably sounds crazy, and yeah, maybe he is. But there’s also nothing he doesn’t think of.

He walks into the meeting room at one minute to eleven, most of the team already seated, including Lando. He doesn’t even look at Oscar as he enters the room, which stings a little, but he swallows the feeling of hurt and takes a seat.

He barely focuses the entire meeting which is unlike him. But he has bigger concerns, such as getting Lando to look at him. He spends the majority of the time staring at his teammate, silently willing him to look back, even for just a second. Just to acknowledge Oscar’s existence really. That’s all he wants.

But Lando doesn’t. Oscar knows that he knows he’s staring at him. He can see the muscle jumping in Lando’s jaw, but he keeps his gaze firmly on Andrea and Zak at the end of the table.

Before he knows it the meeting’s over. Lando jumps up to flee from the room, prompting Oscar to scrabble up after him. Except he gets intercepted by a member of the media team, talking to him about some TikTok video.

Oscar nods and hums, but his eyes follow Lando out of the room, disappointment sitting heavy in his stomach. He blinks a few times, barely registering that he’s still being spoken to.

“Hm?” He snaps his gaze back to the team member who’s looking at him expectantly. “Sorry, what did you say?” He says sheepishly. Luckily for him she doesn’t seem bothered by his distraction, and soon enough he finds himself talking about tyres and track temperature to a camera.

Which is good. This he can do. He might not know much, and the relationship he’s spent nearly three years building with Lando might have come crumbling down, but he can discuss tyre degradation in his sleep.

By the time the end of the day rolls around, it’s obvious that Lando’s avoiding him. He hasn’t seen even a glimpse of him, and it’s beginning to take its toll on Oscar’s sanity. They’re teammates for God’s sake, does Lando think he can avoid him forever?

They haven’t filmed any joint content for McLaren social media all day, instead making solo videos. Oscar has no idea how Lando managed to convince the social media team to separate them, but surely it can’t last. The fans want content of them together.

Oscar knows this because he’s seen the edits. Not intentionally of course, why would he search up his and Lando’s names together? He’d never do that.

Either way, Oscar knows full well how charming and convincing Lando can be when he chooses, so he’s not completely surprised. He’s just confused, he thought they agreed not to let it affect them as a team. But clearly Lando either didn’t mean that, or he changed his mind and just failed to let Oscar know.

The most he gets of the guy is a snippet of curly hair ducking out of the hospitality, but by the time Oscar reaches the door he’s gone. He bites back a sigh, frustration building in his chest.

The next day is the same. Oscar is waiting backstage of the fan zone, scuffing his shoe. They’re due to go on in five minutes and there’s no sign of Lando. He glances up as Alex and Carlos come down the stairs, having just left the stage. Oscar feels a surge of panic as he realises it’s their turn, and at this rate he’ll have to go on alone. Surely Lando wouldn’t do this to him, no matter how awkward it is between them…

“He’s running late again yeah?” Carlos chuckles as he walks past, patting Oscar on the shoulder. Oscar forces a smile.

“Er, yeah. I guess.”

“Hm.” Carlos frowns a little, “is he okay?”

“Um..” Oscar shifts nervously, “I think so? Why’d you ask?”

“He just seemed a bit off earlier,” Carlos shrugs, “have you noticed anything? You two are fairly close yeah?”

Oscar cringes inside a little at that, if only Carlos knew just how close he and Lando have been. He forces a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What? Nah, not really. I mean.. we're teammates, but no closer than teammates should be, you know?" He trails off, chuckling nervously. 

Wow, way to play it cool, he thinks to himself. Now it's obvious something is wrong, and by the way Alex and Carlos are looking at him like he's grown a second head they've picked up on it. Which isn't exactly a hard task, seeing as Oscar can't meet either of their gazes and is stuttering even more than usual. 

"Okay..." Carlos says slowly, exchanging a not so subtle glance with Alex. 

Oscar feels his palms go a little clammy under Carlos’ intense stare. The way he’s staring at Oscar right now is making him nervous.

Alex gives him a puzzled look. “Oscar? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Oscar nods as he crosses his arms over his chest, his voice a little too high.

Alex and Carlos exchange another glance, clearly not buying it. Carlos is still staring at him intently while Alex looks concerned.

"Is there something wrong with Lando?" Carlos asks, voice laced with worry. 

"No, Lando's fine," Oscar insists, "and I'm fine, everything's fine." 

Carlos opens his mouth but Alex interrupts. "Alright, if you say so." 

Oscar breathes a sigh of relief as they begin shuffling away. Carlos looks like he wants to say more but Alex is nudging him towards the exit.

He watches them leave, thinking he's in the clear until Alex glances back, giving Oscar a knowing look that makes him jolt slightly. What was that look? Does Alex know something, and if so how does he know?!

Shit. 

Oscar opens his mouth but then closes it again, just nodding at them as they retreat. What would he even say anyway without giving himself away? He lets out a shaky breath once they’re gone, trying to regain his composure.

Oscar forces himself not to be weird, casually leaning against the wall. On the outside he probably looks fine, but on the inside he’s really, really not. But it will be fine, as long as he doesn’t open his mouth.

But where the hell is Lando?

Oscar peers further down to see if he can catch a glimpse of papaya, his leg bouncing, but there’s nothing. Just when he’s beginning to think he won’t show Lando appears, bouncing over like nothing happened.  

“There you are!” A member of staff exclaims, “where’ve you been?”

“Lost track of time,” Lando shrugs, his gaze quickly passing over Oscar. “Osc,” he acknowledges, but before Oscar can respond they’re being ushered up the stairs.

The roar of the crowd hits him as soon as Oscar steps onto the stage. He feels the familiar nerves swirling in his stomach but pushes it aside. If he can give one piece of advice, it’s don’t become a Formula One driver if you’re an introvert.

Normally he focuses on Lando instead of the hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, but he can’t do that today, so instead he finds a specific point in the crowd. It’s a teenage girl who’s holding a sign that reads, ‘Oscar Pastry’, with a picture of his head on a croissant. It’s ridiculous, but he finds himself smiling anyway. The sick feeling fades a little and he takes a breath. He’s done this a hundred times before, this time is no different. He’s fine.

The host of the fan stage is asking them questions and Oscar nods and smiles, even managing to answer a couple of them. This is the stuff he finds hardest about his job, all the media and marketing. Ask him about car balance and he can talk for hours, but these kinds of questions he struggles with. He doesn’t even know his favourite colour, and he doesn’t really understand why anyone even cares.

But they’re all staring at him expectantly, and he feels his throat go dry. He glances at Lando, and Lando is looking back. He’s looking at him, and Oscar feels his mouth move before his brain does.

“My favourite colour…” he says, licking his lips slightly. “It’s not like a standard colour, more of a mixture of blue and green,” he says, not breaking eye contact.

“A mixture?” The host says, “interesting. Like a specific shade?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says softly, “a specific shade.”

“Well thank you both for sharing,” the host continues, but Oscar isn’t listening. Lando is looking out at the crowd now, waving and smiling, being his usual charming and loveable self. He shines during these fan zones, his quick wit and easy going personality winning everyone over, including Oscar, who has to remember to look like he likes Lando, but not to look too smitten. It’s exhausting honestly.

But today Lando’s smile is a little too wide, his laugh a little too loud. Oscar knows him well enough to see past the act, hear the slight strain to his voice. He isn’t unaffected after all.

Lando is fast leaving the stage, but Oscar is faster.

“Lando, wait!” He calls after him, his long stride catching up when Lando hesitates, reluctantly turning around.  

“What’s up?” Lando says, hands shoved into his pockets. Oscar resists the urge to shake him.

“What’s up?” Oscar says incredulously, “mate, you’ve been acting like I have the plague or something!”

Lando shifts awkwardly. “Have not,” he retorts like a petulant child.

“Real mature,” Oscar mutters, his annoyance finally bubbling over.

“What do you want me to say Osc?!” Lando exclaims, “yes, I’ve been avoiding you. Happy?”

“No, I’m not happy! You said we were fine, that we’d pretend it never happened.”

Lando glances around to check no one’s listening, before muttering, “I thought it would be fine, but it’s not, okay? It’s not.”

Oscar’ chest tightens at that, and he forces himself to breathe in, breathe out. As even though he knew this was the case, it still hurts to hear Lando say it.

“But why not?” He asks quietly.

“Because.” Lando sighs, shifting his weight between his feet, “it’s just… weird. Every time I see you now all I can think about is…” He trails off awkwardly, suddenly finding Oscar’s shoes fascinating.

“Well, we can’t go on like this! We’ve got responsibilities Lando! We have a team image to maintain!”

“I know,” Lando groans, “and believe me I’ve been trying not to let that night ruin everything, but it’s so hard. It’s all I can think about,” he admits. Oscar takes a breath, this is painful. Because he also can’t stop thinking about it, but likely for very different reasons than Lando.

“Just don’t think about it.”

“Wow, very helpful Osc,” Lando hisses, “do you not think I’ve tried that?” He scoffs and folds his arms, “not all of us can be as unbothered as you.”

Oscar is taken aback, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, that it’s easy for you isn’t it? To just dismiss it, pretend that nothing happened, act like it was nothing.” He laughs humourlessly, “some of us have actual feelings you know.”

Oscar flinches like Lando hit him. He honestly would have just preferred if Lando had punched him in the face.

“I have feelings,” he says quietly, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

Lando looks guilty, deflating a little, “look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oscar mutters, staring at the ground where he’s scuffing it with his shoe. He can feel Lando’s gaze on him, and he wants the ground to swallow him up right then and there.

“Osc,” Lando says, his voice softer now, “please look at me.”

Oscar sighs and raises his gaze, forcing his expression to be neutral as he stares at Lando. “I do have feelings,” he mutters, before shaking his head a little and muttering, “you have no idea.”

“I know you do. I just…” Lando runs a hand through his hair, his face conflicted. Oscar follows the motion with his eyes, his throat a little dry. “This is all so screwed up, yeah? I mean, can we even go back to the way things were before?”

Oscar feels a surge of panic. He can feel Lando slipping through his fingers, and he’ll do anything to bring him back.

“Look, we were drunk and made a mistake, but lets not let it ruin the good thing we’ve got going on, yeah?” He says, only mildly desperately. Lando stares back at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just when Oscar is planning on which bridge to throw himself from, Lando lets out another sigh and reaches out to playfully nudge Oscar’s arm.

“Yeah, yeah.” He finally, finally, smiles slightly. “A mistake. Right.”

Oscar is so confused, eyeing Lando warily, like a stray dog. “Is that not what you want to call it?” He asks slowly.

“No! I mean, yes, obviously it was a mistake,” Lando shrugs, “what else would we call it?”

“Okay then…”

“Great.” Lando breaks into a grin, suddenly slinging an arm around Oscar’s shoulders and making him stagger slightly. “Mistake it is. A mistake between friends. Mistake.”

Oscar is half paying attention to how Lando might have finally lost it, the other half focused on where his arm is around his shoulders, Lando’s fingers resting casually against his chest. If he can feel how fast Oscar’s heart is beating he really will find the nearest bridge.

“We are friends right?” Lando asks, his smile a little too wide.

“What?” Oscar shakes himself out of his daze, “course we are.”

Lando breathes a sigh of relief, “okay then. We’re friends, and we got drunk and did something stupid. Okay.”

“Yeah,” Oscar straightens a little, “yeah okay. So… you’re alright now?”

“Yeah mate,” Lando shrugs, “all good.” His arm falls from Oscar’s shoulders, and he is suddenly very aware of how close he’s standing. Oscar can see the freckle above his top lip, can practically feel the way Lando’s chest rises and falls. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides to stop himself from doing something very, very stupid.  

Lando breaks the silence by clearing his throat, “we should get to practice.”

Oscar nods vigorously to disguise how he’d been eyeing Lando like a piece of meat. He really needs to get a grip. He reminds himself of this as they walk to the garage together, that Lando is his friend, that them together freaked him out so much he avoided Oscar for days.

Oscar doesn’t want to be his fucking friend. But it’s better than being nothing, being frozen out, so he’ll take it. At least this way he still gets to spend time with Lando, to talk to him. He let his guard down, the night together made those forbidden feelings find their way back to the surface, and Oscar needs to push them back down again. Push them back down far enough that they won’t find their way back out.

They walk to the garage together, close enough that their shoulders occasionally bump together. Oscar forces himself to act casually, and he thinks it’s working. He’s also certain Lando is doing the same thing; that stupid grin is still plastered on his face, but it feels forced now, like he’s trying a little too hard. Like he’s also still very conscious of how close Oscar is.

They pause in the entrance to the garage, clearly both a little lost as to how to go from here. Oscar shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll um, see you later then?”

“Wait,” Lando glances around before leaning in and whispering, “are we… you know, good?”

Oscar reminds himself to breathe. He wants to grab Lando by the shoulders, shake him violently, and scream in his face that no, he is not good, he got a taste of what he’s been craving for years, and he can never have it again. That what happened was not a mistake, it was probably the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to him, and the last thing he wants is to pretend to be Lando’s friend. But he will, for the sake of the team, and for both of them too. And he’s like ninety five percent certain it’s gonna kill him.

But he obviously doesn’t say any of that, he keeps a casual smile on his face and says, “yeah, we’re good.”

Lando nods, “good. Cause I didn’t want it to ruin the vibe.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “the vibe?”

“You know,” Lando moves his hands around rather animatedly, gesturing towards the dozens of McLaren staff around them, “the vibe.”

Oscar shakes his head in equal parts fond and exasperated. “You’re ridiculous. But sure, no vibe ruined here.”

“Team papaya lives to see another day,” Lando mock salutes him before strolling over to his side of the garage. Oscar watches him go, sighing a little.  

He shakes his head and turns away, walking over to his own mechanics. He’s itching to get in the cockpit, once his helmet is on the rest of the world falls away, it’s just him and the car. He needs the adrenaline rush now more than ever.

Practice goes pretty normally, they run various tyres, look at sector and lap times, compare his times to Lando’s to find room for improvement. And Lando is back to his old self, cracking jokes and being annoyingly charming.

Oscar tries very hard not to look over to his side of the garage, but he’s only human. It’s worth it though, because he does catch Lando already looking at him a couple of times. Every time Oscar catches him, his usually confident smile falters for a second, before he grins wider or winks at him or something, throwing Oscar off. But he can’t be imagining the tension in his shoulders.

Either way, Lando sets the fastest time in FP1 and FP2, so clearly he can’t be that affected. He falls into step beside Oscar as they head to the debrief room, still grinning.

“Couldn’t keep up today huh Piastri?”

“I was 0.2 seconds behind you,” Oscar points out dryly.

“Still behind,” Lando says cheekily, leaning in and nudging their shoulders together before practically skipping away.

“Christ,” Oscar mutters under his breath, ignoring the way his heart flutters when Lando shoots him one last smirk over his shoulder. He watches Lando walk away, feeling the familiar mixture of irritation and affection. Lando is so annoying. Oscar is so fond of him.

He shakes his head in an attempt to shake away the thoughts, going after him like nothing happened at all. Because nothing did. Oscar knows it’s all in his head, that Lando is, and will only ever be his friend.

He repeats this to himself like a mantra for the rest of the weekend. Lando doesn’t mean more to him than he should. His smile makes him feel nothing, he enjoys talking to him a perfectly reasonable amount, and just because he actually likes his stupid jokes, especially the way he looks at Oscar after he laughs, all huge grins and bright eyes… it doesn’t mean anything.

He outqualifies Lando on Saturday, despite Lando being quicker all weekend so far. There’s a tiny glimmer of satisfaction inside him which happens every time he’s faster. That small thrill of being better than his teammate, every driver gets it, it doesn’t matter how close you are. And yet Lando is still smiling when he takes off his helmet, clapping Oscar on the back.

“Great lap mate.”

“Thanks,” Oscar nods, “yours too.”

Lando grins and nudges their shoulders together, “guess we’ll see who’s faster tomorrow.”

Oscar chuckles, he hasn’t won yet. “Yeah.”

Lando’s grin widens, that competitive spirit returning. He points a finger at Oscar as he backs away, heading over to complete his interview, “it’s on Piastri. May the best man win.” He turns away to take the microphone, adjusting his cap for the cameras, a few curls poking out.

He glances at Oscar once more, and he’s probably imagining it, but his gaze lingers for just a second too long. Yeah, definitely imagining it.

The race on Sunday leaves Oscar with mixed feelings. He’d thought his race was with Leclerc, but of course you can never count Lando out. He grits his teeth as he pulls into the pit lane, frustration slowly building. He almost had him, a couple more laps and Oscar would be the one in p1. Now he’s stuck watching Lando celebrating his win.

He can’t even be that mad, Lando drove brilliantly, managing to pull off a one stop when everyone else did two is impressive. It was a good strategy, but Oscar is still slightly bitter.

He holds on to the fact that he’s still leading the championship, which is a moral booster going into the summer break. He drinks some water as he watches Zak clapping Lando on the back, grinning like he just won the championship. He rolls his eyes a little at the over the top celebrations. 

But he can’t help the small smile that appears on his face as Lando comes over, smiling from ear to ear, his chest still heaving a little from the adrenaline of his win. But he knows Oscar too well, so of course he catches some of the disappointment he’s trying so hard to hide.

“Hey.” Lando nods.

“Good race,” Oscar nods back at him.

“Thanks,” Lando says sincerely. “You drove well, almost thought you had me on that last lap.”

Oscar chuckles a little, “almost.” Lando is watching him closely, like he’s trying to assess Oscar’s mood. Which honestly is fair enough, seeing as Lando's last win was Silverstone. And everyone knows how that went. But this is different, Lando won today fair and square, so Oscar pushes aside his frustration and puts on a smile.

“A McLaren 1-2 again, Zak and Andrea should be pleased.”

Lando laughs as they both glance over to where Zak is still shaking his fist victoriously at the camera nearby. Honestly. Sometimes it feels like he’s more pleased about the wins than Lando and Oscar.

Oscar goes through the motions. He does his interview, he sits through the cool down room replay, which he still thinks is the most awkward and unnecessary thing ever, he stands on the podium and listens to the British National anthem play. Then he proceeds to drench Lando in champagne.

This part he always enjoys. Watching Lando’s face scrunch up as the cool liquid hits his face, how his damp curls fall over his forehead a little, the wide smile on his face. He meets Oscar’s gaze, a few drops of champagne rolling down his cheek. Oscar’s eyes drop, watching their path across his tanned skin. He swallows, for a moment forgetting there are cameras and millions of pairs of eyes on them right now.

When he looks back up Lando is looking at him with what can only be described as longing.

Oscar’s breath catches, the rest of the world falling away for a few seconds as their eyes meet. His lips part slightly, and he swears he sees Lando’s gaze drop to them, before he’s hit with another stream of champagne.

And the trance is broken. Oscar splutters a little in surprise, wiping away the stinging in his eyes to see George pointing his champagne bottle at the two of them, laughing like he didn’t just interrupt a moment Oscar is going to play on repeat in his head for the next four weeks.

By the time he looks back at Lando the other driver has turned away, the moment has passed. Except when they pose for a photo, Oscar feels Lando’s hand rest on the small of his back at first, then slowly move to his waist. He’s gripping it almost possessively, and Oscar forgets how to breathe.

He glances at Lando to see him already looking up at him through his ridiculously long eyelashes, a few drops of champagne clinging to them, because Oscar is close enough to see that little detail. Lando holds his gaze, not long enough for anyone else to notice, but more than just a friendly look. Lando moves away, still smiling casually, but it’s left Oscar feeling shaky, and he clings to his trophy a little tighter than usual.

As the last race weekend before the break comes to an end, Oscar is hit with the hopeful yet slightly terrifying thought that maybe he wasn’t imagining it after all.

