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Chapter Text

The stadium was roaring. Thousands of voices half screaming half singing. Sweaty skin glistened in the spotlight. An endless crowd, dressed in blacks and silvers, dancing in between the flashing beams of white light. And in midst of it, Lando Norris.

The microphone felt like it belonged into his hand as he listened to his own voice singing over the gigantic stadium speakers. He could feel the humidity forcing his curls to coil tighter, messier. Up here, he didn't care about fixing it. By now, he was a mess anyway. It always came undone by the end. His once pristine white shirt was partially open, red and pink lipstick marks smeared on the shoulders and back of the fabric. Not that he minded. If he did, he would surely not spend so much time off stage in the small space before the barrier. It was only a safety concern that forbid him from crossing that line too, otherwise he surely would crowd surf. He had once brought that up with someone from the security team who had spent ten minutes lecturing him. So, this was all he got. Hands grabbing at him, lipstick kisses, people screaming.

He couldn't blame them; it wasn't like he was holding them off. Sometimes he was encouraging it. Enjoyed the touch, the desperate need, the enthusiasm. It was also how his tie ended up somewhere in the hands of a teenage girl who had sobbed when he had pressed it into her clammy palm. He can still see her face. Her dark curls, eyeliner and mascara running down her cheeks. He has seen the expression a million times. Now, she knows where she is. Somewhere in the third row, still wiping her face. By the time he gets off stage she would be nothing but another blurry face in the crowd. They all would be shadows of people he had just danced with. But not right now. Right now, he is there. With them. Here, where he can feel the sweat on his skin, can taste it on his lips. Can feel the vibrations of the bass as the last words of the encore leave his dry mouth. He stands as the last notes echo through the hall.

“London” his voice is rougher than two hours ago, when he first stepped on stage “I love you, thank you for being here. You are one of a kind”. The crowd roars again. Lights flash one last time for tonight. He can feel the goosebups on his skin. And then it's over.

The door at the back of the stage opens and swallows Lando just like it had spit him out 18 songs ago. Immediately, the noise level sinks to almost zero. Only the faint sounds of people leaving comes through to the backstage. Someone hands Lando a bottle of water that he downs immediately. Hands he hasn't learned a name to remove the earpieces, the microphone pack and every kind of cable that connected him to the microphone just seconds ago. He can feel the physical weight disappearing, almost feels himself straighten up a little bit. “Lando” Max´s arms wrap around him “fantastic show Mate, one of your best” he beams with pride as he lets go. Lando grins at his best friend. He wouldn't disagree. He had been in top form tonight. Every note perfect. Had joked with the crowd. Handed his setlist away. Had given up his tie and for a moment he wonders if he had given his dignity away too. Not like he could influence that. He was sure he would hear all about it on social media by tomorrow morning. Maybe his obsession with the public perception of him was a problem. Maybe he just liked to stay informed. He sighs.

“Home?” Max asks, knowing how exhausting show days were. Lando nods, just grateful that home actually meant his apartment this time and not a hotel with too hard mattresses or fans in the hallway. Just him, Chinese Takeaway and the rerun of the Belgian Grand Prix he had missed this afternoon. The way to the car, as well as the drive is quiet this time. In the beginning of tour they had joked, talked. He had met fans in front of the venue. Sometimes had gone out partying in whatever city he was in. Those nights he had gotten back to his hotel room in the early mornings and usually in company of at least one person he had met at a club. An arrangement of phantoms in glitter and silk that he had kicked out before breakfast. He hadn't cared about the articles back then. Still didn't really. He had earned the image of a playboy. Of a rockstar. He was allowed to act like it. Those first months had been more than fun. He had been ecstatic every night, a feeling no drug in the world could recreate. But tour stretched. North America. Japan. South America. Europe. 20 consecutive shows at Madison Square Garden. Another round of shows in Europe. He knows he shouldn't complain. This was his dream after all. Every musician dreamt of a Number 1 Album. Of a sold-out tour. But still, now Lando's limbs felt like lead after every show. He watches the dark streets pass by from the passenger side. He was more than grateful for the break now. Tour wasn't over, not yet, but for the next two months there would be no show. No public appearance scheduled. Finally. His head hurts and the clothes he hadn't bothered to change out of stick to his skin uncomfortably. When Max speaks, he just nods along without registering a single word he says. He just hopes it wasn't important. This late the traffic is practically non-existent and so the car stops 45 minutes later, in front of the dark apartment building Lando lives in. The goodbyes are short and quiet. He doesn´t register making his way up into the apartment, the elevator ride blurs into nothingness. Then finally: Home. He doesn´t turn on the lights. He had been living there long enough to make his way to the bathroom in darkness. In times like these he is more than grateful for the rainfall shower his mother had insisted on installing when he moved in. The hot water washes off the sweat, leftover lipstick and whatever else had accumulated on his skin. It´s routine. Body wash, shampoo, conditioner. Something his stylist had called curl cream to make his hair look less frizzy. A 7-step skincare routine he could do backwards with his eyes closed. Half an hour after entering his apartment, Lando drops into his bed. The sheets feel even softer than usual, like he could sink through them right into the floor. His eyes close before he can think about the fact that he hadn't had dinner. Change of plans then. He would eat tomorrow morning. But what couldn't wait, was something else. Through half closed eyes he tries to concentrate on his phone. Open Instagram, refresh. Again.

There it was:

Spa Grand Prix Winner - Oscar Piastri

Lando blinks. Then smiles a small, genuine, tired smile. Then immediately realises what he is doing and forces a neutral facial expression. Now that was an overreaction. He didn't even care that much. Sure, he loved watching the races. And he was allowed to have favourites, right? He had been a fan for years now. It didn't matter that he lingered on the McLaren posts just a little too long. Or that he liked each of Oscars tweets a little too fast. Whatever. Even if it did matter. He was allowed to have a celebrity crush. It wasn't like he was writing erotic fanfiction about him. Everything was fine. He just liked his vibe. The casual coolness. The easiness with which he dominated the grid this season. His smart answers and the way he handled disrespectful reporters. And the way his hair swooped and the mole on his – nope. Too far. Lando turns off his phone. Turns it back on immediately. His fingers move over the keyboard before his overtired brain can catch up. He hits send on his comment under Oscar's post before he can stop himself

Lando_Norris: “Mega drive mate, well deserved”

What was he even doing? He hadn't even watched the race yet. Maybe he was embarrassing himself publicly this very second. Maybe Oscar hadn´t even driven well. Maybe- Okay. Enough. He needed sleep and a good breakfast and then to find someone to pine after who wasn't a world-famous athlete. A model maybe. With nice legs and hair that reached her waist. He wonders if Oscar's hair smells like eucalyptus. Then immediately stops that thought. Was that an Australian stereotype because of the Koalas or did Oscar just look like the kind of guy who used eucalyptus scented shampoo? Why was he thinking about Oscar Piastris hair again? He had wanted to sleep, right. He adjusts his pillow again. Pushes the thought of warm brown eyes and roaring engines to the edge of his brain, somewhere far away. And for once, his brain complies at least partially. Enough for his breath to even, sleep finally releasing him out of the mental carousel that showed him pictures of an Australian race car driver on repeat.

Chapter Text

2000 kilometres from London, Oscar Piastri can´t sleep. He doesn´t know why. Maybe the mattress is too soft, or the leftover taste of champagne is stuck in his mouth or maybe the sound of the rain outside is distracting him instead of calming him down like usual. Whatever it is, it annoyed him to no end. His body needed sleep. He was in the middle of a double header, he couldn't afford to lose a minute of rest. And yet, despite his muscles aching from the strain of the race earlier this afternoon, his body just wouldn´t shut down. His brain kept endlessly repeating every lap he had driven this afternoon. Every lap that had brought him closer to another win. Onto the podium, into the spray of champagne. It had been a good drive, especially in these conditions. He knew that. His teammate, Daniel Riccardo who was not only more experienced than him but also had more wins under his belt had told him a million times. He looked up to the man ever since he had joined the Mclaren team two seasons ago. And yet, now he was back to criticising every acceleration that had been too late, every curve he hadn't driven clean enough. It was maddening.  By now, it must've been hours. He had tried everything. Counting to 400. Stretching. He had googled for solutions, had ordered chamomile tea from a woman who did not seem very happy about his request at 1am but had brought him a cup anyway. The empty cup sits on his nightstand. Every now and then, Oscar stares at him like it had betrayed him. It was this combination of late-night boredom and utter desperation that led him into his own Instagram comment section. 

Usually, he avoided it like the plaque. His PR manager told him when to post what and for the most part that was all his involvement in the whole media frenzy. It was the one big downside on driving for Formula 1 in the digital age. Every move was recorded, and everyone could share their opinion. Whether it was qualified or even nice was irrelevant now.  Oscar didn't need everyone and their mother judging his driving. He had enough people telling him how to do it on a daily basis, he didn´t need internet strangers in addition. And yet, now he was scrolling through them. Most of them he forgot about the moment he scrolled away. Compliments, insults, love confessions, death threats. They all sounded the same. Except one. He didn´t know why the account caught his eye. Maybe just because it was the only verified account he couldn't directly place. Maybe the profile picture was so dark he couldn't make out details. But in the midst of comments on his last post the words “Mega drive mate, well deserved” somehow stuck. Oscar knows he shouldn't. He should try to sleep again instead of stalking strangers on the internet in the middle of the night. But then again, it was very much a verified account. 

He clicks on the profile. Lando_Norris. Simple. Clean. And having 5 million followers. “Part time rockstar” the Bio reads. Well, at least he wasn't stalking some poor private person. That made it better. Underneath is a link, to what Oscar assumes to be music. Later, he tells himself. Maybe never. He was just glancing at the profile. Half a scroll. Nothing more. At least that's what he tells himself at first. Because honestly? He is intrigued.

 He scrolls through the last post. A blurry photo dump without any explanatory caption, just mp_5. Oscar has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Too cool for a real caption, huh? He swipes anyway. Pictures of London's streets at night – Oscar recognizes the buildings from his time he lived there. Electric guitars, a whole bunch of them. Oscar can't figure out if this Lando owned them or if he was just the one photographing. Lastly, a gym selfie that was so expertly cropped that it only showed off shoulders and neck. Oscar finds himself looking at that picture in particular just a second too long. Not even a face. Just a shoulder of tanned, smooth skin. He tears his eyes away and continues. It takes him four more photo dumps full of concert pictures and half smoked cigarettes to finally get a face to the name. 

It´s not a professionally done picture, instead a polaroid with the colour slightly washed out. But somehow that does not seem to affect the subject of the photo. Oscar doesn't know what expected honestly, but it somehow wasn't this. Dark curls, long enough to hang in his face and cut into a soft Mullett.  The kind of smile you know means mischief. Dark eyes sparkling with energy. For half a second Oscar is sure he can hear the laugh through the picture.  Which is obviously stupid. He doesn't know what Lando's laugh might sound like. God, he doesn't even know his voice. At least, not yet. He continues scrolling. One photo stops him in his tracks. The familiar orange of a hoodie. At first, he is sure that he´s making things up. Lots of brands have orange clothes after all. But no, there´s the logo. The man is actually wearing Mclaren merch. This has to be a joke. What kind of coincidence was it that out of every team, Lando was also supporting the one he drove for? It shouldn´t but it draws him in even more. Oscar glances at the time. 2:30am. Well, it wasn´t like he would have fallen asleep soon anyway. He scrolls back to the top of the page, opening the link. A Spotify profile opens. 6,7 million monthly listeners. Two albums as it seems. Even the album covers are held in the same black/dark grey as the rest of his socials. Oscar is kind of impressed by the consistency of aesthetics. If even he sees the intention behind it, it must be well done, he is usually blind to this kind of thing. He opens the latest release. Under the title “part time rockstar” a track list appears. 

“Part time Rockstar”

Lookalike

Woman

Fucked My Way Up To The Top

Wish You Were Sober

Afraid

Medicine

Arabella

People Watching

Knee Socks

Carolina

R.I.P 2 My Youth

Kiwi

About you

A runtime of about 53 minutes. Oscar hesitates again. One song, he promises himself. After that I'm going to sleep. And with that he presses play.  The album opens with gentle electronic guitar music. And Oscar is hooked immediately. It's not his usual music taste but something about it draws him in immediately. Maybe it´s the songwriting that seems to resemble poetry more than just lyrics. Sung over top of the beat, the guitar. He likes the voice too. Soft at parts, rougher at others. One song becomes 2. Then three. 

53 minutes later, Oscar adds the album to his favourites. 55 minutes after hitting play, he hits “follow back” on Lando's Instagram. In the dark, he puts the album back on repeat. When he lays back down this time, he does fall asleep, the rhythmic strumming of melodies lulling him in. For the first time in weeks, he doesn't dream of burning rear wings and melting tires.  

Chapter Text

Everything is grey. The bedsheets, the dark clouds in front of the window, Lando's mood. He had woken up to a headache worse than a hangover and his body feeling like he had ran a marathon last night. For a long while he had just laid there, half buried under the sheets, watching the rain fall then stop and then start again. Not moving. And with his eyes half closed. This must be what zombies would feel like. Dehydrated and half dead. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of playing dead, he couldn't ignore the rumbling of his stomach any longer. Right, he had skipped dinner yesterday. Bad idea. Now he wants to hit himself for that. It's almost noon when he finally drags himself into the kitchen, laminated floors creaking slightly under his bare feet. As predicted, his fridge contains exactly four things: A half full bottle of coke zero. One soggy tomato. A packet of butter and an egg whose expiration date is probably long over. Lando really needed to go grocery shopping one of these days. But for now, he settles for a protein bar he finds in his gym bag and a slice of stale toast from the back of his cupboard. “Breakfast of champions” he mumbles sarcastically to himself as he chews on the dry bread. He unlocks his phone in between bites, more out of habit than anything else. His manager had texted about a scheduling issue for March. That was months away, he could ignore that until later. Max had sent him a couple pictures from last night's show. None of them stood out to him, the same old photos of himself from backstage that he seemed to have a thousand of already. His social media was flooded with notifications. Tags in photos from last night. His name in comment sections of videos of himself on stage or half in the crowd. His phone could barely handle the influx of mentions. And still, in between the noise, one of the notifications stood out. Sometime last night, at about 3:00 am.

 “Oscar Piastri has started following you” 

Lando stares at his phone. Blinks. Looks up. Then back at the screen. The notification is still there. So, he wasn't hallucinating. That was something. Oscar Piastri knew who he was. Or did he? At 3:00 am the follow might just have been a sleep-deprived slip of the finger. Maybe he had just been drunk on podium champagne. A mistake his PR manager would fix soon. It didn´t mean that Oscar knew who he was. Even less that he knew about his music. Just a slip up probably. Something Lando should ignore and not think about. But then again it was past noon now. If it had been a mistake, wouldn't they have fixed it by now? For half a second, he plays with the idea of sending Oscar a DM. But what would he even say? “Yo man saw that you were following me. Did you mean to do that? Love you btw” Yeah no. That was more than stupid. Instead, he takes over to twitter. If they were freaking out over there, he had a right to freak out. At least a little. But they wouldn´t, would they? It wasn't a secret that Lando liked Formula 1. He had been seen in McLaren merch more than once, the orange hoodies even visible in some of his early Instagram posts. He wonders if Oscar had seen that. If he had scrolled through the posts, clocked him as a fan and immediately lost all respect. The thought is pushed aside by the sheer flood of posts that fill his feed the second he opens the app. It takes him less than three seconds to figure that the people were in fact, freaking out. His fingers wander over the most liked posts. 

LandosHair02: Oscar Piastri (F1 driver btw) JUST followed Lando?!? Whats going onnnnnn??

P81_goat: Lando x McLaren collab incoming?

nr1lookalikefan: Who is Oscar Piastri and why is he following Lando?

24hrclock: Has someone checked on Lando? He´s about to invent a new holiday about this

f1fan_376: Do we think these two know each other??

unofficial-bbg: I'm writing the fic now, no one disturb me

His fanbase knew him way too well. Because he would for sure put the date into his calendar as a historical day. He spends the next half hour reading through every kind of speculation. Everything came up at least once. From Lando becoming a race car driver to a secret affair to a musical collaboration to some kind of conspiracy that made so little sense that Lando was tempted to ask for details. He doesn't. In the end all he does to acknowledge the situation, is liking one of the tweets that said “Tour cancelled, Lando is gonna need months to recover” Funny. Not too serious. Just enough to let the people know he was aware of the situation without actually saying anything. He then sends a screenshot to Max

MAX

 Photo

DID YOU SEE????
DO YOU THINK HE KNOWS WHO I AM?
MAXXXXXXX

Jesus, Lando I just got home from the gym. 

congrats dude

you gonna do anything about it?

 what would I do? I cant just text him

Why not?

Are you inaneeee? Because he is Oscar Piastri

he´s still just a guy, You normally have no problem texting people

this is different, you don't get it

 ???

Ugh, whatever. I'm gonna go stalk his IG once more

Lando does exactly that for about ten minutes before deciding he's pathetic and needs to get a hobby. 

Instead, he finally goes grocery shopping. In his sweats he looks like every second person on the street. He still gets recognized twice while picking out cereal. He smiles for pictures and signs somebodies' arm in sharpie, hoping it would last in the pouring rain outside. He laughs and jokes with someone who almost cries telling him about her favourite songs Lando has written. An odd scene for a supermarket. But nothing he isn't used to. He signed up for this after all.

 His way home is quiet. Rain soaks through his hood, wets his shoes, drenches his tote bag. When he gets back to the flat, he feels freshly showered. But at least his fridge is stocked now and if he´s lucky he didn't have to leave the apartment for another couple days. Just him, the TV and the guitar in the corner that he was itching to play again. He doesn't find time for it during the tour. Then it's the same songs, over and over again. And he loved that too. But writing and creating music was the passion after all. It was all built on that. Back then it had been nothing but messy melodies in his childhood bedroom. His fingers had been unsure on the strings, more trying out than anything else. Then, covers. Nirvana. Alice in Chains. Guns n´Roses. And then, his own work. He had been 16 when he uploaded the first works to a wonky YouTube channel. Back then, he hadn't expected these shots on a shaky camera and semi good acoustics to reach tens of thousands of views. People liked his voice. And maybe also his face, but he had pretended that they were there for his musical talent. His first EP – made entirely on his childhood bedroom floor – had come out when he was 18.

 After that it had all happened very quickly. Before he knew it, he was signed to a label. Professional equipment, photoshoots, music videos. Social Media presences larger than he had anticipated. A real, full album by the time he was 20. Then tour. Smaller stages first, Arenas then. His first sold out Stadium show had been the last show of his first tour. It had been insane. He had thrived on it. Living in the spotlight like that, Lando had dreamt of that his entire childhood. Hearing people scream along to his music, watching them laugh and cry alongside him. It had been everything. It had been new and overwhelming. By the time the second album came around he had gotten more used to it. He knew what he was doing both on stage, in studio and in front of the cameras. By the time “Part time rockstar” came out he was a real name in the music industry. A Grammy Nominee with a headlining tour and a fanbase that was almost feared for their insane dedication. And still, even now when he had every instrument in the world available, he found that he wrote the best songs alone in his bedroom.

Just like when he was a nobody. 

Chapter Text

Oscar's limbs feel like lead. It had been four days since his first nightly stalking of Lando. He didn't know how it had happened. But that had somehow turned into four consecutive nights of endless scrolling through the same Instagram account until he knew every single picture by heart. From the early shaky selfies when Lando's hair had been so short it barely curled to the expertly filmed music videos from the year before. He looked – captivating. Smoke curling around him, his hands on the waist of some model Oscar couldn't name. Shots of Lando in orange lights and in smoky bars. Tanned skin under oversized shirts that showed off his collarbone. By now, Oscar was sure he had seen every interview, every recorded live performance and had heard every unreleased audio. All his social media feeds were filled with one Lando Norris. And it didn't stop there. When he wasn't staring at the man through the screen he was thinking about him. It had become a problem. His nightly stalking session had costed him hours of sleep, he had desperately needed, because now he sits in the McLaren motorhome, letting Zack Browns words wash over him without registering anything of what he´s actually saying. Without his permission, Oscar's thoughts wander back to last night. More specifically to that goddamn polaroid picture. It feels like that stupid grin had burnt itself into his brain, taking over every thought until it was all just Lando. It was stupid really. He didn't even know the guy. But even the music is still stuck in his head, the Outro to “Lookalike” plays on loop, like a broken recorder.
“Earth to Oscar?” It´s Daniel who nudges him out of his daydream.
“Huh? What?” his eyes snap up from the PowerPoint presentation he had pretended to read “Yeah no I'm totally there” he mumbles unconvincingly, earning a raised eyebrow from Zach. “Late night?” Daniel grins at him, insinuating something that was surely not what was happening in his lonely hotel room. Oscar sighs “Not in the way you think. Just didn't sleep well”
Daniels grin doesn't falter. “Late night social media stalking instead of celebrating your win. Jesus Mate, I don't know any other Grand Prix Winner like you” Oscar's breath stops for a second. He feels oddly caught, like a small child stealing from the cookie jar.
“What do you mean?” he asks slowly, earning a giggle. “Oh come on. You, following Lando Norris on Instagram?” Oscar blinks “I mean, I did do that. How do you know-”
Daniel cuts him off. “Please. Twitter was an insane place that morning. I'm sure I´ve read every conspiracy theory under the sun regarding your follow. That fanbase is-” “
Daniel” Zachs voice interrupts “That seems like a topic for either PR or coffee break. We are discussing pit stop strategies here.” his voice has no bite in it. Instead, he almost sounds amused even as he turns to Oscar. “And you should probably try to limit your late night doomscrolling to an acceptable time. Okay? We need your focus here; we have a championship to win after all.”
Oscar nods, defeated. So much for his late-night stalking having no effect. He should have guessed that. He couldn't even discover new music in peace apparently. For half a second, he wishes himself back into high school, before the entire world knew his name. Then the PowerPoint skips to the next slide and for the remainder of the meeting he actually manages to at least listen to half of what the people are telling him about tire management and pit stop techniques. And for that time, he manages to ban a certain musician out of his brain. At least whenever he tries really hard.

He has his peace for exactly 47 minutes. Because then Zach dismisses the room and Daniel immediately grabs Oscar in the hallway. “So.” “So?” Oscar raises an eyebrow as they make their way down the hallway
“Norris?”
“I didn't know I needed permission to follow people on Instagram” he shrugs.
Daniel laughs his typical laugh. Loud and clear. “No, you don't. But you can't expect people to not notice, can you?” Oscar rolls his eyes “Why not? His music is good. Thats it”
Yeah sure. His infatuation surely had absolutely nothing to with that one stupid mirror selfie. Or that polaroid. Not that he would tell Daniel that. “I don't understand the big deal” he sighs, only for Daniel to laugh harder.
“Mate, it is known that Norris has been a fan since like - forever. Obviously, people are gonna talk when you follow him. They're probably thinking you two know each other or something”
“Well, we don't. End of story. I think some people need a hobby”
“Well, you are probably right about that, but that won't change the fact that they're gonna have an opinion. They always do.” Oscar just shrugs again. “I'm just mad I´ll have to talk to someone from PR about this. It seems so ridiculously dumb over something so small” he mumbles as they step into the elevator. They had sent him a Mail that morning, inviting him to something they called a meeting that would probably be more of an investigation. He didn't have a particular issue with the PR people. They were nice to him, never made him to stuff he hated for too long. He just hated what they represented. The gossip, the endless pictures and comments and opinions that didn't matter. Daniel claps his shoulder “You´ll survive. And if you don't, I will throw you a fun funeral at least.” he grins as the elevator comes to a halt on the second floor. “Good luck, Piastri”

The words echo in his mind as he slumps onto the uncomfortable couch in the next office. Across the table, a young woman with her blonde hair in a ponytail looks at him. Nora – her name tag reads. “Listen, Mr Piastri-”
“Oscar, please” he interrupts, sighing.
“Well, Oscar then. You are in no trouble at all, of course. This is more of a marketing thing, really” At that, Oscar perks up. So, he wouldn't get chewed out for his Instagram activities then. Must be his lucky day.
Nora continues: “We have had an eye on Norris for a while now, and since the public knows that you two are aware of each other's existence we thought that now would be a good time to invite him to a race. Ask him to maybe wear a hoodie or two. You know? Have us associate with each other. Plan is to not only merge fanbases, which would be beneficial to us both but also put you on the map outside of the sport.” She smiles as she talks. As if this plan was the most casual thing in the world and didn't sound absolutely insane. Oscar already dreaded the idea of being known by people who were used to their favourites being musicians and actors not athletes. From what he had seen, they had a weird tendency to be even more ruthless. But what else was he supposed to do?
“I mean – sure?” he knows he doesn't sound convinced, but Nora is kind enough to ignore that with a smile “Perfect. We will do the rest; we just wanted to inform you before we do anything. Because, you know – the second we do something people will talk.” Of course. People always talked didn't they? If there was nothing else to do, they talked. But they did that regardless of the circumstance. “Yeah, no makes sense.” he nods “So, you are okay with it?” Nora tilts her head a little, one of her earrings glimmering in the light. Oscar nods. As if he really had any say in the matter. But Nora seems not only convinced but also ecstatic about it. She scribbles something down onto a notepad before nodding at him. “Well, that's all then. You are free to go”

Now that had been – less terrible than he had expected. Not incredible, but it could have been way worse. So he would get Norris as a brand partner? Associate? Someone he knew? Whatever. Not like that made his heartrate spike at all. Great now he´s thinking about him again. Now he wouldn't even get a break from him at work. He needed his weird infatuation to either stop, or he had to get it under control before he made an absolute fool of himself. Whatever was going on needed to stop.

When he leaves the building, the sun is already setting. His mind was racing. This could not continue like that. He needed to focus on the championship. On winning. And he desperately needed to tire his body and empty his brain. The warm evening light is perfect for a run. It felt nice getting the restless energy out. For an hour everything else in his brain melts into a blur and all that exists is his own laboured breath and the asphalt beneath his feet. For an hour, he manages to keep his brain blissfully empty.

Chapter Text

The mail reaches Lando on a Friday evening, just after ten. He had been checking his phone regularly, anyway, waiting for his manager to come up with another schedule proposal he would sign off on without really reading it. Instead, the only Mail that lands in his Inbox that evening makes him almost drop his phone. McLaren PR. It takes him about four deep breaths to open the mail, and another four reads for his brain to understand what they are telling him. 

Dear Mr. Norris, 

We have watched your loyalty over the years to our Formula1 team with great appreciation. For your loyal and continued support we would like to personally invite you to this year's Grand Prix weekend in Miami. This offer includes flights; hotel stays as well as the opportunity to get a look inside of the garage and mechanics behind a race weekend. We are hoping to make it a memorable weekend for the team and you. This mail is simply an offer, but if you are interested, we would love to put you in contact with our lovely people in public relations for further details as well as the formal draw up of a contract. We would love to hear from you.

Kind regards

Lauren Reynolds

McLaren, Public Relations

Its as if his brain had stopped working. When reality finally sank in after the third or fourth reread his heart is beating so fast, it must be unhealthy. McLaren – the cooperation – knew who he was. For a brief moment he wonders if Oscar had anything to do with it. He immediately bans himself for thinking that. He just got invited into the McLaren garage, Oscar was not the priority here. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he immediately types a response. He is sure he makes at least seven spelling errors that he does not care about correcting.  

Dear Mclaren PR Team, 

I would be delighted to join the garage for the Miami race weekend. Please see below for the contact details of my manager for scheduling as well as a contract. 

Best regards

Lando Norris

He does not check with his manager before accepting the invitation. He would ask everything else to be scheduled around that. This was a childhood dream come true. Not even seeing Oscar but watching a race. He remembers being 5 years old, barely, on his father's lap, cheering for the orange cars on the TV every single Sunday. How he had imagined himself in a car like this, or in a garage yelling into a microphone. Or even on the sidelines, cheering. None of that had come true of course. Until now. Now he had an opportunity he could never pass up on. His next text is to Max.

Max

What the FUCK is happening in my life

???

mate, you good?

no

McLaren invited me to a race

Like - THE COMPANY

I am internally screaming

Externally too tbh

WAIT fr??

Thats insaneeeee

you have to go

I so am going

waitttt, do you think Oscar had anything to do with that invitation?

doubt it, but dont make me think about it or I will lose it

gotcha, good luck at that front

Prayers are appreciated

think its too late for that, you need an exorcism

now you're just a dick

at least Im not the one down bad for someone he has never met                   

Lando can't even argue with that.With a sigh he sinks back onto the couch. His heart is still beating a little too fast to be casual. He sends a quick head up to his manager, as well to Carla, who handled his PR. For once he would prefer to do it himself. Just so he could be more involved in the process. He wanted to know beforehand what to expect. Before a briefing or an email.

 And maybe, just maybe he would also like to personally request Oscar. Now he was stuck, hoping that they would maybe see each other once or twice that weekend. He had no right to his time or attention, of course but still. First he acknowledged his existence and then his team invited him to a race? If he was delusional enough he could pretend it was fate instead of a calculated PR move. He didn't want much. A conversation maybe? Something casual. Something that could in some way satiate the little crush Lando had harboured for years now. But then again, he was a guest. And Oscar was technically still working. So unless he spontaneously becomes a sports journalist, a real conversation was probably a daydream too much. A nod then. From across the hallway or the garage. Something to acknowledge his existence. That would be enough for him. At least realistically. Because in the background Lando's mind speeds through way too many scenarios that all end in something that is neither casual or conversational. Most of them involve too much talking and too little clothing. All of them end in a PR nightmare.  

And just like that, Lando is back on Oscar Piastris Instagram page, as if he hadn't seen every picture at least seven times. Too far, he thinks to himself. You are taking this entire thing way too far. But he can't stop. He stares and stares and all he can think about is the possibility of seeing those brown eyes look at him from across the room instead of the screen. And it causes a shiver to run down his spine. God, he truly was a little pathetic, wasn't he? He didn't usually develop obsessions like this. He thrived on short romances, One night stands with real people. Lando didn't watch someone from afar for years. Lando didn't pine. And he sure as hell didn't develop full on crushes on people he didn't even personally knew. He didn't have any kind of guarantee that Oscar was a nice person when the cameras were off. He might be an asshole. Or, even worse, he might hate his favourite brand of vodka . He might be an axe murderer and-

Lando shakes his head. Unrealistic, no one with that accent could kill people. Now he was going too far in the opposite direction. As if his brain had no middle ground when it came to Oscar. Or maybe he was just trying to convince himself that it was just a silly little celebrity crush and not something that actually affected him. Whatever. That's what he tries to tell his brain, which is really not very cooperative when it comes to the Australian. Instead, it decides to plague Lando with more thoughts of Oscar on TV and during interviews and on stage. Only when his brain decides to get a little too imaginative, he finally sits up abruptly. “Nope, we are not doing that” he announces to his empty flat and tosses his phone aside. He might face Oscar soon. Or he might not. Whichever it would be, right now he had no control over any part of it. It was no use thinking about it. 

That same train of thought follows him through the flat, until he finds himself back on the couch, guitar in hand, notebook on his lap as he writes down the very first notes of another new song that would probably never see the light of day again. 

Chapter Text

The Miami airport is overcrowded and too loud when Oscar arrives on a sunny morning. Usually, it would drive him insane. He wanted calm before the frenzy of the upcoming media day. But today, his mind was somewhere else.

It had been an odd couple of weeks since Oscar had won in Spa. He had raced a lot, trained even more. Had scored another second place in Hungary and had drank so much champagne he could swear it had altered his blood type by now. He had spent seemingly endless hours in Sim Racing or in team meetings, trying to optimize every aspect of the car, the tracks and himself. He didn't dare to complain. Because it worked. Going into the Miami weekend, he was leading the championship by 23 points before Max Verstappen, who had been wrestling with his RedBull all season long. It was a good result. Better than he had expected, and also better than McLaren had anticipated. Because Daniel might be an incredible driver, but Oscar managed the car better. At least that's what he was telling himself. It wasn't that Daniel had been in the sport for so long that you could see his enthusiasm fade a little more with every weekend. Or that sometimes, he could hear Daniel and Zak arguing about the unfairness of their respective strategies. Sometimes, in moments like this when the two are walking next to each other, Oscar sneaks a glance at the older man, trying to find anything in his face that would betray him. Something to let him know whether or not he would have to become accustomed to a new teammate soon. He just wants to know. Maybe he would get a real answer if he only asked. But he knows that they weren't close enough for that. They were just teammates after all. The kind that filmed promo together and then disappeared into their separate hotel rooms. But he had grown to genuinely like Daniel. So much so, that the thought of him leaving is a harsh reminder of the ruthlessness of this sport. How much it could hurt, even if there was no crash. And he refuses to have another Logan Sargeant situation. 

Logan who they had practically fired overnight. That had hurt. In quiet moments, he still missed the American accent coming from the Williams garage. He missed their nightly debriefs in hotel rooms and their stupid jokes. He misses having a real friend on the grid. Not just a colleague like Daniel, who he only spoke to on a surface level. And not just acquaintances like Charles and Max, who he just could not get closer to, because of the constant championship battle that made it impossible for a genuine friendship to bloom. Even if that seemed to affect their relationship with him more, that it affected their own friendship. But they had known each other for longer after all, so that wasn't really a surprise, was it? 

So without his favourite American, Oscar spends most of his limited free time during the race weekends alone. He is more than used to it by now, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it any more. 

“Mate, you good?” Daniel pulls him out of his thoughts as the two get in the car that would bring them to the paddock. Oscar sighs as he leans back, head hitting the headrest. The new car smell of a rental would always be one of his favourites. 

“Yeah. Just, nervous? I don't know” he mumbles, lying through his teeth. He had never been nervous about the Miami track. Luckily - or very unluckily for him - Daniel doesn't even make that connection. Instead he brings up what Oscar had violently pushed away throughout the entire flight. “Cause of Lando?” His voice is casual, but Oscar can see the look on his face. He rolls his eyes,trying more than anything to be as casual as possible. Exposed by his teammate once had been enough. “Daniel, no. It's not like I'm even gonna talk to him or anything.” Even he cringes at the defeat in his voice. Not like he wasn't defeated about it, he had just hoped to make it less obvious. Lando was just some guy. A guy he didn't know and even if he did that wouldn't change anything. So why was his heart beating too fast at the mere thought of him?  But Daniel laughs “I'm sure you'll get your autograph anyway. They might even let you keep a printout of the photos they're gonna take” he jokes and Oscar manages a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. Gotta keep the fangirling under control” his sarcasm makes Daniel laugh even harder, his gasps for air filling the car until they stop. 

The schedule was tight. There was no time for an outfit change before he was expected at the paddock. That's how he ended up in the burning midday sun of Miami in the same hoodie he slept in on the plane, and jeans that were even more unsuited for the weather. By the time he reached the McLaren garage, he was sweating more than expected. Maybe he could ask one of the mechanics if he could borrow an extra shirt for a while. Or Daniel. If he found him, because when Oscar looks up, he is alone. The other driver seemed to have disappeared into thin air on the way from the car to the garage. He turns back in the hallway, half worried, half confused. Maybe he should´ve looked where he was going instead. Because half a second later, his shoulder collides with something that is not the wall.

“Fuck, watch where you´re going, dude -” he knows that voice. Oscar looks up and stares directly into the very blue eyes of Lando Norris. 

Lando, who stands in front of him, with an empty coffee cup and a shocked expression on his face. He isn't sure if he stops breathing because of the look Lando gives him, or the pain from the coffee Lando had just spilled.

For a second the two men stare at one another. Lando's hair is styled, curling around his ears. He isn't sure why that is the very first thing Oscar notices. That stupid mullet of his was even prettier in person. He wants to know what it would feel like to tangle his fingers into it. Lando looks almost too casual. Black jeans. A black shirt that fits too well, showing off just enough of his biceps to make his mouth go a little dry.

“For fucks sake” Lando´s voice, now worried, makes him snap out of whatever trance he had sunken into. 

Right. Reality only seems to sink in now. He had been looking for Daniel, hadn't seen Lando and had immediately paid the price. Piping hot coffee was seeping through the fabric of his shirt, staining the orange fabric dark. Now it started hurting. Like his brain had been too preoccupied by Lando suddenly appearing in front of him to feel physical pain.

“I am so sorry, I swear I didn't see you”. Lando stands in front of him, looking more out of place than Oscar had ever seen him. He's still holding the empty cup, leftover coffee dripping over his fingers onto the floor. “This isn't some kind of sabotage attempt, I swear” he continues on. He´s talking too fast to be casual. “Everything okay?" Oscar nods, still a little too stuck on Lando's face to cooperate. He counts himself lucky, when the survival part brain finally decides to jump in and take over. He needs to get out of the hoodie. 

It's a split second decision. Stay in the hoodie and risk actual burns or just get undressed in the hallway. So, the hoodie it is. He tears off the stained piece of fabric with a hiss, inspecting his forearms. The skin has turned an angry red colour, but otherwise seems fine. He is still in the middle of the movement when he realises what is actually happening. He just took off his shirt. In the middle of the garage hallway, in front of the same man, he had once again stalked on his phone just hours ago. But it's too late now and he should definitely be focussing on his hurting arms, and not the look on Lando's face that he doesn't know how to interpret. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking half a step back. Oscar wants to tell him not to worry and that everything is fine and that he is not mad. Instead, he opens his mouth then closes it again. At his second attempt he manages a weak “Im fine” 

The silence between the two of them stretches painfully.

Say something else. Anything to make this better. Oscar tells his brain. His brain unfortunately refuses to cooperate because he doesn't bring a single word over his lips. He just stands there, shirtless and still slightly in pain.

"Im gonna go?" It sounds more like Lando is asking himself rather than telling him. He also looks vaguely uncomfortable now. Great. Not even one conversation and Oscar had immediately scared him off.  That would be a long weekend if he had to see him around everyday from now on. Lando takes a step past Oscar, towards the door. The expression on his face is still unreadable, but Oscar doubts there is anything positive in it. And yet Lando manages to surprise him when he shoots Oscar a half smile and mumbles "Good luck with - everything"
Oscar can barely press out a "see you around" before Lando practically turns and runs. Well, running was maybe overreacting, but he walks definitely faster than Oscar would consider normal. Not that he could blame him. 

He stands there, a mix of embarrassed, starstruck and in pain for a very long moment. It´s only when a door opens behind him that he turns around. “There you are, we have been waiting-” In front of him stands a very confused Zak Brown, whose eyes wander between Oscar's shirt, his face and the door Oscar had been staring at.

“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding almost worried.  Oscar nods: “Uh yeah. I mean - I think I need a new shirt” he looks back at the door that Lando had disappeared through one last time before following Zak, his mind still stuck on the eyes that had seemed even more blue in real life than in every existing photo. 

Chapter Text

Lando isn't sure what is hotter. The Miami sun he is standing directly in, or his cheeks that still have not regained a healthy temperature. 

Until about seven minutes ago, the day had been nothing but perfect. He had been in the paddock for hours. Had gotten a tour of the premises and taken probably a million pictures. He had been recognized by more people than he could count, including three McLaren mechanics who weren't aware that he was gonna show up, but told him their children had posters of him in their bedrooms. The morning had been planned to precision by his team. A mix of filming content for him and McLaren, and satiating his curiosity about all things racing. Lastly - before the team had to prepare for practice - he was supposed to get a quick tour of the garage. See the cars, talk to a mechanic or two. And it had been the probably best experience of Lando's life. Maybe not exactly, but it had topped a lot of other things he had done in his life. At least until all of his morning was overshadowed.

He cringes when he thinks about it. It had been his fault from the beginning. The way he had been too focused on his phone to see the other man. His ridiculously hot coffee immediately drenching the bright McLaren orange of the hoodie of Oscar Piastri. That was not the first encounter he had hoped for. And he already hates himself for the way he had handled it. The way he had done absolutely nothing but stare at the man in front of him for way too long. He wishes he could pretend it was pure shock about what happened, but it would be a lie. He had been in awe for way too long for it to be normal. Because apparently Lando was incapable of being normal when it came to Oscar Piastri. And of course, it had not gotten better from there on. Then he started rambling. Which had in fact not made it better, and all he had gotten from it was a look from Oscar that could only be described as the absence of a look. There was not a single emotion in his face, or if there was, they all blurred together into something that vaguely reminded him of disgust. A look that had immediately burned itself into his brain painfully. What else had gotten an immediate honorary place in his mind, was the picture of Oscar who then had taken off his shirt.

He had tried not to stare, he really did. But Jesus Christ, how was he supposed to do that? Especially when he could still see every mole on the milky skin in his mind. And of course he had known Oscar was an athlete. But those Abs were something he would dream about for weeks to come, he was sure of it. Lando knew that this interaction in the hallway would haunt him for the rest of his life. In both the very best and worst ways. But right now, the worse part of it was definitely more prevalent in his mind. He had fucked it up immediately. Congrats to him, he had gotten his conversation. Now he could never look him in the eye again. This weekend would be torture if he had to try to avoid Oscar consciously. He opens his phone, squinting at the sun, reflecting off of his screen. Great, now he also had to break his mistakes to Max. 

Max

how is it going over there?

bad

well, not just

 are you being mysterious or dense

I hate you

I met oscar

WHAT??

how was it? 

 are you in Love?

pls calm down, i fucked it up

??

I spilled coffee all over him

he hates me now

but he took his shirt off

 LANDO ?????

too much info at once

call me

3 minutes, let me find some quiet

Some quiet is very hard to find especially because this is still the Miami Grand Prix Paddock and it seemed like every corner was buzzing with people. He is pretty sure he gets ignored by Pierre Gasly on his way behind one of the buildings. Not that he cares that much, Alpine hadn't been delivering like it should anyway. Finally, he calls Max from an empty bench in the shade. Instead of heartfelt advice, he receives roaring laughter as he reiterates his story to his best friend.

“And he really just stood there?” Max giggles through the phone. Lando rolls his eyes, knowing he doesn't see it. 

"I'm telling you. He looked at me like I had just cursed his bloodline for generations.” he groans, leaning back.
"Max, I can never, ever look at him again in person. Ever” he sighs and earns another round of laughter from Max.
“Bro, you'll be fine. Also now you have the memory of him shirtless because of you to pass your time” he teases. Just as unhelpful as he had thought.

He knows Max is trying to be funny, but something in Lando's stomach genuinely churns whenever he thinks of Oscar staring at him. Deadly silent until he had left. He hadn't thought anything would actually come from meeting him. But he had just hoped Oscar would at least like him a little. It felt odd to think this way. Lando usually only thrived on external validation when it came to his work. He wanted his music to be liked, he didn't care if people liked him or not. Except for Oscar. For some reason, he was different. Even now, after he had ruined it before it had started.

“Lando? You still there?” Max's voice shoves Oscar's face to the side for a second.

“Yeah. I'm here. Sorry” he mumbles. On the other end of the line, Max sighs.
“Look, it's fine. Maybe apologize and I am sure he´ll forgive you” he tries again, now sounding less like he's crying laughing.
“Well, he is still at work. I can't just waltz in there and ask to speak to him” Honestly? He would probably get away with it. At least before practice. But he really could not face Oscar right now. Max sighs again, this time like Lando is the stupidest person to have ever walked the planet.
“Then text him. I told you weeks ago to send him a DM , now is your chance and you have a reason.” Lando says nothing. It's not a bad idea, of course.
“Listen, Mate, I gotta go. I promised my mom to help her with something. But you update me every chance you get, right?”
Maybe Max was right. “Yea sure. Say hi to your mom for me?” Lando can hear the smile in Max's voice growing now.
“Always. She misses you, you gotta come by for dinner sometime.”
Of course. “Will do, bye” Lando mumbles before ending the call. 

He sits on his bench for a very long time, just watching the people go by. From his place so far away from the sidewalk, no one really looks over. For a while he gets to be as invisible as it is possible for him in this place. He stares into nothingness, his mind running through every possibility of how this weekend was gonna go. He could do absolutely nothing and live with the fact that Oscar Piastri hated him. Probably the worst option. He could try to talk to him again, hoping it would be at least a little less terrible than their first meeting. Also bad, Lando doubts that he could look at Oscar's face right now. Also he cannot risk getting stared at by him with that level of disgusted nothingness again. So technically, he is out of options except for one. He doesn't have Oscars number of course, but an apologetic Instagram message had never hurt anyone, had it? Best case scenario: Oscar would answer, everything would be fine and they would have a spring wedding and three cats by next year. Worst case scenario: Oscar ignores him forever and tells his team to throw him out. Okay, both are slightly unrealistic. Lando would prefer a fall wedding. But what else was he supposed to do? He opens Instagram, typing very slowly. He rereads the text about 27 times and changes his wording at least as often. Finally, he hit send and is immediately tempted to throw his phone into the next storm drain. 

oscarpiastri

Hey mate, I just wanted to apologise again for spilling coffee all over you this morning. I genuinely didn't see you & it was entirely my fault. Hopefully you didn't actually get hurt. 

Good luck this weekend btw. 

It still sounded clumsy, but it would have to do. Lando stares at his own message for at least a minute before deciding he would not will Oscar to answer him by just thinking about it really hard. He is inclined to just turn off his phone forever, but as always when he opens his social media, he has to scroll through his own feed for at least ten minutes. Okay, maybe he did rely on validation by others a little bit. Mostly he just wanted to stay informed about what his fans thought of him. Today, his twitter feed seems to explode even more than usual. Fair enough. He hadn't publicly shared anything about being in Miami yet, and McLaren had promised him to post their first content with him later that day. Officially he wasn't there yet. Unofficially he had taken selfies with one too many fans, and had been spotted at least twice while wandering around the paddock. And that information had obviously spread like wildfire. In good and bad ways. 

thisismyshw: I told you so!! That follow a few weeks ago meant something

LandosHair02: BREAKING NEWS: Lando spotted in at the Miami Grand Prix. I am FREAKING OUT

dutch_lion33: Who even is that guy and why is he there?

bluebaby: OMG?? Im so jealous, wish I was there rn

Mary_anne: When do we get an official pic of him interacting with one of the drivers?

Caroliastannr3: Watch Lando show up on the RB TikTok with Isack and Liam instead of the McLaren socials lmaoooo

044thegoat: Okay but am I the only one who finds it weird that celebs are in the paddock instead of fans?

Lando actually scoffs. As if he wasn't a fan. There were pictures of his childhood home with posters of Nico Rosberg on every wall to prove it. Not like he felt the need to prove it. He ignores the comment, but he already knows it would stay in his mind for too long. He leans back. He got about three hours of free time before he was expected back in front of a camera. Maybe he would just wander around, pretending no one knew him or try and sneak a picture with one of the other drivers. He wasn't here for Oscar after all. He was here for the cars and the experience and-

His phone buzzes. Probably Max. It buzzes again. Lando looks down. Not Max.

oscarpiastri

Apologies accepted & my arm is fine. No worries. Sorry for getting undressed in front of you. 

And for being weird.

Lando almost drops his phone.

Chapter Text

The McLaren garage smells like motor oil and plastic. It is a familiar smell, one that Oscar finds very comforting by now. He is wearing some poor mechanics extra shirt, which is too big for him, but at least better than the coffee stained hoodie or being shirtless. The interaction still plays in his mind, whenever anything brushes against his forearms. For a moment, there had been worries all around, worries about burn blisters or long term consequences. But in the end, one of the medics had given Oscar an ice pack and a stern look and with that, the topic was off the table. He would be fine. And more importantly, he would be able to drive. Because of course, that was what he was supposed to be focussing on.

He likes the Miami track. Had rarely had issues with it. It wasn't like Monaco, where the curves were unbearable and overtaking almost impossible. It wasn't Singapore, where the heat was unbearable and driving physically hurt. Yes, Miami was warm, but it was also sunny, and the vibes were always perfectly executed. All Oscar had to do was focus on driving. So why was that so hard? Why did his brain instead constantly replayed his absolutely terrible interaction with Lando on a loop? This kind of replay was supposed to be reserved for the moments before bed, whenever he thought of every single mistake he had ever made in his life. There he could accept it. But not here. Not now. 

He sits on the side, ice still on his arms, when Daniel shows up from wherever he had disappeared to. When he sees Oscar, he raises an eyebrow.

“What happened to you?” he asks, dropping next to Oscar, who sighs.

“Long story short: Lando Norris threw his coffee at me”
“Well, not threw. More spilled? It wasn't his fault is what I'm trying to say” he tries to explain, but Daniel has already started laughing.
“Dont laugh, it wasn't fun. I can never look at him again” he grumbles, trying to hide the smile that is sneaking onto his face. In hindsight, it was all ridiculous. Did it make him feel better about the situation? No. But it was still ridiculous.
“Did he apologise?” Daniel asks now, having calmed down from his first fit of laughter.
“Of course he did. And then he ran away” Oscar mumbles through the next fit of Daniels giggles.
“Jesus, Oscar. Good timing for you to screw things up with him. You know they want us to film promo with him tomorrow, right?”
No, Oscar did not know that, and it was apparently very obvious on his face, because the other driver shakes his head.
“Yeah. They switched around something. I don't know. You should have gotten an Email”
Great, Oscar thinks as he fishes out his phone from his pocket.
“Can they just change things like that? I mean, imagine if we had other plans” he grumbles, refreshing his Mails. Instead of the promised change of plans, a different notification appears. An Instagram DM, which was not that concerning. He got those regularly. It was the sender that made his heart stop.

 Lando_Norris.

Oscar's fingers almost tremble for some reason when he sees it. He isn't sure what to expect. Maybe outrage, for Lando to demand a new coffee. Or for him to tell him to not bother him anymore this weekend. Deep down, he knows that is an exaggeration, a worst case scenario made up by his own brain. If Lando had wanted to yell at him, he would have done it in the moment. Right? He opens the message.

Oh. 

Its an apology. For some reason, that was the last thing he had expected. It's short, and written like the sender wasn't entirely sure how to word it, but it seems genuine. He reads it once, twice, three times and he still has no idea how to answer. Next to him Daniel clears his throat.

“Found the mail?” Right, that had been his original plan. He switches back into his mail inbox. “Uh, yeah. Got it.” he mumbles, briefly scanning the new schedule. Whatever, fine. He could focus on that later. After practice. 

The garage had become busier while he had been sitting here. Mechanics were running around, engineers were talking in the back. In a couple minutes he was supposed to get dressed and into the car. And he was excited. Somewhere deep down, he was excited to race. Of course he was. But still, it was overshadowed by his nagging feeling about Lando, that he couldn't shake. It felt like it had mutated. From pure curiosity to his weird obsession, to now a weird combination of want and dread whenever he thought about it. Which was constantly. It ate him up from the inside, until everything under his skin was replaced by Lando, and Lando only. And he has no idea how to deal with that. He hadn't known when he first saw him or when learned that he might see him face to face, and he still didn't - especially after the disaster in the hallway. Finally, he manages an answer to Lando's apology. It's not good. But it's something. He gets changed immediately afterwards. Anything to get the thought of Lando out of his brain. 

It does work. At least a little. By the time he is in the car, Lando is a shadow at the edge of his brain, occasionally coming back only to be drowned out by the roaring of the engine. Miami is fun to drive. The car runs smoothly under him. There was a reason he was leading the championship. And it wasn't only his driving skills, he knows that. A lot of it was the car. The car that worked perfectly with him, matching his movements, responding better than it had last season. Even better than last race. Oscar felt himself improving with every race by now, and his lap times only show it. By his fifth lap, he´s got it. He pushes on the straights, spends the rest of his time optimizing his time in the curves. Occasionally his engineer's voice comes through the radio reminding him of minor adjustments they had agreed upon. An hour after getting in the car, he pulls back into the garage, sweaty and with his hair a mess. But also with the best lap time out of all of them. Not by much, Max was less than half a second behind him, but enough to boost his confidence. And also enough to make FP2 count. 

The second practice round went even better. Oscar felt like he was flying for most of the laps. In a good way, not the kind of flying that happened when his tires lost grip. Just in the smooth perfection with which the car went around the corners. One after another, again and again. Another best time. More distance to Verstappen, who was trying to catch up. 

This is what he lives for. The sound of the engine, the adrenaline rush, the focus. This was why he had fallen in love with the sport when he was a child, why he did what he did. For the rush, for the cheers, for the champagne that he was moving towards, faster than should be possible. 

For once Oscar is almost satisfied with himself when he gets out of the car. And for once, everyone else seems too. At least no one is actively telling him to change anything. He earns a couple handshakes, hopes and well wishes for tomorrow. Because tomorrow things started to count. FP3 was a little more pressure. Qualifying was important. He had to deliver. And while the stress was a constant in this sport, he went back to the hotel without his mind going over every single lap he had just driven. It was of course, still offering a mindnumbing best off of every curve that had been just a tenth of a second slower than it had needed to be, but it was manageable this time. 

By the time Oscar gets to his hotel room, he is close to begging his brain to go back to obsessing over his racing abilities. Because unfortunately for him, there seemed to be exactly two things he could obsess about. His performance, and Lando. And now, his mind is back to the singer. Lando on stage, Lando in interviews, Lando in the hallway, apologising profusely. Before he knows it, he is back to Lando's Instagram. 

He watches the stories in the car. Professional pictures of Lando this morning in the McLaren garage, grinning from ear to ear, like a little kid. Oscar knows he lingers too long. He really shouldn't. When he had been thousands of kilometers away, it had been safe. There had been no risk. But now that he is here? That was a different story. Now he needed to behave. He had a role to play and a job to do. That was it. That's what he was there for. Not Lando. He is just about to close the app again, when the notification catches his eye. Lando. Again. In his DMs instead of his feed this time. His heartrate spikes immediately

Lando_Norris

You weren't weird. I just thought you hate me

I don't. 

thanks

I heard vinegar and soap gets coffee stains out of clothes

How do you know that?

do you have no faith in my housewife abilities?

I saw the video of you trying to cook.

so no

… fair

 wait

that is an interview from like 3 years ago

why do you know that?

I'm not incriminating myself further.

stalker

but kind of cute

Cute. Lando had called him cute. After he had once again embarrassed himself in front of him, but he was willing to ignore that. He stares at the message for longer than he should. In moments like these, he silently wishes he could tell someone. It was a dumb thought, but not being able to share this kind of dumb, teenageesque excitement with someone felt like there was a part of his life just missing. He could probably tell his sisters. They wouldn't talk. But then he would have to confront the fact that he hadn't called home in weeks, and had been dodging his mothers messages. So really, they weren't an option either. Logan comes to mind, but deep down, he is too afraid. Logan was bad at keeping secrets and even worse at being nonchalant. And after all, he would have to start the conversation by telling him that his little celebrity crush was a man. No, that was not a conversation he wanted to have tonight either. Oscar's phone lights up again.

Lando_Norris

Ldid you know we´re doing some kind of photoshoot tomorrow? 

Yes. They sent an Email earlier today.

huh. Carla just told me

Carla?

PR manager. she ´s cool. 