Chapter Text

The summer break is exactly what Oscar needed. Four whole weeks away from Formula One, no cameras, no media, no questions, and no Lando.

He has mixed feelings about the last one. One the one hand, being away from Lando has given him the opportunity to clear his head, regain his composure, and hopefully get over these feelings that have been eating him alive.

On the other, Oscar misses him. A lot.

It’s definitely odd, not seeing him around all the time. Their lives are usually so intertwined that the weeks of not hearing from him is beginning to take its toll. Because it’s back to silence.

Since that moment on the podium in Hungary they’ve barely spoken. Not even to send the occasional meme like in the previous breaks from racing, mostly to let the other know they’re alive and thinking of them. The kind you send a casual friend just to remind them of your existence. But now Oscar doesn’t even have that.

Lando has also been oddly quiet on social media. He posted a collaboration with some sports brand a few days ago, but that’s it. It’s driving Oscar insane. He keeps finding his thoughts drifting off into wondering what Lando’s doing right now, where he is, who he’s with…

He tries to push them away. But as the days drag on, Lando keeps popping into his mind, usually at inopportune times, like when he’s having lunch with his mum, or hanging out with friends. Everything will be fine, then without warning he’s picturing Lando’s smile, hearing his laugh… God he even misses his stupid laugh.

It’s incredibly infuriating. Why does he have to care so much? He’s pretty sure Lando hasn’t even given him a second thought the entire break, so why does Oscar’s entire world still seem to revolve around him?

He’s pretty sure he’s even beginning to piss off Logan with all of his moping, which is some achievement. Logan is never pissed at him. He’s been staying with Oscar for a few days since they barely see each other anymore, and he’s been incredibly tolerant so far.

But when Oscar sighs at his phone for the tenth time in five minutes, even he draws a line.

“Oi,” Logan kicks him in the shin from the opposite side of the sofa to where Oscar’s lounging, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Me?” Oscar feigns innocence, “there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Uh huh.” Logan looks unconvinced. Oscar swallows, maintaining eye contact in the hope that Logan will drop it. Obviously, he doesn’t.

He holds out his hand for Oscar’s phone, “give me that.”

“No!”

Logan snatches it out of his hand before Oscar can stop him, his objections falling on deaf ears as he squints at what Oscar was previously looking at. It’s a post from the McLaren Instagram page of him and Lando, the picture taken a while ago, the post from six hours ago. Lando’s talking, and Oscar’s staring at him like he hung the moon, because of course he is.

“Really?”

“It just came up on my feed,” Oscar protests weakly.

“I’m sure it did,” Logan nods, “but how long were you staring at it for?”

Oscar scowls, knowing he’s been caught. “Alright fine, I was reading the comments.”

“Why?” Logan looks confused until the opens the comment section, then understanding flickers across his face and he looks up at Oscar with what can only be described as pity.

“You really don’t try to hide it do you?”

“Shut up,” Oscar groans, “I do try.”

“Try harder!”

“Wow, thank you, that is very helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” Logan tosses his phone back at him, “the top comment being “Oscar ‘heart eyes’ Piastri” is not good for your image mate.”

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Yes.” Logan says without hesitating, causing Oscar to put a cushion over his face and let out a muffled scream. Logan just watches him in amusement, one of the few people who gets to see this unfiltered side of Oscar. Not the calm, cool and collected Oscar, but the chaotic mess he often is on the inside.

“Look, it’s not that bad,” Logan says.

“The post is not the problem,” Oscar mumbles into the cushion, “Lando is.”

“When is Lando not the problem?”

Oscar removes the cushion from his face just to throw it at Logan, who dodges with an easy-going grin. “Hey, don’t take your sexual frustrations out on me mate!”

“Oh my God, my frustration is not sexual.”

“Sure it is,” Logan shrugs, “I’m just saying, this would all be solved if you just get off your high horse and suck his di-”

He’s cut off by Oscar shoving his head into the gap between the sofa cushions. While Logan yells and tries to hit Oscar with his free hand, although he’s doing more flailing and less actual hitting, Oscar proceeds to tell him about the night.

Logan stops struggling, and Oscar doesn’t need to see his face to know what his reaction is going to be. Once he’s finished explaining he lets up and sits back, watching as Logan slowly returns to an upright position, his mouth wide open.

He points a finger at Oscar, “you had sex, with Lando Norris?!”

Oscar grimaces, “we didn’t have sex, we just… exchanged… you know.” Oscar rubs the back of his neck, face heating up.

Logan stares at him for a few seconds, then absolutely loses it. Oscar waits patiently while he howls with laughter, doubled over and clutching his stomach like he’s holding himself together. After a couple of minutes Oscar is losing patience.

“You done?”

“I cannot believe you kept this from me!” Logan wipes a tear from his eye, “I mean come on, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me not to react.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Oscar mumbles.

“Sorry, it’s just… Lando Norris.”

“Yes Logan, I’m well aware thank you.”

"Damn, congrats man," Logan grins, "it's about time." But then he must catch something on Oscar's face because his smile slowly fades. "Okay that's not a happy face. What's wrong, I thought you'd be overjoyed about this, since you've been pining after him for years and all..."

"That's just it," Oscar mutters, kicking the leg of the coffee table, "it's stupid, but I thought if I ever did get to be with Lando it would be real. And it wasn't."

"Oh." Logan grimace, "so the hookup didn't live up to the romantic fairytale you've been imagining in your head since you were fifteen?"

Oscar reaches over and smacks him. "Shut up oh my God. You're making me sound like a lovesick teenage girl."

"Well..."

Oscar hits him again. 

Logan rubs his arm, “alright, alright, sorry. But I’m seriously questioning your life choices right now. How did this even happen?”

“It was an accident! We were drunk!”

“Even so!” Logan looks at him with a somber expression, “seriously Osc, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” Oscar groans, “and now it’s so weird between us, and I have no idea what to do.”

Logan finally looks a little sympathetic, “that doesn’t sound good.” Oscar just sighs. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Yeah, we talked. And agreed to pretend it never happened and just be friends.”

Logan winces. “Are you alright mate?”

“No, no I’m not alright,” Oscar finally admits, sliding down the back of the sofa to stare at the ceiling. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars, letting them drop back to the sofa with a dull thump.

“I figured,” Logan nods with a grim expression.

“I don’t know what to do. These stupid feelings just won’t go away.”

“Well, you’ve been into him for a long time mate. Makes sense that hooking up with him is gonna have some consequences.”

Oscar laughs quietly, a bitter tinge to it, “it’s a bit more than just being into him and you know it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Logan sighs. “But you need to be careful Osc, because carrying on like this is gonna get your heart broken.”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Oscar groans. “It’s just all so confusing… he avoids me like the plague one minute, then the next he’s staring at me like he wants to jump me or something.”

“You think he likes you back?”

“No. I don’t know… probably not. But we did have this moment…”

Logan gives him a look which says, elaborate, so Oscar explains the Hungary podium to him. Logan then proceeds to look it up and watch it on YouTube. His eyebrows slowly get higher the longer the video goes on. He hands Oscar his phone back.

“Yeah, he wants you.”

“Wait, he does?” Oscar scrambles into a sitting position.

“Trust me, the way he looked at you? You don’t look at your teammate like that."

“I don’t know… it’s Lando. He’s not exactly shy about his affections.”

“True, but I’m still pretty sure about this one.”

Oscar is still unconvinced. He’s sat there replaying the moment with Lando over and over in his head when Logan interrupts his train of thought.

“I know,” he sits up, the look in his eyes making Oscar a bit wary. “You should invite him over.”

Oscar stares at him, “you’re joking.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“You want me,” Oscar says slowly, “to invite Lando Norris. To my apartment?”

“Oscar, you have been pining after that man for longer than he’s known your name. If there’s even the slightest chance he feels the same, you have to take it.”

“I do not have to.”

“Yes you do!”

“Well, what if you’re wrong? What if this causes the final fracture in our friendship, making it cracked beyond repair?”

“Okay that’s a little dramatic-”

“And,” Oscar interrupts, holding up a finger, “we still have no definitive proof he likes guys. The night we hooked up doesn’t count, he was really drunk.”

“Are we talking about the same guy?” Logan says sceptically. “The same man who walked around Miami in a crop top?”

“That was for a video!” Oscar protests.

“Sure. A video that you singlehandedly made viral.”

“Oh shut up,” Oscar mutters, cheeks turning pink as he’s reminded of how many times he watched that thing back when he was a reserve driver, and he and Lando barely knew each other. “I really regret telling you that.”

“But alas, you did,” Logan throws an arm around Oscar’s shoulders, “and I’m telling you, that man is gay.”

“Logan!”

“Or at least bi. There’s some zest in him for sure. I’d put money on it.”

“You are the absolute worst,” Oscar groans, breaking free of his grasp and rolling off the sofa in his despair, landing in a heap on the floor. Logan peers down at him, his chin resting on his hands.

“Just text him,” Logan says more seriously, reaching out to nudge Oscar’s arm, “nothing bad can come from a simple text.”

“Have you met me?”

“Fair point,” Logan nods solemnly, “give me your phone, I’ll do the texting.”

Thirty minutes and a lot of bickering later, they have managed to compose a few potential texts to Lando. Oscar reads through the possibilities, chewing his lip with a serious expression.

“Just choose one man,” Logan grumbles, “it’s really not that deep.”

“Shut up,” Oscar says, still deep in consideration.

The first option: hey, how’s your break going?

It’s simple, clean, no room for interpretation. It’s also boring. Like, really boring. And Lando is one of the most interesting people Oscar’s met, he cannot, under any circumstances, bore him.

Option two: hope you’re doing well

Yeah, no. Way too formal, makes it sound like Lando is dying of some serious illness. Which he’s not. Hopefully. Oscar will need to actually talk to him to confirm that.

Option three: just checking if you’re still alive

It’s casual, maybe even funny? But Oscar doesn’t really do jokes, maybe it seems like he’s trying too hard? God this is impossible.

He throws his phone away with a groan, burying his head in his hands. Logan puts a sympathetic hand on his back.

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can,” Logan tries to hype him up, “it’s just a text, stop overthinking it.”

“Just do it for me,” Oscar waves his phone in Logan’s general direction, but snatches it back before he can grab it. “Actually no, I don’t trust you.”

Logan makes a face of mock outrage, “rude!”

“You wanted to send him, ‘want to recreate the night after Spa?’, with a winky face!”

“I still stand by that.”

“Maybe I’ll just send him a meme…”

“No!” Logan exclaims, making Oscar jump a little. “That’s what you guys usually do, this is different. We’re trying to move away from the friend territory.”

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

“I still think you should just skip the whole texting stage and just invite him over.”

“Absolutely not, that is way too much.”

“Why?” Logan sounds incredulous.

“Because! We have never hung out outside of race weekends. Ever.”

Logan smiles slyly, “then maybe it’s time to change that.”

Oscar makes a face, he can’t believe he’s actually considering this. Just the thought of hanging out with Lando, alone, has his heartbeat quickening. A mixture of excitement and crippling anxiety.

Logan picks up Oscar’s phone. “Do you trust me?”

Oscar glances up at him, seeing that Logan actually looks serious. He nods once, because yes, he does. All jokes aside, he knows that he has Oscar’s best interests at heart, he isn’t going to text Lando something utterly humiliating.

He waits with bated breath as Logan types, is it warm in his apartment? He’s suddenly very hot, and he pulls at his shirt a little, trying to get some air to his flushed skin.

“And… done.” Logan puts his phone down. “Now we wait for a reply.”

Oscar grabs it in record speed, with those handy formula one driver reflexes. He reads the message Logan sent.

You: hey mate, you in Monaco?

“Oh hell,” Oscar rubs his face, “mate? Really? I thought we were trying to get out of the friend zone.”

“It’s a process Osc,” Logan shrugs, “can’t start calling him babe just yet.”

Oscar shudders at the thought. He stares at the little delivered message, wondering when Lando will reply. If he’ll even reply.

“Right, we need to get out of this apartment,” Logan announces, dragging Oscar up. “Take your mind off it.”

“Please do,” Oscar mumbles.

“Get changed, we’re going for a run.”

It’s actually quite a good idea. They’re running along the clifftop, and the combination of the wind on his face, the burn in his legs and chest, and the loud music in his ears is successfully distracting him. It’s what he likes about running, it clears his head in a way he can’t quite achieve with other exercise.

He kind of wishes he could feel like this all the time, free from that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. No overthinking, just him at peace.

Obviously it doesn’t last. Logan makes him pose for some photos, insisting that the world deserves to see a post-run Oscar Piastri, whatever the hell that means, and they then return to his apartment. Oscar posts the photos on his Instagram, adding his usual house music to the background, then jumps in the shower.

He’s wrapping a towel around his waist when Logan yells through the bathroom door, “he’s replied!”

Oscar nearly falls out of the bath. “Well, what does it say?!”

“Mate, I don’t know! You need to unlock it!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Oscar groans, nearly falling again in his hurry to scramble out of the bath. He doesn’t bother getting dressed, just secures the towel around his waist. There are still a few drops of water running down his back as he flings open the bathroom door and hurries over to the kitchen island where he left his phone.

His hands are trembling a little as he picks it up, Logan watching eagerly nearby.

“Well?”

Oscar swallows the sudden crushing disappointment, rereading Lando’s text over and over.

Lando: nah I’m in Ibiza mate

Lando: why?

“You look like a kicked puppy, what did he say?” Logan leans over, trying to see the screen. Oscar tilts it so he can read the text. Logan sighs.

“Damn.”

“Of course he’s in bloody Ibiza,” Oscar mutters.

“Hey, chin up man,” Logan pats him on the shoulder, “just ask him when he’s back.”

“What’s the point?” Oscar sighs, heading back to the bathroom, “he’s off in Ibiza, probably having the time of his life and doesn’t want to be disturbed. I bet he won’t spare me another thought until Zandvoort.”

“That’s definitely not true-”

Logan’s protest is cut off by Oscar closing the bathroom door behind him. He grips the sink with his hands, staring at himself in the mirror. He really shouldn’t be so upset by this, it’s not even that surprising that Lando is off on holiday somewhere, most of the drivers probably are. Except for Oscar, because he’s been wasting his weeks off in a sour mood over someone who doesn’t care.

It’s probably for the best anyway. Lando made it pretty clear that he was uncomfortable and just wanted to forget about the whole thing. Oscar read too much into the podium, again, Lando was just caught up in the thrill of winning. It was nothing.

He puts some clothes on, takes a deep breath, then pulls himself together. There are still two weeks left of the summer break, and he plans to enjoy them.

Logan looks confused and mildly concerned when Oscar strides out of his bedroom with a new spring in his step and determination in his eyes.

“You good?”

“I’m great.” Oscar declares, “and we’re going on holiday.”

“We are?”

“Yep. Where do you wanna go?” Logan blinks at him and Oscar claps his hands together, “Logan! Come on, pick a place.”

“Just slow down for a minute man.”

“Nope, no time for that. Slowing down leaves time for thinking, and I don’t want to think.”

“I’m assuming the text from Lando prompted this mini breakdown?” Logan says slowly.

“I’m not having a breakdown. Besides, I thought you wanted me to get out of the apartment more?”

“I do! Preferably with all of your sanity!”

“Are you really turning down a free holiday?”

Logan stands up, stretching a little, “no I am not. I’m not on an F1 salary anymore so I’ll take whatever free stuff I can get.”

“That’s the spirit. Now go pack your stuff.”

As Oscar is about to go and pack his own things, Logan puts a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Just need a break from my summer break.”

Logan is still eyeing him sceptically, “are you not even gonna text Lando back?”

“Why would I? Clearly he doesn’t want to meet up.”

“Oscar!” Logan says in exasperation, “he didn’t reject you, he’s not even in the country!”

Oscar just shrugs. “Does it matter? It was a dumb idea anyway, obviously he doesn’t feel the same. He’s Lando.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Logan,” Oscar pleads.

Logan sighs, “this is really what you want?”

“This is what I want.”

“Okay then. Lets go pack.”

Oscar breathes a sigh of relief, going to find his suitcase. And a few hours later he’s on a plane, forehead against the window as he watches the ground get progressively further away.

He has no idea that on the other side of the world Lando is lying by the pool in Ibiza, sunglasses pushed up on his head as he stares at Oscar’s Instagram post, even though he’s been looking at it for ten minutes already. Oscar has no idea how his mouth has gone dry, how he glances around, hoping that no one has noticed how he suddenly looks extremely flustered. How he swallows once, twice, then chucks his phone down and gets up to dunk himself in the cold water.

And how he spends the rest of the summer break wondering why Oscar never replied to his text.

Chapter Text

Despite pretending not to, Oscar’s been counting down the days until the Dutch Grand Prix. It’s not like he didn’t enjoy his summer break, because he did, managing to soak up some sun in Greece before having to head back to Monaco, and he also saw his family and friends for a bit.

Although the highlight was definitely spending so much time with Logan. He wishes his friend was still in Formula One, but you can’t have everything.

But while he did enjoy his break, he missed racing. Just being in the car, that’s all. That’s what he tells himself anyway, that he’s looking forward to getting back in the car after the time off. Not at all because he finally gets to see Lando again.

He’s tried not to think about him, and it’s been partially successful. Obviously he hasn’t managed to completely shake the Brit from his thoughts, but he’s definitely less obsessed with him than he was before the break. Small wins.

He arrives in the paddock on Thursday morning, a small thrill running through him at the familiar sounds and smells. He bounds up the stairs to the McLaren hospitality, cool air hitting him as he walks through the doors.

And just like that, his heart is already pounding in his chest, his brain repeating where is he? Where is he? Where is he?

He subtly scans the room, stomach flipping as he catches sight of a familiar head of curly hair standing with some of the team nearby. Lando’s smiling, as usual, talking animatedly with his hands.

Oscar smiles a little to himself at the sight, then he swallows and schools his face into a neutral expression, wandering further into the room. Lando looks up as he walks past, the words he was saying dying on his lips. Oscar can feel his gaze following him as he greets various members of the team.

He maintains his composure, pretending like he didn’t even notice Lando as he chats to a couple of engineers, asking them about their breaks. But he can see him out of the corner of his eye, how he slowly inches over to Oscar’s side of the room.

Lando’s hands are deep in his pockets as he casually strolls over, trying way too hard to look like he’s meant to be there. He looks like he’s going to walk straight past, but ends up stopping directly in front of Oscar, standing there like a small child waiting to be noticed. It’s endearing.

Oscar finally looks at him properly, and immediately wishes he didn’t. Lando looks good. He’s even more tanned now, his skin a particularly delicious golden brown, and his hair is longer, curls flopping in every direction. Lord, give him strength.

Lando looks like he has some sort of internal debate with himself, before he finally says, “hey.”

Oscar can’t help the small smile that grows on his face, “hey.”

Lando rocks back and forth a little, hands still in his pockets. “How was your summer?”

“Good,” Oscar nods, “yours?”

“Yeah good. What did you get up to?”

“Not much,” he shrugs, “mostly just hung out with Logan.”

“Yeah?” Lando tilts his head, “how is Logan?”

“He’s going great,” Oscar smiles a little at the thought of his friend. When he looks back up Lando is watching him carefully. His stomach flutters. He ignores it.

“What about you? Do anything other than Ibiza?”

Lando falters for a second, but then he nods. “Er, yeah. Saw family, some friends, you know the drill.” Oscar nods too. Lando looks like he wants to say something else, but ultimately decides against it. He covers it up by raising an eyebrow.

“Admit it, you missed me,” he says, his tone teasing.

“Oh yeah,” Oscar says dryly, the corner of his mouth tilted up, “every single day.”