So, not his girlfriend. For half a second Oscar's heart had stopped. God he needed to chill. Maybe Lando did have a girlfirend. He probabbly did. The thought makes his stomach clench. 

 Lando_Norris

 Well, we´re starting at 9am. 

cant wait

Make sure not to bring coffee this time. Or bring a lid

We could get coffee beforehand. I´ll try to make up for this morning. 

just googled, theres a starbucks not that far from the paddock. 

Im offering an overpriced coffee as my apology

call it an olive branch

Oscar stares at his screen. Lando was inviting him to coffee. Probably bad coffee, admittedly, but coffee nonetheless. For a moment he thinks about declining. For his own sake, for his own protection. He types something different. 

Lando_Norris

Does 8:00 work?

sure, see u then :) 

He says nothing more. He wouldn't know what. He just stares at his screen in the dark for a very long time, wondering if he made the right decision. He doesn't come to a conclusion, instead he falls asleep without changing out of his day clothes. His dreams consist of squealing tires and the sound of Lando's voice. 

Chapter Text

7am is most definitely too early. That's what Lando thinks when he drags himself out of bed on Saturday morning. In every other circumstance he would have canceled whatever was going on and gone back to bed. But these weren't normal circumstances. This was Oscar. And so, he stands under the hot shower stream, trying to wake himself up enough to not fall asleep while standing. It had been an absurd idea overall. Inviting Oscar Piastri to coffee? After his dumbass reaction yesterday? Insane. They should have locked him up straight away. The very last thing he had expected was for Oscar to agree. But he did. And now Lando is trying his hardest to make his hair look presentable. Unfortunately, curly hair tended to sense when it had to look nice, and then immediately decided to become the least cooperative thing in the world. After admittedly way too long, Lando just gives up. If he pretends it's casually messy, it might actually work. He stares into the mirror for a moment too long before catching himself. There was no reason to even care about what he looked like. This wasn't a date. This was nothing. They weren't even friends. Oscar tolerated him, that was it. God, he probably thought he was pathetic for even inviting him. Still, Lando would never dream of not going. At this point, he would take any excuse to see Oscar. The thought of his face alone was enough to keep him awake at this ungodly hour. Was that a problem? Yes. Did he care enough to actively try and stop it? Not right now.
Somewhere in the depths of his suitcase he finds an orange TShirt he had agreed to wear to filming later today. It would have to do for the coffee shop too, even if it was a size too small and therefore fit a little too snug around his upper arms. He could deal with that. In the worst case, at least it distracted from the mess that was his hair. He leaves his hotel room, praying Oscar hadn't decided to stand him up.

The streets of Miami are already filled to the brim, even this early in the morning and despite it being saturday. Businesswomen on their way into the office to work through the weekend, men walking their dogs, families on their way to brunch. And a whole crowd of Formula1 fans in bright shirts on their way to the circuit, trying to get a good spot to watch the qualifying live later today. Lando is very glad for the tinted windows of the Uber he is sitting in. He had forgotten that his chosen coffee spot was very much public property. Just as much as he and Oscar were public property. At least it felt that way. People were gonna see them, and he wasn't allowed to dislike it. It was Miami. It was the Grand Prix. He had put himself into this situation. He had wanted to be famous, but now he had to deal with that even if it was inconvenient. If he wanted to be famous on stage, he had to live with it off stage too. Usually he loved it. He did. Yes, he was a little bit of an attention whore but who could really blame him? Normally, he loved it. Lando loved being loved. In any way. Except now. Now he just wanted to sit alone with Oscar and hear him talk about whatever. You wanted this, he tells himself as he gets out of the car. But god, did he really have to wear bright orange? Maybe he should have brought sunglasses. Or a hat. Maybe he would be making Oscar uncomfortable by being in a place where they could be seen together. Maybe -

“Hey.” Oscar stands in front of him so suddenly that he almost loses his balance. He looks obnoxiously good, with his hair slightly tousled and his white shorts almost taking focus off of the bright orange of his shirt. Team Kit, of course.

“Hey, we're matching,” Lando smiles. He earns a little grin from Oscar that makes him a little weak in the knees.
“Yeah. We have a dresscode later. It was specified in the Email.” And Lando would feel stupid, but he forgets to do so, because he is too busy looking at Oscar. The driver looks like he belongs in the summer sun - and he probably does. Born and raised in Australia after all, so no wonder that the soft breeze in his hair looks like it belongs there. Like he was made to be illuminated by the rising sun, his eyes reflecting the rays in a way that made him look otherworldly. Lando clears his throat.
“Right, well, you wear it better I think” he shrugs, “But it's your team after all, so that makes sense” Some might consider it actively flirting, others as him just being friendly. Lando decides he would go with whatever Oscar decided this was. He shouldn't have. Because Oscar was Oscar, and his little smile was just as unreadable as it was on the TV. And Lando had no idea what the other man was thinking. He never did. But since he hadn't received a similar look to yesterday yet, he figured he was safe for now. He tugs at his sleeve, that is definitely too tight. And just for a second he is sure he can see Oscar's gaze lock onto his upper arm. But it's gone before he can really process it, and so he just has to continue on. “So, coffee?”

And coffee it is. A line, an awkward selfie with the cashier and way more money than Lando would like to pay for coffee later, the two sit in the back of the store, at one of the small tables. Here, they are almost invisible behind plants and a pillar in the middle of the room. Invisible enough to maybe enjoy half an hour of uninterrupted conversation with Oscar. The driver sits across from him, slowly sipping his Cappuccino with the peacefulness of a man who has never worried about anything in his life. It was almost fascinating how he constantly seemed just - calm. Like the harshness of the world was just never truly reaching him like it did Lando. He envied it a little. He admired it even more. It made Oscar seem safe in a way he hadn't seen before. He wanted to stay close, let him be the barrier between Lando and the world.
“Thanks again, for the coffee. You really didn't have to do that” he smiles just enough for it to affect Lando's breathing.“Its the least I could do after yesterday” He shrugs. His mouth tastes bitter, like the black coffee in his cup. Familiar. Good.
”Its more, and you know it.” Oscar now insists, his eyes fixed on Lando like he was trying to read his mind. Maybe he does, because the next words out of his mouth are weirdly specific. “You know I don't take it personally, right? It was an accident, nothing more.”
Lando nods “Yeah. I know.” But even he can hear that he doesn't sound convinced. And he knows by the way Oscars brows furrow just the tiniest bit, that he doesn't believe it either. He doesn't press it though, and Lando internally thanks him for it.
“So, uhm, I didn't really read the mail for later” he admits in between sips “any chance you know exactly what we are doing?” Oscar looks up from his coffee, tilting his head.
“Pictures, I´m pretty sure you are supposed to fake interview Daniel and me and more pictures”
“Right” Lando nods. “I can do that.”
“Never doubted that” Oscars fingers tap onto the edge of his cup. “I mean, you know how to talk” Was that a compliment? If it was, Lando would gladly take it. If it wasn't, then he would pretend that it was anyway. He laughs, “Well, talking is just singing with less belted notes, so that tracks.” “That- is actually not that terrible of a comparison.” the driver smiles a little.

There's a little bit of leftover frothy milk on the corner of his mouth. Lando can feel himself practically melt at the sight. He wants to reach over the table, wonders how Oscar's skin would feel under his fingertips. And now he is staring again. But truthfully, how could he not? How could anyone not want to stare at Oscar for hours on end? When his hair fell into his face like that and those hazel eyes were fixed on Lando and the light hit him just a little bit too perfectly. The curve of his jaw, and his shirt spanning over his chest whenever he took a breath. It was mesmerizing. Everything about Oscar was captivating. And sitting there, across from him in midst of the chaos of the world around him, Lando knew, he was fucked.

“Are you okay?” The gentle Australian accent brings him back to reality. Oscar looks at him, and Lando has to pinch his thigh under the table to get himself to answer.
“Yeah. Yes, I'm perfect. Just tired” its only a little bit of a lie. And luckily, he is convincing because Oscar nods empathetically “Not your time?” he asks.
“Not at all. If I could, I would sleep til noon everyday.” Lando shoots him an awkward smile. “I blame it on the tour schedule” “Fair enough. But hey, at least it's worth it” the other man sets down his cup. “I mean, your shows are pretty cool. I like the background visuals” Now that was definitely a compliment. For fucks sake, he was smooth usually. He was a good talker, it normally took him three sentences to have an effect on someone. But now the words seemed stuck on his tongue, mind empty except for the picture of Oscar in front of him. Finally, he manages to at least try.
“Yeah? You got a favourite song?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, in the same way, he had asked way too many people across the world. Only that he would never remember their faces. Or truly care about their answers. But Oscar says “I like Lookalike. And Afraid.” and the words seem to engrave themselves into his brain while he speaks.
“Lookalike is nice. I wrote that very early, just never released it. I only put it on the second album because it became relevant again. So, you know, a rework and like seven lyric changes later and there it is” he shrugs. “But I like that you like it. Kind of makes it less depressing” “Really? How come?” for a moment Lando debates shrugging it off, but Oscar looks genuinely interested, and he could never deny him anything. “I mean, originally I wrote it after the guy I was with in high school cheated on me with someone who practically looked like me and then was a dick about it. So, you know writing it, performing it, all that is kinda depressing. If I can think about you instead it's less depressing”

He takes the last sip of his coffee before looking up. There is something in Oscar's face, he cannot place. Again. An expression between nothingness and something unidentifiable again. It drives Lando insane. Can this man show emotion more clearly just one time? He doesn't even know if Oscar knows that he does it. Or rather, that he doesn't. Maybe that was just his face. Maybe he was trying very hard to stop himself from showing an emotion. All Lando knows is that he wishes he could read him better. Because something is there. He is sure of it. Because now Lando isn't even sure to which part of his story it's a reaction to. Dating a dude in high school? Telling him that he made the song less depressing? Talking too much? He doesn't know. And he doesn't ask. Because Oscar does say something. Unfortunately, it does not make anything more clear.
“I think we better go. We have to be in the garage soon.”
Lando sits there, dumbfounded when Oscar gets up without looking back.

Chapter Text

Oscar was going to die. He was sure of it. If he stayed this close to Lando Norris, he would evaporate on the spot before noon. It just wasn't fair. Sitting across from him, trying to drink his coffee without staring. Impossible. And he dared to show up in a McLaren shirt so tight, that the subtle swell of his muscles was more than visible. His curls hanging into his face just enough for Oscar's mind to start acting inappropriate. He had hit his breaking point, when Lando was recalling a story from highschool. Within two sentences, he had not only told Oscar that thinking about him made him feel better, but also that he used to date a guy. It had taken everything in his willpower to not lose it completely. So much so, that he had taken the cowardly option of just fleeing.

Not very much gentleman style, but he hadn't cared. He needed to leave, to breathe, to try and get his heartrate back to normal. He hadn't turned around, hadn't said goodbye. Lando had called after him for way longer than necessary, before giving up. There had been desperation in his voice, and it had made Oscar's heart ache so bad, he almost turned back. But he couldn't. Still now in the Uber on his way to the paddock, his lungs don't cooperate.
He should never have agreed to coffee. It was too close, and he had known it. He should have stayed at home, preparing for qualifying, or for filming whatever their PR team had come up with. He should have created distance between him and Lando. Because now, Lando looked at him with eyes that made him melt, and said things that he would call borderline flirting. He was becoming bold. And that was more than dangerous.
So Oscar would have to be the bad guy. The guy who left in the middle of a date.

Not date. Don't call it a date. He scolds himself silently.

The guy who left his friend alone in a coffee shop without an explanation. If Lando hated him, he could live with that. Painful but safe. That had been his mantra since he had gotten the McLaren seat. He could accept the pain of PR, of wrong headlines, of bad lap times, if the things that truly mattered were safe. Safe from the public, safe from reporters, maybe even safe from himself. He locked it away before anyone, including him, could ruin it. And if safety meant forcing the one person he wanted more than anyone else to hate him, then so be it. The thought alone makes the painful strain in his chest start again. He thinks of Lando's confused face when he was left behind more than suddenly. Unfair. Cruel. Necessary, he reminds himself as his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands. One day his secrets were gonna eat him alive.

One day they might kill him.

But today he had other things to do.

Other things, like being on camera with Lando. God, he just couldn't escape it, could he?

Logically, it was time to put whatever was happening here on ice. Do what he should have done in the beginning, and ignore Lando's existence. Because when it came to the media, all eyes were on them. One wrong look, one joke too much captured on camera, and Oscar's image would crumble faster than he could set a new lap record. The driver's hands are sweaty at the thought. The coffee shop had been a final warning. I should have been the signal to let it go, no matter how much it hurt. Because in moments like these, he knew that Lando didn't think about that kind of stuff. He was getting closer. Joking. Staring. And fast.

Oscar had noticed, of course he did. It wasn't like Lando was subtle in the slightest. But it had gotten harder by the minute to keep his expression under control. But he couldn't crack. He was sure, the second he smiled, it would all fall apart. His carefully crafted facade would crumble. There would be no championship contender left, just a lonely boy with dreams too big for him and the kind of love he wasn't allowed to keep. If he just looked stoic, no one would know anything. Not even Lando. The way it was supposed to be. The right way. He could end the weekend like that. Even the season if he had to. Maybe even the rest of his life. A smile when warranted, a frown when acceptable. Blank neutrality in every other moment. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to keep him safe.

Oscar's mind is running away with these thoughts, faster than he can catch them. The rational ones are the ones that make his chest ache the most. Occasionally - mostly when he had almost decided enough was enough - his mind would offer another memory of Lando's smile, and Oscar has to start over again. He sits in the empty car for too long, playing mind games with himself, until he is called to the garage for filming.

Everything looks the same as always when Oscar enters the garage. Almost. Usually, there's no camera in the middle of the room. And usually, Daniel is joking around with a mechanic and not a musician. The mere sight of Lando doubling over with laughter at whatever Daniel had just said stings. He isn't sure whether it's longing or jealousy. It should be him, Lando was joking with. Not Daniel. He wants to be the one who makes him laugh that hard, and ask him how the drive here was and brief him on what to do. Daniel hadn't even met Lando before today. It was just unfair.

Unfair and entirely his fault. Of course he knows that too. His brain is being unreasonable again.

Oscar knows he should apologise. He should walk over and at least manage a polite smile and a heartfelt “Sorry for leaving without explanation”. But he doesn't. His feet seem cemented to the floor, and all he can do is watch from afar. Daniel notices him first, waves, smiles. Like he always does. And Lando - doesn't. He barely turns his head, doesn't say anything. For half a second, Oscar is sure he can see something other than indifference in his eyes, but he is too far away to make it out, and now he wouldn't dare step closer.
You wanted this, he reminds himself, again and again. You forced it, deal with it. His fingernails are digging into the soft skin of his palms so hard, he´s afraid he might draw blood.

“Were starting in two”

A voice from somewhere behind him reminds him that he is indeed here to work. Oscar unclenches his fists, runs a hand through his hair. He could do this. He had done it a million times before

“Come on Piastri, get over here” Daniel calls. And Oscar obliges. He turns with the same crafted PR smile he perfected in front of the mirror over the years and forces his brain to pretend he is somewhere else.
It works enough to get him through it. Enough to make it work. He gives the right answers at the right moments and smiles a smile that looks natural enough. And he keeps his distance from Lando. Not enough to be painfully obvious, just enough for him to avoid speaking to the singer directly. At least until Lando stands next to him when it comes time for photos. Because he places a hand on his back, and every mental progress Oscar had made goes out the window. It's casual, almost without second thought as he grins into the camera. But Oscars body feels like it has been set on fire, he can feel his muscles tensing up, can feel his face slipping. And apparently, Lando feels it too.

“You okay?” his voice is soft, almost a whisper

“Yes. Im fine”

“You don't look like it”

“I am”

“You act like you think I am about to slap you” Lando whispers, still no anger in his voice. Like Oscar hadn't been a dick to him the entire time he had known him. And while he didn't know how to interpret it, he knew that it didn't help.

“I said Im fine” he hisses.

“Boys” the photographer seemed to have finally picked up on the whispering. “We´re almost done, can you get it together for five more minutes?”
Of course he can. Oscar had spent his entire life getting it together. Just five more minutes, just a week more, just a season more before he could relax. His acting skills deserved an award by now. But the act didn't stop the ache in his chest, or the throbbing in his palm, where his nails had now almost broken skin. But he smiles - again - until his cheeks hurt from the fakeness of it all.

By the time they are finally finished, mechanics have started preparing FP3 in the back. Good. Oscar would do anything to be distracted right now. And yet, on his way to get changed, he is once again stopped by the voice he had tried to convince himself he hated.

"You're bleeding.” Lando informs him in the hallway. And he wasn't wrong. Oscar had managed to tear open the skin of his palms, his hand slightly stained now. It wasn't a big wound, barely enough to require a bandaid. He hadn't even noticed it had gotten this bad. But Lando apparently had.

“Right.” Oscar looks up from his hand, at Lando who should not have noticed that. Lando was supposed to work with him here, he was supposed to be mad, not speak to him and disappear from his life. He was not supposed to look worried.

“Oscar.” Lando takes half a step closer, and Oscar stops breathing. “Do you need a bandage?”

“It´s fine. I'm wearing gloves in the car anyway” he mumbles, shaking his head.
“That can't be comfortable”

“I´ve raced in worse conditions”

“Doesnt make it better.” Lando looks directly at him, his eyes searching Oscar's face for something. He isn't sure if Lando finds it when he shakes his head.

“Im good. I need to get dressed.” he mumbles. He can hear his voice straining. Lando doesn't stop him again. But he smiles, just once before Oscar turns around. He speaks when the driver is already halway across the hallway. 

“Good luck out there”

Chapter Text

Something was wrong in the McLaren garage. Not with the car, or with the team. It wasn't the infrastructure or even the mechanics questionable music taste.

 It was Oscar.

 Lando hadn't seen it immediately upon meeting him, he had been flashed by bright orange and a convincing grin. But it had become more obvious by the second time he had seen him in person. The longer he looked, the more worrying it became. In pictures, his smile looked nice. When sitting in front of him, it felt rehearsed. Rehearsed the same way he tried to keep his facial expressions actively so small, that they became unreadable. His hands clenched too tightly when he spoke, knuckles turning white. This wasn't just calm. Not all of it at least. It was a facade  

The revelation had hit him suddenly, when the Australian looked at him a little too long. Oscar's entire being was a fraud. A barrier, with walls so high, Lando had no idea what was truly behind them. And that made it intriguing. And at the same time, it was infuriating. Like when he had just turned and ran out on him this morning. So abruptly, that Lando had sat there - stumped - for a good ten minutes. At first, he had blamed himself. He had been awkward and talking too much and maybe his flirting was out of pocket. Maybe he had been just a little too much and had scared Oscar off. Fine, okay. He would back off. He had held back in the garage and in front of the cameras. As long as Oscar was comfortable, he could adapt. Doubt only crept in, when his behaviour had not changed a thing. Because Oscar had not seemed happier to be ignored. Whatever emotions he was trying to hide were still there. Covered by something that was supposed to resemble casual calmness, but didn't really fool anyone. The entire time, Oscar looked like a rubber band just about to snap. His shoulders were tense, his smile even tighter than usually in pictures. When he thought no one saw, he looked like he was about to cry. It made something in Lando ache. He didn't know what it was about Oscar, but it had progressed further than the pure physical attraction. He wanted to know what was going on in that pretty head of his, wanted to find out what exactly it was that he was trying so hard to hide. He wanted to soothe the driver.

His only attempt at it had failed rather miserably, because Oscar almost flinched when he had touched him. Lando had felt the muscles under his hand and for a second was sure Oscar was gonna crack. But of course he hadn't. He had only clenched his fist tighter. So much so, that he had started bleeding. And had then spent way too long downplaying the entire thing before disappearing to prepare for FP3. Now Lando was worried. Truly worried, beyond the silly little crush level. From his place in the grandstands he watched the orange car pass him, again and again. It looked a little more - wobbly, than before. Lando blames it on his lack of knowledge. He had never seen a race this close. Maybe these things just happened. He focuses on the driver instead of his skills. Every time one of the cameras showed Oscar's face on the gigantic screens, he tried to figure out what was going on with him. But under the helmet, the driver's face was even more obscured, if that was even possible. Still worth a try. With Oscar, everything was worth a try. 

He wants nothing more than to catch him with his guard down, just once. Lando wants him to give up the fake smile plastered onto his face, and wants to know what he was truly thinking. He wants Oscar's head in his lap, and his fingers running through his hair. He wants to see Oscar actually calm. Not the pretend version of it.  Because Oscar deserved that. Or at least, he deserved more than what he was getting right now. He had a right to warmth and comfort over tight muscles and clenched fists. He keeps those thoughts to himself. They are his, and his only. At least for now. Instead, he updates Max on a different thing that had been on his mind. 

Max

I need to bite his biceps like a golden retriever puppy with a chew toy

Max I am actively losing it

He is SO ridicolously hot

Lando WHAT

I am not repeating myself

You are so down bad, it's a problem

thank you, I am fully aware. I almost ran into an engineer because I was watching him. 

Not a lie, but also not the entire truth. But what he was truly thinking felt too vulnerable to share per text. Or at all. For now, that would be his own little secret. At least until he had figured Oscar out. Or had died trying. 

He closes his chat with Max, switching over to Instagram. By now, the tirelessly working admin of the McLaren account should have gotten the photos they had taken. And he did. 

There he is, pictured with the drivers, grinning ear to ear. Daniel whose smile seems so genuine on his left.  Oscar on his right, a grin on his face, that could be taken for the real thing. Lando knows better, and it makes him feel a little sick. He quickly goes through his social media, just to get a first impression of peoples opinion on the pictures. 

McLaren:  photo

McLaren: Our boys & their most famous fan @Lando_Norris

Lando_Norris: thx for the invitation, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me (& I won a Grammy last year so that is saying something)

Comments: 

LN_377: I TOLD YOU SO!!!!

DannyRicSupremacy: I am SCREAMING omg this is everything

Oscarslefttire: Manifesting a win for tomorrow even more now!!!

noname123: I need 30 minutes and a hair tie

KneeSocks: Oh they are insane for this

By the time qualifying started he had read every comment. Most of them were nice. The ones that weren't were irrelevant. Because after all, this was still his childhood dream coming true. When the cars started passing by again, Lando went back to watching. And almost immediately froze.

He hadn't hallucinated during FP3. Something was wrong. Maybe with Oscar, maybe with the car. But it was visible. His corners were sloppier, he didn't get the same speed he had before on the straights. And it didn't seem to stop. By the end of Q1 Oscar was barely driving fast enough to be able to continue on. This was - odd. More than. Until now, Oscar had almost easily dominated the season. He had driven way more complicated tracks with ease, and suddenly he was acting like a rookie. Lando thinks back to the hallway, to Oscar's bleeding hand and his insisting on being fine. He wasn't. And it showed in his driving. 

Tires screech, engines roar, and somehow Oscar makes it to Q3. It seems like nothing short of a miracle. It's still a disappointing result. After not starting below 2nd place all season long, he barely makes a P6, after Carlos Sainz, who looks a little too impressed. For some reason Lando doubts that that has anything to do with his driving skills, but more with the fact that his car didn't fall apart under him again. But he doesn't focus on that. He watches Oscar, who stares at his car like he was seeing it for the very first time. He doesn't yell or rage or anything, really. He just - disappears. One second he is there, in front of the McLaren garage, the next there is no trace of him.

An hour later, Lando is pretty sure Oscar knew how to either teleport or just become invisible. Because the man had managed to dodge every camera, interview and fan that he could possibly meet. He was just gone. Simply disappeared from the face of the earth. And deep down, Lando gets a little jealous by the 23rd selfie he takes with a girl who recognized him on his way to the car. He wanted to be home, thinking about Oscar, or almost better - for once not thinking at all. Which he preferred would be determined by the kind of thought his brain would feed him. If it was Oscar's smile on loop, he might prefer that one. 

The hotel is quiet as he finally makes his way to his room. His body feels too heavy, and his mind feels too full when he drops onto the too hard mattress. The air smells stale and everything is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet in which he starts to think too much. About everything. Usually himself, his life, everything that had ever gone wrong. But not tonight. Tonight his brain wanders back to Oscar. In the end, he has to admit to himself that there is not a lot he can do, except for thinking. Oscar was a mystery he wouldn't solve on his own. And right now, he is beginning to spiral. Again. He stares at the ceiling for a while before deciding enough was enough. He needs his brain to shut up. Normally, when he needed his brain to just stop, he would play guitar. Simple melodies, up and down until his brain had calmed down. Since that was not an option, his fingers reach for his phone. Not as good as his own music, but acceptable. And better than being at the mercy of his own brain. 

A moment later music echoes through his hotel room. Not lullaby quality, not yet. Loud enough to drown out his thoughts, aggressive enough to override his brain. Lando lays there, staring at the ceiling again, now just watching the patterns of the wallpaper mingle with the shadows from the outside mingling. He needs to sleep, and then survive Sunday. Another day of living through Oscars stares, pretending everything is cool. Like he wasn't constantly torn between wanting to take his clothes off with his teeth, and holding him until whatever walls he had built came tumbling down.

 Lando was in way too deep now, and in between breaths, it begins to scare him a little.

Chapter Text

Oscar cannot sleep. Again. And once again he cannot sleep because of Lando Norris. But for once it is not because the man is occupying his mind like it's his full-time job, but instead because his physical presence is bothering Oscar. At least partially. Because Lando apparently had never heard of headphones and insisted on playing his music so loudly, that Oscar could hear it through the walls. That might have been the hotels' fault though, because the walls here did not absorb any kind of noise. That was also how he had found out Lando was staying in the room next to him. He hadn't meant to spy on him, but Lando's sheer presence was loud and after one too many curse words faintly echoing through the wall, he was pretty sure that it was him. His music wasn't even that bad. But it was loud, and it was constant, and it was definitely not the kind you could use as a lullaby. Minutes pass and the music does not seem to stop anytime soon. So, Oscar decides to do what any sane person would do.

He knocks on the wall.

Nothing.

He knocks again.

The footsteps in the other room stop. Oscar knocks a third time; this time the music stops. Then a voice:

“Sorry” Lando apologises from the other side of the wall.

Oscars “It's fine” barely makes it through the barrier.

Another short break, then Lando again: “Oscar?” he asks, and he knows that Lando is only now realising who his neighbour is.

“Yes.” is all he says. What else was there to say? For a moment no one speaks. Then Lando's voice is back, clearer now as if he had stepped closer to the wall. “Sorry that quali was so shit”

Oscar blinks. “Thanks?” even he can hear the questioning tone in his voice.

He had not knocked to start a conversation here. If he could have avoided Lando, he would have done it. Even the thought of him hurt, being so close to what Oscar wanted, needed. And never being able to have it. It almost triumphed the pain of qualifying going so terribly, that had settled in his gut.

“I mean it” Oscar doesn't answer for a long while before nodding, realising Lando cannot see him and instead saying “Yeah thanks”.

His voice sounds a little more dismissive than he means it. He´s just tired. He thinks he can hear Lando sigh but that might be just his imagination, because just a moment later he speaks again.

“Right. Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you, goodnight” Oscar isn't sure whether or not the wall in between the two of them is responsible for it but Lando sounds genuinely disappointed. His stomach clenches. That had obviously not been his intention. Minutes of silence pass while Oscar tries to find words that would make this better. There is no more sound coming from the other room.

“Lando?” Oscar tries again, his tone a little softer. The answer comes immediately.

"Still here” He must have stepped away from the wall now, his voice is quieter. The next words slip out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Can I come over for a moment?”

He has no idea why he said that. He needs sleep. He needs distance. Oscar needs his brain to stop doing things without his permission. What was he even thinking? He couldn't even handle getting coffee without freaking out. He doesn't even know what he would say to Lando. Maybe he would decline. Then he wouldn't have to embarrass himself in front of him. But of course, he doesn't get that lucky. After a short silence, Lando's voice comes again: “uh, yeah. Sure why not”

Fine, okay. He can do that. Do what he did all day, all weekend, all his life. Say the right thing, smile at the right moment, go home. Nothing else. Nothing that could only happen in the privacy of a nightly hotel room.

 Of course he does not manage come up with anything clever to say on the way to Lando's door, and so all he says when the other man opens is: “Hi” 

“Hi” Lando smiles. And Oscar immediately regrets coming over. Because Lando's hair is still slightly damp and his sweatpants sit so low that they expose a strip of skin on his abdomen. He looks delectable. Oscar wants to scream. Lando's shirt is too tight, revealing way more than necessary. The outline of his abs, the muscles in his shoulder when he leans against the doorframe, his eyes running over Oscar. There is something in his eyes Oscar can't quite place. Different from this morning. More sincere. 

 Before he can try to figure out what it is, Lando opens his mouth again. 

“Wanna come in or stand in the hallway?” he asks, that dumb grin on his face that Oscar could stare at forever. His mouth is dry when he nods, following the other man into the hotel room. Lando was messier than him. Clothes are everyplace but in his suitcase. The sheets are a mess and there were at least three empty cans of Monster energy on the windowsill. Oscar stands in the middle of the room, awkwardly staring at the floor, at the wall and then back at Lando. Lando who sits on the bed, expectantly looking up at Oscar. Right. He had invited himself over. It was his turn to say something. He settles for an apology he knows is overdue. 

“I didn't mean to sound like that just then. Or just leave you this morning. That was - not cool. I'm not mad.”

 He shrugs, deciding to lie just a little. Enough to cover up the worst, heartfelt enough for it to be believable

 “I'm just tired and stressed. Its race weekend and quali didn't go the way I wanted-” he sighs, shaking his head. He half expects Lando to roll his eyes or scoff or tell him to leave. He does none of these things. Instead, he almost laughs

 “Osc, it's okay, I promise.”                                                      

Oh, that asshole. Osc? A nickname? Really? Now he is just ruining Oscar's life on purpose. It makes his head spin; he feels like all the air has left his lungs. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Finally, a soft: “Okay. Thanks” leaves his lips. 

He stands there. Should he leave? Probably. Before he did something unreasonable. He can feel his fingernails in his palm again, digging into the fresh wound. Before he can say anything, Lando pats the space next to him. 

“Sit. You´re standing there like you are preparing to run away”. And Oscar has no words left to protest. His foot grazes Lando's leg for just a second as he sits down but he swears he sees Lando flinch. He doesn't comment on it of course; he had embarrassed himself enough tonight. They sit next to one another, the silence stretching around them.

 What could they even talk about? They existed in completely different realities; it wasn't like they had anything significant in common. He doesn´t have time to worry about it, because Lando speaks up first. 

Again.

 Because of course he does.

 “I didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep. You got a race tomorrow, I get it.” he taps his fingers onto his knee, like he is incapable of sitting completely still.

“Well, maybe not completely get it. But I also get irritated before big concerts. It's a lot of pressure-” he trails off, shrugging. Oscar nods. 

“Yeah. The constant pressure to perform. It's hard to stay calm when everyone expects something all the time” He earns a surprised laugh by Lando. 

“You´re one to talk” 

 “What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely confused. Lando shakes his head. “Oh please. You are the calmest guy on the grid. You don't flinch; you don't yell. For fucks sake, they compare you to Raikkonen. Don't act like it's hard for you to keep your cool” His laugh almost sounds bitter. “Sometimes I think you just feel nothing. Ever” 

Lando tries to play it off as a joke, but it hurts. Oscar knows it's unfair of him. He was actively trying to seem like he didn't feel anything, so why did it hurt when that's exactly what people saw? He has become a walking contradiction, a mess of feelings and unspoken words that were gnawing at him, twisting him into something he never had been and never would be. And yet, he cannot help but defend himself. His voice is quiet.

“Just because I don't show it, doesn't mean I don't feel it. I get as frustrated as everyone else. I'm just not yelling at people about it, because I'm not a dick.” he mumbles, not looking at Lando. “And I have a reputation to lose” Lando is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, any humour is gone from his voice.  “Right. Sorry for assuming” and he sounds sincere. So much so, that it makes Oscar look up again. Lando offers him a tiny apologetic smile. It's cute. 

Oscar banishes that thought immediately. Finding him cute on some other occasion was bad enough. Now when the two of you are alone at night? Even worse. That wouldn´t end well. 

“I feel a whole bunch of things I don't explicitly show” he says instead, knowing it's too vulnerable. But how can he not when Lando looks at him like that, and the light is dim, and his mind is already further gone than he would like? 

“Yeah? Like what?” Lando's voice is gentle like he truly cared. Like he wanted to know what was really going on. And Oscar still can't comprehend that. He had done everything he could to push Lando away. And it still didn't work. Lando still tried again, still had let him come over, still seemed to care. It scares Oscar more than just a little. He says nothing. When the silence stretches, Lando tries again. Never pushing, never too much. It wasn't the obvious flirting Oscar had ignored before, but a quiet worry.

 “Osc. You´re gonna make yourself bleed again.” 

He hadn't even noticed his clenched fist. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers, staring at his palm. The skin wasn't open again, just red and irritated like it was angry at him.

“Sorry.” he mumbles, unsure as to why he is apologising for it. Lando looks just as confused. But he doesn't press it. And he doesn't ask again. Another silence stretches between them, this time, less weird. More like Lando was trying to give Oscar space to think or to breathe. It makes his heartrate spike again. This should be his signal to go. Get up, turn and leave. Because he was falling, and he was falling fast. 

But Oscar just can't bring himself to go. He knows it would be smarter. Get sleep, race, then see Lando Norris in the occasional Instagram post and forget they ever had a conversation. But Lando is so close that he can smell the aftershave on his skin and can see the tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose like constellations. And then he is talking again. 

“Wanna talk about quali instead?” He offers a lighter topic. Fair, since Oscar had said absolutely nothing to his attempt to get him to open up. Quali was something he knew stuff about. Facts and data worked. Those were less personal. Those didn't hurt as bad. He nods, carefully.

“Well, this one was shit” he mumbles, almost smiling a tiny bit. 

Chapter Text

Oscar was impossible. The way he sat on his bed, far enough away from him to never risk touching him. The way he talked, every third word sounding slightly off because of his Australian accent. His stupid shorts revealed too much toned thigh muscle for Lando to ignore. Oscar's fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap when he spoke. It drove Lando insane with need. He needed those hands on him, needed him closer. He could feel his eyes wandering over the other's body. Trailing over his lips a little too often. Lando was sure it was incredibly obvious. But Oscar didn't seem to notice. He never held eye contact for longer than a couple seconds. He spoke with a calmness that never seemed to waver. Right now, he was going on about tomorrow's Pit Stop Strategy, which Lando only understood half of but nodded along anyway. At least he was talking now, instead of silently staring at his hands like he was pretending not to exist when Lando had gotten a little too personal. 

"We are still trying to master the art of balancing," Oscar says now, looking at Lando's face for once. "It requires way more precision than it seems. One lap can determine the entire race" 

A strand of hair falls into his face. Lando is itching to reach out and tuck it back, and it takes him all willpower not to. Instead he tries to focus on the conversation again.

"That makes sense. I mean, how much time difference does a good tire make?" he leans in when he asks. Just a little bit. Just enough for his knee to brush against Oscars thigh for half a second. And Oscar, who is already half through an explanation, stops. A hitch in his breath, nothing more. Barely noticeable. But noticeable enough. So he did have a that kind of effect on the man. He was just better at hiding it. Fine. Oscar had mastered the art of looking like he was feeling nothing, when the absolute opposite was true. And in the quiet safety of the hotel room, Lando was itching to make his mask crack.

"Osc" Lando interrupts his explanation gently, tilting his head. He's done this a million times. The flutter of lashes, the cadence in his voice changing. And yet, something is different this time. This time it isn't just rehearsed. This time the feeling rushing through his body is real. He didn't just do it because it was fun. But because he needed Oscar to have a reaction. He wanted Oscar to need him back. More than he needed anything else in the world. 

And Oscar stops in his tracks. He leaves the sentence half finished in the room, his eyes darting over Lando's face. He can see his eyes furrow just the tiniest bit, more in confusion than anything else.

 "What?" His voice had dropped a little, and that alone made Lando's whole body burn. 

"You've got something there" he mumbles, and then finally gives into the urge and gently tucks the loose strand of hair in Oscars face back to where it belongs.

It's just a moment, but his hair feels soft between Lando's fingers and he is tempted to run his hands through it again and again. He is sure he can feel Oscar stop breathing for a second. Until Lando removes his hand because then Oscar looks exactly like he had before. His expression is the same. Or is it? Because when their eyes meet, something had shifted. There's something darker in Oscar's eyes now. But he doesn't move. His face doesn't change. But when he opens his mouth, his tone is the tiniest bit sharper than he had ever heard.

 "What are you doing?" Oscar doesn't even raise his voice and yet Lando feels like he has just been slapped. 

"Sorry" he mumbles his hand dropping back into his lap. His eyes drop. It is half act, half genuine. Was it wrong of him? Too much? Too far? Even if Oscar had looked at him like that? But it is Oscar after all. Maybe he still doesn't know how to interpret the drivers face correctly.

 "Lando" Oscars voice cuts in before he can think about what to say in his defence. And then Lando stops thinking altogether, because suddenly Oscars finger are on his face, grip tight on his jaw. He forces Lando to look up, meet his gaze. He looks as calm as ever. At least on the surface. Because there is something different in his eyes. Something darker. Something hungrier. Something that makes every muscle in Lando's body tense. The tension is palatable now. Every possible answer dies on his tongue. So does every braincell in his head apparently, because his impulse control fails. And it fails spectacularly. Because half a second later, his lips collide with Oscars. 

Oscar who smells like burnt rubber and deodorant.

Oscar whose fingers still hold his jaw. 

Oscar, who kisses him back without hesitation. 

He doesn't know what he had expected, but it surely wasn't that. Maybe he had waited for a lecture, maybe for Oscar to leave. Instead, he snaps. The Australian kisses him like a man possessed. Like he had held back for too long and now it was all spilling over. His mouth is hot and he tastes like toothpaste and salt. It's heaven. The air is charged, like electricity was unloading with a bang. Lando doesn't care about being careful. Not with him. It's messy, teeth clashing. Oscar doesn't hold him back, even if he keeps moving more carefully. One of his hands wanders over Lando's face, into his hair. His fingers thread through the curls with a gentle firmness. As if he was using it to keep Lando close to him. 

"We really shouldn't do this" he mutters faintly, without ever pulling away.

He is probably right. This was a PR nightmare. And Lando's dream come true. He really did not give a fuck whether or not he technically should do this.

“Do you want to stop?” he gives Oscar a way out anyway. The man stares at him, like he was debating his life choices. Then he shakes his head, hair falling back into his face.

“No”. He doesn't even finish speaking before his lips crash on Lando's again.

“I thought about this for too long to stop now” he mumbles against his mouth, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Oscar's voice is honey. Sticky. Heavy. Seeping into his brain. So it hadn't only been in his mind. Oscar had wanted this. He wonders if he had dreamt about this too. Lando melts. He only manages a weak "me too" before his lips find Oscars again, then his tongue.

Wet.

Hot.

Lando actually moans into his mouth when Oscar's teeth graze his lower lip, breathing heavier now. When Oscar finally pulls away just enough to catch his breath, he finally gets to watch that oh so calm expression falter. There's need in Oscar´s face. His cheeks are a little flushed, his eyes dark. The sight makes something inside of Lando stir. He doesn't get to appreciate it for very long, because then Oscar is back on him, his hands slipping under the hem of his shirt. Just the tiniest bit, fingertips barely tracing his sensitive skin. It's not enough. 

Without further ado he grabs the collar of Oscars shirt, pulling both of the men down backwards onto the mattress. The sudden movement draws a little surprised gasp from Oscar, who catches himself before collapsing onto Lando and now watches the younger man under him. One of his hands is still on Lando's waist when he kisses him again.

"Osc-" his breath hitches in between kisses. He isn't even sure what he wants.

Just more. More hands on his waist, more tongue in his mouth, more Oscar.

More of Oscar's hands, that now trail along his sides, sending shivers down his spine. One hand is on the hem of his shirt, carefully pulling it up a little. Then he stops. He looks at Lando with those soft brown eyes and Lando thinks he might die. "Can I?" Oscar's voice is a little breathless when he asks for permission. He is still so gentle when he finally takes off Lando's shirt. His big, calloused hands wander over him. Tracing the lines of his collarbone, his ribs, his abs. Like there is something beautiful about Lando, something breakable, something holy. And Lando loves it. He lets Oscar gently hold him down, let's himself be watched, touched. 

"You´re driving me insane, you know that?” Oscar whispers now, bending down to kiss his collarbone.

If Lando hadn't already been obsessed, this would have done the job. He lets his fingers run through the soft brown hair of the man above him. Oscar's mouth wanders over his body, slowly moving lower. Occasionally, Lando catches him looking up, like he was checking to see if Lando was still okay when Oscars teeth graze over his hipbone. And God, he was more than okay. His body felt like it was on fire. “Oscar -please” he mumbles, impatiently tugging at the collar of Oscars shirt. He needs to see him. Now. And Oscar obliges when he sits up, tugging his shirt off in one fluid motion. In the half dark of the hotel room, Lando's eyes map every mole on Oscar's pale skin. He had seen it before, but now he is allowed to touch. And he takes full advantage of it. His fingertips trail over Oscar's body, his breath hitching with every centimeter of skin he is allowed to feel. He can feel muscles twitch under his touch. It drives him insane. He needs something, anything. 

But Oscar is careful, deliberate. His hands wander slowly under the waistband of Lando's pants, even slower over his sensitive skin. By the time his jeans hit the floor, he is half hard in his boxers, breathing getting heavier with every open mouthed kiss Oscar plants on his body. He is quieter now, too. Not a single word leaves the driver's lips. Like all his concentration was used up by something else. Like staring at Lando like he was about to devour him. Lying there, in the mess of his sheets, he lets Oscar take the lead. It is a silent agreement when his head hits the mattress, eyes watching Oscar over him, on him. 

He is in perfect agony, needy and leaking, by the time Oscars tongue is trailing over the tender skin of his inner thighs. He takes his time, like Lando is everything he ever needed, like he is in love with him. And Lando falls apart under him. Little by little, with every kiss and every touch he slips further from reality into somewhere where all that exists is Oscar's head in between his thighs. 

When the driver finally relents, taking him into the warmth of his mouth, Lando is sure he sees stars. Oscars hands hold him steady, fingers gripping his hips so tightly he was sure they were gonna leave marks. His hips snap involuntarily, a strangled moan falling from his mouth. Oscar looks sinful like this. His hair is stuck to his face, his dark eyes looking up at Lando through his eyelashes. Drool dribbles down his chin with every move. Oscar's mouth is warm and wet around his aching cock, his tongue moving expertly around him. Lando's fingers tangle into the other's hair, holding him close. Oscar's nose against his pelvic bone, his strangled breath in Lando's ear. He doesn't seem to mind, only intensifies every movement until Lando can feel his thighs tremble,

“Fuck, Osc-” Landos voice is strained, almost breaking. “Im not gonna last”

And Oscar looks at him, expecting, unrelenting, unmoving.

It's too much.

Too much need, too much tension released in too little time.

He comes with a strangled moan, spilling down Oscar's throat. Oscar, who licks his lips, pulling back with a wet noise. Lando's bones are pudding, his breathing slowly trying to find its usual rhythm. And Oscar looks at him with spit and cum on his chin and a look Lando cannot interpret.

He doesn't care. His fingers tug at Oscar's hair until he comes up to him, close enough to kiss. He can taste himself on his tongue, salty and filthy. And Oscar smiles. An actual, soft smile that makes Lando feel warm. His fingers run through Lando's hair, now gentle, like he was about to break apart under him.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice a little rough. It makes Lando want to cry for some reason he cannot place. Maybe he just hadn't been asked that before. At least not like this. He nods.

“More than okay. You?” Oscar's fingers come up to cradle his face before he answers.

“I will be,” he mutters gently, and Lando thinks that this might be the only honest thing Oscar had ever said to him. In response, he presses another kiss to his lips, like that makes everything better.

And maybe - just for a moment - it does. 

Chapter Text

Lando is asleep in his arms. Lando Norris, the man he had stalked on Instagram, had obsessed over, had stared at from afar for hours, was asleep in his arms. His head on Oscar's shoulder, his breathing even. His hair was still the mess Oscar had made of it and in the dim lighting he can see a hickey starting to form on his collarbone. It was heaven. Oscar's limbs are comfortably heavy, his skin still sticky. He can still taste Lando on his tongue. With every breath, his fingertips run over Lando's spine. He can feel the bones move under his skin. And Oscar should feel nothing but ecstatic.

He should turn off the lights and fall asleep too. This was what he had wanted for way too long. But he couldn't. Not when he knew that he was supposed to race tomorrow, with the picture of Lando spread under him still burned into his mind. Not when he knew that his career was over if anyone ever found out about this night. He knows he should have stayed away. Because now that he had gotten a taste of Lando, he knows he could never go back to the way it was before. The thought, the memories - they would haunt his dreams and his nightmares forever. Oscar knows he would keep replaying the memory forever, until it was yellowed like an old photograph. Until he could not remember the sound of Lando's moans anymore and forget the feeling of his soft skin under his hands. And it would hurt. The ache in his chest would stay probably until the end of time. This one night would burrow itself into his brain, find a place to hide, to haunt, to miss.

 But it would have to stay at that. One night of having Lando, of tasting the leftover sweetness on his mouth and feeling his smooth skin against him. He would get it one time. One night of bliss.

 Because he wasn't Lando. His career would end, if anyone found out he was sleeping around. And especially with another guy. Secretly he envies Lando for it. The singer would get away with it. Might joke about it on stage sometime in the future. His manager would roll his eyes and his fans would support it like they had done everything else. And while Oscar didn't care about what people thought, he knew that what he cared about didn't matter. It never had.

 Because he wasn't Lando, he was Oscar. Athlete, championship leader, a man in a contract and with a reputation. 

He looks over at the man asleep in his arms. The sight physically pains him. Not because he regrets it, he had thrown that feeling out the window the second he kissed him. No. Now it hurt because he craved Lando. Not in the way he had when Lando had been a picture on his phone and a voice stuck in his mind. From the very first conversation in the hallway, he had craved him. When his arms were burning, coffee still dripping from his sweatshirt, it had started. 

Painful. 

Slow. 

Aching. 

He wanted Lando. Not even his body, but his mind. He wanted to hear his laugh, his voice. Run his fingers through his hair. Lay his head in Lando's lap and feel the world melt away. In the shadowy silence of the hotel room, he let himself indulge in daydreams he had repressed for too long. 

Lando in his bed, at the dinner table, joking with his sisters. In the garage after a race, pressing a kiss to his helmet. Himself backstage at Lando's shows,being the only one whose kisses mattered. Christmas baking with his mother and thanksgiving dinner with too much turkey. Summer days at the beach. Movie nights. Lando in his pyjama shirts. Breakfast. Road trips to nowhere. 

The images tumble over each other in Oscar's mind, blurring together into a painful movie of a future he wouldn't have. Agonisingly domestic, beautifully casual. When he blinks, there are tears in his eyes.

Don't cry. Not now. But he can't help himself. It was months of restrained emotions spilling over. Like Lando's presence alone broke through every wall he had put up within himself. Like the thought of what he would be missing forever was too much to bear.

Before he knows it, he is quietly shaking, the taste of salty tears on his lips. Its quiet, as if even his tears were afraid to show themselves. And still, of course, it is not quiet enough for Lando. He stirs, turning around.

 “Oscar?” His voice is slow, still half asleep. “Hey, what's going on?” 

“Nothing, I'm fine.” He mumbles, wiping the tears off of his cheeks.”Go back to sleep”

“Dont lie. You're crying” his voice is softer now

“Happens. I told you I do feel stuff” Oscar tries to joke, but he can feel his voice crack.

“Not the time for jokes, Osc.” Lando sits up, shoving hair out of his face. “Talk to me. Please?”

His voice is so gentle, so careful. It hurts. He can feel the others fingers carefully cupping his jaw, holding him. It feels like it's the only thing holding him together. Without it, he would simply disintegrate into a million tiny pieces to be swept away and never seen again.

“Its so dumb” 

Lando tilts his head, brows furrowing. “No such thing. If it makes you cry, its not dumb”

“I don't know.” But he does know. He knows whats wrong way down to the last aspects. All he says instead is: “I just- I like you. Like actually”

In front of him, Lando tilts his head. “Damn, I didn't know liking me was this terrible” Oscar is more than grateful at his attempt at a joke, even if it only makes him cry harder. 

“Oh you know thats not it” 

Lando blinks. “What is it then?” 

Good question. What was it? Everything? Nothing? How was he even supposed to explain in a way that Lando could understand? Oscar didn't even understand it himself after all. 

“Just- You know this is a one time thing, right?” His voice cracks when he speaks. 

Oscar can see Lando's jaw tighten before he nods. “Yeah. I mean, I wish it wasn't, but I get it.” he still sounds too gentle “You have more to lose, don't you?”

“I have everything to lose.” 

And Lando says nothing. He just looks at Oscar with the face of someone whose heart is breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. For a while, the silence stretches around them. Lando's fingers gently rub circles on Oscar's back in an attempt to calm him down. And it works. At least partially. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tears fall slower. When Lando finally speaks again, his voice is soft. Almost as if he is afraid to ask. 

“Do you regret it then?”

Oscar's answer comes immediately. No second thought, even if there maybe should be. “No”

“Good. Me neither” 

In the following silence only the last remains of Oscar's hiccupy sobs echo through the dark room. And Lando holds him, steadily, silently. Without telling him to calm down or stop being dramatic or any judgement. Just soft reassurance and his warm hands on his body. Minutes pass, or maybe hours without either of them saying anything. He just buries his face in Lando's chest, inhaling the scent of his shirt. It's more calming than it should be. Oscar wants to stay there forever, pretending the world doesn't exist, pretending this isn't the worst decision he could have made. 

“Can we pretend this isn't a career ruining thing for another couple hours?” he finally asks, when he trusts his voice to stop shaking. 

“I would pretend for years if you asked me to,” the other man whispers, pressing a kiss onto Oscar's cheekbone.

And it is enough. For now, playing pretend is enough. Enough to make Oscar's tears finally stop. They both know the morning sun was near and about to tear the two out of their little moment of peace. But Oscar pushes the thought aside. All that fills his mind is Lando and his hands that are still carefully wandering over him. He falls asleep like that. Curled up into Lando's side, face pressed into the crook of the other's neck. He dreams nothing. His mind is blissfully empty for the few short hours before reality was about to catch up with him.

Chapter Text

Lando watches the sun rise in front of the window for far too long. His fingers are tangled in Oscar's hair, who is still asleep on his chest. It had been a whirlwind of a night, and after getting woken up by the driver's quiet sobbing, his brain was racing. Sleep had been impossible afterwards. Seeing Oscar like that, red eyed and visibly shaken, had fundamentally changed something in him. Maybe it was the fact that Oscar had dared to be this vulnerable with him, that he hadn't run away like he used to, but instead had let Lando comfort him. It had felt like Oscar did trust him, at least a little bit. And that had been more than he had expected. But he had loved it. And now, he craves it. In the dim morning light, he watches Oscar's chest rise and fall steadily. Even in his sleep, his jaw seems tense. Not as bad as when he is awake, but enough to be worrisome. Because last night, Oscar may have broken apart in front of him, but Lando still had only seen a glimpse of what was really going on behind the plastered smile. It leaves him guessing, or assuming rather, and none of it is good. All of it makes him want to keep Oscar close, just like he has right now. But time is running out for the both of them, and he knows it. Soon Oscar would wake up and leave to be an object for a crowd that didn't care about him, only about his wins. And Oscar would accept it with grace and without flinching. He might look back once, see Lando disappear slowly, unwillingly. And then he would be gone, out of reach forever. 

This evening, Lando would fly home, back to London, back to normalcy. After today's race, Oscar would go and enjoy his summer break without sitting in a car. In two weeks Lando would be back on stage and this night would become nothing but a faraway dream he would try to grasp in the moments between sleeping and waking, unsatisfied by its incapability to be held. 

“What time is it?” Lando is harshly ripped out of his thoughts by Oscar's groggy morning voice. The sound alone brings back every inappropriate thought he had ever had about Oscar. 

He looks over “About 7.” 

“Why are you awake then?” Oscar raises an eyebrow, shoving some hair out of his face. His eyes are still a little puffy from crying.

Lando grins. “Maybe you snore”

That gets a grin from Oscar, who sits up. “Liar, I don't"

“You don't believe me?” Lando fakes a pout, nudging the man next to him, who actually giggles.

He shoves him back. “No” Oscar drops onto his back rubbing his face as he sighs. It feels like Lando can see reality hitting the man in real time.

“I gotta go, they´re expecting me in the garage.” he finally mumbles, turning to face him. There is pain in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

“I know.” Lando turns to face Oscar, so close he can feel the others' breath.  “Do I get a goodbye kiss?”

Oscars jaw clenches “A last one you mean?” 

A last one. Of course it is the last one. He knows that. He had known from the start. But god does it hurt. Like a weight on his chest, pushing him down.

“Does it have to be so final?”

Oscars voice is gentle “You know it has to”

“I know. Doesnt mean I cant have hope” It is dumb and Lando knows that. Doesn't mean he´s not clinging onto it like a lifeline. He can see Oscar thinking. His voice is still soft, despite his words being harsh: “You don't think it's naive?”

Yes he does. 

“I think everything about love is worth having hope for” he still whispers, his hand finding Oscars under the blanket. The driver takes his hand, carefully, like he was about to break. His voice is almost inaudible.

“I think you are in for heartbreak then”

And his tone is so sad, it makes Lando's throat tight. Because Oscar deserves more than living for heartbreak and holding off on everything he so obviously wanted. 

“I know. Doesn't make it less worth it.” he whispers, and in a desperate, futile attempt to keep Oscar, he kisses him. Slowly, sweetly, in a way he hopes makes Oscar feel loved, even if only for a second. But seconds are fleeting, and a when their mouths part, the moment is over. Not because either of them want it to be, but because it has to. Oscar sits up. 

“I think I have to go now.”

“I know.” Lando doesn't move. Just watches. “ Goodbye, Oscar. I´ll miss you”

Oscar says nothing, but the look in his eyes says everything he needs to know. And then he is gone. Lando can only watch as the door closes, reality stealing the river away from him. And there is nothing he can do.

Time passes as slowly as syrup dripping. Lando scrolls on social media until he is sure he knows everybody's opinion on himself. He takes a shower that scorches his skin and still cannot burn off the faint bruises Oscar had left on him. He watches the sun wander over the sky, and the people passing by on the street. He thinks nothing and everything at the same time. By noon, he wanders to the paddock, sunglasses hiding his face, cap shadowing his eyes. It works enough for him to make it to his seat without being recognised. It doesn't help the ache in his chest or the feeling of the world being so far away, he cannot reach it. Not the sunlight, not the music, not the lights. It all blurs out into an unidentifiable mass of nothingness. The feeling of time and space seems to stretch around him, as if the slow breaking of his heart was warping the reality he exists in. 