Lando’s smirk morphs into a grin as the tension between them disperses, his usual confidence returning. “Oh really?” He leans in closer and says quietly so only Oscar can hear, “me too.”

Oscar’s stomach doesn’t just flip, it catapults. Lando is suddenly so close, and he smells good, and Oscar thinks he might die.

Surely Lando can hear how his heart is hammering against his ribs like some kind of caged animal. Either way, he notices Oscar’s reaction, how his eyes are wide and cheeks a little pink.

Lando steps back abruptly, clearing his throat like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He puts his hands back into his pockets awkwardly and turns around.

“Anyway, see you later.”

“O-okay?” Oscar stammers, “bye?” But Lando is already walking away, leaving Oscar rooted to the spot, wondering what the hell just happened.

This is not good. He remains standing there like he’s been electrocuted, processing. How Lando gave him that look again, the same one as the podium, then proceeded to walk away like he couldn’t escape fast enough.

The break was meant to clear Oscar’s head, help him figure out what the hell is going on, not make it worse. He’s even more confused now and he’s been here for less than five minutes.   

He’d spent the last couple of weeks trying (and failing), to forget about Lando. To get over whatever he feels for him, convince himself that it was just a stupid crush (it’s not), and focus on what’s important (the championship).

But now those repressed feeling are back in full force, and somehow even worse than before. Brilliant.

He gives himself approximately thirty seconds to freak out and spiral into existential despair over this, then he shakes it off and heads off to his media duties.

It feels like everyone and their mum want to talk to Oscar today. He should have expected it really, he is the championship leader, but God if he isn’t sick of answering the same questions already.

But he deals with it, and while he does he forces himself to focus on anything but Lando, which proves to be more difficult than it should be. He’s just everywhere. In the press conference, the media pen, the hospitality balcony… Oscar swears he didn’t run into him this much before. Maybe the Universe is just playing some cruel joke on him today.

His heart leaps into his throat every time he catches a glimpse of something orange, which is completely ridiculous, but it’s out of his control. It’s also incredibly inconvenient considering this is the Dutch grand prix and every other person is in orange. And Oscar knows that it’s not the same kind of orange, but if he’s being honest he’s not educated enough, or cares enough to tell the difference.

And his stupid traitorous heart apparently can’t either.

But it’s not just the colour he can’t escape. He’s sitting in the McLaren hospitality with a cold drink when he looks out the window and sees a fan holding a giant cardboard cutout of Lando’s face. He groans quietly, sinking into his chair. He just can’t catch a break.

It proceeds to get even worse that afternoon. The two of them are currently filming a social media video, some game where they guess whether things are higher or lower in degrees than the Zandvoort banking.

It’s simple enough, but he’s distracted. Lando keeps making jokes, laughing loudly. He leans forwards to see a photo better and his leg brushes against Oscar’s, sending a jolt up his entire body. And he swears he sees Lando react too, taking a quick shaky breath.

But it’s probably all in his head. Oscar calms himself down with a deep breath of his own, reminding himself that this is Lando. That he has models throwing themselves at him left and right because he’s charming and funny, and not to mention gorgeous.

It’s unfair really, how effortless things are for him. He’s both cocky and also completely unaware of how attractive he really is. Like he doesn’t even notice heads turning when he walks past. It’s infuriating.

And Oscar knows he’s not ugly, but they’re not in the same league. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes.

This becomes even more apparent when Lando takes a selfie of the two of them for social media. Oscar glances at it, having to fight off a sigh. He looks fine, but Lando looks like a freaking model.

And it’s ridiculous, how Lando eyes the photo sceptically, before shrugging and handing the phone back to the McLaren social media admin.

“It’s alright I suppose.”

Oscar looks at him incredulously. Alright? Is he serious?

Lando looks up and meets his gaze, “what?”

Oscar forces himself to look away, “nothing.”

Lando gives him a funny look but doesn’t press him further. When he looks away Oscar slowly releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

They both keep themselves busy over the weekend, and out of each other’s way. Oscar surrounds himself with people; mechanics, engineers, fans, anything to prevent him from being alone with Lando. He’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from blurting out something moronic and way too revealing.

He’s just out of reach. Not physically, he’s only on the opposite side of the garage, Oscar can talk to him anytime he wants really. But he can’t have him the way he wants him, so it’s best to keep his distance.

Lando DNFs in the race. One minute Oscar was desperately trying to keep his teammate behind him, then Lando disappeared from his mirrors. Mechanical issue apparently.

He catches a brief glimpse of him as he drives past under the safety car, he’s leaning against the barriers next to a couple of marshals. And he looks so calm, so casual, like he isn’t even bothered that his race just ended only a few laps from the chequered flag. But Oscar knows better.

The whole thing has benefitted him, increasing his lead in the driver’s championship. It’s now made Lando’s life far more difficult if he wants to catch Oscar up, but through no fault of his own. Oscar feels a little bit bad, even though it’s not his fault either. And he also feels slightly guilty that he’s a little pleased that his lead is now even more secure.

He stands on the podium, celebrates his win with the team, does his media duties, but in the back of his mind he knows he needs to find Lando.

Once he’s finally free he looks for him. He’s not difficult to track down, he’s sitting alone on a mechanics toolbox in the corner of the garage, race suit still on but unzipped around his waist. He’s staring at a point on the floor, not upset exactly, just… tired.

His head snaps up as Oscar approaches, his expression unreadable. Oscar lingers awkwardly for a few seconds.

“Congrats,” Lando says casually, like it’s no big deal how Oscar just secured another win while he got screwed over. His tone is light, but Oscar can see the tension in his jaw.

“That was unlucky today,” he says quietly.

Lando exhales sharply. “Yeah. Unlucky.” He shakes his head, picking at a cuticle on his finger. It’s quiet for a moment before Lando looks up again, his expression softer than before.

“You deserved the win though,” he murmurs, pausing before adding, “you always do.”

Oscar is caught off guard for a second, opening and closing his mouth while he thinks of what to say. Lando looks away awkwardly like he regrets saying that last part. Oscar’s head is spinning from the unexpected sincerity, his pulse beating rapidly.

“Thank you,” he says softly. Lando glances at him from the corner of his eye, nodding slowly.

Oscar fidgets for a second before blurting out, “you deserve it too you know.” He isn’t just talking about today’s race, and Lando knows it.

Lando freezes, his breath catching like he wasn’t expecting that. His face is doing something complicated, and Oscar waits anxiously for his response.

In the end all Lando mutters is, “I know. But only one of us can win it.” His voice is quiet, his eyes carefully searching Oscar’s face for something, but he isn’t sure what. Understanding maybe?

“It’s not over,” Oscar continues warily, not even sure why he’s reassuring him. Lando is his biggest rival, his competition for what he’s dreamed of since he was a little kid. But Lando is also what he’s been dreaming about since he was a kid, and he just looks so small sitting there on that toolbox.

Lando grips the edge of it, his knuckles turning white. Oscar can practically feel the tension in the air.

“I know that,” Lando sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. He leans back against the wall behind him, his head making a small thumping noise as he closes his eyes. Oscar takes the opportunity to really look at him, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the slight frown lines on his forehead, how his hands are clenched in his lap.

“I just wanted this one,” Lando says quietly, a slightly resigned tone to his voice, “and for a second I thought I stood a chance.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Oscar murmurs, “not to me.” He knows full well that feeling, of wanting to be happy for your teammate, for McLaren, but at the same time wanting it to be you on that top step.

Lando reopens his eyes, his gaze fixed on Oscar. They both stare at each other in silence for a few moments, the air around them feeling slightly different now. Intimate, in a way that it shouldn’t be between rivals, but Oscar is powerless to stop it.

“I guess you would know, huh?”

Oscar nods. “We’re good though, right?” He says hesitantly, “no hard feelings?” It’s a loaded question, and he knows Lando has caught his hidden meaning, in the way he holds his gaze for what feels like forever before nodding, almost reluctantly.

“Yeah. We’re good.”

And Oscar knows he’s fucked. There might be an unstable truce between them now, but as the end of the season looms closer, it’s bound to blow up in their faces. One of them is going to have to stand there and pretend to be happy for the other as they get what they both desperately want. And Oscar wants it to be him so badly, but there’s a tiny part of him, the part that feels more for Lando than he should, that wants to see that happiness on his face too.

And that’s dangerous. He’s a racing driver, he can’t prioritise his rivals feelings over his own victories. But whichever way the coin lands, Oscar’s feelings for Lando will make no difference in the end. There’ll be resentment between them either way.

And that’s what scares him the most. Not losing the championship, but knowing he’s losing Lando. It’s inevitable.

Lando must see it on his face, his inner conflict, because he stands up so suddenly that Oscar jerks backwards in surprise. His face is now so close he can count the freckles on his nose, feel his breath on his face.

He’s right there, and he’s gorgeous. So close that Oscar could just grab the front of his fireproofs and tug him towards him…

Lando is staring at him so intensely, his eyes searching Oscar’s for something, but he’s not sure what. And Oscar is frozen in place, his heart pounding uncontrollably.

He knows he should push him away, put a stop to whatever this is before it gets out of control, before it turns into something neither of them can walk away from. But he’s weak, so weak, so he just stands there and breathes Lando in while he still can.

And Lando has an unspoken challenge in his eyes, like he’s daring Oscar to back away. So he doesn’t. He holds his gaze, both of them waiting for the other to make a move. Oscar knows if either him or Lando move even an inch forwards it’ll be over. Everything that he’s been trying to run away from, that’s been building since Hungary, since Spa even, and probably even before that, he won’t be able to deny anymore.

And it’ll ruin him. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, but it’ll rip his heart out, right there in Abu Dhabi.

The tension between them is electric, neither of them daring to move one way or the other. Oscar tries to ignore the way his heart is threatening to beat right out of his chest as Lando leans in ever so slightly.

But some divine force intervenes, for better or for worse. A clatter from nearby forces the two of them to jump apart like they’ve been electrocuted, both of their heads jerking around in the direction of the sound, suddenly remembering that there are other people here, not just the two of them.

It was just a mechanic dropping something on the other side of the garage, they’re not even looking in Lando and Oscar’s direction but it’s enough to scare Lando off. Again.

He’s got a panicked look on his face, his eyes wide and guilty as he takes a step back, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub away what just happened.

He takes another step back before picking up his helmet from the floor, letting out an awkward laugh. “Well, this got weird fast.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he turns on his heel and walks away without another word. Oscar exhales slowly, heaviness in his chest. He feels like he’s constantly watching Lando walk away from him.

And even though Lando looks back over his shoulder, a hint of longing in his gaze, it does nothing to quell the ache in his chest. The feeling doesn’t fade even long after he’s gone.

And Oscar decides then that he can’t. No matter how much he wants to, what he feels for Lando, he can’t put himself through that kind of heartbreak. He knows he’s going to get his heart broken either way, but he has to at least try and protect himself.

He shakes his head slowly. This is gonna destroy him, deep down he knows that. And there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Chapter Text

Lando is lying on his bed in his drivers room, bouncing a rubber ball off the ceiling. He’s turned it into a game, seeing how far he can throw the ball and still catch it. A way of distracting himself.

Because he needs a distraction from the shitshow his life has become. He wishes he could go back just a few weeks, to when he was blissfully oblivious to this part of himself. Looking back it was pretty obvious, and Lando is just an idiot. Or very much in denial.

Because apparently it’s not normal to think guys are just as attractive as girls, or to feel fluttering in your stomach sometimes when you see a hot male actor in a tv show, or to think your friend has really nice lips, to wonder what it would be like to kiss him…

And Lando is not homophobic, far from it. He has gay friends and he’s always been supportive. He knows there’s nothing wrong with it, and that’s it’s perfectly normal… but just not for him.

Lando isn’t gay. He likes girls. He’s always liked girls, their softness, curves, gentle voices… Except now it’s all messed up. Instead of girls, all he can think about is hard muscle, sharp contours, the faint outline of stubble. That night, after the race in Spa, has completely screwed him up.

No matter how hard he tries he can’t stop thinking about it, about him. And he tried to ignore it, to fight it, but there’s this invisible string tied between him and Oscar, and Lando keeps being pulled towards him. It’s like he’s not in control; when Oscar’s around he automatically gravitates towards him, like Oscar is the sun and Lando is some helpless planet, forced to remain in his orbit.

And he’s exhausted. He’s so, so tired, of everything. And this is honestly his last straw.

It’s just all so much. The championship fight, the pressure, the constant hate. Lando loves racing, but recently it’s been taking its toll on him. And he knows it’s starting to show, the cracks in his smiles, the dark circles under his eyes, the slightly blank look on his face. People are noticing, and he doesn’t know what to tell them.

That on top of all of it, everything’s that come with fighting to be world champion, he thinks he might be falling for the guy he’s competing against. Which honestly might be one of the worst things that’s ever happened to him.

It’s definitely the worst possible time to have the realisation that he likes guys as well as girls. And why did his teammate have to be his big awakening, of all people.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s always enjoyed Oscar’s company, more than his previous teammates. And he was good friends with both Carlos and Daniel, but he didn’t crave their presence the same way he does with Oscar. He’d get all fuzzy when Oscar smiled at him, would make even more stupid jokes than normal to hear him laugh, he was the first person he looked for after a win…

Looking back he’s probably felt this way for a while, he just didn’t realise what it was. Or he was just lying to himself.

So, all in all, he’s struggling. He’s not sure which is worse, the fact that he suddenly likes guys, or that he seems to like Oscar. Although if he’s being honest with himself it’s way more than just like at this point. And it scares him.

He continues staring up at the ceiling, absentmindedly tossing the rubber ball while his thoughts spiral. He’s been trying so hard to act normal, to pretend like nothing’s wrong, but he knows he’s starting to slip up. There have been moments when he’s let his feelings show, and Oscar has noticed.

Lando’s seen it in his eyes, that knowing look he gives him, and it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out. Oscar’s smart, way smarter than him, and he’s already starting to connect the dots. And once he realises, Lando knows he’s fucked. There’ll be no coming back from that.

Oscar didn’t even seem bothered by the whole thing. He was freaked out the morning of, obviously, who wouldn’t be after waking up in bed with their teammate? But after, he was completely fine. Totally normal while Lando felt like he was falling apart.

He has no idea how Oscar does it. He’s just so nonchalant, all the freaking time. Like nothing can affect him or shake that calm exterior. Whereas Lando feels like he’s constantly on edge, like he could say or do the wrong thing at any time and his whole world will come crumbling down around him.

He’d tried to avoid him, terrified that if he faced Oscar he’d know, he’d see it on Lando’s face. Yet when he did speak to him Oscar had seemed confused, like it didn’t even cross his mind that Lando might have given what had happened a second thought. And it infuriated him.

How he could just brush it aside just like that, shrug it off as a mistake and carry on like nothing happened. And honestly good for him, that he’s capable of doing that, but Lando isn’t. It’s always been his weakness, caring too much.

It’s better to keep his distance. He has to, because every time he sees Oscar now he feels like he’s drowning in want. And he can’t afford to be distracted.

So here he is, hiding in his drivers room because he’s too afraid to face Oscar after last week. Because if he didn’t know before, he definitely does now.

Lando almost kissed him. He was so close, if that mechanic hadn’t saved him, he would have. And it would have ruined everything. He runs his hands over his face, trying to scrub it all away. He’s not sure if he wants to scream, cry, or crawl under the covers on this tiny bed and never come back out.

He feels like an idiot. What the hell was he thinking? Oscar says a few nice things to him and what, all his restraint goes out the window? It’s ridiculous, he’s a grown man, he should be able to control himself.

But he can’t help wondering what would have happened if that mechanic hadn’t interrupted. Would Oscar have kissed him back? Would he have shoved Lando away, been disgusted, or would he just have pretended like it didn’t happen like he has for everything else.

He wouldn’t have been happy about it, that’s for sure, because Lando’s pretty sure he’s now the one being avoided. Oscar isn’t overly chatty at the best of times, but he’s been oddly quiet the whole weekend so far. He’s spoken about two words to Lando, and surrounded himself with people; mechanics, various team members, other drivers, meaning that Lando couldn’t even approach him.

He’s not sure if he wants to, but it would be nice to have the option. But Oscar seems to finally be done with his bullshit, and Lando can’t blame him. He’s done with himself too. He feels like he’s completely lost his mind.

His heart jumps into his throat at a sudden knock on the door. He’s tempted to pretend like he’s not here, but then the knock comes again.

“Yeah?” His voice sounds scratchy.

The door opens to reveal Oscar himself. He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded, looking the very picture of casual. Lando can’t help how his gaze slowly drops to his biceps, which are straining against the shirt he’s wearing. His mouth runs dry. 

He looks good, and he’s here. Maybe he isn’t avoiding him after all.

“Zak’s looking for you,” Oscar says calmly.

Lando’s heart sinks a little. Of course it’s just a work thing. “Right,” he replies flatly, reminding himself to act normal. “Did he say why?”

Oscar shakes his head. Lando clenches his jaw, he can feel Oscar staring at him, and he hates it. He just wants Oscar to stop looking at him, in that annoyingly calm way. He’s just so unbothered, and Lando wants to shake him and scream why don’t you care?

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Oscar mumbles before pushing away from the wall and disappearing from view. Lando jumps up, going to the door after him. He swallows as he watches Oscar retreat, wanting to call him back, but he can’t. Not without giving himself away.

And the last thing he wants is to reveal his true feelings, so instead he just stands there and watches Oscar turn the corner in silence like an absolute fool. Lando breathes out slowly, trying to calm his racing pulse.

He slowly closes the door, alone again. He really doesn’t want to talk to Zak right now, not in this state. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to think of something, anything to distract him. It’s only an hour until qualifying, and there’s no way he can go out on track like this.

He flops back onto the bed and pulls out his phone. His thumb hovers over the call button, but eventually he sighs and presses it as he calls Max. He just needs to talk to someone, and Max is the only person he trusts enough to talk about this with.

“Alright mate?” Max’s familiar voice comes through, making him feel marginally better already.

“Hey,” Lando mumbles, “are you busy? I need to talk to you.”

“Everything okay?” Of course, Max instantly knows something’s wrong. One of the advantages, or disadvantages, of knowing someone since you were kids.

“Um,” Lando tugs at his hair a little, exhaling slowly, “no. Not really.”

“Talk to me,” Max says quietly.

Lando steels himself for his confession. He hasn’t told anybody, and even though he trusts Max, his heart is still in his throat. “I, um…” he swallows, “I like someone.”

“Really?” Max sounds surprised, and Lando can’t blame him. He’s well aware of his player reputation.

“Yeah. I like them a lot…”

“Well that’s great mate. What’s the issue?”

Lando hesitates, suddenly unsure about this. “Um…” He stutters a little, trying to force the words out. “And they’re, um…” he takes a breath, then just blurts it out. “They’re a guy.”

He waits anxiously for Max’s response, picking at a hangnail. He’s prepared for shock, disbelief, confusion… but it doesn’t come. Max is oddly quiet, until he just says gently, “okay.”

“Okay?” Lando says incredulously, “that’s it?”

“Honestly? I’m not entirely surprised.”

“You’re not?” Lando asks, a little confused.

“Nah mate. I do know you pretty well you know.”

Lando makes an indignant noise. “How typical. You knew this about me before I did.”

“Well, I didn’t know. I suspected. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah whatever,” Lando mumbles. “So, it doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course not.” Max says, like he’s in disbelief that Lando could ever think that. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know,” Lando mutters. Deep down he knew Max would be supportive, but that didn’t make him any less scared.

“I’m glad you told me,” Max continues, “and it really doesn’t matter to me what gender the people you date are, you do know that right? Whatever makes you happy makes me happy.”