Before he knows it, it´s lights out. Engines roar and under the bright Miami sun, 20 cars start chasing one another. Lap after lap, colourful dots switching positions, dancing around one another, searching for gaps, falling back, rushing forward. They all blur together in front of Lando's eyes. Not like he cares. His eyes are fixed on the bright orange of Oscars McLaren. Today, it seems like he is driving a different car. 

The moment Oscar starts hunting is obvious. He goes from his place behind Sainz to the spot next to him in seconds. His turns are harder, straights faster. A predator, hunting down the places he had lost in qualifying. And it works. 

Gone is the shakiness from the day before, replaced by smooth lines and clean corners. Every overtake is executed to perfection as he slowly makes his way up the grid. 

5th place.

4th. 

3rd. A place on the podium already and the race wasn't even halfway done. For a while, Oscar chases the Ferrari of Charles Leclerc in front of him. And for a handful of laps, the bright red seems to have an advantage. Until he doesn't. On the screen, Lando watches as Oscar's car passes him. Orange against red, the half second everyone holds their breath when the tires are just about to touch. Another straight and Oscar has the second place. Max before him, Charles behind. 

And Lando watches without seeing. Because all he can see when he stares down at the orange car is Oscar's face, telling him that everything about them is futile, that nothing would ever come from it. And all Lando wants to do is prove him wrong. Everything about it feels wrong. the entire world feels wrong. 

Even as Oscar crosses the finish line in second place he can barely bring himself to celebrate because he knows that the smile Oscar shows the world as he waves from the podium is not real.

When celebrations start, Lando does not take up the invitations from the clubs he had gotten. The thought of alcohol flowing, music blasting, strangers touching him - it's all too much. The possibility of seeing Oscar, half drunk, stumbling, touched by hundreds of hands that weren't his makes him sick. The thought alone makes him want to scream. He makes a silent pact with himself to not check twitter again, not tonight. Everything to avoid seeing Oscar. Maybe just not acknowledging his existence would make it hurt less. 

Fate- as always- seems to have other plans. When he steps out of the elevator into the quiet of his hotel floor, he stops. There he stands, Oscar, not in his race suit anymore but still obviously flushed. And Lando wants to ignore him. He really does. He makes his way across the hall silently, the sound of his footsteps absorbed by the plush carpets. But Oscar is still Oscar, even after this morning and his brain cannot ignore the man. Neither can his heart. 

“Hey” Lando turns around in front of his hotel door “congrats on the podium.” he smiles a little. Oscar stands there, like a deer in the headlights, like Lando was the ghost haunting his nightmares. He looks up, his hair stuck to his forehead with champagne, his shirt drenched and drying on his body. “Thanks” he mumbles.

And Lando knows they shouldn't. And he knows Oscar is thinking the same. But the eye contact lasts and as the seconds pass, he can feel his own reserve dwindle drastically. The two men stare at one another.

A stupid battle of wills.

One of them would give in first. Either following the temptation or staying on the path they had both agreed on. In the end, Oscar is stronger than him. He stands perfectly still when Lando takes the two steps to close the gap between them, doesn't move, doesn't flinch. Like he had expected it. Like he wanted it. 

Kissing Oscar is just as good as the first time around. He tastes like champagne and sweat now, a taste more addicting than any drug could ever be. His hand is on Lando's waist, pulling him flush against his lean body. It's dangerous. Making out here in the hallway was reckless. If anyone saw them they were both done for. Oscar seems to also realise that, because he gasps in between kisses, fumbling with the keys to his room. Two seconds later both of them stumble into Oscar's perfectly neat hotel room, door shutting with a bang. 

The novelty from the first time had worn off now. All that is left is pure need. Lando is trying to hold onto these probably last moments he would ever have Oscar like this like they are a lifeline. This time, neither of them is gentle. It's teeth clashing and hair being pulled. Lando is pretty sure he can hear the seam of his shirt ripping. Its his hands clenching in the sheets and moans so loud, he has to bite down onto the pillow to avoid being heard by other hotel guests. It hurts so good, Lando doesn't know what to do with himself. By the end, he isn't sure whether or not he remembers his name. All he knows is Oscar. His hands, his mouth, his cock, his body on his own, the sound of his voice. It's all he wants to know too. 

When his breathing slows, and the room comes back into focus, he lays on his back, legs tangled with Oscars, their bodies still pressed together. His skin is hot and sticky, his body completely spent. 

“Hey you” Oscar mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temple. He looks more at ease than he had all day, even on the podium. Lando smiles weakly. “So much for saying`this can't happen again`” he mutters.

He doesn't get a response. Just a heavy breath from Oscar, whose eyes darken a little.

“Sorry” Lando apologises, internally hitting himself for bringing down the mood. He should have expected that reaction. It was Oscar after all. His walls went up faster than he could blink. “You´re allowed to regret making the same mistake twice” he jokes, but they both know there is too much truth in it to truly laugh about it. 

Oscar sighs. “I don't regret it. I could never. But it does make my life harder.” he sounds honest in a way he hadn't before.

And Lando doesn't know how to respond. He sees where Oscar is coming from, but it still hurts a little. This is delicate, and if he answers wrong, he can see Oscar getting up and leaving in front of his inner eye.

“Do you think it's worth the risk?” he asks carefully. The wording is intentional. What he is really asking is `do you think I am worth the risk?` Because essentially, Oscar was risking everything for him. His career, his reputation, his life. And for what? Some random guy he hooked up with? A three day affair with too many consequences? He almost wants to scoff at himself, but Oscar answers faster.

 “Yes.” His eyes are warmer now, his face more open than yesterday or even this morning. “If anyone is worth it, it's you” 

And all Lando can do is kiss him in response. Not with the frantic need, but gently. Carefully. With more emotion than he should be allowed to feel. He can feel Oscar smile into the kiss and in that moment, Lando decides that this is the best moment of his life. The sweetness of the kiss lasts for a while before Oscar asks  "Don't you have a flight to catch?” into the quietness of the room. And yes, technically he did. An hour ago.

“Too late. I'll fly tomorrow.” he shakes his head. Oscar just looks at him like he wants to say something but doesn't dare to. Instead, Lando's mouth is once again faster than his brain:

“You know, I've never been to Australia” 

“No? Not even on tour?” OScar raises an eyebrow

“No, never” 

The words hang in the air. Charged. Again, Oscar has a way out. Lando makes sure of that. Always a way out, as if he was trying to trap a scared animal. Only this time, Oscar doesn't run.

“Come home with me. Just over summer break. Until you have to go back on tour” 

The offer is too good to be true. Two weeks of Oscar without the threat of cameras looming. Not safe, never safe. But safer. 

“Where would I even stay? I doubt your mom will be happy if you drag me along.”

“My mom would be delighted. You can stay in the guest room. "There is a short break.”You can pretend to be my friend.” 

So, Oscar was still not willing to admit the truth. Not even in front of his mother. For a second, he wants to negotiate with himself. It is useless of course. In the end, the decision comes easy. Lando would do anything to stay longer, would drink poison if it meant a minute more of having Oscar close.

“Okay. Australia it is then”

When Oscar smiles, the last bit of doubt is gone faster than Lando can blink.

Chapter Text

Wh en Oscar wakes up to the steady breathing of Lando by his side for the second night in a row, it takes him a few seconds longer than it should for reality to sink in.

Right.

 Yesterday. 

The race, his podium, the taste of champagne. It had been a surprise to him too when the car had finally cooperated under his touch. Especially after the more than disappointing qualifying, Oscar had not expected to end up anywhere near the podium. That's why the second place was worth more to the team, than even a win could have been. There he had been, standing over a cheering crowd, fingers clenching around the cool silver of his trophy. Another prize won, another souvenir of a successful Grand Prix. Another milestone on his climb to the championship title. Max and Charles next to him, celebrating him, celebrating each other. It was the peak of Formula1. It was fireworks and music and clapping so loud it was deafening. And it should have been perfect.

But of course, as everything in Oscar's life, it wasn't. He had felt out of place up there. Waving and smiling, knowing that people would stop cheering if they knew what he had done the night before. There was an ache in his chest that had followed him out of Lando's hotel room that morning and made itself at home in his body, even more than usual. 

His second place should have been a reason to celebrate. To get drunk and dance and forget everything else. But it wasn't. Because the longer he stood there drenched in champagne the less it all meant. All the glamour and all the celebrations had meant nothing. In comparison to his fingers running over the soft tanned skin of Lando's body, the trophy felt worthless. Scrap metal in his hands, useless and unnecessary. And to think he had given up Lando for this. It made him want to throw up. He had left it behind in the drivers room, somewhere in the corner, not caring what happened to it. When interviews were over he had left as soon as he could. The noise, the lights, the pain in his chest whenever he thought of Lando, it had all been too much to bear. 

Oscar had planned to hide. In his hotel room for that night, at his mothers house for summer break. He just wanted to not exist for a while, or at least pretend not to. 

Instead, in typical Lando fashion, the man had come in and had made him throw every plan he ever made out of the window. A look in the hallway had been enough. So much for saying just a one time thing he had thought, almost bitterly, before immediately giving in. In no universe, would he ever be strong enough to resist those eyes. It was hot and filthy and perfect. Before he knew it, Lando was asleep on his chest, naked and about to come with him to Australia for the summer. 

Of course it is a stupid idea. Essentially, he was taking a guy he didn't really know halfway across the world in the hopes he wouldn't ruin his life. It would probably end terribly. Oscar had thought about it for long, silent minutes after Lando had fallen asleep on him. In the end, he always came to the same conclusion: It was worth it. The pain, the risk, it was all worth it, if it got him at least one more morning with Lando in his arms. 

Oscar watches him for long enough to be slightly creepy. But how could he not? The singer is gorgeous, even in his sleep. His hair is falling into his face in the loose curls that Oscar runs his hands through at every opportunity. There are hickeys forming on his collarbone, leftovers of last night when Oscar hadn't cared about today's consequences. Softly, he traces the marks, stopping when Lando moves or breathes out of rhythm. He doesn't want to wake him, he just needs to touch him. Like he is Oscars only. 

Now, in the morning sun streaming in through the windows, Lando's lashes flutter softly as he squints into the light. It takes him a couple seconds to adjust before he smiles up at Oscar.

 “Morning” he whispers, his British accent a little more pronounced than usual. Lando doesn't lean up, instead presses a kiss to Oscar's bare shoulder. It's warm and soft and so genuine that Oscar genuinely wonders if it's possible to fully fall in love within three days. 

“Good Morning” he whispers, lips brushing against the other man's temple. “How are you feeling?”

Lando stretches, then scrunches his nose. “I might've pulled a muscle yesterday” he laughs softly. “Im blaming you” 

“Me?” he raises an eyebrow, ruffling the others hair. “You were the one begging me not to stop-”

Lando interrupts him “Okay, fine, whatever. I don't exactly remember who said what” he grins “I was occupied otherwise”

Oscar tilts his head “want me to remind you?” And god, for a second he can see Lando blush a little bit, his oh so confident demeanour faltering under his gaze. Then Lando grins, pushing himself up into Oscar's vicinity.

“Yeah. Maybe you should” he mumbles, his eyes wandering too obviously from Oscars face down his body. Not like Lando had ever cared about hiding his staring. He did it openly, eyes wandering over Oscars abs, shoulders, thighs whenever he got the chance to do it. Oscar loves it. Seeing Lando look at him with a mixture of need and love while he was taking him apart piece by piece was probably the closest thing to a religious experience he would ever have. Oscar's fingers trail over the dark purple and red marks on Lando's collarbone again before he leans down to kiss them. He can hear Lando stop breathing for a second, and he knows he has already won. Carefully, he places an open mouthed kiss on Lando's chest, and gets a beautifully hitched breath in return. For a moment of silent eye contact, everything stills. 

The shrill sound of Lando's phone ringing almost gives Oscar a heart attack. He wants nothing more than to tell Lando to ignore it, focus on him only. But Lando leans down and presses a kiss to Oscar's cheek, whispering “I gotta take that. Two minutes max, okay?”

He doesn't leave the room, just sits on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to his ear. And he looks so beautiful, Oscar just cannot help himself. He is careful at first. His fingertips grazing over Lando's spine, watching him as his brows furrow. On the other end of the phone, someone is not as amused as Lando when he hears about the change of plans.

 “It's two weeks at most, not a decade. I will be back with plenty of time to prepare” he argues back as Oscar presses a kiss in between Lando's shoulder blades, causing his breath to hitch just slightly. He's careful, watching, ready to back off the second Lando looks uncomfortable. But he doesn't. And he leans into the touch a little too much to even pretend he didn't enjoy it.

“Listen, for once that is none of your business. I will be back on time, the rest is irrelevant to you, okay?” Lando now sounds just on the line of angry, but it seems to work, because his face relaxes a little just moments after. Oscar takes the moment to run his tongue over the side of Lando's neck, tasting the dried sweat and his skin. To his delight, he can feel the goosebumps on the other rise with every touch. 

“No, I mean it. I'm gonna tell Carla to just post whatever pictures they took this weekend and Max can handle looking after the flat again. This is really not that big of a deal.” Lando sighs, leaning back against Oscar, who is still kneeling behind him. 

“Again, I have a right to privacy for once in my life. I'm not telling you why I am not coming back immediately, just pretend this is a vacation. I don't get those that often after all” 

“Yes, thank you. I'll be in touch” he mumbles, then hangs up. 

“My manager” he explains to Oscar who still looks at him, waiting for an explanation. “He was not a fan of me missing my flight home or an extended vacation.” he laughs “But hey - what can you do?” 

Oscar's voice is muffled by Lando's shoulder that he is now mumbling into in between kisses “Am I that bad of an influence?” 

He can feel the others body vibrating when he laughs softly “I think we are both career ending influences on one another” 

“Probably” Oscars sighs “can we not think about that right now though?”

“What else do you wanna think about?” Lando turns around to him, a smile on his face that betrays his feigned innocence immediately. 

Oscar smiles. “You” he whispers, before pulling Lando against his body, holding him as close as physically possible. 

The two of them spend the rest of the morning like that. Curled into one another, bedsheets messy and kisses even messier. Somehow, he remembers telling his mother that he would bring Lando home, only to then miss her follow up messages because his focus is on the man under him. He lets Lando text his friend, his PR manager and about seven other people to update them on the change of plans, before taking his phone and pushing him back down into the pillows. On the nightstand, his own phone buzzes with messages from at least three people at McLaren who are mad at Oscar for five separate reasons. He ignores them. Not now. Not when it all feels harmless, almost. In the privacy of the hotel room, Oscar can forget about the consequences. In here, he can pretend like he and Lando are a regular couple. A real thing, not a bomb that could detonate at every moment. The world melts away, leaving only the two of them behind for a couple of hours. 

Reality only dares to force itself in after a lunch of protein bars from the bottom of Oscars bag. It was time to go, take a plane, and leave the hotel. The fear of being seen by the public after what had just happened was - overwhelming to say the least. Of course, both of them had agreed to just claim newfound friendship in case anyone asked, but that only made Oscar's fluttering nerves calm down so much. When he steps into the public again, he can feel all his muscles tense painfully. Lando trails behind him, always making sure there is enough space to not seem suspicious, adjusting the collar of his shirt occasionally to hide the marks on his chest. It was a public play on a Shakespearean level, even without an active audience. Just in case cameras were around, just in case anyone recognised them. Oscar is painfully aware of his own behaviour, can feel himself trying to adjust his breathing, trying not to give anything away. The way to the airport feels longer than usual, pedestrians' stares feel harsher and he is sure he can see the flash of a camera at every corner. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach drop with every sound. Only when the plane doors finally close behind them, can he feel himself breathe properly, his hands unclenching. 

Private jets always smell like new cars, which is a scent Oscar just automatically connects with home, with comfort. In the privacy of the small space, he dares to sit next to Lando instead of on the opposite side. It´s a long flight with long conversations. They don't talk about the way here, the anxiety that had been so thick in the air it seemed tangible. They talk about everything else instead. 

Oscar learns that Lando only smokes when he is really drunk, that he has three siblings and that he writes his best songs in the middle of the night. In exchange, Oscar tells him about his sisters, his days in carting and the time he had won “Grill the Grid” and had been more excited than if he had won the championship. It's easy, words flowing between them almost nonstop. Occasionally, Lando dares to reach over, always enough for a touch, never enough to be suspicious. You never know, after all. When they finally land in Melbourne, it´s nighttime. Only the blinking airport lights are there to welcome the two of them home, and when Oscar steps out of the plane into the familiar air of his hometown, it almost feels as if Lando had been behind him a million times before. 

Chapter Text

The air in Australia is hot and dry enough to almost be uncomfortable, even at night. On the car ride to Oscar's house, neither of them speak much. It is an odd mix of the comfort of Oscar's presence and the anxiety about meeting his family.

He would show up as a friend. Nothing more. He would go and shake his mothers hand like his chest wasn't covered in hickeys and he didn't know what Oscar tasted like. Another act, another play pretend. And he would do it again and again. He would agree in a heartbeat every time just to stay by Oscar's side, even if he had to keep his distance whenever they weren't alone. His phone buzzes. Max. Again. He had ignored him since telling him the basics of his plans this morning, and by now he felt bad. While he couldn't care less about what his management thought, he didn't like keeping secrets from his best friend. 

Max

Wdym you´re not coming home before tour?

Hello?

Has this anything to do with Oscar?

Lando? 

Hello??

What happened?

Can you fucking talk to me?

Sorry. Im alive. 

Can't really tell you anything, but Im fine.

can we talk once i get home?

???? IN TWO WEEKS

Mate, you sound like you're being kidnapped 

I promise I'm not. 

Talk later, gtg

He really doesn't but lying to Max felt worse than lying to the public. He isn't even entirely sure why he's lying. Max would be cool about it, he knows that. He always has been. And yet,he didn't dare to say anything to him. Just in case. And to protect Oscar. Oscar who looks at him from the driver's seat with a raised eyebrow.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his face only partially illuminated. Lando thinks it makes him look even more heavenly than usual. 

“I'm good. Just - technicalities” 

Oscar laughs a little “I get it. I'm still dodging Zak's calls. He's gonna kill me when I come back”

“You´re gonna be out of a seat before the end of the season if you keep that up” Lando chuckles “And it wont even be my fault” 

Oscar does not joke. He smiles, but it is more genuine. “It wouldn't be your fault in any circumstance” he then says. And Lando has no good answer. Instead the car falls back into silence, only the sound of the engine there to drown out his thoughts. 

It's just after 3am when Oscar pulls the car into a driveway, and even in the dark Lando knows the house is nice. Modern, with hydrangeas blooming on the front lawn and perfectly mowed lawns. In one of the lower windows, the light is still on.

“Come on.” Oscar nudges him, breaking his quiet streak before he gets out of the car. Lando's suitcase weighs practically nothing as he drags it over the gravel, praying it is quiet enough to not wake anybody. His worry is unfounded, because before the two have crossed even half of the way to the front door, it opens. 

“Oscar Jack Piastri” the voice only a mother could manage echoes through the night. “How dare you.” she stands in the open door, hands on her hips as she yells at Oscar from across the lawn, who immediately looks a little guilty. “You don't call, you don't text. Then you tell me you're bringing a friend home and disappear again.” 

“Sorry mom” he mutters as he drops his bag in front of his mother. “Does `I was busy` still count as an explanation?” 

“It never has” the woman sighs, shaking her head as she pulls Oscar into a hug. “You are so, so lucky I love you so much” she grumbles. 

Lando stands there, on the steps of the house, feeling out of place and a little awkward. The woman finally lets go of her son to turn to him. Any kind of tension fades out of her voice the moment she speaks again. “You must be Lando then. Im Nicole, Oscars mom”

“Yeah, I mean, hi. Nice to meet you” He is halfway about to offer her a hand to shake, when she wraps her arms around him in a bonecrushing hug. She smells - warm. Like vanilla perfume and hairspray and some kind of spice. It's comforting. When she lets go, she smiles. "It's so nice to have Oscar bring a friend over. I feel like he is ten years old again”

The term friend stings, even if it is necessary. Nicole doesn't seem to notice. 

“Well, come in then boys. Before we wake up the entire neighbourhood” and with that she ushers both of them into the house. 

Lando isn't sure what he had expected, and yet somehow the house was everything and nothing like he had imagined. The walls were filled with pictures. Seemingly endless photos of Oscar as a kid, family photos, professionally done pictures of all the Piastri kids, carting snapshots, even Oscar in the McLaren garage. And in between, like he was family, a picture of Yuki in his RedBull gear, grinning into the camera. Lando doesnt ask. The lights are warm, and the walls light. It looks lived in. Homey. Safe. He understands why Oscar would stay here whenever he can.

“I made Lasagna for dinner, we have leftovers if you want” Nicole now offers while grabbing her son's bag. “Oh, Lando, by the way, do you want me to wash your clothes too?” she asks, looking at him so expectantly that Lando just nods, a little overwhelmed.

 “I mean, if it's not a bother” he begins, only to be interrupted. “Oh please. I gotta do the laundry anyway. Hattie goes through four shirts a day-” 

Oscar perks up at that “Wait, Hattie is home? I thought she was at college”

Nicole shoots him a halfway disappointed glance. “If you had answered your phone, you would know that. But yes, she's asleep, upstairs. She wanted to see you.” She sighs, her eyes softening. “She misses you when you're halfway across the world. We all do” 

“I'm sorry” Oscar mumbles quietly. “It's just - busy. You know? I didn't mean to go without calling for so long”

Nicole nods, but a shadow flashes across her face for a second.

“I know honey, it's alright. Now leave your stuff here and get you and your friend some dinner.” She turns to Lando, picking up his suitcase. “I made up the guest room for you, if you need anything let me know, okay?” 

Before he can even thank her, she disappears up the stairs, her footsteps silent on the dark wood. 

Silence spreads through the hallway before Lando speaks "She's nice” 

“Yeah, she is,” Oscar mumbles, eyes on the empty stairs for a moment. Then he nudges Lando. “Come on. My moms Lasagna is a dream” 

He follows Oscar into the big, dimly lit kitchen. Again, he feels slightly out of place, standing by the counter, just watching as Oscar moves through the room as if he had lived here his entire life. Obviously, Lando reminds himself. Oscar did grow up here. This was his home, Lando was the outsider. More like an intruder. 

Now that he is here, the thought solidifies. It is not fair of him. Coming in here, making Oscar harbour secrets. Like a worm, eating its way through the family dynamic until it would fall apart. Pretending to be his friend when in reality he was nothing. Not an official boyfriend, not just a friend. Something unidentified, something wrong. He was going to ruin Oscar. His life, his career, his family-

“Lando?” 

He blinks.

“What?”

“I asked if you want water” Oscar shoots him a worried look from across the kitchen, two glasses in hand. 

“Uh, yes. Sure. Thanks” he can feel that his voice sounds too tight. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah. Just - tired.” he is sure that Oscar can hear the lie because he sets down the bottle and makes his way through the kitchen. 

“Come here.” He wraps his arms around Lando. Oscar smells good. Good in a way that made Lando feel at home in a way nothing else did. His arms are solid, heavy, grounding. They stand there for a long while, with the sound of the microwave as the only disruption. When Lando finally pulls away, his heart rate is almost back to normal.

“Osc?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You okay if I kiss you, or is your kitchen too public?” 

“No, I think at four am, the kitchen is fine” Oscar smiles as he leans down. “We just gotta stay in different bedrooms later” he whispers before his lips meet Landos. And for a moment, just for the duration of the kiss, Lando can pretend that hiding may not be the worst thing in the world.

Chapter Text

Oscar wakes up in his childhood bedroom, alone and wearing a shirt he hadn't worn since he was 16. For a moment, he watches the sun illuminate floating dust speckles in the air, caught in between sleep and waking, his mind foggy. The nostalgia of waking up in his childhood bedroom, would make something in his heart ache every time. He turns to the alarm on his dresser.

 10am. The rest of the house should be awake by now. He scrambles out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that had probably been laying on the chair in his room since he had been home for Christmas. Muffled voices greet him on the stairs, accompanying the smell of breakfast coming from the downstairs. He makes no effort to be exceptionally quiet, but no one looks at him when he steps into the kitchen. 

He stops in the doorway. The picture in front of him seems so unreal, he has to pinch himself. The room is full and smells like pancakes and coffee. Lando sits at the kitchen table, eating a pancake and shaking with silent laughter like he belonged there. He looks like part of the family. Happy, carefree. Like he had been there forever. Across from him, giggling at something he had just said, sat Hattie. Her hair was shorter than he had last seen it, her smile the same it had always been. 

“No, I am so serious” she says now, pointing to the stove where his mother flips another pancake, “Mom, tell him Oscar pretended to be a car, every single time. I'm not lying” 

Nicole looks up from her pan. “Shes not lying. If any of my kids tell you embarrassing stories about their siblings, you can usually assume it's the truth.” she smiles. 

“Like the time Edie cut her bangs with kitchen scissors and had the worst bangs for months” Hattie nods in between bites.

From across the room, Edie's dark curls appear when she sits up on the couch. “Hey” she exclaims, adjusting her too big shirt, that might actually be Oscars. “What are you dragging me into this for? As if you weren't the one crying in public over an album release”

Hattie turns, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “That was absolutely justified”

“We were in the middle of the grocery store” her sister shoots back.

“I was like 13”

“The cashier thought mom was kidnapping you”

“You are both equally embarrassing" Mae quips up from her usual spot on the armchair, without looking up from her phone. She earns an evil stare from both of her sisters.

“God I wish I had been kidnapped, then I wouldn't be related to either of you” Hattie declares, shaking her head. 

Edie drops back onto the couch “Whatever.” 

At the table, Hattie turns back to Lando, who had been watching the exchange trying very hard not to look too much like he was gonna burst out laughing. He was very bad at hiding it. “You see what I am dealing with here” 

Lando's voice is more of a giggle than real words. “Yeah, i get why you stay in the dorms”

As if vindicated, she nods, picking her coffee cup back up. “At least one person with a brain cell. Can I trade you in for Edie or Oscar?”

“Hey” Oscar now decides to defend himself, stepping into the room. “I didn't do anything, why are you trading me?” He can see both Lando and Hattie jump in their seats.

“Jesus, Oscar” she gasps, catching her breath “can you stop sneaking around for once?” her tone doesn't match her words though, and she visibly lights up when she sees him. Maybe his mother had been right. She did miss him. So did his other sisters apparently, because half a second later he is drowning in limbs and hair, as they rush to hug him. The smell of perfume and shampoo is nothing but comforting. Maybe he should come home more often, he thinks as he presses a kiss onto Edie's dark curls.

“I was not sneaking by the way, you were just arguing too loud” he laughs when he is released again, grabbing himself a cup from the counter that he hopes is clean. All he gets in response is a huff. 

As he pours his coffee, he can feel Lando's eyes burning into him, still either unaware of his staring problem or just not caring. When he turns around, the singer smiles at him. He looks comfortable. His hair is messy and he is wearing a shirt that is definitely Oscars. It hangs just a tiny bit too loosely for it to be Landos. And Oscar has to grip his cup a little tighter to stop himself from walking over and kissing him senseless. Not here, not now, he repeats in his head. Across the room, Lando tilts his head just the tiniest bit. Just enough to let Oscar know that he could see the effort it took to restrain himself. And also just enough to make Oscar want to lose his mind even more. 

As so often, his mothers voice saves him from making terrible decisions. “Honey, do you want breakfast? Or is your trainer gonna murder me for feeding you?”

“I already had lasagna last night, it's too late now anyway” he smiles, grabbing a plate. 

Balancing both, he drops into the seat next to Lando, who is grinning at him from ear to ear. There is maple syrup stuck to the corner of his mouth, and all Oscar wants to do is lean over and lick it off. He doesn't. He sips his coffee, slowly, while his eyes never leave Lando. Maybe he was developing a staring problem too. 

“Morning” he finally mumbles after a moment of silence

Lando's smile seems to grow even wider “Hi”

“Sleep well?” Oscar thinks of the small guest room and its broken AC that hadn't been fixed in a decade and probably wouldn't be for another decade.

But Lando just nods. “Yeah, got woken up by your sister storming in”

Oscar raises an eyebrow.

“She was looking for a hairdryer that was in fact not in the guest room. Scared me half to death but apologised with really good coffee" he nods to the empty cup in front of him. 

“Well, I'm happy you're settling in well”

Lando tilts his head, this time in curiosity “How could I not? Your family is great”

“So you're not yet regretting coming here?” that had been a nagging fear in Oscars' mind the entire time since they had stepped through the door. It is unfounded as it seems, because Lando drops his voice to nothing but a whisper, so quiet only he could hear.

 “I could never regret anything when it comes to you, Osc.” he smiles, and in the morning light, Oscars worries seem to just melt away. 

He nods “Good” 

The rest of the morning is the same chaos he knows and loves. His sisters are fighting, giggling and fighting again within the span of seconds. His mother hugs him every ten minutes, telling him how happy she is to have him home. Occasionally, she also hugs Lando, as if she had suddenly acquired another child to dote on. Everyone eats way more pancakes than anyone could deem healthy, and after his second coffee Oscar feels more awake than he had in weeks. 

In a rare quiet moment after breakfast, Oscar finally manages to get back to Zak and the team, whose messages had been getting more annoyed as time went on. He´s polite. Apologetic. Tells the team how much he appreciates them, that he is sorry for Sunday and Monday and all the problems he caused. He ends with well wishes for summer break before turning off his phone again. His social media stays untouched. He doesn't care. All Oscar wants now is the perfect peace that comes with being in the family chaos. Days and days of nothing to worry about and no meetings to attend. 

And for once, Oscars wishes come true. The next few days are filled with board games and family dinners and playfights with his sisters. Lando is beside him for all of it, his smile never faltering. They fall into a routine that should be harder than it is. They are careful, but it is less tense than it had been before. Stolen kisses in the empty living room after everyone else had gone to sleep. Lazy makeout sessions in Oscar's old bedroom whenever the house is empty for a couple hours. Hands held under the blankets while watching a movie. Lando becomes part of his routine so easily that it feels like he had always been there. A friend on the surface, a lover in private. And with every day passing Oscar realises more and more that he never wants to let go of the feeling of having Lando close enough to touch constantly. Even if he is only allowed to reach out when no one else is around. 

The feeling solidifies into a fact on Friday, just before sundown. The house is empty except for the two for the first time today. Lando lies on Oscar's unmade bed, his shirt somewhere on the floor and his fingertips gently tracing shapes on Oscar's naked chest. It has been silent for a while when Lando looks up. In the quiet afternoon sun streaming in through the window, Lando's hair seems almost golden. For a moment, the words seem to be stuck to his tongue. Oscar is about to say something first, when Lando opens his mouth as if a dam had been broken. “I love you, you know” he barely whispers, his eyes fixed on Oscars face like he wasn't sure what reaction to expect. 

The world stops. Everything comes to a screeching halt.

 “What?”

“I love you” Lando repeats, running his fingers over Oscar's smooth skin.

“I know it's too early to say it” Lando's eyes find his. “And you can say it's naive, and I won't even deny that. But I don't care. I love you, Oscar. From the moment I saw you, I did. I just didn't know it yet.” The words sink in, and Oscar thinks he might cry. It hurts in the best way he has ever felt.

 To exist in a world where Lando Norris loves him, was to exist in a world that was worth living in. 

All the secrecy and the sneaking and the pain - it should have prevented this. But it didn't. Against all the odds, here they were. His voice is shakier than he wants it to be when he finally manages to speak. He wants to sound as sure of it as he feels. “I love you too. So much. And I am sorry that this is so hard-” 

“No. Oscar” Lando looks at him. “The circumstances are hard. The act of loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done.” 

Lando doesn't look away. He looks at Oscar with such a gentle expression, that it just breaks him. Because Lando doesn't just look at him. Lando sees him. Behind the fake smiles and walls he built, Lando sees him. And he stays despite it. Even loves him for it. His fingers cradle the jaw he always clenches painfully and he kisses his mouth as if it had never told a lie. As if Oscar was something worth loving. Him, as a person and not just the persona he was pretending to be in the spotlight. Lando loves him, and in the light of the sinking sun, that is all that matters.

Chapter Text

For about a week, Australia is bliss. It´s hot days by the pool and warm nights at a full table. Lando watches Oscar train in the garden while pretending to scrabble down lyrics instead of staring. He loses terribly against every member of the Piastri family while playing Uno and retaliates by annihilating them in scrabble. It is domestic and comfortable. Oscar kisses him like it's the first time in every moment they get alone. The house always smells like cooked food and fresh laundry. It is the most peaceful life Lando has been a part of for years. He should go to sleep every night without a doubt in his mind. 

But he is Lando after all. He had never had a day of peace in his life. He needs chaos. He needs movement. It's what he thrives on, always had. After a week and a half of not leaving the Piastris property, he grows restless. There are only so many board games to play and chores to help out with. He misses the freedom of going wherever he wants, whenever he wants. 

Of course he has no right to complain. He doesn't want people to know he is here, therefore he can not go out. No sightseeing, no clubbing, not an evening jog down to the pier. God, he couldn't even come to the grocery store with Nicole. He can´t text Max about it anymore either without risking Oscars safety. A natural consequence he had known about from the very beginning. Hiding is hard. Of course it is. But slowly, it drives him stir crazy. Stuck between accepting that having Oscar - at least partially - meant sacrifice and missing life. His life. The life of the Lando who he was before meeting Oscar. The Lando who doesn't take orders, doesn't stay in one place. It's how he works. Touring in a new city every night, clubs with music so loud he can't hear his thoughts, scenery changing too fast to follow - that was the life he is used to. On purpose. Willingly. Because he likes that. But he loves Oscar more. So Lando put himself into this cage freely. He doesn't have to be here. He could be alone, somewhere very far away. A thought that hurts, like every thought of Oscars absence does. And yet, when he dreams about the blinding lights he loves so much, he wakes up feeling like he is missing a part of himself. 

He feels guilty for the thought, every time. He was here on his own free will after all. Lando had initiated this entire thing, now he doesn't get to dislike it. After all, Oscar was risking it all for him, and here he was being a bitch about not being able to go out. In the quiet of his sleepless nights, he feels disgusted by himself for even thinking about it. He loves Oscar. With every fiber of his being, and if he had to do it all again, he would still end up here. None of it is Oscar's fault, it would never be. And still, in the depths of his heart, the resentment grows like a poisonous plant. 

Never for Oscar, of course. He was sure that he could not hate Oscar in any past, present or future life. Only the hatred for the circumstances seems to grow with every hour passing in which he watches Oscar from across the room, fingers tapping against his knee like a trapped animal. Every time Oscar pulls away when their hands brush over dinner, Lando's heart squeezes painfully. When he feels Oscar pull away in the middle of a kiss because he thinks he heard something, the pit in his stomach grows. He says nothing. He has no right to. For him, it had been a tiny moment. He can only imagine how Oscar must feel, living his entire life like this, wasting away behind a facade. 

Lando can feel it in the air. Oscars fear, the silent tension the both of them had been ignoring from the moment they had met. It is less now, in the safety of Oscar's home, but it is never gone. And the slightest spark would set it all aflame. 

In the end, the final spark isn't a spark at all. It is a joke, made in the middle of a laughing kitchen, harmless, made to be drowned out in the giggles of a happy family. It's already half dark outside, and apparently Lando had missed out on years of good Australian TV that he now needs to catch up on. He´s halfway through a conversation with Hattie when another voice echoes through the kitchen, light and airy.

“Oscar, go ask your boyfriend if he wants popcorn” Edie giggles. 

The change is instant. The temperature seems to drop within seconds. Oscar's jaw clenches so hard, he might pull a muscle. His face turns to stone. The tone in his voice is something Lando hadn't heard before. Not from sweet, gentle Oscar. It´s anger.

“Dont call him that” he mumbles. “He´s a friend” A warning signal that Edie doesn't take seriously. She nudges him, still joking.

“Jeez, alrighty. Don't share a blanket then” Lando is sure he can see Oscar's eyes darken even further.

“Edie.” His voice is deadly. “Drop it.” 

Now she seems to understand, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Christ, Oscar. Sorry.” she shakes her head. “It was just a joke” 

Oscar does not relax. “Well, it wasn't funny” he hisses at her. 

By now, everyone had gotten the memo that something was wrong. Edie's joke had been just enough to make him snap. The tension that had grown with every second Oscar was hiding finally exploded painfully. And only Lando seems to see his outburst for what it really was. Fear suppressed with anger. Years of it. So much that none of his family was equipped to deal with it. Hattie looks worried. Mae looks confused. Nicole's hand settles on Oscar's shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. With no success. He shakes her off, and without another word, he storms off. His footsteps echo through the sudden silence of the house. Lando stands there, bare feet on the tile, almost flinching when Oscar slams his bedroom door shut above him. 

Only then Lando realizes he had been biting the inside of his cheek so hard, he can now taste blood. His heart is racing, mind reeling. Oscar was just scared. Scared and tense. He wasn't angry. He didn't regret it. This was not how he actually felt. Lando had agreed to being a secret. He wasn't even an official boyfriend. He had no right to be hurt when Oscar denied it. This was what they were doing. This was the plan-

No logic helps. The searing pain, the betrayal, the rejection spread through Lando's chest like a raging fire. Until it chokes out everything else. Until he can't breathe. It's anger like he had never wanted to feel when it came to Oscar. The anger that hurt so badly, that it drowned out every critical thought he might have had. He wants to comfort Oscar. He wants Oscar to comfort him. He wants to scream at someone, anyone and he wants them to yell back until everything is okay again. In the shocked silence of the kitchen, his voice is choked. 

“Im gonna go see if he's okay” he mumbles, meeting none of their eyes as he basically sprints out of the kitchen. 

He finds Oscar in his childhood bedroom, on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. He sits next to the driver silently, still trying to wrap his mind around what just happened. He tries to push every emotion he feels down. 

“What was that?” Lando doesn't look at him when he speaks, instead he stares at his hands. 

Oscar doesn't look up either “Which part exactly?” 

“All of it. Whatever that just was. You, lying to your family”

“It was nothing"

“They deserves to know why you just fucking exploded”

“No. I'm not dragging them into this. This is my mess.”

Lando knows Oscar doesn't mean it. Not in the way he says it at least. This was not his moment. It was his turn to comfort Oscar. Support the man he loves. But he is a worse man than he pretends to be. His anger would always get the worst of him.  Instead of the gentleness he had promised himself, his voice is poison. 

“That's what you want to call us? A mess?”

Lando stands now, unable to sit still. He is hurt. More than he might even like to admit to himself. He is hurt and in his hurt he turns to anger. Destructive, painful, unreasonable. He was making it worse. 

“Lando, that's not what I mean.” Oscar sits there, not looking up. He almost looks ashamed of himself. 

“Don't you? I am your mess, aren't I? And you are so ashamed of loving me that you would rather yell at everyone to avoid being labeled as queer in any fucking way.”

He is too angry, he knows it. His voice is too mean, his hands tremble too much. But Oscar is angry too, isn't he? He would yell at him any second now, exploding like he just had in the kitchen. They were equals in their unjustified anger, were they not?

From the edge of the bed, Oscar's voice trembles. Maybe there are tears in his eyes. “Lando. Thats not fair”

He is too quiet. A part of Lando's brain is screaming at him to stop. 

“Is the truth too much for you? Do you regret bringing me home? Well, Im fucking sorry I a having less fun running around like a trained circus pony”

“Lando. Please. You knew we what you were getting into”

He did. It doesn't stop him. It's the temper he had inherited from his fathers father cursing through his veins. He is angrier than he is allowed to be, than he should be, than he wants to be. He loves Oscar. More than anything. And he hates himself more with every word he spits and still he is unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth.

 “I agreed to be your secret. I didn't know you were hiding from yourself too”

“Thats not what Im-”

He doesn't let him finish his sentence. “Yes it is, and you know it.”

“Lando-” Oscar sounds different, but he barely registers that. 

“You're a fucking coward, Oscar”

The words hit like a slap. Harder even. And the second they are spoken, Lando wants to take them back already. Too far. He had gone too far again. That was not fair to Oscar. He wasn't being fair. But Oscar doesn't yell like he should. He says nothing. 

“I know.” he finally whispers, no fight left in his voice. 

Lando looks over, shaking his head. “Sorry. That was too far” 

Yes it was. And the apology comes too late. The damage is done. Catastrophic damage he could never take back. Because Oscar didn't get angry like he did. He didn't yell like he should. He sits quietly, still, taking the words Lando had thrown at him. He can practically see how every wall Lando had fought so hard to bring down, go up again within seconds. Oscar's face hardens into the unmoving mask he hates so much. The silence stretches around them. When Oscar speaks again, Lando is sure he just stops breathing. 

“I don't think bringing you here was a good idea” he still refuses to look at him. 

“What?”

“I think you should go. If you don't want to be part of my mess, I'm not forcing you to”

No. No, no, no, that was not supposed to happen. It is now Oscar's turn to yell. Thats how it works.  

“Oscar, no. Thats not-”

He has no right to argue, he had fucked it up, now he had to deal with it. But the simplicity of Oscar's words just knocked the wind out of him. He had expected him to fight back in any way, no matter how uncharacteristic that is for Oscar. Instead, the man looks at him with the emptiest eyes Lando had ever seen. 

“Go home, Lando.”

“I'm sorry.” he whispers, not moving. He is met with silence.

“Oscar? I'm sorry, please I didn't mean that.” he tries again, stepping closer until he sinks onto the mattress next to Oscar. Oscar who looks straight ahead like he was very far away. He refuses to look at Lando, refuses to speak. Lando can physically feel his heart clenching painfully. He had ruined it. Again. Like he did with every good thing. His voice trembles, mindlessly trying to backpaddle.

“I was frustrated.” he whispers, voice breaking “Baby. Please, It got out of hand. I didn't mean to say that.” 

There is just nothing. No touch, no look, not even Oscar telling him to leave again. Just silence. 

And something in Lando just breaks as he sits there, knowing he is trying to grasp at straws that aren't there anymore.

“Osc- talk to me. Please.” he whispers. And Oscar - sits there. As if frozen, heart still pounding, blood rushing. A statue with a pulse. 

A statue whose voice is barely audible “I said you should go home” 

His voice is so final that there is nothing he can do but accept defeat. Lando stands in the doorway for too long, eyes lingering on the man he loves, who he had broken into a million pieces without ever wanting to. His Oscar who he had ruined with his stupid ego. Oscar who can't even look at him now. 

 “I love you” he whispers into the quiet room, knowing it would be the last time he would ever get to say it. For a moment he thinks he can see Oscar's nose twitch, but that might as well have been a trick of the growing shadows that were swallowing everything whole. 

Chapter Text

Oscar's hands are ice cold and clammy. There is dried blood on his palm where he had pressed his fingernails into the skin for far too long, far too hard. He has no recollection of it. The pain had become one with the mindnumbing screaming of his brain and the feeling of his heart that seemed to slowly shatter to pieces with every breath. 

He doesn't even remember it all. At some point, his brain had simply stopped processing what was happening. All that's left now is flashes of memory that bury themselves into his heart like glass shards. All of them hit the target. All of them make Oscar want to stop breathing. 

He hadn't wanted this. Hadn't wanted to snap at his sister, or hurt Lando. Because that's all it had been. Hurt. Pain. More than Lando had been able to take. Oscar had seen it in his face, the very moment he had yelled in the kitchen. His face scrunched up in anger that was so obviously masking a pain he couldn't show. Oscar knew what that kind of hiding looked like, he had lived his entire life wearing that kind of mask. And Lando's voice had been nothing but hurt. Oscar just had prayed it wouldn't escalate.

He should have known better than that. Lando couldn't hide his feelings, not in the way Oscar could. He had seen the singer try over the last week, pretending the tension didn't exist.

It had been a matter of time until it was too much.

He just hadn't expected for Lando to become cruel. Not wrong, but throwing around accusations like he wanted Oscar to yell back. But Oscar hadn't. Couldn't. He had sat there, waiting, silently deciding the future for the both of them. 

Because he had been able to handle the anger, but not the hurt. Lando wasn't even wrong, even if his words stung. It was what came after that broke him.

The moment Lando had realised what he had done, how much he had regretted his own words. That little hiccup in his voice when he had apologised, his big eyes pleading. He is sure that the sound of Lando begging him to say something would be replayed in his mind until he died. Maybe the memory would be the cause of his death. It was the worst thing he has ever heard. Lando had sounded so broken, so small. None of that fun, confident, easygoing person he adored so much left. He had begged, had pleaded. And Oscar had done absolutely nothing. He had been frozen, unmoving. Not out of anger, no, that had faded the moment Lando's voice had broken. But because it would be easier. 

As he sat there, Oscar had decided he couldn't take it. He had known it from the start. They were doomed, made to fail. There was no version of them that would make it out safe. That was the only thing he thought while he sat there, listening to Lando speak, his voice rising and falling with every strangled word while he begged for forgiveness.

It just - didn't work.

The hiding was breaking Lando, piece by piece, even if he refused to show it. Oscar would never be able to give him what he deserves. Being loved out loud, without care and without fear. He never should have let it happen. Never should have let it get this far. Because now, the pain of letting go was unbearable. The pure agony on Lando's face when he had finally sent him home was enough to make Oscar's stomach turn. He was responsible for that pain. And he knows it's the right decision. The responsible decision. Lando would go, and maybe hate Oscar forever and then he would move on and be fine. And he would get what he deserved. And Oscar would sit there, on the edge of his bed, forever in the position where he heard Lando's last painful love confession. Maybe until his body would collapse - unable to handle the heartbreak, or maybe until Lando came back. 

Except that he wouldn't. Despite sending him away, Oscar has to remind himself of that. Lando is gone. He had heard had heard the faint voices and the front door close. It was done. He was gone.

Gone.

Every time he dares to think about that, he is sure he's going to throw up. Lando had left. Like he had ordered him to. He was gone, because of Oscar. Like he should. For his own safety. His own happiness. This is for the best, he repeats to himself, as if that would aid the pain. Because it was the best decision for Lando. And Oscar would have to live with the ache that comes with his decision forever. And for Landos sake, he was willing to suffoate in it. 

He sits in the dark for a very, very long time. He isn't sure what time it is, he doesn't care either. He could sit there forever and it would not matter. Nothing matters anymore. 

He doesn't even really register the sun rising in front of his window. When he had left the kitchen it had been just setting. The concept of time melts away. Oscar's time is now measured in lengths of thoughts about Lando, coming one after another, one more painful than the next.

It takes his sister three tries to get through to him, when she opens the door just a tiny bit. 

“Oscar?” Hattie's voice is quiet and careful when she comes in. He can't look at her. He stares at the floor that is now illuminated by sunlight he had hoped would disappear forever. The room is silent. 

“You can't sit there forever, you know” Hattie's voice comes again, gentle and worried. 

Oscars throat is so dry that it hurts to speak. He doesn't look up. “I can try”

“No you cant”

He can and he will. If everyone just left him alone, he could sit here until the end of time and no one would get hurt again by him and his problems.

“Did Lando actually leave?” he whispers after a long silence, part of his heart hanging onto the stupid hope that maybe he didn't. Maybe it was all a bad dream and Lando sat downstairs with a coffee waiting for him. 

He is desillusioned harshly by his sister: “Yes. Mom drove him to the airport”

He's gone. Actually gone. Not just from the house but from his life. He makes a small noise between a dry sob and a cough.

Hattie waits a moment, then sits down on the bed, 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No” he can't. With no one. Not even her. 

For a while he can feel her look at him, like she was trying to figure him out. She leans against the headboard, her fingers tapping onto her knee while she thinks. Finally, she speaks. Her words are slow, like she was afraid to scare him off. 

“Look, I don't want to assume anything, but I know you and I know when things are wrong. Wronger than just a fight between friends”

Oscar can feel his breathing stop. He wants to say something, anything. Deny whatever she was implying and shut it down. But his mouth won't open and Hattie continues. 

“I saw how you look at him, Oscar. And how he looks at you”

“What are you saying?” his voice is so tight it hurts 

“Osc-”

He shakes his head “You don't know the half of it”

Hattie's voice is half a plea: “Tell me, then.” 

“I can't. If anyone finds out, my life is over”

she leans closer to him. “You think I would say anything to anyone?”

“No. But I don't know if I can talk about it” he whispers “I don't even understand it myself” 

“It?” she tilts her head “You mean Lando?”

 “I mean being in love with him” The words come out of his mouth like a confession to a terrible sin he committed. For a moment, he waits for some kind of big reaction. Anything. He doesn't get it. Hattie says nothing, just nods as if that was the least surprising thing she's ever heard. Somehow, it makes more words tumble out into the open: 

“I love him" he continues, barely breathing. Every word is a fight. " I'm just - scared. God, Hattie I am so scared”

He still can't look at her, even when she speaks again. “That's why you snapped at Edie last night?”

“Yeah. I just - it was too close. And I didn't mean it. Im sorry”  

“It's okay. We all forgive you” Hattie nods gently. 

“All except Lando” the reminder stings like a physical blow. 

“He dares to be mad at you for being scared?”

“No. He´s hurt because he thinks I'm ashamed of him. And he is right.” Oscar continues , eyes firmly planted on the floor. “I expected him to sacrifice everything for me and just sit and take it. All because I wanted to be with him. And he just - did it. And I still hurt him. I still pushed him away everytime. Because he is right, I am a coward.”

His sister looks at him, her voice more than gentle. “Youre not a coward for wanting to stay safe, Oscar. I can't even imagine what would happen if the public found out about you and him”

It wasn't about that. Never had been.

He shakes his head: “The public doesn't matter. It was never about that, that is a safety issue and he understood that. But I can't even tell mom I´m gay.” his voice hitches. “I can do nothing but pretend be something I'm not” 

Hattie is quiet.

“But Lando is gonna be better off now.” Oscar's voice is nothing but a strained whisper. “He doesn't deserve to live in my cage.” 

The realisation seems to dawn on his sister now. “He didn't leave on his own? You told him to go?”

“It was the only way.” Oscar sounds defensive and he knows it “He never would have left otherwise. And I - I just can't risk hurting him like that again.” 

He looks at his sister for the first time. Her big eyes are filled with tears, her lower lip slightly trembling. As if the sight of her older brother in pain hurts her physically. It's the second time today someone has looked at him like that today. Silently stewing in pain he caused. It's the last straw. One second it is quiet in the room, the next he is fully sobbing. The kind that physically hurts as he doubles over, gasping for air he doesn't get. And Hattie is there, her arms around him, as if she wasn't so much tinier than him. She smells like childhood and home. Her fingers rub circles onto his back as he sobs, tears streaming down his face. Her shirt is wet, and she must be terribly uncomfortable. But she doesn't move.

Hattie holds her brother as he falls apart, hugging him so close like she was trying to keep the pieces together.

Chapter Text

Lando has no idea how he ends up in his apartment. From the moment he left Oscar's room to the moment he collapses onto his kitchen floor everything is a blur he cannot remember, no matter how hard he tries. At least he managed to hold it together until then as it seems, because the first sob that tears from his lungs is more of a built up, agonised screech. 

It is pathetic. The way he curls up, wailing, desperate sobs wrecking his body. His head hits the cold floor tile and he couldn't care less. He had ruined it. The best thing in his life, he had ruined it with his stupid ego. It was over.

Forever .

Oscar doesnt love him anymore and it is all his fault. He had let his anger get the better of him, again. He had ruined it. The expression on Oscar's face would haunt him for the rest of his life. How he had gone from the man he loved to nothing but a shell of himself in nothing but seconds. It was gut wrenching. It made him sick to his stomach. All because he couldn't keep himself in check. All because of his selfish, dumb, overwhelming feelings. Feelings that had made him lose Oscar just as fast as he had gotten him. Feelings that left him here, on the floor of his London apartment, miles away from where he wanted to be. 

Nothing helps now. Lando is in freefall and he can't see the floor beneath. This is rock bottom and somehow he is still falling. 

His shirt still smells like Oscar - warm and safe. He buries his face in it, unsure whether it's comfort or torture he is looking for. He finds both in the crinkled fabric. Everything hurts. His chest, his stomach, his head, his heart. He feels like he is being ripped apart, flayed edges and bloody leftovers and all. This wasn't supposed to happen. 

Oscar loves him. 

No.

Loved. Past tense.

Because he doesn't anymore. Because Lando had ruined it all. 

The same thoughts circle as time drags on, putting seconds and minutes and hours between the last time he saw Oscar and now. Every minute seems more painful than the last, and somehow less painful than the next. Sometimes, hours seem to pass by in a blink. Then he stares at the clock of his oven for what feels like days before the number changes.His body aches from spending way too much time on the hard floor. His phone had lost battery long ago. Sometimes, Lando is sure he either passes out or falls asleep for a while. It´s disorienting, but he cant bring himself to care. It is dark when he manages to drag himself onto the couch, only to immediately collapse again. 

There is no way to tell how much time really passes before he wakes up on the couch, in unwashed clothes and to the sound of the front door opening. It takes a moment for him to even acknowledge the sound. Everything is blurry. Lando's head hurts, his throat is raw. He blinks into the sunlight through swollen eyes from crying. When the room comes into focus, he almost jumps. In the doorway, with a very concerned expression on his face, stands Max. 

“Lando? When did you get hom- jesus fucking christ what happened to you?” He stares at Lando like he is an intruder in his own flat.

 He might as well be. At this point, Lando is sure he looks like someone found under a bridge instead of his apartment. He feels disgusting. Probably looks like it too. He hasn't eaten or drank anything in too long. His clothes are constantly damp and sweaty and his hair is the worst mess it has ever been. The curls are smushed at some parts, pulled apart at others, where he had pulled at them in an attempt to self soothe. 

The singer doesn't even sit up, he lays there, staring at his best friend “Why are you here?” 

“Im taking care of your mail, stop deflecting.” Max immediately shoots back, putting a stack of unread letters onto the counter. 

“Im not-” Lando starts but is immediately interrupted.

“Why do you look like you are decomposing?”

“I dont-”

“Yes you do” Max sits down on the couch, mustering Lando. “Im gonna go out on a limb here and assume your vacation ended less fun than you wanted it?”

“You could say that” he grumbles, not moving. 

“Hm. I'm gonna take another wild guess and assume a certain race car driver had something to do with it?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Dont say his name” Of course Max doesnt listen.

“So you finally fucked Oscar”

“I said don't say his name”

“Sorry.” He sounds everything but apologetic. 

There is a very long pause. Max looks like he is debating whether or not he should press for details. 

“Is that why you couldn't tell me anything?"

Lando nods. “Yeah. Sorry again for that. But like - I couldn't risk anyone finding out”

“Since when do you care if anyone knows who you fuck?” Max almost scoffs. He looks too calm. To chill. Like he doesn't take Lando seriously. Not that he can blame him. This might be the very first time Lando had actually gotten his heart broken by someone he cares about. 

“I don't. He does.” 

Max looks annoyed. “Right” 

“Also, It wasn't like that” Lando defends himself, his voice breaking ever so slightly. That seems to get Max to listen. To look at him. His voice turns a little more gentle. 