Lando exhales slowly, as there’s a sudden prickling feeling behind his eyes. He blinks it away, trying to hide the slight quiver in his voice.

“But I’m not happy,” he whispers, “this isn’t making me happy Max. I’m confused, and miserable. I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay,” Max says gently, “if you tell me who it is I might be able to help.”

Lando groans quietly, he knew this question was coming. But he can’t avoid it, so he may as well just rip the band aid off. “It’s Oscar,” he whispers, holding his breath.

Max is so quiet that Lando checks to make sure he hasn’t hung up. But after a silence that’s dragged on just long enough that Lando’s pulse has quickened, Max says slowly:

“Oscar Piastri?”

“The very same,” Lando jokes nervously.

“Bloody hell.” Max lets out a long exhale.

Lando huffs out a small laugh, “yeah, I know.”

Once it’s out there, it’s like the floodgates have been opened, and Lando can’t stop himself from telling Max everything. It takes a few minutes, but soon he’s spilled everything he’s been keeping to himself for weeks, that he’s been holding back for so long.

Once he’s done he’s a little breathless, and he takes a moment to regain his composure, taking a couple of deep breaths. He feels lighter almost, like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He really should have confided in Max ages ago.

“Jesus,” Max says when Lando’s finally done, “that’s a right mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” Lando can hear him shuffling in the background, like he’s pacing.

“So,” Max continues, pausing like he’s deciding what to say, “what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well.. nothing,” Lando mutters, “what can I do? He’s my rival, we race against each other for a living.” He exhales slowly, “and even if that wasn’t an issue, it’s still Oscar. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

Max replies gently, “you don’t know that.”

Lando snorts, “are you joking? The guy hooked up with me once before summer because he was drunk, then he gave me this whole speech on how he doesn’t want to let it affect us as a team and to remember what’s important blah blah blah, and now he can hardly look at me without grimacing. I think it’s safe to say he’s not interested.”

Max simply hums like he’s unconvinced. Lando feels a sharp pang of frustration. What he needs right now is for Max to tell him that he’s right, that Oscar will never be more than a friend to him, so he can attempt to start the process of moving on. The last thing he needs is Max giving him false hope. He gets up and starts pacing up and down, agitated.

“I know you mean well, but you’re not helping.”

“I’m serious, have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“How does he look at me?”

“They call him ‘heart eyes’.”

Lando wrinkles his nose, “what?”

Max sighs in exasperation, “seriously, do you not own a phone? Or look at social media?”

“You know I don’t go on it much anymore.”

“Okay, yeah, fair enough. But still, he looks at you with hearts in his eyes mate.”

“He doesn’t.” Lando dismisses it instantly. He’s not about to believe Oscar is also in love with him just from some fans reading into things online. He won’t believe it unless he has solid proof, and even then…

“Just consider it for a second-”

“No.” Lando cuts him off, “it’s just not possible Max. There’s no way he can like me like that, and I just… I can’t let myself hope.”

“Why not?” Max challenges.

Lando laughs humourlessly, he can’t believe Max is even asking him this. “Why not?” He says incredulously, “why don’t we start with we’re competing against each other in the same sport! Or how about what would happen if anyone found out, if the media discovered it? We wouldn’t be able to hide something like that. And I’m not even gonna get into how we’re both guys, and-”

Lando takes a couple of breaths, he’s gotten seriously worked up. He sits back down on the bed and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t even want to think about how the public would react. They’re already searching for anything to hate me over, tearing me apart over every little thing I say or do. They’d eat me alive for this.” He laughs bitterly. “I mean, can you imagine?”

“Okay mate,” Max says gently, “just calm down yeah? Take a breath.”

Lando closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to calm his racing heart. He takes a few slow breaths before he sends himself into a spiral, trying to quell the anxiety that’s gripping him from the inside.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I just don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“It’s okay,” Max reassures him.

“Please help. Just tell me what to do,” Lando sighs.

“You want my honest advice?” Max asks, and Lando makes an approving noise. “You’re being an idiot,” Max continues bluntly.

“Uh-” Lando opens his mouth to protest, a slightly indignant noise escaping.

“Hear me out,” Max insists and he falls silent. “You’re making all these excuses, finding all these reasons why it wouldn’t work, instead of looking at the possibilities that it could.”

Lando scoffs, “oh yeah? And what possibilities are you seeing then, cause right now I don’t see any.”

“They’re there mate. You’re just not seeing it, and I think it’s because you’re scared. You’re so scared of getting hurt that you’re finding every negative you can.”

“That’s bullshit,” Lando mutters quietly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. His chest is tight with emotions he doesn’t know how to deal with, feelings he doesn’t want to face. God he wants Max to be right so badly, but there’s still doubt at the back of his mind. He can’t afford to hope for something that could blow up in his face.

“Look, just forget about it,” he continues a bit desperately, “please. I don’t want you dragging me into some ridiculous fantasy where everything works out, because it’s unrealistic. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Lando,” Max sighs, “just listen to me. I’m your best friend yeah? I care about you, and I want the best for you. I wouldn’t give you hope unless I truly believed there was something to hope for.”

Lando’s breath catches in his throat, and he grips the phone tightly. He wants to believe him, but he’s still afraid. “You really think so?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Max’s voice is quiet and matter of fact.

“No,” Lando murmurs, “no, you haven’t.”

Max has always been brutally honest with him, not one to sugarcoat things, and he’s definitely never given him empty reassurances. He really does believe there’s a chance, and the thought has his heart skipping a beat. He wants to hope. He can feel the hope beginning to grow, fighting the fear and the anxiety that’s been controlling him so far. But at the same time he has to be realistic, he can’t start believing in fairytales.

“Say you’re right, say there is something more between us,” he says quietly, a hint of resignation in his voice, “it doesn’t change anything. We’re still teammates, we’re still fighting each other for the championship.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. “And?”

“What do you mean and? That’s a pretty important detail Max.”

“If you really like him this much then it shouldn’t matter.”

“I don’t know…” Lando says hesitantly, “what if I ruin everything? What if you’re wrong… or, what if you’re right? Except the media finds out, our entire lives and careers blow up just for a chance at happiness. It would ruin the both of us.”

Max lets Lando stew in his own thoughts for a minute, before hitting him with the harsh reality. “Yeah, it could.”

But when Lando gets ready to spiral into another list of reasons why this will never work, Max jumps back in. “But so what? Things aren’t exactly good between you right now are they? So yes, it might ruin everything, but at least you’ll know. At least you won’t be left wondering.”

“I guess…”

“The point is, you aren’t gonna be teammates forever. Do you really want to be kicking yourself in ten, twenty years because you didn’t take your chance, and missed out?”

Lando opens his mouth, but then closes it again, at a loss for words. He doesn’t really have an argument for that, and he lets Max’s words wash over him. Does he want to spend the rest of his life wondering ‘what if?’

He’s reeling a little, at the thought of doing this even though there’s a huge chance it’ll go wrong. He’s scared. He’s terrified of what it could mean for his career, his life, everything he’s worked for. But the thought of spending the rest of his life wondering is somehow worse.

He closes his eyes, whispering, “you make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple mate,” Max’s voice is calm through the phone, “you have two choices, you tell him or you don’t. Simple as that.”

Lando reopens his eyes, staring at a speck of dirt on the floor. He scuffs it with his shoe, sighing. He really hates when Max hits him with logic. “And you think I should tell him, don’t you?”

“I think,” Max says slowly, like he’s considering his words, “that good things don’t come without a little risk.”

Lando laughs shakily, “this is quite a big risk.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never been one to shy away from things before. That’s not you mate, and I hate seeing you like this, so unsure.”

“I know,” Lando whispers, “this whole thing has just thrown me off balance. It’s messed me up.”

“You can’t go on like this. I can hear in your voice how much this is affecting you, I think you have to tell him. This is destroying you.”

Lando runs a trembling hand over his forehead, “and if he turns me down?”

“Then he turns you down,” Max says simply, “yeah, getting rejected sucks, but it’s a part of life. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It doesn’t feel like it right now… I don’t want to ruin things between us. I like what we have now, and if he doesn’t feel the same way back, it’ll change our friendship forever.” Max is quiet, allowing him to speak his mind.

“I’m just afraid okay?” Lando admits quietly, gripping the phone so tightly it almost hurts, “I won’t be able to take it back.”

He feels so pathetic, he’s never felt like this before. His whole world is unravelling around him. He doesn’t really do feelings, mostly just casual flings. So he hasn’t had to deal with the fear of rejection, because he doesn’t get rejected. And maybe that makes him arrogant, but it’s the truth. He has no issues with picking up girls.

But Oscar is different. He has more to lose. So much more.

“I just want to go back to how it was before,” he says shakily, “before I realised how I felt about him, when we were just friends. But I can’t, I can’t ignore how I feel. I’ve tried, I’ve really tried, but he’s all I think about. And I’ve never felt this way before and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You know what I think? Just be honest. Be honest with him, and you can’t really go wrong.”

Lando sighs and nods slowly, even though Max can’t see him. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll talk to him.” Lando says quietly, “and I mean it’s still Oscar, he’s unfazed by most things, he might not be bothered by this either.”

Max snorts a little, “true. And look, you’re gonna be alright, no matter what happens.”

Lando breaths out slowly. “Thanks Max,” he says quietly, “for everything.”

“Anytime, you know that. And I’m proud of you mate, by the way.”

Lando swallows hard, a sudden lump in his throat. “Shut up,” he chokes out.

Max laughs quietly, “I mean it.”

“Thanks mate,” Lando whispers, staying on the phone for a few more moments before he has to face reality. “Well, I guess I’d better go figure some stuff out.”

“Good luck.”

They say their goodbyes and Max hangs up, leaving Lando feeling torn apart and exhausted, but also lighter. He’s still wrecked with nerves, but he feels like he can breathe again. It’s a start.

And maybe Max was right, maybe it is simple. He takes a moment to hype himself up, checking his reflection to make sure he looks presentable, then he goes searching for Oscar.

He finds him in the garage preparing for qualifying, surrounded by mechanics. Okay, so maybe this isn’t the best time to tell him how he feels, twenty minutes before they get in the cars, with almost the entire team surrounding them. So instead he takes the time to admire him from afar.

Of course he looks good. He’s in his race suit, a serious look on his face as he studies the data on the screen in front of him. His back is slightly turned, highlighting the broadness in his shoulders. For a couple of minutes Lando just stands there watching him, that annoying fluttering feeling in his stomach again.

Then Oscar looks up like he could feel Lando’s eyes on him and their eyes meet across the garage. Lando quickly looks away, trying to play it cool even though he’s just been caught staring. By the time he looks back at Oscar his back is turned like the moment between them never happened.

He sighs and strolls further into the garage, trying to act casually. Zak is standing not far from Oscar, so Lando slowly walks towards him, having to pass Oscar on his way. He knows Oscar can see him in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t even look up to greet him. Clenching his jaw slightly, Lando brushes their shoulders together as he walks by.

Oscar flinches. He flinches. Lando swallows the feeling of hurt as he continues heading over to Zak. His head is now spinning again, because what did he do to make Oscar hate him? Is he still hung up on the almost kiss? Is he scared of Lando now?

He barely pays attention as Zak yammers on about something or another, too busy watching out of the corner of his eye how Oscar glances at him not once, not twice, but three times during their conversation. Surely that means something?

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it though, pulling on his helmet and climbing into the car. He clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times, regaining his focus. He wants pole, he needs pole. If he has any chance of catching Oscar he needs to start winning some races.

Never mind how he feels about him, right now Lando needs to concentrate on beating him. He joins the queue in the pit lane, nerves fluttering in his stomach. But they’ll melt away as soon as he gets out on track, they always do.

He doesn’t get pole. Max does, because of course he does. He has a very annoying habit of snatching pole out from Lando’s nose at the last second. But at least he beat Oscar, that’s what really matters.

He congratulates Max after he climbs out the car and they chat for a couple of minutes. He can sense Oscar nearby, but he stays near the barriers, talking to the team. Like he’s doing it on purpose so he doesn’t have to speak to Lando.

Screw him. Screw him and his stupid floppy hair and soft smile that makes Lando feel like he’s a teenager with a crush instead of a grown arse man. And especially screw him for ignoring Lando now. And yes, maybe he’s a little immature, but he is not gonna let him get away with it.

He stares at Oscar all through his interview. Just stands there sipping his water while Max yaps away about something or another in his ear, and stares. And he knows Oscar notices, in the way he keeps glancing at Lando out of the corner of his eye, how he’s adjusting his cap a little more than usual. It brings him some satisfaction, that Oscar isn’t able to pretend Lando doesn’t exist after all.

But Oscar is determined. He doesn’t look at him once during the press conference, practically runs away afterwards, leaving Lando following behind like a puppy. But Lando is also determined, to put an end to whatever this is, because he can’t take it anymore.

He ends up following Oscar to his drivers room. He lingers outside the closed door, shifting between his feet anxiously. He should just walk away. But Max’s words ring in his ears, and if there’s even the slightest chance… he knocks quickly before he can change his mind.

He shuffles slightly as he hears movement behind the door, then it swings open and Oscar is standing in front of him.

Lando’s heart lurches in his throat, he’s still in his race suit but it’s unzipped and halfway around his waist, and the way his fireproofs cling to his muscles is obscene. His hair is a little messy from his helmet, or like he’s been running his hands through it, and suddenly Lando is struggling to breathe a little.

Damn it, damn it. He hates how every time he sees Oscar all the air gets sucked out of his lungs, like someone just kicked him in the chest.

He realises he was staring, again, when he looks back up to see Oscar watching him with a slightly amused smile.

“Um, hey,” Lando forces out, running a hand through his hair to hide how awkward he suddenly feels, “can we talk?”

Oscar’s smile fades, and he looks almost… nervous? Like he already knows what’s coming, and just like that his guard is back up. Lando sometimes feels like he needs an axe to break though. But Oscar nods once and steps aside so Lando can enter, shutting the door behind him.

“So,” Oscar says slowly, almost hesitant as he perches against a table opposite to where Lando is standing, “what’s up?”

Lando opens and closes his mouth, the words getting stuck in his throat. It’s suddenly very dry. He clears it, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Um… about the other day-”

“Don’t.” Oscar interrupts, making Lando freeze, “please don’t.” His eyes are wide as he stares at him, he almost looks vulnerable. His usual composure has slipped and he seems like he’s about to bolt.

Lando feels a sharp stabbing pain in his chest, Oscar won’t even talk to him about it. He hasn’t even mentioned the incident exactly, but Oscar already knows what he’s talking about.

“Why not?” He presses.

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, looking pained, “I just can’t.”

Lando falters, he opens his mouth to respond but he doesn’t really know what to say. But then he notices how Oscar is gripping the table so hard his knuckles have gone white, how his hand is trembling slightly. And he realises that he’s scared.

And Lando’s heart skips a beat. Because Oscar never looks scared. He’s always composed, so in control, he doesn’t get rattled by anything. But right now he looks backed into a corner with nowhere to run.

“Osc…” Lando pleads. Oscar closes his eyes, his fingers flexing against the table like he’s holding back. He takes a shaky breath.

“Please,” Oscar whispers, reopening his eyes and staring at the floor like he can’t bear to look at Lando. “I know you know. But please don’t say it.”

Lando’s brow furrows, confused. He suddenly feels like he’s missed a few steps.

“Know what?” He says slowly.

Oscar looks pained, like he’s fighting with himself. “You know what Lando. Please don’t say it, just…” He swallows, “please. If you’re any kind of friend at all, then please don’t do this to me.”

Lando stares at him in disbelief, feeling like the ground has been ripped out from beneath him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

“What?” Oscar forces out.

“You’re being cruel mate.”

Oscar laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “me? I’m the one being cruel?”

“Yes!” Lando exclaims, “you might be okay with denying it, but I’m not! And you’re just shutting me down, without even hearing me out. So yes, you’re being cruel.”

Oscar flinches, a hint of guilt in his eyes before he closes them. “Lando, you don’t understand-”

But Lando cuts him off, his frustration building, “then make me understand! Because right now I’m really fucking confused. You just… the way you look at me…” He fidgets with his hands, his heart pounding, as he says quietly, “sometimes it just seems like-”

“Stop it.” Oscar says weakly, leaning against the wall like it’s holding him up.

“No.” Lando snaps, suddenly striding forwards until he’s standing right in front of him and has to tilt his chin up a little. Oscar’s head is turned to the side, his jaw clenched so tightly it must be hurting him.

“Look at me.” Lando demands quietly. Oscar’s breath hitches, but he slowly turns so their eyes meet. He looks so desperate, his eyes wide, begging Lando not to do this.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Lando whispers, not breaking eye contact, “tell me I’ve read it wrong, that I’m imagining it.” He’s aching to reach out for him, but he keeps his hands clenched at his sides, staring into Oscar’s eyes and praying that he can see the longing and desperation in his own.

Oscar lets out a slow shaky breath. Lando waits, his heart in his throat, for him to say something, anything. But the silence stretches on and the pit in his stomach grows.

He steps even closer, desperation beginning to grasp at him. But the hope he’d been holding onto slowly starts to drain away as he searches Oscar’s face for any kind of sign, and finds none.

He’s looking at him with that guarded flat expression, yet still Lando keeps staring back like a lovesick idiot, just waiting for an answer which isn’t coming.

Lando’s shoulders sag a little. God he feels so stupid. He had really thought that Oscar could feel the same. How could he have been so blind to the fact that he’s the only one who wants this. He’d read it wrong, so wrong, and now Oscar is giving him a wary look, and he’s ruined everything.

“Right,” he whispers, taking a step back and dropping his gaze, “right.” There are so many things he wants to say, but what’s the point? Oscar clearly doesn’t want to hear it, and whatever hope he felt is long gone now anyway.

He turns to go, shoving his hands into his pockets. He speed walks out of there like he’s on fire, barely managing to hold himself together until he’s safely back in his own drivers room.

As soon as the door closes he crumples, sinking onto the bed as he grips his hair with his hands, breathing heavily. His chest burns, his heart crushed along with the hope he’d been clinging to.

What was he thinking, believing that maybe Oscar feels the same way? Why did he let Max talk him into this? He shakes his head at himself. Idiot. The word keeps repeating in his mind. Idiot. Stupid idiot.

He can’t even be mad at Oscar. He didn’t do anything wrong, it was Lando’s stupid feelings that got them into this situation, the stupid hope that led to this, and now he just feels like the world’s biggest fool.

He’s lost him. He hasn’t just ruined any chance for more between them, he’s lost Oscar as a friend, and the thought makes him feel hollow. He’d let his stupid heart take over, and now whatever there was between them is gone.

That cold, detached look Oscar gave him is there every time he closes his eyes. How he had looked at Lando like he was just another driver, that there was never anything between them at all, not even friendship.

And Lando may have imagined there being feelings there, but he didn’t imagine that. The friendship, the dynamic they had? That was real. But now it’s gone, and that’s what truly devastates him, even more than the rejection.

He buries his face in his hands, fighting back the tears that burn in his eyes. No, no he is not going to cry. Absolutely not. He blinks hard, trying to get a hold of himself.

He has to race alongside him tomorrow. All he wants to do is hide, and never see Oscar again, but instead he has to be his teammate, and he doesn’t know if he can handle it. His stomach churns at the thought of seeing him, of being near him, while now knowing how Oscar feels, or rather, doesn’t feel.

Whereas Lando feels vulnerable, and humiliated, and so stupid, and he has no idea what he’s going to say to him. The thought that Oscar will just pretend like nothing happened again makes the pain in his chest twist just a little bit tighter.

He has the sudden urge to just rip his own skin off, to morph himself into someone, anyone else. Although at least this feeling is familiar.

He collapses backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a lump in his throat. Max had been wrong, when he said it was better to know. Because this isn’t better, in fact it’s a thousand times worse.

Chapter Text

Oscar lies on his hotel room bed, heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He’s been like that for God knows how long, unable to get up. Because if he gets up he has to face reality. And reality sucks.

He’d nearly had a heart attack when Lando said they needed to talk. His mind just kept repeating he knows on a loop.

He tried to brush him off, but Lando had been stubborn and relentless, like he needed Oscar to admit it. To admit how he feels, like he didn’t even care that once he confessed to the truth everything would change.

Oscar has been hiding this for so long, and then Lando comes bursting in out of nowhere with this determined look on his face, practically demanding him to confess, and Oscar panicked.

He’d panicked, because what was the alternative? Give in, and tell Lando how he’d been harbouring a crush on him for years? No way in hell was he doing that. It would have ruined everything, their friendship, their careers, all of it.

Lando might have a habit of acting first and thinking later, but Oscar has always been a strategist. There’s nothing he doesn’t think of, and he knows when to hold his cards close to his chest.

He’d managed to shut it down fairly quickly, thank God, but the damage had already been done. He knew it was written all over his face, that Lando got the answers he came for even if Oscar didn’t explicitly say it.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t confirm or deny. Lando had stood there, mere inches from Oscar, and demanded that Oscar told him he was wrong. And he couldn’t do it.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to tell Lando that whatever he thought he knew, whatever he’d figured out was wrong, to save his own skin. But it would have been a lie, and the words just wouldn’t form.

So he’d said nothing. And the look of pure horror on Lando’s face will haunt him for a long, long time.

The whole thing was just so cruel. It was like Lando was taunting him, expecting Oscar to confess to what exactly? How he’d been in love with his teammate for so long it’s embarrassing? Lando had wanted the truth but he had no idea what it would do to Oscar if he admitted it.  

Because he can’t ever tell Lando the truth. The only thing worse than Lando knowing, is Oscar confirming it only for Lando to reject him. The only thing left to do is deny, deny, deny. And pray that Lando forgets about it eventually.

He’ll lock his feelings away again, and maybe even get over him. But it seems unlikely. Oscar wants him so badly it hurts.

Now he’s lying in bed while anxiety churns in the pit of his stomach. Because today is race day, and he’s going to have to see Lando, speak to him, race against him, all while pretending everything is fine, even though it’s so far from fine he can’t even remember what that is.

He can still try to be friends with Lando, he can pretend everything’s normal, right? He can ignore these feelings like he’s been doing for so long anyway. He just has to try harder, now that he knows Lando’s onto him. He can bury them, he has to.

But the fact that Lando knows now makes his skin crawl. And he has no idea what he’s thinking. Is he surprised, disgusted, does he think Oscar’s weird or creepy? But at least he doesn’t know the extent of his feelings, he doesn’t know how long he’s been hiding them. That gives him some respite.

He walks through the paddock reluctantly, dragging his feet. He very slowly makes his way into the McLaren hospitality, heading straight for his drivers room. Partly to drop off his stuff and partly because he just needs a minute.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear footsteps, and as he rounds the corner he comes face to face with Lando himself, making his heart lurch. Once he’s recovered from seeing him Oscar looks at him properly.

Lando looks awful. There’s no other way to put it. His hair is a mess like he’s been running his hands through it again and again, there are huge bags under his eyes and his skin is pale like he hasn’t slept at all.

No. This is the last thing he needs right now, to see how Oscar’s stupid, stupid feelings have turned Lando into this… shell. The silence stretches on between them, and as Lando glances at him, there’s a guarded wariness to his gaze that wasn’t there before.

Oscar tried to focus on anything other than the sharp stabbing sensation in his chest. Looking at that wariness on Lando’s face might kill him. Lando has never looked at him like that before, that cool closed off expression, so far from his usual bright eyes and easy grins.

Lando looks away, and he looks so defeated. It’s Oscar’s fault, he’s made him feel awkward and uncomfortable and ruined their friendship. He swallows hard, trying to remove the lump in his throat.

“Are you okay?” He says quietly. Lando’s head snaps up, caught off guard for a second as he stares at Oscar with a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

“Me?” He folds his arms across his chest protectively, “you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Oscar blinks, “um… yes?”

Lando stares at Oscar, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not before he scoffs. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He snaps, shaking his head a little, “no, I’m not okay Osc! What sort of a question is that?” He brushes past him and strides away. Oscar watches him go helplessly. 

This is exactly what he was afraid of. Lando discovering how he feels and it coming between them. And he doesn’t know how to fix it.

He tries his best to avoid Lando for the rest of the day, as clearly he doesn’t want to be around Oscar. And that’s fine, everything is fine.

He’s absolutely miserable, yet has to force himself to look animated for the sake of the cameras. Like he’s happy to be here and doesn’t want to just crawl into a hole and scream.

It doesn’t help that he spends the entire race staring at Lando’s rear wing. It’s just his luck, that he can’t even escape him on track now. But even so, he attempts to close the gap, with zero success.

He’s accepted he’ll finish p3, flying around the track in the clean air now Lando has pitted, when his teammate comes out behind him. Oscar doesn’t know what happened, all he knows is that Lando was ahead one minute and in his mirrors the next.

A small thrill runs through him at the thought of beating him, finishing second. He can’t help it. Even with everything that’s happened between them, the undeniable fact is that Oscar wants to, and always will want to win.

Until his race engineer’s voice crackles in his ear, telling him to swap positions, give the place back to Lando.

Oscar grits his teeth in his helmet, tempted to just carry on. He doesn’t have to, the team can’t physically make him let Lando through, but the thought of ignoring the order makes a pang of guilt appear in his gut.

Especially when Tom brings up Hungary last year. Like was that really fucking necessary? Oscar remembers exactly what happened thank you very much, he doesn’t need the reminder. But it has its desired effect.

As while he’s tempted to ignore the order, he sighs and slows down so Lando can go past him. There’s a brief flare of annoyance as he’s met once again with the sight of the McLaren rear wing, but he forces it down. Lando would have done the same, he’s sure of it.

And it’s better to keep the team, Zac and Andrea, even Lando on his side, right? Right.

And if he’s being honest he doesn’t particularly want Lando to hate him even more than he already does. Even if losing is a bitter pill to swallow.

By the time the race ends he’s calmed down, managing to conduct his interview with composure and maturity. He knew he’d be asked about the position swap, but keeps his head.

Everything is fine, and he’s even managed to convince himself he made the right decision when the podium happens. And it becomes clear that the public don’t agree.

He’s caught off guard when it happens; one moment standing on the p3 step looking off into the distance, the next coming back to reality when he hears the boos when Lando’s name is called.

He keeps his expression neutral, forcing himself not to react, but he watches Lando out of the corner of his eye. How the crowd jeer at him as he steps onto the podium, how he keeps his head high but his fists are clenched behind his back.

Oscar swallows, seeing red both literally and metaphorically, seeing as this is Monza and there are Ferrari colours everywhere. He chances a glance at Lando, and although he also has his poker face on, Oscar knows him well enough to see he’s not unaffected. It makes Oscar want to punch every single person who dared to boo him.

Even more so in the press conference, when a journalist has the audacity to ask Lando about it. Oscar grips his microphone tightly, but Lando keeps his cool, shrugging it off like he’s unbothered.

But that small, “I don’t know why”, and the hint of sadness in his tone is breaking Oscar’s heart a little. He might not be too pleased with Lando right now, but for God’s sake he still loves him.

Lando is oddly quiet after that. They both receive plenty of questions about the position swap, much to Oscar’s irritation. Max also seems to be getting tired of it and makes a joke, causing Oscar and a few others to chuckle, except Lando, who just keeps staring at the floor with a blank expression. He doesn’t even crack a smile.

It’s odd. Once the press conference ends Lando is up and out of the room before Oscar has even blinked. He’s not sure if it’s because McLaren fucked up again, or because of the booing, or even because of Oscar himself, he doesn’t want to assume.

He makes his way outside to where Lando is leaning against the wall, but when he hears Oscar approaching he darts away. He sighs quietly, watching his retreating back. Lando can’t even stand to be in the same room as him now. It stings a little.

He makes his way back to the hospitality slowly, ducking inside and trying to keep his head down. A few people approach to congratulate him on his podium or clap him on the back, and he smiles and thanks each one even though all he wants to do is hide.

He wants to just lock himself away, but there’s something he has to do first.

He knocks on Lando’s door, nerves swirling in his stomach. This is probably a bad idea, but he can’t get that defeated look in Lando’s eyes out of his head.

The door creaks open, a look of surprise and then anger passing over Lando’s face as he sees Oscar. He goes to shut the door in his face but Oscar’s hand flies up, holding it open.

“What do you want?” Lando asks, he sounds frustrated.

“I, um..” Oscar clears his throat, “I wanted to check if you were okay.”

Lando stares at him silently for a few moments, expression unreadable. But then he steps away from the door. Oscar takes that as a sign to enter and slips through the gap. He stands there awkwardly while Lando sits back down on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Oscar says quietly.

Lando scoffs. “Easy for you to say.”

Oscar grimaces a little. He opens his mouth to respond but Lando cuts him off.

“Just leave me alone Oscar.”

“No.” Oscar takes a step further into the room, “I’m worried about you. As a friend,” he adds after, just in case Lando misinterprets and is even more uncomfortable.

Lando snorts quietly and shakes his head. “As a friend huh? Who said we were friends?”

Oscar’s heart sinks, feeling a pang of betrayal. He knows Lando’s upset, and he has a right to be, but Oscar just thought they were closer than this. That Lando wouldn’t just… cast him aside like he means nothing.

“Aren’t we?” He asks, sounding very small.

“Maybe not anymore!” Lando bursts out, standing up suddenly and pacing up and down. “I just can’t do it anymore!”

“Do what?” Oscar asks anxiously, subconsciously moving a little closer.

“All of it! Everyone hates me Oscar, including you!”

Oscar is taken aback. “What? I don’t hate you, what are you talking about?”

Lando scoffs quietly, “don’t you?”

“No.” Oscar insists, “of course I don’t hate you, I could never hate you.”

“Well even so, you still don’t-” Lando cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind. ”

He continues pacing up and down, agitated. “You just had to be the hero didn’t you? The team screws up, but it’s all good, because Saint Oscar will let me past and save the day.”

“That’s not-”

“And now you look like the selfless martyr, and I get my name dragged through the mud. Again.”

“I was just following team orders,” Oscar protests quietly, but apparently Lando isn’t done yelling at him.

“Because everyone loves you, don’t they Oscar?” Lando practically spits, “the media, the fans, the team. You’re the favourite. Hell, even I like you more than me. You’re so…”

Lando trails off and gestures at Oscar, looking him up and down. “so you. And I know I care too much, that’s become abundantly clear,” Lando mutters bitterly, “but I’m so sick of you pretending like nothing’s wrong.”

“I thought that’s what you’d want,” Oscar says quietly, feeling a little bit like a scolded child. “I just didn’t want to make you feel awkward or anything.”

“Well how considerate of you Oscar. Nice to know you do take my feelings into account.”

“Look, I know you’re mad at me-”

“Mad?” Lando scoffs, still pacing up and down, “oh I’m more than mad Oscar. I’m beginning to think you have some secret plan to ruin my life. Because you’re succeeding.”

“What?”

“Everything is your fault!” Lando half shouts. “All of it, all the pain and the hurt leads back to you! Don’t you get it? It’s all your fault!”

Oscar flinches, his heart clenching in his chest. He stands there aimlessly, the words repeating in his head.

Everything is your fault, it’s all your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault…

His throat is closing up, and he’s suddenly finding it a little hard to breathe. So he does the only thing he can think of, he flees.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, quickly turning to leave before he does something embarrassing like break down in front of Lando. A hint of guilt passes over Lando’s face, along with surprise.

“Wait, Osc-”

“It’s fine,” Oscar mutters, voice a little thick as he grabs the door handle, “I’ll just go..”

“Oscar.”

Lando’s voice is firm, and something about it makes him stop in his tracks. He slowly lets the hand that was halfway to the door handle drop back to his side, waiting for Lando to speak. But he doesn’t.

Oscar’s back is still turned so he can’t be sure what Lando’s doing right now, but he makes the most of the silence by taking a few deeps breaths and pressing his hands into his eyes until the prickling sensation mostly subsides.

“I know you think I’m some emotionless robot,” he says quietly, still facing the door, “but I’m not. And I’m not a punching bag either.”

He re-reaches for the door handle, this time walking through it without looking back. And this time Lando lets him.

He’s been sat in his drivers room with his head in his hands for about thirty seconds before the door flies open and Lando barges in. Oscar doesn’t even have time to be surprised before he’s speaking.

“Sometimes it just feels like you don’t care. And it infuriates me because I care so much, and I just wish you did too.”

“But I do care,” Oscar whispers incredulously.

“But not in the way I want you to.” Lando says quietly. Oscar wants to ask what that means but he’s almost afraid of the answer.

“I’m not trying to hurt you Lando, believe it or not,” he says dryly. Lando seems to deflate a little, his shoulders sagging.

“I know that. But you did Oscar, whether you meant to or not. And I just wish you would… acknowledge it or something. Stop pretending like everything is fine when it’s not.”

“Okay,” Oscar keeps staring at the floor, “then it’s not fine. And I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you’re not exactly blameless here Lando. You think this isn’t killing me too?”

Lando blinks slowly. “It is?”

Oscar snaps his head up in disbelief, “yes? Of course it is.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Oscar shakes his head a little. “Just because I’m good at hiding my feelings doesn’t mean I don’t have them. You’re sick of me being ‘emotionless’, as you called it? Well I’m sick of you believing that I am.”

Lando’s oddly quiet. He looks almost… guilty? He shifts between his feet a little, avoiding eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

Oscar sighs, “for what?”

“For taking everything out on you. Yes I was upset about yesterday, but blaming it all on you was a bit harsh.”

“Thanks.” Oscar mumbles.

“And I know today wasn’t actually actually your fault,” Lando sighs, running a hand through his hair, “unless you like, bribed my pit crew or something.”

“How can you be so sure that I didn’t?” Oscar says dryly.

Lando stares at him before the corner of his mouth quirks up. Oscar is taking it as a win.

“But seriously, I know you don’t control the pit stops, just like how you can’t control how you feel..”

Oscar winces a little, at the blatant way that Lando says it. Because apparently Oscar’s feelings are something they talk about now. How wonderful.

“Can we just… forget about it?” Oscar asks tentatively.

Lando sighs and runs a hand over his face. “That’s the thing Osc, I don’t think we can.”

“Why not?” Oscar whispers, gripping his thighs tightly. Can Lando really not get past this? Is Oscar having feelings for him that terrible?

“Because we keep doing this. Agreeing to forget, until we don’t. It doesn’t work.”

Oscar swallows and nods slowly. He has a point. Forgetting only works until the next time he does something moronic, which seems to be happening more often than not recently.

“I’m just so… tired.” Lando continues, and he does look a little like a gust of wind would knock him over.  “I’m tired of the hate, the pressure, and now us. How things are weird between us.”

Oscar nods, he’s tired of it too.

“We’re stuck in this cycle Osc, ever since Spa. We’ll be okay, then something will happen and it will be weird and awkward, and it’s killing me. We need to somehow break out of it.”

“I’m sorry.” Oscar whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” Lando sighs.

“Well,” Oscar shifts a little, “it kind of is-”

“No.” Lando interrupts, “it isn’t. I don’t blame you so… please don’t feel bad.”

“But you’ve already got so much going on,” Oscar protests, “and I’m just making it worse.”

“You don’t make things worse.” Lando says sincerely, looking down at Oscar. “You make everything better.”

Oscar’s breath catches in his throat. He stares up at Lando with wide eyes, pulse quickening. Lando looks away, his cheeks slightly pink.

“Sorry,” Lando says quietly, “you probably don’t want me to say things like that right?”

“I do,” Oscar blurts out, then tries to compose himself a little. “I mean, I don’t mind.”

“You don’t? It’s not… weird?”

Oscar’s heart breaks a little more. “I don’t want you to feel weird around me. I understand if you do, and you want to put some distance between us, but you don’t have to. I just want you to know that.”

“Oh.” Lando says quietly. He’s quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. “So I haven’t ruined everything?” He sounds almost hopeful, and it tugs at Oscar’s heart.

“What? You didn’t ruin anything. It was my fault, not yours. Never yours.”

He means it. It’s not Lando’s fault he’s in love with him. It’s not his fault that Oscar can’t seem to keep his feelings under control. And the fact that now Lando feels guilty for not returning his feelings is too much. Oscar won’t stand for it.

“You are not to feel bad, okay?” Oscar says firmly, startling Lando a little. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, and I hate that I have.” His voice cracks the tiniest bit. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Lando nods. “I’m sorry too. I just wish…”

“I know.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Lando lets out a choked laugh.

Oscar shrugs, “I can make a pretty good guess.”

They fall into silence that drags on just long enough for Oscar to wish he’d just let Lando speak. He shuffles his feet a little, kicking the bed post. It makes a loud ringing sound and Oscar winces. 

Lando jumps a little, apparently not feeling as awkward as Oscar was, instead in some sort of daze. He’d do anything to know what he was thinking.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He jokes weakly, because he really is desperate to know. Or just desperate at this point.

“Um..” Lando does the tongue flick thing he does, making Oscar want to cry. Whatever he did in a past life, he’s sorry, now can the Universe please stop torturing him?

“I think I just need some time,” Lando continues, and oh, maybe Oscar didn’t want to know what he was thinking after all.

“What does that mean?” He asks warily.

Lando shrugs. “You know.. put some distance between us. It’s probably for the best anyway, with the championship and all.”

Oscar didn’t think his heart could break any more. He digs his nails into the palm of his hand to ground himself, give himself something to focus on other than the sharp stabbing pain in his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” he says quietly.

Lando nods. Oscar takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t look overly happy about this either.

“We should both be focused on racing anyway,” he mutters, gesturing between himself and Oscar, “not whatever this is.”

“Yeah.” Oscar whispers, “we should.” The only issue is that whenever Lando’s around all Oscar can focus on is him. How the hell is he meant to think about anything else?

“Right,” Lando starts retreating, “well, glad we’re cool again mate.”

Oscar forces down an anguished groan. “Same here… mate.”

Lando gives him a tight, very forced smile, and leaves, and the sound of the door shutting behind him could very well be the sound of Oscar’s heart breaking in two.

Chapter Text

Lando feels like hell. He got home from Monza and just crashed, the weight of everything finally catching up to him. He keeps telling himself that he’s got a bug or something, but deep down he knows that he’s just made himself sick with all the anxiety and stress of the past few weeks. 

So he was forced to be bedbound for a couple of days either way, in his apartment in Monaco, alone. He’s bored, lonely, and completely and utterly miserable.

This is your doing, that evil little voice in his head keeps whispering, you did this to yourself.

And it’s right. That’s the problem, Lando did do this to himself. If there’s one thing he’s learnt from all of this it’s to keep his stupid mouth shut. But he never has been very good at that.

So he decided to make his life even more hellish by keeping Oscar at arm’s length. He knows it’s for the best, that he needs space if he has even a hope in hell of getting over him, but it also feels like some twisted form of self-loathing. To cause himself maximum pain possible. 

They’ve never really fought before. They’ve had disagreements, over racing mostly, but never like this. And the worst part is that Lando still isn’t entirely sure if they’re fighting or not.

Even though they’d spoken to each other after the race last weekend, things still aren’t exactly resolved. And now they’re also just… not talking. At all.