“Like what?”

For a second, Lando is at a loss for words. How could he even begin to explain. He settles on the simplest way. “Like everyone else. It was real.” 

He lets out a hoarse laugh. “Damn. Didn't know you could do that”

“Fuck you” Again, he wasnt wrong, but he didnt have to say it like that. 

There is another pause. Something in Max shifts when he sighs, his voice softer now. There is something understanding there now. He gets it. Not entirely, but enough. Enough to ask: 

“You love him then?”

“Yeah”

“Shit” 

“Yeah”

Another silence. Neither of them move. 

“Does he love you?” Max finally asks. 

Lando chokes on his answer. “He did”

“Did?

“I fucked it up”

He gets a nod. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No” Lando doesn't. Not now, not ever. He was sure the world would just fall apart the moment he tried to explain himself. 

“Okay then”

That was the beauty of being friends with Max. He didn't push things. He knew that one day, Lando would probably tell him everything. He would probably be also drunk and incoherent, but he would be honest. And until then, they would sit in comfortable silence. 

Max stays. They don't talk much. He doesn't comment on Lando's unwashed hair or his dirty clothes he refuses to change out of as long as they carry the last hint of Oscars scent. He is there, a silent anchor in a raging storm. Without blinking. Without complaining. They watch every Captain America movie in order. Lando cries when Bucky falls off the train. Then again when he doesn't recognise Steve. Max says nothing. But he doesn't judge either. He orders Chinese takeout and forces Lando to eat seven spring rolls, even if they make him want to throw up. He watches like a hawk until Lando manages to drink enough water for his judgement. For once, he doesn't even complain about sitting on the balcony in the drizzling rain while Lando chain-smokes half his pack of emergency cigarettes. When he leaves that night, Lando still feels like he is dying, but now at least he has someone sitting next to him while he does. 

Chapter Text

Summer break ends blurry. Oscar feels like a ghost haunting his own house. He moves like one too. Most of the time, he hides in his room, staring at the wall or the ceiling. He sneaks into his own kitchen like he isn't allowed to be there. He avoids his mother and his sisters. Hattie had sworn up and down to keep his secret, and until now it seemed like she did. He still can't look her in the eye whenever they meet in the hallway. There was no one else to tell. Not Logan or Daniel of any of his other friends. It was him and only him there to hurt. 

It is terrible. By the third day of Lando's absence he had finally stopped hoping to see him in every room. By the fourth he didn't pray the front door opening was him coming back. By the time he boards the plane to Zandvoort, he had accepted that Lando was gone. Good job Oscar, you did it. He thinks to himself as he stares out of the plane window. He's gone. And Oscar had lost the only thing that made him happy to his core. 

In some moments he regrets it so much that he wants to rip his hair out. In those moments, he wants Lando back, no matter what the consequences are. He wants and needs violently, not caring about what the world might think. In those moments he is willing to risk it all, would do anything to have Lando by his side. 

In other moments, he accepts the loss more quietly, gracefully. Like he should. Then, he knows that it was necessary. For Lando's happiness and his own survival. The two of them could only work in a vacuum. In the real world, even trying was futile. 

Both thoughts make him want to rip his heart out just so it would stop hurting, even for a second. 

It always hurts now. He is almost used to it. And if he tries really hard, he can even pretend that it doesn't break him further with every heartbeat. It still is almost impossible to ignore. Especially now that summer break is over and he is back, standing alone in the paddock, quietly soaking up the sun in the hopes it would make him feel a little more alive. 

He hadn't spoken to Daniel yet, except for a short welcome back. Actually, Oscar hadn't really spoken to anyone if he could avoid it. Maybe because he has nothing to say. Maybe because deep down he is afraid that his voice would develop a mind of its own and tell his secrets to whoever was there to hear them. So he stays quiet, motionless standing in one of the only spots where the paparazzi had never spotted him before. 

“Oscar?” The voice startling him is quiet and dark. Max. In his RedBull team kit that he practically never takes off and a slightly worried expression on his face. 

“Hey”

There is a moment of an odd silence between the two of them. They weren't friends. Max barely spoke to him. 

“Uhm - are you alright?” the dutchman asks now, visibly unsure about what he is doing. 

Oscar blinks. “uh - yeah. I mean, yes. Why?”

“Well, you are bleeding onto your shoe” Max practically deadpans. 

Oh.

He's not wrong. Again, Oscars palm is open, ripped up by his fingernails. Only this time, he had managed to make himself actually bleed so badly, that slow drops of dark red blood are seeping out of his clenched fist and dripping onto his shoe. 

“Shit” he mutters, flexing his fingers, which only makes the mess worse. Max looks at him, then, a little clumsily, hands him a napkin.

“There you go. I think you need a bandage though. For the gloves later”

Max stands there, quietly staring while Oscar tries to stop the bleeding. In the weird silence, he realises for the first time that he doesn't know the first thing about his rival. He has no idea what to say. Luckily, footsteps approach fast before the silence becomes too awkward. Charles. Not in team kit, but instead a Ferrari red shirt and jeans. For once he isn't accompanied by Leo. He spots Max first. 

“There you are, I-” Charles stops. Now he has seen Oscar. “Oh. Hi Oscar.”

Oscar nods. His hand is still clasped around his palm. Charles looks from one to the other, raising an eyebrow.

“What's going on here?” 

“Nothing. Just-” Oscar nods to his still bleeding hand, causing Charles to wince.

“Jesus Oscar, that looks bad” something about his accent is a little comforting. 

“It's fine. Nothing to worry about” he tries to shake his head.

Charles raises his other eyebrow. “You come here, looking half dead and bleeding and want us to think everything is fine?” He shoots a glance at Max.

“Max, did you not ask him if he is okay?” 

The blonde shrugs “He said he was alright”

“And you just believed him? Looking like that?” 

Okay rude. Oscar looks tired, sure, but it isn't that bad, is it?

“He's an adult-”

“Max-”

Oscar stands there, watching the two bicker like an old married couple. It's even worse than on camera. In moments like these, he sometimes thinks Max stands closer to the Ferrari driver than necessary, but he doesn't comment on it. Charles doesn't seem to mind that he probably feels the blonde's breath when he turns his head. The opposite actually. He seems to gravitate closer to Max. Oscar isn't sure. The movement is so minimal that it might just be a trick of the light. Charles turns back to him now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“It's - I'm alright. Just going through something, you know. I'll be fine once I'm in the car” he manages, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. 

“You better be. It gets lonely at the top without you trying to catch up” Max now pipes up, almost smiling a little. Charles ignores him.

“Well, if anything comes up, just know that there's always an open ear, alright? Even if we're fighting for a championship here.” And for a moment, Oscar is sure Charles knows something he shouldn't. The mere thought of that makes his stomach turn. Instead, he manages a half smile. 

“That's sweet, Charles. Thank you.”

The man nods “Always.”

Oscar's hands are clammy, shoulders tense. If he stays longer, lets himself be looked at by Charles watchful eyes, he is sure he would break down. “I think I need to go now. They - uh, need me in the garage” he mumbles, not even convincing himself. 

Charles does visibly not believe him, but he doesn't say anything. Behind him, Max nods.

“Bye then.” he waves a bit as he exchanges a glance with Max that he cannot interpret. 

“Right, bye. And good luck later” he mumbles, already halfway turned around as he leaves. It's too much. Too much talking, too many people noticing he wasn't alright. It isn't that obvious that he was falling apart, is it? As he walks, he glances at his reflection in one of the windows. 

He sees it immediately. His eyes are dark and sunken in, his cheeks hollow. His hair was a mess, too long now and looking like it hadn't been combed in too long. Oscar actually isn't sure when he had brushed it. His shirt is crinkled, there's a stain on the side of his jeans. And now, there is a blood stain on the white of his shoe. Yeah, Charles was right. He looks as bad as he feels. 

For half a second he toys with the idea of talking to the Ferrari driver about what is going on. He throws the thought away immediately. Charles may be kind, but he isn't a friend. Oscar couldn't break. Not in front of him, not in front of anyone. He smoothes down his hair with his fingers. Charles isn't an option. No one is. He was enough to make conversation with, nothing else. No, Oscar is alone in this. Always had been, always would be. The loneliness sinks into his bones with  an overwhelming finality as he watches the people around him. In that moment, he is sure he would die alone too. Or maybe he already had. 

The McLaren garage is a tomb and Oscar becomes its first body, rotting the longer he stays. In the quiet, his car becomes a coffin. Pushing Lando away had been the final nail in it. Oscar was dead, gone and buried. In its place would be the shiny wax figure he molded himself into. Because what else is there to do? He had made the decision to end things with Lando. For Lando's sake first, of course. Always Lando. Always the priority. But now, he has no reason to not be the perfect poster boy they want.

God, he really needs to get his shit together.

There is nothing left that is worth abandoning what the team wants. And Oscar could act. He had done it for years after all. It doesn't matter what he wants. He can smile and laugh on camera and he can score points and win. Even with the aching in his chest. Even with the pain ripping him apart every night. He presses down onto the palm of his hand again, the fabric of his glove painfully hitting the wound. He can do this.  If he cant have Lando, he can at least have the championship. As he had done a million times before, Oscar gets into his car.

Chapter Text

Three weeks after leaving Australia, Lando is still somewhere below rock bottom. Only now, he is not allowed to be anymore. He had known the tour schedule, of course he had. He is supposed to be on the road again at the same time Oscar's summer break ended.

And thats where he is.

He doesn't have the luxury of hiding - how hypocritical to think of it as a privilege now.

So Lando does what he does best. He stands on stage and sings and plays his guitar and acts just like the people expect him to. He is convincing enough to make it work. He can pretend that every stranger's hand on his body does not make him want to throw up. He can pretend that the faces in the crowd blur so much, that he could not remember the people if he wanted to. He can pretend he remembers much of anything. 

He doesn't. The world goes past him, without touching him. Most of Lando's existence feels like he is underwater now. He finds himself backstage, not knowing how he got there. He eats without tasting anything. Speaks without knowing what he says. He is just happy the songs he wrote are familiar enough in his mouth to be performed without thinking about it. His body seems to function, while his brain is miles away. 

He is numb.

Numb for every physical sensation. Or maybe the pain inside is just so constantly overwhelming that every other feeling seems insignificant in comparison. Sometimes he wonders if he can even feel real, bodily pain anymore. The urge to test it fades faster than he can try, and afterwards he is grateful for that. It is bad enough as it is, he doesn't need physical reminders of his breakdown. 

For the first time ever, he is grateful that people are managing him. There is no way he could in any way keep track of a calendar now. Most times he isn't even that sure what day it is when he wakes up. He doesn't sleep enough, and when he does, his dreams are haunted by hazel eyes and warm hands. Every new voice sounds like Oscars for the first second. Every buzzing of his phone is Oscar calling and accepting his apology until he reads the notification. It is, of course, never Oscar. Every thought is Oscar. His words, his face. He is everywhere, and at the same time nowhere. And every time he thinks of it, his body feels like it is going up in flames. Lando watches every photo of him on social media obsessively. It doesn't help, because Oscar looks downright miserable, even if Lando is sure that the driver thinks he is a good actor. Not to Lando. He sees right through it. And sometimes, he feels relief. Because it is not only him hurting. Because maybe Oscar misses him too. In the same second, he feels disgusting for even daring to think like that. He should want Oscar happy and carefree. It was enough that Lando was hurting so bad. Because it is bad. 

Aching. 

Overwhelming. 

Constant. 

The only time he can escape it all, even if just for a night, is in a club, post show and before sunrise.

 Lando knows he drinks too much. Everyone else knows too. No one tells him to stop. Because he gets easier when he is drunk. Less weepy, less floaty. Lando becomes a functioning person when he drinks and that's why no one cares that he spends every after show party seated at the bar, downing one shot after another. 

After one shot he looks less like he wants to disappear. 

After three he laughs at the bartender's joke.

After five, the ache in his chest is replaced by the comfortable buzz of alcohol in his blood. 

After seven he can pretend the girl kissing him isn't a girl at all. 

By the time he throws it all up again, the regret burns more than the bile in his throat. Every club toilet is the same. Loud, dimly lit, cold porcelain and hard floors. Lando feels the same in every single one. Alone on the floor, half conscious at this point, silently praying for the relief of a blackout. He knows it is more than self destructive. He has never cared less. If the dark of losing consciousness also means not thinking of Oscar's pained face for just a second, he is willing to accept that. He is collapsing. A star imploding, burning up from the inside. It is only a matter of time until he explodes openly. 

He rarely goes home alone. 

Too often it is Max who drags him back to whatever hotel room someone had booked for him. There is nothing left to say. Some nights, Max sits in the room silently watching Lando sleep. They don't talk about the silent fear on his face. They both had read the same headlines about stars choking on their own vomit after a drink too many. 

Other nights he is still drunk enough to be able to pretend he can smell burnt rubber and Oscars cologne in the crook of a nameless girl's neck. None of them care when he calls them by Oscar's name. They ignore the shaking of his hands and the tears on his cheeks afterwards. They all leave before breakfast. 

When he is alone, Lando sits in the half dark, his shaky fingers on the strings of his guitar for hours and hours. It is the only way his racing thoughts begin to make sense. In the mornings after, he lives off of painkillers and plain toast. 

This was the freedom he wanted? Really? This was what he had given up Oscar for? The thought sticks, seeps into his bones until the self loathing clings to him like a second skin. 

He now exists in a constant half awake state, truly existing only on stage for other people's enjoyment. Like a mirrorball with broken edges, waiting for the light to hit him in a way that made the broken pieces sparkle. 

He can hide the jagged edges from the public. 2 hours in the flashing lights are nothing in comparison to the chaos backstage. He cannot hide from the people on his team. They see his dull eyes, smell the alcohol on his unwashed clothes, notice the constant uneasiness. In the quiet aftermath of another soundcheck Lando has no memory of, his tour manager pulls him aside. Lillian had known him for a while now. He likes her. With her messy hair and round glasses she reminds him of an old English teacher whose name he can't remember.  

“Lando?” Her voice is soft. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He follows her into the empty stairwell, out of earshot. For a moment, she looks at him. 

“Look, I know touring can be exhausting” she starts. “But it never used to be this hard on you.” 

Lando shrugs. “Happens. I don't know what you want me to say” 

“Lando.” she sighs. “We're worried. All of us”

Lando wants to scream. Who cares? Who cares if they were worried? He is hurting and that is all he can focus on now. 

“Just, if you need to do anything differently, we can do that. Just tell us what you want and we can-” Lillian continues. 

He interrupts her, tone hard. “I want to go home”

“Lando”

“I know I can't, but that's what I want” he shrugs again. 

He earns another sigh from Lillian. “There's only a couple shows left now, I'm sure you can disappear after those” she tries to cheer him up. It doesn't change a thing. He doesn't want to tell that to her face, not when all she does is mean well. 

“I guess” he manages, his throat tight. 

Lillian is quiet, as if Lando's answer had been wrong enough to completely throw her off of the script she had planned in her head. She just looks at him with the same sad eyes until Lando speaks up again. 

“I want to play something new tonight” 

He had thought about it for a while now. Play one of the songs he wrote in his hotel room in front of a crowd. Maybe it would help him cope. Maybe Oscar would see it. No. Not Oscar. He was doing it for himself only. Because Oscar surely was better than him when it came to stalking the others' socials. 

Lillian breaks the cycle of thoughts that is about to start up again. 

“Oh, yeah, I mean of course we can do that” she nods quickly, surprise written all over her face. 

Lando nods “Okay.”

Lillian promises him she would make it work, but the longer he stands there, the more her voice begins to blur into the indistinguishable noise that every conversation had become. He seems to nod at the right moments though, because Lillian finally leaves, her face a little lighter.

When he is on stage that night, he feels something for the first time since the start of this leg of tour. He isn't sure what it is, but it makes his hands tremble as he looks into the crowd. 

“Uhm, so-” he begins, his voice a little shaky through the microphone. “I wrote a bunch of stuff recently and I just feel like I need to get it out of my system.” he smiles a little, the light almost reaching his eyes. "It's called 'From the dining table´. It's a little different” 

Lando's voice is uncharacteristically soft. Lights dim. The crowd holds its breath. 

When he sings, every lyric feels like a gunshot.

Chapter Text

It is impossible to ignore a supernova. Oscar learns that very fast after Lando goes back on tour. Somehow, in between kisses and fights, he had forgotten that he is not the only famous person. He isn't quite sure why. Maybe because Lando had been so human in his arms, so removed from the star on stage. Maybe because his career didn't determine his actions so much. Maybe because he never played guitar for Oscar or really spoke about it. But that does not mean Lando is the guy next door. Quite the opposite. Lando is everywhere. Every time Oscar opens any kind of social media, there is a new photo on him. Now that he is back in the public again, every move is documented. There are photos of him wherever he goes. Lando on stage, in his half opened shirt with a guitar in hand. Lando in clubs with his hair messy and visibly drunk. 

It is no wonder he hears his new song the same day he first plays it. Oscar is in Italy that night, tired after another pole position guaranteed in qualifying. In the empty silence of his hotel room, Lando's voice is familiar, even filmed with a shaky camera and with the murmuring of a sold out stadium in the background. 

Oh.

He hadn't cried over Lando since he had come back to work. Every evening he had wanted to, but had never given himself permission to. Not while he is working. While he is working, he needs to push it all down. Like it never happened. It is different now. Lando's voice is comforting and agonising at the same time. Oscar stands no chance. By the second verse there are tears in his eyes. By the end of the song, he can barely breathe. How could he forget? Loving a poet means that you might just become the subject of their best work. No matter whether you like it or not. Oscar scrolls back to the beginning, only to hear him sing the same words again, hurting in the exact same way. All he can do is stare at the screen. 

“Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too”

Lando now repeats, his voice a little more shaky with every repetition. Something about it makes Oscar cry harder. He is sorry. More than just sorry. Does Lando think he's not? He has been nothing but sorry for weeks. He plays the video three more times. Lando does not change his mind. The lyrics stay the same.

When it is silent once again he makes the mistake of opening up the comments.

@xx_midnightmusic: OH???? 

@x_polaroidwreck: What the FUCK, did he just do to me?

@kneescks04: LN3 is SO coming and none of us are ready in any form. 

@LNupdates: Yeah, so I am violently sobbing 

@tellthetruth: who hurt him???

Who hurt him? The fact that Oscar knows it is him, eats him alive. He was responsible for it all. For every tragic lyric that he would write down. Every devastating melody. It is Oscar's fault. He made Lando feel like that. On purpose. The longer he stews in the feeling, the less he can justify it to himself. Did it really matter that his intent was good, when the outcome was this bad? 

The thought follows Oscar into his restless sleep. It follows him in the shower, the paddock, into interviews he gives without really caring what he says. It hurts. And he can't escape it. Not even at work, where Lando should be a faint memory only. 

On his way to the car, Daniel catches up with him, immediately jumping into conversation without greeting him. 

“Have you seen Lando Norris' new song?”

“Yeah. Kinda sad” Oscar chokes out, pretending the question didn't cause him to flinch. 

Daniel sighs “So sad, mate. Makes you think what happened to the guy after visiting us here”

“Yeah. Who knows” He knows. Not like he could say that, but he does. 

“Gotta be terrible.” the other driver shakes his head. “Any chance you can ask him? You talked to him more than I did.” he leans in “I just wanna know the gossip, ya know?”

Oscar swallows. “I don't think so. Sorry.”

“Eh. Shame." He grabs his helmet. “Would have been cool.” he grins as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. “Well, good luck out there then.”

“Thanks. You too”

The conversation repeats in his head every single lap. Denying knowing Lando that well hurts. It probably always would. Again, he reminds himself that he wanted this. He wanted distance, now he has it. Lando is thousands of kilometres away and Oscar needs to deal with it.

Unfortunately, Lando seems to pull every string to make sure he cannot escape it. Oscar had forgotten that Lando wasn't some low level artist. Just because he had acted like they were normal people, did not mean he was not a supernova. The billboards appear seemingly overnight. The first one catches his attention when he is on his way to the airport. After that, they seem to follow him, wherever he goes. If Oscar didn't know Lando so well, he might haven't even known it was his work.

They all follow the same layout. White backgrounds with one object in focus and words scribbled on as if in a hurry.  

“Do I wanna know?” smeared onto the side of a cup of spilled coffee. 

“Meet me in the hallway” written onto the tag of a hotel room key. 

“The Exit” is the one that makes Oscar stop mid movement when he sees it. The words are scrawled onto the cracked visor of a helmet. A helmet like Oscar wears every time he gets into the car. It was obvious to everyone who knew, and completely unsuspicious to the rest of the public. And to Oscar, it felt like a love letter and a war declaration all the same. 

All Oscar had wanted was to give Lando the chance at happiness & freedom. That's why he had shoved him away. He had achieved the opposite apparently. Instead of a fun story to look back on, Oscar had become the origin story to an album that was not even out yet and already seemed so heartbreaking that people were posting thinkpieces, analysing every promotional poster in every possible aspect. Oscar reads them all. They all make him sick. Either because they come too close to the truth, or are so far removed from it. This is the last time. He tells himself every time he checks Lando's socials. It is never the last time. He falls into a rhythm of checking up on the singer every morning. He isn't even sure what he is looking for. A message? A call? Some cryptic photo that would make everything better? Maybe just a sign that Lando still exists. Anything that did not involve him reaching out first. Oscar doesn't send the messages he types out. Doesn't call, no matter how often his thumb hovers over the button. 

 It is already October when the announcement comes. Oscar had been keeping his head above water, had been doing well. At least in the championship. He was leading. Everything outside of that, doesn't matter. His loneliness, the lack of sleep - it was whatever. Oscar was surviving and he was pretty okay at it.  Until that day. Until he had opened his Instagram and was greeted by the sight of Lando Norris' new album cover. 

The post is simple. Almost too simple.

White background, black and white filter. Lando stands with his back to the camera, his torso bare, the waistband of his jeans barely visible before the picture cuts off. The title is written messily, like Lando had done it on his own back.  "crash & burn" can be read on the bare skin of his back in something that looks like lipstick or sharpie at first glance. Not at second glance. It is a little too shiny, a little too wet to be any kind of pen. If Oscar had any other job he would have no idea what it was. But he does. Because Lando did it on purpose. It's motor oil. The same kind used in every car. An indirect message, seen by everyone, understood by Oscar only. The caption is short. No greetings, no explanation. 

“Crash & Burn. Out December 7th.” 

The comments on the post are disabled.

Chapter Text

Lando blinks into the brightest studio lighting he had ever experienced. There is no time to adjust before he is spoken to. 

“So, Lando” the moderator – Jimmy – grins at him from across his desk. It's a nice atmosphere in the studio tonight. He had liked the late-night show since he was a kid, so being here felt like checking off one more thing of his list. 

Win a grammy? Check.

Sell out a tour? Check.

Be on late night television? Check. 

Forget about Oscar Pias- no. Not now. Not the time, not the place. 

Lando tugs at the cotton of his white graphic tee. He liked the look they had put him in. Black jeans, a white tee that said “crash & burn” on the chest. He felt comfortable, very similar to what he usually wore off stage. Tonight wasn't about spotlights and bass guitars. Tonight, his job was just to sit here on the plush red couch and talk. 

Talk about the music he had been writing in the quiet of his hotel room and the album that had been happening way faster than he had expected. Tour hadn't even been over yet when they had pushed the first round of promotional material. Billboards, mainly. 

Subtle. 

When Lando had taken his final bow in NewYork, the album had been written completely. It had been coping disguised as creating. And in the aftermath of the tour, the constant buzz from working had helped to keep him from spiralling. Recording, mixing, photoshoots, branding, visualizers, music video filming, scheduling for the release concert. Lando had drowned himself in work. It was a lesson he learned quickly: When you don't have time to think about it, you don't have time to cry about it. At least not that much. 

He had cried in the studio.

More than once. 

Not that he would admit that. 

Now Lando blinks up at Jimmy, who is resuming his question. 

“I'm gonna jump straight in here. Your album “crash and burn” is about to come out in just under a month-”  he leaves space for the crowd to cheer before continuing“can you confirm or deny for us, if your recently live performed song “From the dining table” will be featured on this album”

“Well yes.” He confirms, nodding gently. His answer causes the life crowd to erupt in another wave of cheering. Lando continues when silence fills the room again: 

 “Playing it live was a little bit of a test run. I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to release the new songs I wrote while on tour, just because they sound a little different from what I usually write. But getting to hear direct feedback was enough to convince me, and therefore ´from the dining table´ will 100% be on the album ”

Jimmy smiles “That sounds great. Will it be a lead single then?”

“No. Uhm -” For a moment Lando is lost for words. How do you explain the kind of insanity in which the album had been written? He settles on the easiest way he can think of.

“This album was kind of written in a creative daze, which is very different to the way I usually work. That is also different from how the music industry usually works. A lead single would be created beforehand and there would be time in between the song release and the rest of the album” he leans back. 

“I opted out of that. Most songs were written in a very short time span, and I felt it would be appropriate to also release them in a similar manner.”

“You're in a hurry to release the album, then?”

“Not a haste, I think.” Lando tries to argue, more with himself than the question. “But more the need to get it out, so I can get it all out of my system, if you understand what I mean” 

“Hm. Yeah. So we can expect more songs like from the dining table? More lovesick emotional ballads?”                                 

Lando's mouth goes dry. He had expected questions like this, of course, and still he wasn't sure how to answer. Because he was lovesick, wasn't he? Even after months. And how could he not? What had happened between him and Oscar had been nothing short of an earth-shattering, mind-blowing romance. But that was not what belonged on TV. Those parts belonged to the privacy of his mind. So instead, he smiles and gives the PR approved answer. 

“I did get inspired to write more romantic songs this time around, that is true. I´ll say some might resemble the dining table sonically, others not at all. But thematically, I think I managed to write all the songs on a similar topic.”

Jimmy seems to smile even wider as he nods. “Really? A full album of lovesick songs. That's unexpected, especially coming from you.” He laughs. “No offence”

“Oh none taken. I am aware that my reputation isn't exactly loverboy of the year” Lando tries to smile away the growing pit in his stomach. 

Well, is there any chance we get to hear about your muse?” Jimmy now jokes. It's meant to be light-hearted but Lando's breath hitches in his throat.

Oscar. 

His muse.

Was he allowed to think of Oscar as his muse? Technically he was, wasn´t he? 

Lando manages a strangled chuckle: “Well, there was a muse, at some point, of course.” 

Humour Lando, people like humour.

“But then again, we all know I tend to be dramatic, so this entire album is based off a two weeklong situationship that in the end meant nothing at all” Liar.

LIAR.

 It meant everything. It had changed his perception of love, of life. His hands tremble and he clutches his jeans to keep them still. He had given an answer. A casual one. One that sold. One that was so untrue, he was sure everyone already knew. In front of him, Jimmy Fallon laughs his signature laugh. Lando can barely manage a grin. It´s as if his brain was empty, except for Oscar. All he can think about is his face, smiling up at him. The way his hands felt in Lando's hair. It makes his heart ache every time he thinks about it. The silence is too long to be casual. Lando blinks away a tear he prays doesn't show up on camera. He shouldn´t have said it didn't mean anything. But now it was too late. He could never take it back. Somehow Jimmy manages to see the tension that had spread all throughout Lando's body, because he switches topics so casually it surprises him. Years of experience as a TV show host apparently give you that ability.

“Right, Lando. So, we can expect something new from you. Did the recording process change in any way then?” A safe question. Thank God. For the rest of the interview, Lando talks about recording processes and experimental instrumentals and being on vocal rest. Most of it is a blur, but at least he can almost ban the thoughts of Oscar for a while. He laughs along, waves to the crowd, then finally it´s over.