They’d been back at the MTC a couple of days ago and Oscar didn’t speak a single word to him. Not one. He’d been happily chatting away with Andrea, with the engineers, with the social media girl. He even had a conversation with the canteen staff. Lando knows that because he was watching him like some kind of stalker. Because even now he still can’t stay away, and he hates himself for it.

All this, and Oscar didn’t say a single thing to Lando all day. It felt like he spoke to everyone but him. He nodded at him in greeting, and he nodded again before he left, and that was all the interactions they had.

And Lando knows he asked for space, that Oscar is just doing what he wants, but deep down it’s not what he wants at all. Because the silence is killing him.

So Lando keeps himself busy. He does a lot of simulator training, because being behind the wheel, whether virtually or not, is the only time he isn’t thinking about Oscar.

About how much he misses him. How he misses their banter, their stupid inside jokes, hearing his laugh. He misses the way he’d sometimes catch Oscar looking at him when he thought no one was watching.

Except Lando was always watching. He still is, which is how he knows that Oscar doesn’t look at him anymore.

What if he never does again? What if this is it, this is how it’ll be between them from now on?

But he tries to shake that train of thought away. He refuses to believe that he’s lost Oscar forever, just because he couldn’t keep his stupid feelings to himself.

Of course they’ll go back to normal, eventually. It might take a while, but this silence won’t last, it can’t. They’ll talk it out, they’ll get over it, everything will be fine…

Lando isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince, because it certainly isn’t himself.

He arrives in Baku for media day, and he is not ready for this. He’s felt nauseous all morning, his stomach churning just at the thought of being here right now.

For a moment he’s tempted to fake an illness or something, but he knows that would probably make things worse. He’s told enough lies recently.

So after giving himself a pep talk on toughening up in his head, he makes his way through the paddock. And he knows he probably looks terrible, because no matter how hard he tries he just can’t force a smile onto his face. Not today.

By some miracle he manages to avoid Oscar all morning, until the press conference. Their eyes meet as soon as Lando walks in, his heart dropping into his stomach. But he swallows and manages to get his feet to move, sitting down quickly.

This is hell, he’s actually in hell. Being in a room next to Oscar and having to pretend that everything’s fine while reporters watch them like hawks is a different kind of torture. He feels like he’s on eggshells, one wrong move or comment and he’s screwed.

Lando sits there and answers the questions, trying his best to act normal. But it’s pointless. As no matter how hard he and Oscar try, neither of them are actors.

And it’s painfully obvious. It’s impossible not to notice that clearly something has happened between them seeing as they’re refusing to look at each other and are both so tense it looks painful.

And a couple of reporters have even asked about it, how the fight for the championship is affecting them as teammates. Lando is starting to panic when Oscar calmly lifts his microphone to his face and speaks, the sound of his voice both soothing Lando and causing the aching sensation in his chest to grow.

“Our relationship hasn’t changed, we’re both still keeping the fight for the championship professional, and it will remain that way.”

He puts the microphone back down, keeping his gaze forwards. Lando can’t tear his gaze away.

Their relationship hasn’t changed? What kind of bullshit is that? Everything’s changed.

He knows that Oscar is just giving the PR trained answer that's been drilled into them, but he sounds so unbothered, his voice cool and even. And he still isn’t looking at him.

Lando tries to control his breathing. Four in, hold… four out, hold…

He’s no stranger to anxiety. It’s had him in a chokehold for almost as long as he can remember. He still thinks about the day when he was around ten years old and found out from a friend that it wasn’t normal to feel an overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of going to school in the morning.

The diagnosis helped partially, at least he had a name for it. But it didn’t fix him. Nothing can apparently.

He has medication, but he prefers not to take it. It messes with his head, makes him feel not like himself. Like he’s not quite there, going through the motions while his mind is elsewhere. It’s a strange sensation.

So instead he just tries other techniques. Like with his breathing. It doesn’t really do much with that sense of doom he tries so hard to ignore, but it does help to prevent him from spiralling into full blown panic.

Which he desperately wants to avoid. As while it’s no secret that he struggles with his mental health, he takes pride in being open about these things, he hasn’t shared with the public just how bad it is.

And that it’s only getting worse. How this year is probably the worst it’s been since he was a teenager.

He constantly hears the criticism in his head, that he’s weak, unworthy, not cut out to be world champion. That he doesn’t have the mentality to be the best. That he makes too many mistakes. The list goes on.

And he hates that something he’s honest about struggling with, that’s out of his control, apparently makes him weak mentally. And they’re saying all this about him now, so he doesn’t want to imagine what they’d say if they knew the true extent of what was happening inside his head.

He’s spent most of his life feeling wrong. Like there’s something wrong with him.

Sometimes Lando feels like everyone got given a ‘How to Exist’ handbook at birth, and he missed out. Or there was a class on how to live in the world taught at school, but he was absent that day. Or that there’s some piece of the brain that tells you how to interact with other people, but his is missing.

Everyone else seems to exist just fine, yet he struggles. Being behind the wheel is the only time where he feels free from the burden of simply existing. Racing is easy, everything else he finds difficult.

He’s not unhappy, just… uncomfortable. And there’s no worse feeling than being uncomfortable in your own skin, because you can never escape it. And there’s no real way to fix it either.

If it was his life he might be able to do something about it. He could make changes to whatever was making him unhappy. But he can’t change himself. And that’s the problem.

All he can do is just keep breathing. So he does, and he makes sure he appears fine from the outside, because no one can know.

He sits there quietly, answering questions when he’s spoken to directly, and silently praying for the whole thing to be over soon. Because he can see Oscar out of the corner of his eye, he can smell that stupid chocolate deodorant he uses, and when Oscar laughs at something the twisting feeling in his stomach that he’s had since this whole thing began tightens even further.

After what can only be described as thirty minutes of pure torture, it finally ends. He’s gotten away with it this time, and once the press conference is over he’s out of there like he’s on fire. He speed walks to the bathroom, thankfully finding it empty.

He grips the sink with both hands, his heart pounding in his ears. Breathe, he reminds himself, just breathe.

Lando knows that the news from today will be what’s going on with him and Oscar. He can picture the headlines already. But he finds some relief in that everyone will just think they’re arguing over the championship. No one will know the truth.

And that, at least, is a small mercy. They’re just teammates who currently aren’t getting along, it happens. There’s no reason for people to be suspicious.

And he should be relieved about that, right? Because the public knowing the truth would be very, very bad. But for some reason the whole thing is irritating, as the last few weeks have been utter hell for him, but no one knows.

He exhales in frustration, trying to will himself to just relax, even though it’s a foreign concept. He needs a distraction, something to stop him from obsessing over everything that’s happened.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts list, chewing his lip a little as he considers his options.

One name catches his eye, Aria. They met last year and have hooked up a few times before. And she also works for Red Bull, meaning that she’ll actually be here in Baku which is an important factor.

Lando sighs, hesitating for a few seconds, but he keeps seeing Oscar’s unbothered expression in his mind, his calm voice echoing in his ears…

He presses the call button. His mind is still on Oscar, but he tries to push the thoughts away. The whole reason why he’s doing this is to stop thinking about him.

And when Aria picks up, for a moment he does.

The phone call is short, but it ends with them agreeing for her to come to Lando’s hotel room at seven. Perfect.

His mood is slightly improved when he hangs up, pushing away from the wall. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he looks… normal? For the first time in weeks he almost feels normal too.

This is what he should be doing, having fun, enjoying being young, not obsessing over his teammate. At least he doesn’t look like someone who’s been going crazy with thoughts of their friend.

He feels stupid for letting himself get in this deep, and he hates himself for it. For letting his feelings for Oscar get this intense so quickly. He’s not usually one to fall for someone so fast, but there’s a small part of him that admits that it’s probably because he’s secretly felt like this for a while, longer than he wants to admit.

But it’s whatever. Tonight he’s going to meet up with Aria, have a good time, and hopefully stop thinking for a bit.

He takes one last breath then leaves the bathroom, jogging down the stairs towards the exit.

It’s just his luck that he runs into Carlos and Charles on his way out. He falters a little, Carlos knows him too well and he’ll know something’s up instantly. And Lando doesn’t particularly feel like explaining himself right now.

But it’s too late, they’re already heading his way. So he forces a smile onto his face.

“Hola, amigo!” Carlos grins, slapping Lando on the back a little harder than necessary, making him stumble a bit.

“Hey Carlos,” Lando tries to keep his voice casual, “Charles.”

“We still on for padel tonight?” Carlos continues, “us three, and…” He frowns a little, clearly trying to come up with a fourth player. Lando feels his heart sink. Shit. He’d completely forgotten he’d agreed to play padel with them.

He opens his mouth to politely come up with some excuse, but fate has other plans as Oscar bounds down the same stairs Lando just came down. He stops dead as he sees the three of them, plastering an awkward smile on his face.

“Uh.. hey.”

“Oscar!” Carlos exclaims, throwing the arm that isn’t around Lando over Oscar’s shoulders. “You should come play padel with us tonight.”

“Um, Carlos,” Lando mutters quietly, but his friend isn’t listening. And just like that, the anxiety is back. 

Oscar makes the fakest noise Lando has ever heard. “Er, that’s nice of you to offer mate, but-”

“No buts!” Carlos holds up a finger, “I know full well that neither of you have plans tonight.”

“Erm, actually…” Lando cuts in, grimacing awkwardly as all three of them slowly turn to face him. “I kind of have this... thing, I’m doing later-”

“Oh come on, no you don’t,” Carlos rolls his eyes while Lando makes an indignant noise.

“Yes I do.”

“Cancel it,” Carlos shrugs.

“What?” Lando splutters, “I can’t cancel,” he protests weakly.

“Why not?”

Lando sighs, they obviously think he’s just making excuses, but he really does have plans. He watches as Carlos and Charles exchange a sceptical look, while Oscar is avoiding eye contact like the plague.

“What are these so called plans of yours then?” Carlos folds his arms, “that are way more important than playing padel with us? Don’t tell me you have a date.”

Lando must be imagining the way Oscar suddenly stiffens beside him. “It’s not a date,” he mumbles, but his denial falls on deaf ears. Bollocks.

Charles’ eyes have widened in delight, and he nudges Carlos with his elbow so hard that he stumbles into Oscar a little, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh my God,” Charles cackles, “you do! So, who is she?”

“It’s not a date!” Lando objects, the pit in his stomach beginning to grow again.

“No?” Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. Lando glances around the group anxiously, how Charles is grinning like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all day, Carlos looks sceptical and mildly concerned, and Oscar… Oscar is still watching him warily, and there’s a strange tension in his jaw like he’s clenching it tightly.

Lando takes a breath, feeling the heat beginning to rise in his cheeks. He just wants to disappear and never be seen again.

“Look, it’s not a date okay?” He mutters, “but I really can’t cancel so, just find someone else to play with.”

Carlos looks genuinely baffled, which Lando can understand. Sure he’s hooked up with his fair share of girls in his time, but he’s never chosen them over his friend. But this time is different, he needs this.

What he doesn’t need is spending hours on a padel court with Oscar, who will undoubtedly be wearing some tight t-shirt that will stretch over his muscles, his skin slightly tinged with sweat, a faint flush in his cheeks from the exertion.. similar to how he looked that night in Spa, the one that he keeps replaying over and over in his head.

Fuck. He’s suddenly remembering why he asked for space. And Carlos is still staring at him, making Lando feel a pang of guilt. It makes him want to just give in and play with them instead of meeting up with Aria, but then he looks at Oscar, who is now staring into the distance like the whole thing is boring him. Lando bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t scream, then puts on an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry okay? We can play some other time.”

Carlos and Charles share an incredulous look that makes Lando wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“You’re seriously choosing some.. hookup? Over us?” Carlos shakes his head in disbelief, “you’re kidding me.”

“Carlos come on,” Lando pleads.

Carlos sighs dramatically and throws his hands up in surrender. “Fine! But you owe me one.” Lando nods immediately, just relieved that this conversation is finally coming to an end.

Charles pats him on the shoulder, still grinning, “good luck with your thing.” He winks, or attempts to wink. For God’s sake.

“Yeah, I will,” he rolls his eyes.

Carlos turns to Oscar. “I’ll text you the time and place.”

Oscar nods and Carlos and Charles begin walking away, although Charles clearly can’t resist throwing one final, “have funnn,” at Lando over his shoulder.

Lando’s relief at them finally leaving is short lived as him and Oscar are left alone. Silence fills the space between them, heavy and awkward. He doesn’t look at him, but he can feel Oscar’s presence beside him, feel the weight of his gaze.

“So…” Lando mutters awkwardly, but Oscar cuts him off.

“Are you actually meeting up with someone?” He asks quietly. Lando glances at him out of the corner of his eye, studying Oscar’s demeanour. His shoulders are stiff, and his breath stills a little when Lando nods. “Oh.”

Silence fills the air again and Lando shifts between his feet uncomfortably. He chances another look at Oscar, how he’s looking at him with this odd intensity, mixed with something else. Something like irritation, and almost jealousy? But that doesn’t make any sense so Lando shakes the thought off before it even fully forms.

He tries to sound casual when he speaks again, but his voice comes out more hesitant than he wanted. “I’m guessing you’re pissed at me too then?”

Oscar scoffs under his breath, looking up at Lando. His eyes are cold and empty. “And why would I be pissed at you?”

Lando flinches slightly at his tone, a little taken aback. He’s never heard Oscar be so cold towards him.

“I don’t know,” Lando mutters, “because I’m cancelling on your little padel game?”

He knows it’s not about the padel game. Oscar probably couldn’t care less about the game, but Lando is too afraid to voice what they’re really fighting about.

Oscar laughs a little bitterly, “sure, lets go with that.”

Lando winces again. This is all so wrong, they’re not supposed to be like this. They’re supposed to laugh and joke and banter, be comfortable around each other. But instead it’s so awkward, and Oscar is being so dismissive, and it’s even worse than Lando imagined.

He tries to keep his voice from shaking as he mutters, “what’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Oscar turns to face Lando with a look of such pure disbelief it’s almost comical. “You seriously don’t know?”

Lando folds his arms defensively, beginning to get a little irritated. Oscar rejected him, broke Lando’s heart, and now he has the audacity to be upset that Lando is hooking up with someone else?

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?”

Oscar exhales, shaking his head. “You,” he says sharply, “you’re my problem.”

Lando freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He’s speechless for a moment as the bluntness of Oscar’s words hits him like a truck. Because he’s right, Lando is the problem. He’s always the problem.

He tries to put on a brave face, not wanting to show Oscar how affected he is despite his eyes burning and his throat closing up.

“I’ll just fuck off then, yeah?” Lando says defensively. But as he turns to leave Oscar grabs him firmly, causing Lando’s heart to skip a beat.

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out a little higher than he’d hoped.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” Oscar says sharply, and the way he’s looking at him right now… almost desperate, like he’s holding himself back from something. And once again Lando is struck by the desire to just kiss him, and he tries to wriggle free before he does something reckless.

But Oscar just holds him more firmly. “Stop it. We need to talk about this, you cannot just walk away every time-”

“We have talked about it!” Lando interrupts. He doesn’t particularly want to rehash his feelings for Oscar right now. “We agreed on space.”

Which is ironic, considering they’re currently inches apart.

“You decided on space,” Oscar snaps.

Lando’s head is spinning as he tries to focus, but it’s so hard when he can feel Oscar’s breath on his face. “Because you kept pushing me away,” he protests, “so I just gave you what you wanted.”

“And you didn’t think to ask me what I wanted?”

“Fine!” Lando exclaims, “then what do you want from me Osc?”

Oscar goes quiet, looking a little lost. Lando takes the opportunity to remove himself from Oscar’s grasp, and this time he doesn’t object.

Lando folds his arms. “Well?”

“I don’t know.” Oscar says quietly. Lando stares at him, but once again his expression is impossible to read.

“You don’t know?”

“I-” Oscar runs a hand through his hair, “I just-” He cuts himself off with a quiet groan, looking at Lando a little helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Great,” Lando mutters, “good chat. Now if you don’t mind, I have places to be.”

Oscar tenses up again. “Right."

It's silent again for a moment before Oscar asks quietly, "so what’s her name?”

Lando looks at him warily, “Aria..”

“Aria.” Oscar repeats. With the tone that he says her name in he may as well have been saying ‘sewage’, or ‘dung beetle’. “Well make sure to wear a condom. Wouldn’t want you to catch some hideous disease.”

He sounds so condescending and disapproving, and Lando glares at him. “Fuck off.”

“What? I’m looking out for you.”

“No you’re not,” Lando snaps, “you’re just trying to make me feel like shit. Well it won’t work Oscar, so go be uptight somewhere else.”

Oscar scoffs, “you’re unbelievable.”

“Oh really?” Lando exclaims, irritated now, “am I? For what exactly?”

“You know what!”

“Actually, I don’t!” Lando half shouts, “I don’t understand why everyone is so obsessed with me hooking up with someone! It’s not a crime!”

“I never said it was!”

“Yeah? Your face says otherwise.”

“Maybe I just think you’re being a dick.” Oscar mutters.

Lando scoffs, throwing his hands in the air. “Are you serious? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Oscar just sighs, shaking his head. “I give up. Go and enjoy your hookup then.”

His voice is dull, but there’s still a hint of disapproval in it. For God’s sake, Lando’s only twenty five years old, why the hell can’t he have some fun?  

“I didn’t take you to be such a prude.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t take you to be so heartless, but here we are,” Oscar says flatly, before he turns and walks away.

Lando remains rooted to the spot. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Since when is he the heartless one? Lando knows he has flaws, but that is not one of them. If anything, his issue is that he cares too much.

Well, whatever. If Oscar wants to be a dick that’s fine with him. But Lando still watches his retreating back until he’s out of sight, then he shakes his head and walks in the opposite direction.

He goes about the rest of his day irritated, because his good mood has now been effectively ruined. He can’t get what Oscar said out of his head, and he’s dying to know what he meant. But he’s too stubborn to ask, which is why he’s currently sitting with his arms folded, pretending that Oscar doesn’t exist.

And Oscar is doing the exact same thing.

They unfortunately have to film a media video together, and it might just be the most uncomfortable thing Lando has ever done. They’re sat on some wall, as far apart as they physically can be without the media team shouting at them.

Lando tries, he really does. He attempts to muster up any enthusiasm for the upcoming weekend, but he just has none. This might be the least enthusiastic he’s been ever, actually.

And Oscar isn’t exactly full of joy either, his voice flat like he’s reading a script. Which you know, he is, but they’re supposed to make it seem livelier than that.

They reshoot the stupid thing probably a dozen times until the media team eventually call it quits, having figured out this is all they’re gonna get from either of them today. It’s bad, it’s so bad, and Lando is sure they’ll both be dragged into a meeting room for a ‘talk’ later, but right now he’s finally free, and he can’t get out soon enough.

He goes straight back to his hotel, showering, changing clothes, and spending way too much time on his hair. By the time he’s deemed his appearance acceptable, it’s quarter to seven, and Aria should be there soon.

He exhales slowly as he sits on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, it’s not like he’s never done this before. But he still gets up and starts pacing up and down as the minutes on the clock tick down.

It’s two minutes past seven, and he’s just beginning to spiral when there’s a knock on the door. He practically flies towards it, pausing for a moment to compose himself and put on his most charming smile.

Aria smiles back as he opens the door. She looks amazing, wearing a really nice dress, her hair curled softly over her shoulders.

Lando holds the door open, “hey, you look great.”

“Thank you,” Aria says softly, and Lando gets a whiff of her perfume as she walks by. He wills his heart to do something, anything, even just a small flutter would do. But it’s like it’s died in his chest or something.

That’s fine, maybe he just needs a little more this time. Not a problem.

Aria sighs happily as she looks around, “your hotel rooms are always so nice.”

Lando chuckles a little, “hah, yeah… the perks of being sponsored by a hotel chain I guess.”

“I wish my room was like this.”

“Well,” Lando takes a step closer, “you’ll just have to stay here with me then, won’t you?”

He smiles again, gently taking her hand. Aria ducks her head shyly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. And it’s too easy.

Oscar wouldn’t have simpered over that line, in fact he’d be outright mocking Lando right now. He can practically hear the groan and the ‘nah mate, come on,’ in his head.

No. He’s not supposed to be thinking about Oscar right now, or at all, preferably. And Aria has moved closer, her body slotting against his nicely. He has to look down, not up, but that’s okay.

She tilts her head, and Lando takes the hint and leans in, kissing her gently at first to test the waters, then more deeply when she responds positively. She tastes like strawberry lip balm, and her skin is soft and smooth when Lando moves his hand to her waist. Normally this would be getting him going, but he doesn’t really feel anything so far.

That’s okay though, they’re just kissing. He slowly moves backwards towards the bed, tugging Aria after him so she’s straddling him. She settles in his lap, slipping her hands under his shirt and making him shiver, but more because her hands are cold rather than from the touch itself.

But she seems to approve either way, humming a little as their mouths reconnect. They make out for a bit, exploring with their hands. She’s doing all the right things, touching him in all the right places, but Lando still isn’t hard.

It’s okay, he will be. Eventually. He’s not sure if she’s noticed yet, but she definitely will soon if he doesn’t do something.

Aria moves down slightly to kiss down his neck, and Lando closes his eyes, trying to just relax. God, what is wrong with him?

He shifts a little, this normally feels good. They’ve hooked up before so she knows what he likes, and she’s currently sucking that one spot that usually makes his knees go weak.

Lando clenches his eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths to clear his mind. Except that once his mind isn’t so fixated on Aria and why his body isn’t responding like it usually does, it begins to wander. Into very dangerous territory.

If he’s careful where he puts his hands he can almost pretend that Aria’s small body is larger, that her curves are sharper, more muscular. And all lips feel the same really, so he can imagine that her mouth on his neck belongs to someone else.

Ah, there it is. That familiar stirring in his stomach, his pulse quickening slightly.

His eyes snap open in panic as he realises what he just did. Well, he’s hard now. But not because of the girl on top of him, and that makes a small pang of guilt run through him.

Yeah, they’re just hooking up, but he still shouldn’t be thinking about someone else. It’s wrong. Especially as the whole damn point of this was to forget about him.

Aria glances back up, and she must catch something on his face because she frowns a little.

“Everything okay?” She asks, and Lando nods rapidly.

“Yep,” he practically squeaks, “all good.”

He lets his head fall back as Aria slips her hand into his pants, desperately trying not to pretend her fingers are longer and more calloused, but it’s futile.

Oh God. He can’t do this… can he? He shouldn’t, that goes without saying. But no one would ever know…

He wants to give in so, so badly, as he knows it would feel so good, but he also knows it’s a terrible idea. And will probably make things ten times worse afterwards.

But he’s weak. He’s a weak, weak man, and as Aria keeps moving her hand just the way he likes, it’s harder to control his thoughts. So he stops trying.

He moves his head into the crook of Aria’s neck, moaning a little as he places a few slightly sloppy kisses against her skin. He exhales slowly as he lets go, allowing his mind to take over.

He gets lost in it, in the pretending, and sharp waves of pleasure shoot through him as his mind races with images of brown eyes and floppy hair…

“Fuck,” he whispers, “Osc..”

Aria’s hand stills, making him whine in protest until his brain catches up with his body and he registers what he just did.

“What did you just say?”

“Uh, nothing,” Lando says quickly, “forget about it.”

But Aria moves backwards to look at him properly. “Did you say Osc? As in Oscar?”

“What?” Lando laughs nervously, “no? Of course not.”

“Oh my God, you did…” Aria is staring at him in disbelief, and Lando panics.

“Okay, yes, but I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant-” He scrambles to think of something to say, “I meant, uh…” God, why is his brain not functioning?

“I think I know what you meant,” Aria says, moving backwards.

“Wait, Aria-” Lando tries to reach for her hand as she gets up, but she holds her hands up out of reach.

“What the hell Lando?”

“Please, I’m sorry, just come back..”

“Do you even want me to?” Aria challenges, “or do you just want to pretend I’m someone else again?”

Lando flinches, grimacing. Christ, he’s really done it this time.

“Please Aria,” he whispers, panic gripping him, “you can’t tell anyone. Please.”

She stares at him with an unreadable expression, but he must look seriously desperate because she nods. “I won’t. But only because I’d never out someone like that.”

"Out?" Lando laughs awkwardly, "no, no it's not like that, I'm not like that, I was just thinking about racing that's all-"

"Lando." 

Lando deflates a little, pinching the bridge of his nose, "okay, fine, maybe I am? A little? I don't know.."

Aria is still staring at him like he's just grown a second head. "You know, I almost feel bad for you."

Lando chuckles weakly. God he feels utterly pathetic right now. "So, I'm guessing this isn't gonna happen?" He gestures between the two of them.

"Absolutely not." 

Lando nods, he figured as much. 

"I'm gonna go find someone who actually wants me," Aria continues. 

"I do want you!" Lando protests, "or, I did. I swear I did, those other times we hooked up were real I swear."

Aria raises an eyebrow and he sighs deeply. "Yeah okay, I'll shut up now."

“Just sort yourself out Lando,” Aria says, fixing her clothing and heading to the door. “Don’t drag other people into whatever mess you’ve found yourself in.”

She’s right, he does need to figure out what the fuck he’s doing, and he probably shouldn’t be using other people to do that.

“Yeah, that's fair. I’ll do that,” he mutters, “sorry.”

"Bye Lando," Aria sighs, still looking exasperated but maybe also a little pitying? Then she leaves.

“Fuck,” Lando whispers to himself as the door slams behind her, making him wince a little. And he’s left there on the bed, aching and desperate, feeling more alone than ever.

Chapter Text

Oscar is currently sitting and staring at the wall like it’s personally offended him. The events of the day are replaying in his head over and over again, and he leans forwards to bury his face in a cushion to muffle his anguished groan.

What the hell was he thinking? He had no right to be annoyed at Lando, but he was. God he was.

It did feel a little mean, to shove it in Oscar’s face like that, but he still should have just kept his mouth shut. But no, he had to get all pissy and jealous, say all those stupid angry things, and now Lando probably thinks he’s lost his mind.

Lando isn’t his, and that’s the whole problem. It isn’t any of Oscar’s business who he spends time with, yet he had still acted like a possessive mess. Just the thought of Lando being with someone else drove him insane.

He has no right to be jealous, but he is. So, so jealous. The thought of someone else’s hands on him, someone else making him smile or laugh, of them doing more… oh God, the thought of what she might be doing to him right now makes him want to scream.

His phone dings and he lunges for it so fast he probably pulls something. Realistically he knows it’s not Lando, but the utterly ridiculous, still believes in fantasies part of him is hoping Lando’s texted that he made a huge mistake and Oscar should come to his hotel room, not that random girl.

It’s not Lando. Obviously. It’s Charles, letting him know that he and Carlos are headed for the padel court. Oh, and apparently Pierre is joining them.

Oscar wasn’t sure if he was still expected to attend once Lando announced he wouldn’t be, but it seems that is not the case.

He’s got nothing against any of them personally, he just wouldn’t exactly call them friends. He likes Charles well enough, they’ve got the running bit that Oscar is his son which breaks the tension, but he’s just not close with him, or with any of the other drivers on the grid. He gets along with them fine, but hanging out with them is more Lando’s thing.

But while Oscar may not be overly enthused by the idea, the thought of being rude is worse. So he sighs, texts Charles back that he’s on his way, and leaves his hotel room.

It’s cooled down a little now the sun has set, and he tugs on a hoodie as he walks, smoothing his hair down a little. He's oddly nervous for this whole thing, God knows why. But maybe it’s a good thing to spend more time with the other drivers. It certainly won’t do him harm to make some more connections.

As the only driver that Oscar would say with certainty that he considers a friend, was Logan. Or is Logan. They’re still friends even though he’s not a driver anymore.

He realises then that he should probably call him, it’s been a while. He holds the phone to his ear as he makes his way to the padel courts, which rings a few times before Logan’s voice comes through from the other end.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Hey,” Oscar replies, “um, not much, you?”

“Just at the gym,” Logan replies.

“Oh sorry, I can call back.”

“No, no,” Logan says quickly, “you’re giving me a good excuse for a rest.”

Oscar chuckles, “alright then.”

“So what are you up to?”

“I, am going to play padel with Carlos, Charles and Pierre,” Oscar announces dramatically. Logan’s silence on the other end is deafening.

“You’re what?”

“Yep. You heard correctly.”

“Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Oh my God,” Oscar laughs, “is it that big a deal?”

“Wow, you really have changed,” Logan replies with mock disappointment, “the Oscar I knew never hung out with anyone but me.”

“Well you’re not here,” Oscar quips back, then quickly backtracks, “wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Logan thankfully doesn’t sound offended. “Besides, I’m doing alright for myself anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s right, how is life as an endurance racer?”

“Different,” Logan says thoughtfully, “a lot different from F1 anyway. But honestly, I think I like it more. There’s so much less pressure, less eyes on you at all times.”

“Yeah,” Oscar nods even though Logan can’t see him through the phone. He remembers full well how Logan struggled a bit with the constant criticism, especially when his races usually didn’t end well. “I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

“Thanks man. What about you anyway? Still leading the championship, I see?”

Oscar feels a small pang of guilt. He tries not to talk about his success with Logan too much, not wanting to rub salt in the wound. It just feels cruel, since they were rookies together in the same year, and Oscar is now a championship contender while Logan lost his seat.

But Logan seems genuine, and he’s gotten back on his feet after his fall anyway, so Oscar obliges.

“Yeah, hoping to keep it that way too.”

“Well I have full faith in you.”

Oscar laughs, “thanks, appreciate that.”

“What about Lando?”

Oscar keeps his tone carefully neutral. “What about him?”

“Oh come on, you know what I mean. How are things between you?”

“Not good,” Oscar grimaces. Which is an understatement. Things between them have actually never been worse, but he’s not sure if he’s ready to admit that out loud yet. It makes it too real.

“Oh God, what’s happened now?”

“Well… he may know about my feelings for him?” Oscar says a little sheepishly.

“Wait, he knows? You told him?”

Oscar groans quietly. “No, I didn’t tell him. I just didn’t exactly deny it either.”

“I’m confused,” Logan says simply. Oscar takes the time to fill him in on what he’s missed since summer. Logan doesn’t say a single word while he does, which isn’t exactly helping the churning in his gut.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan says once he’s finally done, “he just straight up asked you if you have feelings for him? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“That just doesn’t seem like a very Lando thing to do.”

“What are you talking about, that’s exactly the kind of spontaneous, didn’t think it through, kind of thing he’d do.”

“I more meant that he wouldn’t be that harsh.”

“Hm.” Oscar ponders on that for a moment, dragging his feet a little. The thought had crossed his mind. Lando is, or was his friend, he wouldn't deliberately try to hurt Oscar, would he? Except the whole hook up thing kind of contradicts that, that had just felt cruel. 

Thankfully he’s almost reached the padel courts, giving him an easy out to this conversation. 

“Look, either way, he’s made it pretty clear he’s not interested.”

“Sorry man,” Logan says sympathetically.

“Yeah, me too,” Oscar sighs.

“Anything I can do?”

“Nah not really. Just listening to me mope is enough.”

Logan chuckles, “alright then, I’ll do that.”

“Look, I’ve gotta go, but talk again soon yeah?”

“Yeah alright, talk later.”

They hang up and Oscar pockets his phone, feeling marginally better as he jogs onto the padel court. He’s really hoping that this will be a decent distraction.

Charles greets him with a friendly wave. “Oscar! You made it!”

Oscar gives him a slightly lopsided smile, “hey.”

“Ready to play?” Carlos wanders over, swinging his racket around absentmindedly. Oscar quickly dodges, letting out an amused huff.

“Uh yeah, sure.”

“Great, you’re with me.” Carlos starts walking to the other side of the court, and Oscar says a quick prayer that this all goes smoothly before following.

Carlos ducks his head closer, whispering conspiratorially, “those two have been playing together for years.” He indicates towards where Charles and Pierre are laughing about something. “So I need you on your best form, okay?”

Great, no pressure then. But still he nods. “Yeah, got it.”

Oscar isn’t bad at padel, but he’s no expert either. He can just about hold his own but that’s as far as it goes really. But despite this, he’s also insanely competitive, and after Carlos practically just demanded that he play well he’s putting in a bit more effort than usual.

And Oscar isn’t an angry person. He likes to keep his emotions under control, keep a steady head no matter what he’s feeling inside, but today is different. He’s still so angry at what happened earlier, at both himself and Lando. And it shows.

He hits the ball aggressively, and while Charles lunges for it, he doesn’t quite get there in time.

“Nice!” Carlos calls out, and Oscar smiles genuinely. Maybe this is kind of fun after all.

They lose the first game, but not by much. And besides, Carlos was right that Charles and Pierre are good, so he’s trying not to feel too bad about it.

And despite his initial determination to win, Carlos gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he downs some water.

“You’re not bad Piastri. Why have we never played before?”

Oscar gives a small shrug, “not sure.”

“Well,” Carlos hands him the water, “we should play more, yes?”

“Er, yeah,” Oscar nods enthusiastically, “sounds good.”

He’s rather pleased about this turn of events. He doubts he and Carlos will ever be close, they’re civil now despite the events of the past couple of years, but he’ll take this. They might not be friends, but they can be friendly, and that’s good enough for him.

Especially if he has people to play padel with now, people that aren’t his trainer or his bodyguard.

They continue to play for hours, him and Carlos even managing to win some games. And most importantly, Oscar is having fun.

Or he was, until Carlos, who up until now Oscar was beginning to warm to, ruins it.

“So, do we think Lando’s got his dick wet yet?” Carlos laughs, running a towel over his face.

“He’d better, since he abandoned us and all,” Charles laughs.

“Ah, for sure, right Oscar?” Carlos also laughs, glancing at him. He forces a smile, although it probably appears more like a grimace.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s Lando.” He shrugs, trying to play it cool. He is really not comfortable talking about Lando’s hookup, but if he shows that they’ll all just think he’s uptight and boring. Which he’s not, he just doesn’t see the need to discuss it.

But maybe he is a prude? Lando had called him one earlier…

But then he shakes the thought off. Not wanting to hear about the guy you’re in love with hooking up with someone else doesn’t make him a prude, that’s perfectly normal. He thinks.

The others have now moved on to other topics of conversation, their girlfriends. Brilliant. Another thing Oscar can’t contribute to.

Not that Charles will accept that. He turns to Oscar with a smile, “hey, weren’t you dating that girl Oscar? What was her name, Lucy?”

“Er, Lily,” Oscar corrects, “and yeah, I was.”

They’d met in school, and being the young and horny teenagers they were they jumped into a relationship straight away, before realising when they were older and wiser that they weren’t right for each other. At all. In the way that Oscar is very gay and in love with his teammate, and Lily was too good for him in the first place.

But they’re still friends and stay in touch, having parted on good terms. Which is what he tells Charles.

“But why’d you break up?”

Oscar isn’t sure why Charles is pressing this now, him and Lily broke up ages ago. But he indulges him anyway.

“Just wasn’t right, you know how it is.”

Charles nods, “yeah. When you know you know right? Like with Alex, I just know.”

Pierre makes a retching noise and nudges Charles with his shoulder. “You’re so whipped man.”

“Shut up, so are you.” Charles snaps back before turning to Oscar, “you’ll find a nice girl soon Oscar I’m sure.”

Oscar gives him a tight smile, “yeah, maybe.”

"Come on, why don't you have a girlfriend?" Carlos asks. Oscar only shrugs, so Carlos continues. 

“Look, I’m sure Lando can fix you up with someone,” Carlos laughs, “he has enough numbers in his phone.”

They all laugh, Oscar chuckling a little. “I’ll pass I think.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” Carlos nods.

Oscar laughs awkwardly, praying someone changes the subject. Thankfully Pierre does, talking about how his girlfriend is walking in a fashion show next week. Oscar nods and hums in all the right places, he knows absolutely nothing about fashion, but Pierre is clearly proud.

Oscar wonders briefly what it would be like to have someone who’s that proud of him. Someone who’s not family or a friend.

It’s not like he’s unhappy being single, he doesn’t have heaps of spare time to date anyway, but sometimes he just wishes he had that. Very occasionally, in moments of weakness.

But it’s pointless anyway, because the only person he truly wants, he can never have. So he prefers not to waste his time dwelling on it.

He gets a lift back with Charles, apparently Ferrari are conveniently staying in a hotel just around the corner from Oscar’s. Charles spends most of the journey chattering away like usual, which is a relief, as it means Oscar doesn’t have to contribute much.

As he can’t stop thinking about what Carlos said, why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Is it bad that people are starting to notice? He’s not the only one without a girlfriend, Lando doesn’t have one either, but Lando also hooks up with a lot of girls. Oscar doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to look suspicious. The last thing he needs right now is people figuring out the truth about him.

He’s still mulling it over when he’s back in his hotel room. He unlocks his phone and clicks on Lily’s contact, she’s been in the forefront of his mind since Charles brought her up before. They haven’t talked in a while, but maybe she’d still be willing to help him out.

Only one way to find out right?

He clicks the call button. It’s earlier in England than where he is in Baku, so he’s hoping that she’s still awake.

But she picks up fairly quickly, her soft voice coming through the phone. “Hello? Oscar?”

“Hey Lily.”

“Hey..” She sounds a little hesitant, and Oscar can’t blame her. They’re on good terms but still don’t exactly have weekly catch ups.

“Um, how are you?” He asks a little awkwardly.

“I’m good, how are you?”

“Yeah, alright. Um, I know this is a long shot, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to do me a favour?”

There’s a small pause before Lily asks, “what is it?”

“Er…” Oscar is suddenly not so sure about this, but he powers through. No harm in asking… “People are beginning to wonder why I don’t have a girlfriend.” He blurts out.

“Okay..”

“I need a cover up,” he adds tentatively, “so, I was wondering if you’d want to come along to a race?”

“Like, as your girlfriend?” Lily sounds wary, “we broke up Oscar.”

“No, I know that, and not as my girlfriend. Just… as a friend, but it might make people think we’re back together.”

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

“No!” Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. God he’s really screwing this up. “You don’t have to do or say anything. Just be there with me and the media will do the rest.”

“I don’t know Oscar..” Lily says, “I want to help you, of course I do, but I don’t know if I want to have rumours about us started again.”

“Yeah, that’s fair enough. Sorry I asked.”

“No, I’m not refusing,” Lily continues, “I just need to think about it.”

“Oh, okay. Of course.” Oscar feels a tiny flicker of hope.

There’s a brief moment of silence, and Oscar waits nervously for her to say something else.

“So all you want me to do is attend a Grand Prix? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Oscar confirms. “Just to get the other drivers and the fans off my back for a while.”

“Why me though?”

“Because you’re the only one I trust,” Oscar says simply. It’s the truth. Not many people know about his sexual preferences, only his family, a couple of friends back home, Logan, and Lily. So yes, while he could probably find someone else to pretend to be his girlfriend, F1 driver privileges and all, he wouldn’t want them knowing the truth. It’s too risky.

“Okay.” Lily says.

“Uh, okay?” Oscar replies, surprised, “is that a yes?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

“Wait, really?”

“I still care about you Oscar,” Lily continues, and Christ she really is one of the kindest people Oscar knows. “And if you really are worried about this then of course I’ll help you.”