 The lights dim as Lando makes his way to the back room, running a hand through his hair. He barely gets a minute to breathe before his phone buzzes. Once. Then twice. And again. It´s Max.

Max

Mate, you okay?

Saw the interview, you looked bad

I wasn't the only one who noticed either

You might be fucked

Lando groans. He shouldn't have said anything at all. He shouldn't even have agreed to the interview. It was a bad idea. A terrible one. 

         Max

im fine

What do you mean I looked bad?

link

just look

Lando hesitates for a second before opening it. Someone had already clipped the question about his muse. Damn. He had been even less good at hiding his emotions than he thought. His fingers were curled up so tightly that his knuckles were white. In the camera, you could see him blinking away the tear he had felt burning in his eyes. He could see his own breath hitch. It wasn't nice to see. He looked uncomfortable. His persona, usually so lively and charming, seemed erased. From a PR point, it drove home the narrative of lovesickness. From a personal standpoint, Lando hated it because suddenly his grief wasnt a calculated performance, but a public spectacle. He wasnt doing well. And people noticed. The comments were going insane already, one more worried than the other. 

Yea that is NOT the face of someone whose situationship didn't mean anything

OH I know the album is gonna be insaneeee

What happened on tour that made my man be THIS down bad??

Poor Lando, that was definitely a question too far

Is he actually crying?!??!

bring back men who yearn like this

I NEED someone to do research on who the muse could possibly be, because fuck them.

That man got his heart BROKEN during those two weeks

Someone hug him pls.

Yeah, that was not good. Lando's first thought is not himself though. It is Oscar. Of course it is Oscar. For a moment, he wonders if he would see. After all, deep down, that was the reason he did any of it. 

It had been petty. All of it. 

Calling it crash & burn? Petty. 

Setting the release date to the last race day of the season? Petty. 

One too many car images in the promotional material? Petty. 

It wasn't just for aesthetics. No, deep down, Lando wants to make Oscar look. 

Look at what you did to me. Look how bad you hurt me. Look at how sorry I am. Look at me. 

Still, even now, Lando wants to be seen by Oscar. Just in the same way he had wanted it in Oscar's old bedroom that last evening. But now that Oscar is gone and Lando couldn't reach him anymore, that is nothing but a dream. He can't beg. Cant call, cant text. Nothing. He can continue to stalk every single one of Oscars socials too often, but that would never mean that Oscar would acknowledge him ever again. And while he knows it is toxic, he can't help himself. If Oscar didn't dare to look, Lando would force him to. 

The tracklist goes online two days later. Lando likes the concept of the post. White wallpaper, the titles smeared onto it with ash, like it had been done aggressively or in a hurry. 

crash & burn

Everybody Here Wants You

A little death

Falling In Love

Do I wanna know?

Heavenly

From The Dining Table

Astronomy 

Lover, you should've come over

Meet Me In The Hallway

The Exit

10 in total. 10 Songs about Oscar. 10 ways to reach out without actually doing it. 10 silent prayers in which Lando hopes that Oscar might come back.

Chapter Text

If there was an option to induce amnesia in any safer way than hitting his head really hard, Oscar would consider it, no matter the price. He had thought about it the entire season, but only after watching Lando cry about him on live television had he actually googled. All he had gotten was the little `help is available` note. Maybe he does need help. 

He can't continue like that. Lando haunts him. His face on TV when he describes Oscar as his muse. His face on billboards. Instagram posts. Posters. Everywhere. It hurts. So bad. So much, so constantly. Oscar's palms are now permanently bandaged and he still wakes up some mornings to find bloody handprints on his sheets. He falls asleep to the sound of Lando's voice and wakes up with dried tears on his cheeks. The night he watches Lando call it all a “situationship that didn't mean anything” he doesn't sleep. Lando denies it. Publicly. And Oscar wins. Because in the end, Oscar had gotten what he wanted. Anonymity, not being seen, safety. He won. And he keeps winning. He wins races but disassociates on the podium. He gains point after point only to lose himself further with every single one. He sees the headlines, but only reads those about Lando. 

It drives him insane. This is his chance to make it big, and he cannot even enjoy it. He should be over it by now. But he isn't. And by now, he doesn't think he ever will be. 

Heartbreak makes him lonely too. He ignores his mother again, his sisters, even Logan when he calls occasionally. In the garage, he makes an effort to speak to no one he doesn't have to. Hattie is the only one who knows enough to be consistent. She is also infuriating 

Hattie

Saw you on TV, you didn't look happy with that trophy again

Are you sleeping? 

-photo-

here's another poster. Do you think he's doing the car thing on purpose?

Oscar, I can see that you read this, you can answer 

what am I supposed to say

YPURE ALIVE. Yay

I have to work

You have 2 hours before lights out 

still

did you know Lando is giving an official release concert two days after the album release?

Hattie…

im just saying

It's a little too obvious that you miss him. Just go see him.

No.

Osc, come on

I said no. 

gtg, talk soon. 

There is no way he could escape Lando. The singer is determined to make Oscar look. Always the switch up. Deny everything in front of a camera, then turn around and make Oscars heart clench with every poster. But it is effective. Very effective. So much so, that the last race of the season is overshadowed by his fear of the album release. Of what he might have to hear. The heartbreak, the anger, the blame. And deep down, still the fear that Lando says too much. A line that gives away that it´s Oscar he is singing about. 

In the buzzing McLaren garage, Zak holds his last speech of the season, words washing over Oscar like water on a raincoat. He knows. He is leading with 23 points. If Max wins this, he gets the championship. If he ends up in any other place, Oscar does. 20 cars on the grid, but only one that matters to defend against. This is it. The most important race of his life. But his hands don't shake. Nerves don't flutter. Deep down, he just wishes it to be over. He hates himself for that, especially now that Zak turns to him directly, his hands settling on Oscars shoulders.

“This is it, Oscar,” he says, voice trembling. “You have the chance to win the championship, okay?” He looks so excited that Oscar feels disgusted by his lack of enthusiasm. “We all believe in you.” And Oscar knows they do. The hope in their eyes is the only thing that gets him into the car. 

On December 7th, under a rain of golden fireworks, Oscar Piastri wins the Formula1 championship for the first time. 

Hands grab at him, people scream, Zak actually cries. Daniel hugs him before he can even take his helmet off. Max congratulates him, then immediately almost drowns him in champagne. Charles is right there, hugging him so tightly he can smell the cologne on his suit. For some reason it's the same that Max wears. Oscar doesn't ask. His mother calls, in tears, and screaming so loudly he can't understand a word. Logan texts him a million times. It is so loud and so happy and so full of life. This is his dream come true. 

Everybody in the paddock offers him a drink. 

Oscar accepts every time. Alcohol burns in his throat and he doesn't ask what he is even drinking. He isn't sure at what point he goes from tipsy to drunk and he is not sure if he cares. 

He is the world champion after all.

The best of the best. This is his legacy. This is what he had dreamt of ever since he can remember. This is what he sacrificed everything for. So why does the flutter in his chest that should be unbridled joy starts to feel like a trapped bird instead? The switch is sudden. Almost subtle. But it's the thought, or rather the wish, of seeing Lando in the crowd that breaks him. One second he is beaming with pride, the next he wants to scream. Because all he wants to do? See Lando over in the garage, waiting for him, congratulating him, kissing him like no one is watching. He wants Lando next to him, covered in champagne and that smile beaming at him. That is all he wants. Even now, after winning. And that is the thought that hurts the most. Because how could he throw it all away for this title, and then not even be excited about it? If just winning doesn't make him happy, what is left then? If this does not fulfil him, then what was the point of sacrifice? It was all for nothing. He did it all but even winning the goddamn championship does not fill the void Lando had left. And somehow, the realisation that the trophy in his hands feels as worthless as scrap metal and the champagne tastes like ash, breaks him. 

Oscar needs to breathe. A moment away from the noise and the cheers and the fans. He leaves champagne footprints on the floor, silently apologising to whoever has to clean them up tomorrow. 

He collapses into the dark silence of a bathroom. The world is spinning, his limbs don't feel real. Just a moment, he thinks to himself as he sinks onto the floor, head leaning back against the tile. Just a breather before he continues celebrating. He had promised Daniel a drink after all. Oscar really isn't used to being this drunk. He had forgotten how nauseating that got after a while. He isn't sure how long it is before he finds himself sprawled onto the floor, his too hot cheek pressed to the cool tile. From outside, flickering lights occasionally illuminate the room in colourful lights. Blue, like the ocean. Green reminds him of a forest. Red might be hell. Maybe he is in hell. Or something similar. A place without secure footing and where time does not exist. A form of an underworld, Oscar lazily thinks. 

Like Eurydice and Orpheus, Oscar remembers in the dark of the room. The last time he read about them must´ve been in seventh grade, but somehow, now that he is so far gone, the memory strikes him. 

Eurydice. Beautiful, tragic Eurydice who died too early. Who leaves without saying goodbye. Who leaves behind her lover with too much left to say. 

And Orpheus who goes so insane with grief, he willingly goes to hell. Orpheus whose only job it is to not look back, no matter what.

Oscar thinks of Euredice who stumbles, who pleads, who begs to make her lover turn back. And Orpheus who does. Stupid, lovesick Orpheus who turns around, knowing it is the one thing he's not supposed to do. Pathetic, heartbroken Oscar who cannot stick to the rules. 

He looks back. Of course he does. How can he not? 

In his mind, Eurydice's soft braids transform into messy curls, those ancient dark eyes turn blue. 

“Is it worth it?” Lando asks now, his tanned skin looks ashy in the cold of the underworld.

“What?”

“Turning around. Is it worth it?”

“If I get to see you again? Yes” 

Lando nods, smiling in a way that makes Oscar ache. He reaches out, wanting to touch, wanting to feel. Warm skin, the softness of Lando's hair, the movement of his muscles. Instead, his fingertips hit the ice cold tile.

Right.

This isn't real. 

Lando isn't here. 

And Oscar is way too drunk. 

He promises himself he will blame the alcohol tomorrow. But today he can't hold it together. Somehow, he manages to fumble his phone out of his pocket. He had promised to wait. For what? He has no idea. His fingers are shaky as he scrolls. The bathroom floor is cold, his cheeks hot. If Lando wants him to see, then Oscar is gonna look.

He presses play.

Immediately he is uncomfortably reminded of the same moment, months ago. In the middle of the night, thinking about Lando, letting his voice fill the space. Only now the songs are about him. And Lando isn't a shadowy figure on stage, but a burning shape in his heart. 

Oscar makes the decision after the intro of the first song. Drunk and stupid and desperate. He makes at least four spelling mistakes as the letters blur on screen, but he is almost sure he gets the point across. He´s not texting Lando himself, no. He can't even find the courage when he is this drunk. Instead he manages to text Hattie back.

Hattie

Is tht concert still an opition?

Chapter Text

“crash & burn” becomes the biggest Album release in Lando's career. It's the success he had dreamt of for years and years. And yet - Lando isn't as happy as he had hoped he would be. He's curled up in his flat in London, hiding from the public while reading comments on his social media posts for hours on end. 

SOBBING my way through the album

I have not stopped crying 

“just let me know i'll be on the floor, and maybe we'll work it out” OH HE IS INSANE

Soooo, who's gonna tell us the name of the muse?

AOTY incoming immediately 

They don't really make him feel better. They don't fill the black hole that had opened in Lando's chest the day he left Australia. He goes back to the driver every other thought. He can't do anything but miss him. Even now. Still now. Because Oscar hasn't looked at him. And maybe he never would. And maybe Lando has to accept that. 

The thought follows him onto stage. Lights flashing, people yelling. It's what he lives for. This is the best part of every album release. He plays the album once, on a stage smaller than usual. Looks into faces that adore him, their faces tear streaked, hands reaching. 

This is what I live for, he thinks.

 Not Oscar. 

Not until the very last song.

 Later, he isn't sure how he had missed it for so long. But the spotlight hits a face in the crowd.

And everything stops.

It's unmistakable. There, in the crowd, calm as ever, stands Oscar. His eyes are soft as he looks up at the stage, like he belongs there. And Lando can't breathe. He stares, silently as the instrumental track continues playing. He doesn't hear it. He doesn't hear the worried voices in the crowd, doesn't hear the sound coming through his earpiece telling him to continue. All there is, is Oscar. He needs to go. Now. Because he can feel the tears in his eyes just as burning as when he had left him. And he can feel the lyrics on his tongue, too painful to ever say to his face. The feedback of his microphone is terrible as he drops it onto the stage floor. 

"Lando? Lando what is happening, what's going on" The voice in his earpiece is louder now, more worried. He doesn't answer. He runs. More than unprofessional and he knows it. But he runs off stage with his hands sweaty and his heart beating so fast it hurts. Lillian is the first person he sees when he finally makes it backstage. "Take off the microphone"

Is all he can say, his eyes pleading with her, as he impatiently tugs at the mic pac that he cannot take off himself due to the amount of cables. "Please, Lillian. Please"  He isn't sure if the crowd can still hear him. He can't hear them. He can't hear anything. There's a ringing in his ears that drowns everything else out. Lillian does finally detach the last of the cables, her words never reaching Lando. Oscar was here. And he was still the same Oscar. The same smile, the same swoop of his hair, the same calmness just radiating from him in waves. Lando feels nauseous. He needs to go. Now. Needs to be somewhere else. He shoves away at least two concerned employees of the stadium on his way outside. His vision is blurry now, and he can taste salt in his mouth. He isn't sure when he had started crying. When he finally reaches the door, no one holds him back. He leaves behind a very perplexed crew and a crowd whose confusion had by now turned into worry. He also leaves behind Oscar, who he can't see tugging at his own hair in an attempt to calm himself down. But Lando doesn't care. All he feels is hurt. The kind that twists itself through the entire body, feeding on everything it can get until he just consists of this pain. Every fibre of his being aches. It aches for Oscar. Oscar who he cannot have. Who he loves more than anything. Who had left him and he had left Oscar. It had been months. Lando was better. He had written the songs and released the album and he could sing it. He had been doing so good. But seeing Oscar had changed everything. Suddenly he was back in Australia, in Oscars arms, telling him "I love you" for the first and last time. He was back in Miami, where he had tasted his lips and had immediately become addicted. And he was in London, alone, curled up in his bed for days with his heart feeling like it was splitting in two. Ragged halves that would never fully heal. He wants to run away. He wants to scream. He wants Oscar to wrap his arms around him and tell him he still loved him. 

For too long, Lando sits on the floor behind the venue, gasping for air. 

“Lando?”

The voice is unmistakable. He had heard it in dreams for months now. Soft. Gentle. Kind. When he looks up, he looks into the worried face of the man he loves most. His throat closes 

“How did you get past security?” he hiccups through tears he is trying to wipe off. Oscar doesn't answer. He just sits next to Lando quietly, without touching him. His palm is bandaged and Lando's heart clenches.

“Im sorry” the words fall from Oscars lips and the world goes silent again. “Can we talk?”

This is everything he had prayed for. Lando did everything for Oscar to come back, to hear him say these words. 

“Yes, we can talk. Just -” reality is starting to sink in. He had just left behind a full venue - not a stadium- still doesn't make it better. He had fucked it up. Badly. Whoops. His voice cracks a little

“I -”

Oscar cuts him off first. “Lillian? I think that's her name - spontaneously decided to make it look like your running away was part of the plan. I heard her in the hallway. You´re good. And you have a real good team.” 

“Oh” He makes a mental note to send her flowers for saving his ass once again. 

“Yeah. Oh.” Oscar sits next to him. It is silent for a long while. Then Lando speaks up, his joke falling flat because his voice is still shaky:  “You could've sent a text instead of showing up and scaring the shit out of me”

“Would you have answered?” Oscar looks at him, eyes dark. 

“Yes”

“Oh” He knows Oscar wouldn't have. That's just how he was. Not that he blames him too much. The words come out of his mouth anyway: “Im not you”

The way Oscars face falls almost makes him flinch away, retreating immediately. 

“That was mean. Im sorry”

“It's okay,” Oscar sighs, tilting his head. He doesn't seem mad, just - worried. The same kind of worry he had seen on TV. The kind he caused.

“No it's not. ”

“They could be”

Things were not okay yet. And he thinks they might not be for a while. But in the slowly sinking afternoon sun, it felt like they might be, for the very first time in months.

Chapter Text

Seeing Lando is like seeing the sun. Bright, all consuming and hotter than you can imagine. It takes Oscar a good ten seconds to even get the words out when he sees him again. But once they do, they fall like water over a cliff. 

The two had left the venue in a hurry, and now, Oscar sits on the couch of Lando's apartment, pretending not to be nervous. He likes it here immediately, even if there’s laundry shoved in the corners and everything needs dusting. It’s warm and comfortable and it smells like Lando. Oscar had missed that scent of leather and shampoo and expensive aftershave more than he would like to admit. The man who the scent belongs to, sits an arm’s length away from him, eyes fixed on his hands. He hadn’t said much since they had gotten here, and after repeating his apology four times, Oscar had gone quiet. He had begged in the dark for so long, he couldn't do it in front of Lando too. He doesn't have to, because the other man finally speaks. The words hang heavy in the long silence. 

„I missed you“ Almost too simple. Oscar can feel his throat closing up. All this hurt he caused and still - all Lando says is that he missed him. It's almost unfair, is it not?

He manages a weak: „I missed you too“ as if that hadn't been obvious in the way he had come back. 

„you tried very hard not to“ Lando’s voice is almost cold. But not entirely. Not because he doesn't try, but because he looks like he just can't bring himself to actually be mad. It's even worse that he is right. Oscar had tried not to miss him. He had tried until it had almost killed him. Maybe he just hadn't expected Lando to catch on. After all, he wasn't the one on stage, letting the whole world know. „How do you know-„

Lando interrupts him: „Because I know you. And I knew whenever you were up on that podium, you were miles away“ 

Harsh. 

But true. 

„I was with you“ 

There's a long pause in which Lando looks at him with the same eyes he used to. Dark and trusting and so, so deep. 

„I wish you had been“ he finally whispers, as if confessing a crime. “I know It's selfish, putting your career at risk like that - but I wish you had been with me instead of being on the podium.”

That shuts Oscar up for a long moment. It is selfish, objectively. But not wrong. And it's not like Oscar hadn't wished the same. 

When he finds his voice, it's almost shaking:  „I’m sorry I told you to leave. I - I don’t know I didn’t expect you to actually do it“

„Wow“ 

„No that’s not-„

„Oscar“ Lando moves closer, but the driver can't bring himself to look up. His eyes are fixed on the permanent, scarred indent on his palm from hours and hours of digging his nails into soft skin.

„I was scared, god, I still am so scared and I fucked up so badly.“ his voice actually trembles now „but I won the championship and I stood there and all I could think about was you, and that all I wanted was for you to congratulate me and I realised then I traded in you for that gold cage and it’s not worth it, it was never worth anything and-”

His rambling is interrupted.

 Lando's lips crash onto his so suddenly and with force that is meant to shut him up.

 It works. 

It works because Lando tastes achingly familiar and because there is nothing Oscar had missed more in the last months than this. He couldn't pull away if he wanted to. His fingers instinctively go to those soft curls, tugging, pulling. Closer. Even more. Until Lando is in his lap, until the scent of his perfume is all he can smell and his skin is all he can taste. He tastes the same, almost. Now Oscar is sure he can taste cigarette smoke on his lips, and somehow that makes it more addicting. It's desperate at first. Like Lando is trying to fight an invisible force that could keep him away. His touch only becomes softer when Oscar's hands find his waist and pull him in, instead of pushing him away. Then, slowly, his movements soften. Fingers glide over the curve of his jaw, the skin over his collarbone. Lando isn't grabbing anymore, he's worshipping. And Oscar loves it. Let's Lando's fingers trace along the nape of his neck and the fabric over his shoulder blade. The singer's mouth never leaves his own, like he needs it to breathe. Finally, those eyes he had dreamt about for far too long, meet his. He's a little breathless, a little disheveled and a little more beautiful than usual. 

“I missed you” Lando whispers again, his hot breath on Oscar's skin. He lets his forehead rest against Oscars, so close that the driver can feel the ends of Lando's curls tickling his nose. He's sure his voice is heavier than usual when he answers: “I know. I missed you too. I just - needed to figure out that it's the kind of missing that doesn't go away if you ignore it” His fingers settle on Lando's waist. “I'm sorry it took so long for me to come back. I'm sorry I even left in the first place” 

All his concerns go out the window when Lando shakes his head. “All that matters is that you came back. The rest is irrelevant” he mumbles against Oscars lips, just before kissing him again. 

They have so much to talk about. So many things to forgive, so many things to forget. But here, in the warmth of the evening sun streaming through the windows, all those things can wait. At least until Lando's breath feels like his own again and the soft gasps he makes whenever Oscar nips at his skin are the only sound he knows. For now, Oscar is home, and for now, he can pretend that the rest of the world is far, far away, unable to ever reach the two of them. 

Chapter Text

For the first time since Australia, Lando sleeps through the night. His hands are loosely curled into the soft hair, his head on the driver's chest. The soft rhythm of Oscar's breath follows him into a dreamless sleep. I reminds him that he's there. Right there. In his bed. Not going anywhere. Oscar's legs are tangled with his, the marks he left blooming on Lando's collarbone. He's there. Real. 

At least for now.

They hadn't spoken a lot last night. After the spell was broken, it had all been soft gasps and drawn out moans and Lando's hands gripping the bedsheets too tightly. Oscar's voice had been there, calm, reassuring, warm. How Oscar always was when he got soft. When he wasn't banishing him, or ignoring him. That's the Oscar he wants to keep. The one still asleep in the morning light, with his hair tousled and his eyes closed. Half naked, sprawled out in the bed, he can trace every mole with his eyes. He could reach out to touch if he wanted to. Lando could spend the rest of his life just looking at him like this. But as always, Lando doesn’t get what he wants. Oscar stirrs, blinking up at him and the singer thinks that it might be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“Morning” he whispers, instinctively reaching out to carefully tuck a strand of his soft hair back. Oscar yawns.

“Hi” he grumbles, his voice rough from sleep.

There's a pause in which Oscar seems to remember where he is and what happened, because he drops back into the pillow, running his hands over his face. 

Right. 

Just because Oscar is here, just because they talked - among other things - doesn't mean that everything is good. In fact, it might be even worse. At least for the public image. When he looks over, Oscar is still silent. For a moment, Lando is reminded of -. Back when this was even more fragile. When Oscar still looked guilty for even wanting him. Maybe he still feels. Maybe he is. Lando speaks first. 

„Do you regret coming here?“ maybe not the best way to start a conversation. At least not this early. He doesn’t care. Instead, he looks over at Oscar, who drops his hands, sighing.

“No“

Lando frowns: „You don’t sound convincing“

Oscar groans and sits up. „I don’t regret you. Never have. Still don’t. Íve told you before.“ 

And Lando nods. He has. Doesn’t mean he believes it. „You also said I make your life harder“

“And you do.“ Oscar shakes his head „But that doesn’t change anything I feel for you. And- and“ he exhales shakily, his nails digging into his palm once again. Only this time Lando is there to take the others hand in his before he can open the barely healing wounds on his palm again. 

“And?“ he asks softly, waiting for Oscar to find his words. When he does, he sounds clinical. As if he is reciting facts rather than feelings.

„And I don’t think anything the public or the team can do to me, could be worse than the time when I tried ignoring you. Because I did try. I tried so hard it almost killed me. But I can’t. It’s a little pathetic and I know that, but I missed you so much, I felt like I was drowning.“ he inhales sharply, and Lando is inclined to say something, to reassure him, but Oscar already continues.

“So I’ve got one choice left.“ Oscar exhales slowly.

“What do-“

“I’m gonna quit“ Oscar finally says. Like it physically pains him. Like he has thought about it for so long, that everything he had just said forced itself out, after endlessly being repressed. Lando freezes.

“What?“

“I'm gonna quit racing. I’m not going back“ And for half a second, Lando is relieved. He wants Oscar all to himself, without worrying about his career. Without repercussions, without secrets, without orders. He thinks of Oscar in his flat, eating dinner in the half dark. He imagines himself back in the Piastri family home, Hattie giggling when Oscar finally gets brave enough to kiss him in the kitchen. He imagines Oscar backstage on his shows shoving him up against the next wall when he gets off stage all sweaty and panting. And then he thinks of Oscar when he first saw him. Not in real life, but back in the beginning. Even before McLaren. When he was a boy with a dream. When he drove the car like it was a part of him. He thinks back to when he looked like a god on the podium, like nothing could touch him. He thinks back to the man who loved racing enough to give up everything for it. Who sacrificed so much. Whose biggest dream was his name on the trophy. And now he is about to let that go. For him. And something in Lando breaks.

“No“ he whispers softly, his hand clasped around Oscars. It feels like the temperature had dropped ten degrees suddenly. 

„Oscar, there’s gotta be another way, you love this sport-“ he begins.

“It’s less humiliating than getting fired.“ Oscar's voice is almost painfully detached now. Different from just a minute ago. „Because they won't keep me if they know. That’s how it goes. It’s not as bad for PR as if I get seen with you afterwards. It’s the only option in which I get to keep my dignity. Leave with a title and their support.

“Oscar that’s not-“ Lando begins again, only to be interrupted again.

“Not what? Lando we both know that the only way I am ever gonna know peace with being who I am, will not be on the track. And yes, I love racing. It was my entire life for so, so long but-“

For the first time his voice shakes. Just a little bit. Barely noticeable. Of course Lando notices. 

„- winning didn’t make me happy. Not like I thought it would. Not enough to justify putting it over being with you.“

Oh. Oscar is silent and Lando has nothing left to say. For a very long time, the two just watch the sun rise out of the window.

“You will regret it“ Lando finally manages. 

„What?“ Oscar turns to him, blinking. 

„You will regret putting me above your career.“

“Lando-“ 

„I’m not saying this in a self deprecating way. I don’t mean that one day you might not like me enough anymore - that’s a different topic. But you love racing. It is your life. And one day, sooner or later, you will stand on the sidelines and you will see a new generation of drivers on the podium. And someday, one of them will be brave enough to be himself. And the world will love him just the same, no matter what he might reveal. And you will sit there, and you will remember your name on that trophy once, and you will regret never trying to get it on there a second time because you were too afraid.“ 

Oscar looks like he is about to say something, but Lando doesn’t let him.

“You will miss the smell of gasoline and the sound of the engine. You won't be happy trading it in for the comfort of being unknown and deep down you know that.“

His breath hitches. 

„I’m asking a lot of you, Oscar, I know that. But I am begging you to be brave. Be brave enough to at least try. Be yourself out there, let me sit on the sidelines and kiss your helmet before every race. Try to tell Zak that you are still their number one driver, even if you come home to me. Because you wont be happy with just either of the things you want. You tried after all. And I want you happy. But to be happy, you need to be brave“

Lando hadn’t even noticed that his breath has gotten softer, his voice quieter. Eyes pleading when Oscar looks over. Oscar, who looks like hés on the verge of tears. For a moment he says nothing. For a moment, Lando thinks hés gone too far. And then Oscar nods. „Okay“ he breathes, as if the word was heavy. 

„Okay?“

“I will try. I’m not promising anything. But you're right“ he nods, his fingers tangling with Landos. „For you, I will try“ 

And after all, trying is all either of them can do. It’s all anyone can do, ever. But when Oscar leans in to kiss him, slowly and softly, he tastes like hope. And for the very first time since meeting him, Lando dares to believe that there might be a happy end after all.