“Thank you Lils, thank you.” Oscar babbles a little, so relieved.

“And besides, it can’t do any harm to have a Formula One driver owe me a favour..” Lily adds, a slightly mischievous tone to her voice. Oscar laughs, relaxing a little as they fall back into their old banter.

“Ah, I knew there’d be a catch,” he teases.

“Can’t just offer my services for free now can I?” Oscar can hear the smile in her voice, “I’m expensive.”

“Whatever you want, you can have it,” Oscar chuckles.

“I’ll think on it.”

“Alright,” Oscar murmurs, “just let me know.”

They stay on the phone for a few more minutes, then hang up. Lily said she’d check her schedule and get back to him on which races she can make it to.

Oscar smiles a little to himself as he flops backwards onto his bed, already feeling a little better. He’s always had this slightly anxious feeling in the back of mind about what would happen if anyone found out about him. This sport isn’t exactly known for being inclusive, being gay is illegal in some of the countries they race in for God’s sake.

It bothers him, but what is he meant to do? All he can do is try to protect himself.

It’s still on his mind the next day, but he tries to push it aside and focus on the upcoming practice sessions. They have a brief meeting beforehand, and Oscar can’t help glancing at Lando a few times, trying to get a read on him. He's still a little uncertain where they stand after their spat yesterday. 

But Lando is oddly quiet, mostly just staring at the table blankly. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who got laid last night.

As the meeting ends Oscar’s brain keeps repeating, it’s not your business, it’s not your business, it’s not your business… but his self-control is hanging on by a thread.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly across the table where Lando is still sitting. Most people have left the meeting room by now, and those that haven’t aren’t paying them any attention anyway.

Lando glances up like he’s only just noticing Oscar’s presence. “Oh, hey.”

He's struggling to tell if Lando is still mad at him or not, and there’s an awkward silence until Oscar clears his throat. “Um, how was your night?”

Lando shifts on his chair a little. “Good.”

Good. Oscar swallows the lump in his throat. “Oh, um, cool. That’s good.”

“How was padel?” Lando asks.

“It was actually fun,” Oscar nods. “You missed out,” he adds afterwards, a little hesitantly, unsure if it’s crossing the boundaries of the space Lando keeps asking for.

But Lando just chuckles quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Really? Did your evening not live up to expectations?” Oscar casually folds his arms. He’s digging, and it’s so obvious, but he just has to know the details.

“What? No, I didn’t say that.” Lando sounds almost defensive, which is interesting.

“Okay..”

“I’m actually seeing her again tonight,” Lando blurts out, making Oscar freeze. He’s seeing her again?

“You are?”

Lando nods. “Yeah, we really hit it off, you know?”

“Sure, yeah,” Oscar mutters. He does not in fact know, but he can’t exactly say that can he? He’s spiralling but manages to pull himself together. “That’s great. I’m happy for you mate,” he forces out.

Lando gives him a tight smile. Oscar gets the sudden urge to cry.

He points behind him, “right, well, I’m gonna…”

Lando nods quickly, “yeah, sure. See you.”

Oscar turns away and quickly walks out of the room, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. This cannot be happening.

Wasn’t it meant to be just a hookup, has it turned into more? Does he like her?

He feels like he’s going crazy. He has to keep reminding himself that Lando isn’t his, that he can date whoever he wants, while he pretends that the thought of him with someone else doesn’t make him feel sick.

He’s distracted the entire weekend, and it shows. Oscar doesn’t get distracted, it’s one of his skills, being able to compartmentalise and perform under pressure. But he can’t shove this away into a box, it’s too big.

This is it, he’s actually lost his mind. All he can think about is Lando, it’s consuming him, slowly rotting him from the inside out.

He’s in his head right up until the lights go out on Sunday, popping into his mind again as the countdown begins. Oscar shakes his head, trying to shove them away, he needs to focus after the disaster that was yesterday’s qualifying.

But he’s so lost in his own head that he jumps the start, causing the anti-stall to activate. By the time he’s got going again he’s dead last. Great.

He swears to himself under his breath, pressing his foot to the floor in pursuit of the other cars. It’s certainly not ideal, but he’ll just have to fight his way through the pack. It’s fine.

Or it would have been, until he brakes late in turn five and locks up, sending it straight into the wall. He sits there for a moment, trying to process what just happened.

Tom’s voice crackles through the radio, asking him if he’s okay, but all Oscar can manage is a shaky “yep.” Which is an outright lie.

Oscar is not okay. He’s not even slightly okay.

God he’s a mess. He’s been making silly mistakes all weekend, and now the final straw is a DNF, which he really can’t afford right now. All Lando needs is a good result and Oscar will be in a tricky position.

He silently berates himself in his head as he climbs out of the car, sighing as he gets a better look at the damage. This is the second time in two days his mechanics will have to rebuild the car.

It’s ended his streak of finishing races, his last DNF being nearly two years ago, which sits heavy in his chest. Maybe everything, Lando, the championship title, the pressure, is getting to him more than he thought if he’s making rookie errors.  

He is, unfortunately, stuck, and can’t get back to the pits, so has an entire race to sit with his thoughts. Which is not ideal when he’s already trying not to fall into a pit of self-hatred.

He’s usually pretty sure of himself, has a quiet confidence in his abilities, in his driving. But every incident slowly chips away at him, until he starts questioning himself.

He just crashed out before completing even one lap, maybe he’s not as good a driver as he thought he was.

But he desperately tries not to go down that route, it won’t do him any good. He has to believe in himself, or it’s over. Once you lose confidence in this sport it’s a slippery slope, and Oscar is teetering at the top. He needs something, or someone, to haul him back over the edge before he falls.  

After what feels like an age he’s finally back in the paddock, having been thoroughly interviewed about what happened. Luckily for him he had plenty of thinking time and had already rehearsed what he was going to say.

Lando hadn’t managed to close the gap by much, finishing p7 only gave him six extra points. Oscar’s heard people call it a ‘missed opportunity’ already.

And so he’s a little smug, sue him. This could have been very bad for him if Lando had scored a decent number of points, but he didn’t. Oscar still has the advantage.

He feels minorly bad that Lando’s failure has cheered him up a bit, but that’s how it is. Formula One is ruthless, he learnt that pretty early on.

He’s been called in for a meeting, which was to be expected. The championship leader screwing up and having a DNF over a silly mistake is going to raise some questions.

He’s very slowly walking towards the meeting room where Zak and Andrea are waiting for him, dragging his feet a little. And that’s probably the only reason why he heard it.

He pauses, thinking maybe he’s hearing things, but then it happens again. He glances to his left where the noise came from, a different meeting room.

The lights are off, the door closed, and you wouldn’t think anyone was in there if it wasn’t for the very distinctive sound of sobbing.

Oscar hesitates, it’s none of his business, but what if whoever’s in there needs help? He can’t just ignore it. So he slowly opens the door and peers inside.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, all the blinds are closed. But once they do he can see a figure on the ground, and his heart drops as he realises who it is.

Lando’s sitting on the floor, head between his knees. Oscar can hear his gasps for air from the doorway.

And just like that any satisfaction over the day’s events has gone, and it’s like the world has narrowed to one single point. He’s frozen in place, the sight of Lando like this causing a flicker of fear to run through him.

“Lando?” He says tentatively.

Lando doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even give any indication that he heard Oscar at all.

Oscar crosses the room before he even registers he’s moving, pulled over to Lando by some invisible force. He drops to his knees in front of him, ignoring the way it sends a sharp pain through them and reaches out automatically.

“Lando,” Oscar repeats, taking his hand where it rests on top of his knee. Lando still doesn’t say anything, but he grips Oscar’s hand so tightly that it hurts.

Oscar stares at him helplessly, Lando’s hand is trembling underneath his, in fact his whole body is shaking.

“What’s going on?” Oscar asks desperately, trying to get Lando to respond to him, “Lando. What’s happening, what do I do?”

He sees Lando’s chest heave, opening his mouth to try and speak, but the only thing that comes out is short gasps for breath. His hand that isn’t holding Oscar’s flies to his chest, rubbing it a little.

It’s that motion that makes it click in Oscar’s brain, and he’s now fairly certain this is a panic attack. One of his sisters has anxiety, and while he’s never witnessed one in real life he’s heard about it. But at the same time as far as he’s aware Lando doesn’t have anxiety, so he’s half frozen, unsure what to do.

“Lando, Lando do I need to call someone?” Oscar tries to keep his voice calm as Lando opens his mouth again. “It’s alright, don’t try to talk, just do one squeeze for yes and two for no okay?” He squeezes Lando’s hand to demonstrate.

Lando squeezes twice, so Oscar doesn’t move from his position. He’s still trying to figure out if this is an panic attack rather than some medical emergency, but so far all the signs are pointing to the former.

Lando breaths are still coming in quick shallow gasps, and when he lifts his head a little Oscar’s breath catches at how pale he is, his skin clammy. He’s still debating whether he should just call for help to be on the safe side when Lando finally speaks.

“Osc, I can’t breathe,” Lando’s voice comes out weak and strained, “I can’t breathe-”

Oscar’s own face pales. “Okay, okay…” He says quickly, his own chest clenching a little. “I’m right here with you, you’re gonna be alright..”

He puts his free hand on Lando’s shoulder, and Lando’s own hand shoots out to hold on to Oscar’s arm, his head falling forward again as he grips Oscar’s bicep like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine.” Oscar continues his reassurances as he glances desperately over his shoulder to see if there’s anyone in the corridor outside who can help. “I really think I should go get someone…”

Lando shakes his head rapidly. “No…” He whispers hoarsely. “Happened.. before. Don’t go…” He’s half clinging to Oscar now, fear in his eyes.

“Okay, okay I won’t, but you have to breathe Lando,” Oscar says desperately, cupping Lando’s face between his hands and tilting it up towards him. “Please breathe.”

“Can’t..”

“Yes you can,” Oscar says firmly, still holding Lando’s face. “You can breathe, do you hear me? I’m not winning this championship because my biggest opponent had a panic attack and died, alright?”

Lando makes a choked noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Do it with me, okay?” Oscar keeps his voice steady, trying to remember anything from what his sisters have told him. “Breathe in…”

He takes an exaggerated breath in, seeing Lando try to do the same, his pulse still fluttering underneath Oscar’s fingers.

“Look at me,” he says gently, his breath catching in his throat a little as Lando’s eyes flicker up to meet his own, glassy with unshed tears. They’re slightly glazed over as Lando stares at him aimlessly.

“You can do it,” Oscar strokes his cheek a little with his thumb, “it’s in your head okay? You’re safe, you’re alright, I’m here with you. Just breathe.”

He keeps up the exaggerated breathing, taking large breaths in and out, watching as Lando tries to match him. At first his breaths are still short and ragged, but slowly he seems to be taking in more air.

“Yes, like that,” Oscar encourages him, “in and out. Keep going.”

He's not completely sure how long they keep going like that for, Lando struggling while Oscar reassures him, but it feels like forever. 

But he’s rewarded as he sees the focus slowly returns to Lando’s eyes, how he blinks like he’s trying to clear his vision. Oscar can still hear every breath he takes, but they’re becoming steadier and more even. Yet he’s still shaking uncontrollably, and his head falls to the side to lean against Oscar’s arm.

Oscar tries to calm his own heartbeat, the fear of watching Lando struggle still very much present. He’s not sure if he did the right thing, if he actually helped at all, so he remains kneeling on the floor in front of him, neither of them saying anything.

The only sound in the room now is Lando’s breathing. Oscar watches him anxiously, his heart in his throat. Lando’s face is hidden in Oscar’s sleeve, his hand still on Lando’s cheek. At some point Lando’s own hand came up to cover it, their fingers intertwined.

Oscar’s heart skips a beat, he’d been so scared that he hadn’t even noticed. They’re holding hands, and he didn’t even realise. He shakes his head a little, now is not the time to freak out over that. Lando needs him.

“Hey,” Oscar says quietly, “are you.. are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

Lando just shakes his head, not moving. Oscar swallows, his right leg is going numb and he grimaces as he shifts painfully.

Lando’s hand tightens as Oscar moves, finally looking up at him.

“Don’t go.”

“What? I’m not going-”

“Don’t leave me,” Lando cuts him off, practically begging, “please don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oscar reassures him. Nothing could drag him away from Lando right now. Lando seems to relax at that, leaning back into Oscar. He looks exhausted and is violently shivering despite the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Oscar doesn't move for a few more minutes, not taking his eyes off of Lando. He's very still, and if it wasn't for the occasional shuffle Oscar would have suspected he'd fallen asleep. 

But as much as he wants to just stay there holding him forever, the urge to take care of him is stronger. 

“I’m just gonna grab my bag okay?” Oscar says, slowly moving backwards. Lando makes a noise of protest as Oscar’s hand falls from his cheek but doesn’t resist this time. 

As Oscar stands up his leg gives way and he flops back down onto the floor, grunting a little as he falls backwards, landing awkwardly.

He winces as he rubs his back a little, glancing up to see Lando staring at him in bewilderment.

“Ow,” Oscar declares.

Lando blinks, then he laughs. Oscar can’t help the smile that overtakes his face at the sound.

“You muppet,” Lando chuckles weakly.

Oscar shakes his head fondly as he hauls himself up, managing to successfully grab his backpack this time where he’d abandoned it by the door when he came in.

He awkwardly shuffles back over to Lando and sits down against the wall beside him, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling in his leg. Lando’s still snickering to himself, but Oscar can’t bring himself to be annoyed, he’d happily fall over a hundred more times if it keeps Lando smiling like that. 

The moment seems to have broken whatever trance Lando was in, but he still moves up so their shoulders are pressed against each other when Oscar sits down. It’s the closest Oscar’s been to him in ages, but he can’t even properly enjoy it until he’s sure Lando’s okay. He pulls his water bottle from the bag and hands it to him.

“Here, drink.”

Lando takes it gratefully, slowly sipping on the water, his eyes never leaving Oscar’s face. Oscar hands him his hoodie next, which Lando tries to refuse by shaking his head but Oscar just gently pushes it into his hands.

“Lando you’re shaking, just take it.”

Lando grumbles slightly but pulls the hoodie on. It’s a little too big for him, the sleeves dangling a little as he wraps his arms around himself. Oscar watches fondly for a moment then rummages in his bag for the final item.

They’re buried at the bottom, but he pulls one out with a small “aha!”

He holds it out to Lando, who suddenly looks less happy than before. He stares at the Kinder Bar in Oscar’s hand, his gaze flickering between it and Oscar’s eyes with uncertainty.

“It’s a bar, not bueno,” Oscar elaborates helpfully, in case that’s what Lando’s worried about.

“You have Kinder Bars in your bag?” Lando asks quietly.

“Er, yeah.” Oscar swallows nervously.

Lando stares at him with slightly wide eyes before a hint of a smile crosses his face. He carefully takes the chocolate bar from Oscar, unwrapping it as best he can with fingers that are still trembling.

“Thanks.”

“Er, yeah,” Oscar says softly, “of course.”

Lando devours the bar in about two bites, and Oscar suppresses a smile at the slightly disappointed pout on his face as he stares at the empty wrapper.

“Here,” he sighs fondly as he hands him another one. Lando’s eyes light up, making Oscar’s heart clench in his chest. Even in his dishevelled state he’s still absolutely adorable, all bundled up in Oscar’s hoodie, clutching his Kinder Bar like a small child. 

Despite being younger, Oscar has the familiar urge to protect him.

They sit there quietly while Lando munches on the chocolate, more slowly this time. Oscar leans his head back against the wall, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Sorry,” Lando says quietly, breaking the silence. Oscar frowns as he turns to look at him.

“For what?”

“Well, you know,” Lando gestures with one hand.

“You have nothing to apologise for.”

“I just…” Lando looks uncertain, “I hate that you saw me like that.”

“Lando.” Oscar turns to face him properly, “I mean it, you have nothing to be sorry for, or to be embarrassed about.”

Lando nods but doesn’t meet Oscar’s gaze.

“The only thing that matters to me is that you’re okay,” Oscar continues.

Lando hesitates, then mutters, “I think so. The chocolate helped.”

“Oh, good.” Oscar nods, “I heard that it’s good to have something like that, raise your blood sugar.”

“How do you know that? How did you know how to do any of it?”

“Um, my sister has anxiety,” Oscar explains, “Edie. We’ve talked about it a bit.”

“Oh.” Lando is wringing his hands in his lap, Oscar’s hoodie sleeves are getting all twisted.

“Lando-”

“Do we have to talk about it?” Lando interrupts.

Oscar watches him carefully. “I mean, no, we don’t have to. But it might help.”

“I don’t think I can,” Lando admits.

“Why not?”

“It’s probably not a good idea to talk to you about it.”

Oscar swallows the hurt from that statement, nodding slowly. “Oh, okay.”

Lando sighs a little, “no, not just because of that. Also because… well, you’re my biggest opponent Osc. It’s probably not wise to start spilling all our biggest weaknesses to each other.”

Oscar ponders this for a moment. “I guess you’re right..”

“Thank you though,” Lando says sincerely, “for helping. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“What would you have done?” Oscar furrows his brow in concern, what if it happens again and he’s not there?

Lando shrugs, “probably hyperventilated until I passed out, I don’t know.”

Oscar’s eyes widen in shock. “That’s not okay Lando,” he protests, “if you won’t let me help you, then at least let someone else.”

Lando chuckles quietly, “I’ve got it covered Osc. Trust.”

“Are you sure?” Oscar presses, “shouldn’t you maybe, see someone?”

“I said I’ve got it covered.”

Oscar pauses at the slight tone to Lando’s voice. He swallows, not wanting to push too far while still riding out his concern. “Okay then..”

They fall into silence again, until Lando tries to stand. He wobbles slightly and Oscar immediately jumps up and holds his arm, guiding him to his feet.

“I can do it,” Lando tries to insist.

“Will you just let me help you?” Oscar says, exasperated.

“You’ve already helped,” Lando mutters, taking a step back, “I can manage now.”

Oscar tries to fight the urge to argue. As much as the part of him that’s hopelessly in love with Lando wants to never let him out of his sight again, he has to be realistic.

“Okay..”

“Look mate, thanks for helping, but I don’t need saving, okay?”

Oscar opens his mouth to protest that he doesn’t think Lando needs to be saved, but Lando’s already slowly walking away, still a little wobbly on his feet. Oscar clenches his fists so he doesn’t reach out to steady him.

He moves for the door, and Oscar goes back and forth with himself for a couple of moments before blurting out, “just so you know, I would never use this against you. So if you change your mind, I’ll be around.”

Lando stiffens, and Oscar wishes he would turn around so he could see his face. He nods once before quickly walking out of the room.

Oscar stays rooted to the spot for a few minutes, just replaying the last half an hour over and over in his head. Now he’s no longer freaking out himself, the severity of the situation starts to sink in.

Lando just had a panic attack. Oscar exhales slowly, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. He has questions, so many questions.

Like how long has this been happening? Do people know, do Zak and Andrea know? Is he getting help?

He has to physically hold himself back from chasing after Lando to fire question after question at him, as he made it clear Oscar is to stay out of it.

He sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his backpack from the floor and heading out the door. He quickly checks his watch and grimaces, he’s so late for this meeting.

But when he was on the floor with Lando that thought didn’t even cross his mind, and that’s the whole problem. Any concern he felt for himself about the terrible weekend he's had took a backseat as soon as he entered that room.

Even now, knowing he's about to get a bollocking for showing up so late as well as having to explain himself for earlier, all he can focus on is his concern for Lando. There’s only him in his head, everything else has gone out the window.

He’s in love with him, and he can’t just turn that off, no matter how hard he tries. And it's become a real problem.