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Chapter Text

“That kid just won!” 

Max had watched the tiny, like really he was quite miniature, kid go ‘round in circles for majority of the race; His helmet fluorescent and bright and his body being pushed around the kart like he still didn’t quite make the weight requirements yet. Max’s head whips forward back to the other boy and realizes very quickly, yes he did just win, and now he’s throwing his small arms up in the air as his kart continues forward. 

Then Max blinks and the fluorescent helmet is off and he’s running towards what Max assumes is his parents and team as he receives hugs and pats on the back. Max grits his teeth slightly, he misses Singapore, he didn’t win and he wants to go home. Even as he watches this other boy celebrate, he’s bitter; Then his father calls his name and Max tucks the sun bright helmet and gapped grin into the back of his brain, runs towards his dad and grips tight around his middle. 

“I don’t wanna be here anymore.” He doesn’t know if he’s talking about the karting track or Britain yet, he’ll let his dad know when his brain is clearer and his eyes aren’t clouded with tears. 

A sob leaves his mouth and his father rubs his back gently, before heaving the eleven-year-old up, Max burrows his face in his dad’s neck and his body trembles slightly, “Come on my boy, chin up, we’re going home right now.” Max’s father cards his free hand through messy half formed curls and sighs as Max calms; It would be better if the weather wasn’t grey and foggy. If it was humid, warm, and clear like the country he’s used to. 

Max lets himself be carried to the car and then climbs into the back seat, he’s not old enough for the front seat yet and it makes him screw his nose up. He’d like to sit up front and fuss with the radio but instead he has coloring books lining the back of car seats and Pokémon cards thrown on the car floor from older and younger siblings alike. 

His eyes droop shut and he thinks back to the kid who led the race almost the entire time, dominating time limits, his helmet shining and his driving on par despite how his size was obviously not helping him. Max rubs at sleepy eyes and realizes quickly he had missed the boy’s podium, maybe he should’ve stayed, maybe it would’ve been something important in the future, maybe it was bad luck or something, Max wasn’t actually sure why he was thinking about it as trees passed swiftly in his windows. 

The car slows as Max’s father pulls into their neighborhood, or the one chosen for how long they’ll be in the United Kingdom and Max blinks away sleep and unbuckles his seatbelt, stashing a shiny Pikachu into his jeans pocket and smiling gently at his father when he opens Max’s door. 

He tells his mum about karting, tells her he got P3, shrugs with a simple “Could’ve done better.” And she reassures him gently, “You were still on the podium with the big kids.” And Max laughs softly before asking what’s for dinner and going upstairs to shower off the sweat that his mum says builds up from go-karting. 

Max leaves the shower with damp curls and a fresh set of pajamas on; He wonders if the boy who won the race has the same routine as him, maybe they’re doing everything at the same time. Max furrows his brows at himself in the bathroom mirror, Why does he care? He rights his curls and then trots his way downstairs. 

Dinner is an endeavor. Max’s siblings tease and argue over the smallest things as he quietly slips the dog food every now and then. He’s tired from his day and wants to play his DS in bed until his eyes burn. 

Eventually when he does go upstairs he pajamas warm and soft against his skin when he sinks into his bed, tucked into cool bedsheets, he pulls up his Pokémon on his DS and stares until his head goes empty. Though there’s a thought in the background; What about that boy? The one he watched for the whole race, the one with cropped dirty blonde hair, the one with gapped teeth you could see from afar, the one who kept an onslaught of other people behind him for more than half a race. 

Max blinks, his Charmander has taken damage and suddenly he’s much more tired than he thought originally. 

“That kid just won!” echoes in his mind as he shuts his eyes, it’s been six hours and he feels like he’s being haunted by the presence of a stranger, he’s eleven years old and only thought this much about the girls in his class. His stomach churns at that thought. 

The boy was pretty. 

Sure. Yea, Max thought he was pretty from the short distance he had from the track when he got up and ran to his team, but that didn’t warrant the crash of his brain like a kart into a wall. He turns in his bed towards the wall and sees when the kid had looked up towards him and sees the glint of blue eyes and shoves his head into his pillow, face first. 

His DS is long since closed and the silence in his room is making his brain work on overdrive. 

Max huffs, then feels his breathing even out and settles in deeper. 

He dreams of fluorescent helmets and wide smiles. 

The next day he forgets half of it all like a memory, all of it replaced with a school day and a day at home, he doesn’t forget the stranger leaning in, nor the bright helmet, but he does forget the rest, like his yearning for Singapore and his father carrying him to the car, or his mother reassuring him about P3 and his siblings teasing each other as he fed the dog. 

He also remembers that the boy he didn’t know was pretty. 

Chapter Text

Lando giggles inside his helmet as he crosses the finish line, he already knew three quarters through the race he was getting the Comer Cadet ‘O’ Plate but it was better for him not to be cocky. He throws his hands up and allows his kart to stop on it’s own before he runs up to his team and parents; Sparing a glance at the boy whose been watching him since the beginning of the race, bright eyed and furrowed brows, messy hair and analyzing Lando’s technique from afar. 

He brushes the other kid off, shoves his bright helmet off, accidentally throwing it to the ground in excitement, and throws himself into the arms of his coach, feels the older man squeeze around him and then he’s raised up into the air like he’s just made an F1 podium. Lando’s small for eleven, his kart threw him around for a majority of the race and the tape his dad had shoved over top of him did him no favors. 

Curious eyes look back over near the track and the boy who was watching him is being carried away from the circuit; Lando’s brows knit without his permission, he wanted to talk to him, ask him if he enjoyed watching or something like that, instead he’s being called on to go to the podium and celebrate which is much more fun than dwelling on the kid with messy hair and light eyes. 

His coach sets him down and he’s off running again.

Sparkling grape juice sticks to his skin after and Lando realizes there’s callouses on his fingers from the steering wheel, he wipes damp hands down on his racesuit and hops down the podium with his trophy, running towards his parents with a grin. 

“Someone was watching me the whole race!” Lando’s little brain is stuck on the other boy who watched him race in circles. His mum laughs gently as his father takes the trophy from small hands, “We watched you the entire time too.” Her hands lightly pinch her son’s cheeks and he squeals. 

They spend a few more hours at the track waiting for Ollie to finish up his training and then they’re off; The backseat of the Norris car is a mess from Lando’s kart in the trunk and his MotoGP memorabilia covering the floor, Oliver pushes at Lando’s shoulder when he tries to show him a part of his Rossi helmet and Lando’s face screws up before he yells out “Dad!” to tell on him. 

When his father tells Oliver to stop pushing his little brother around he returns to his GameBoy and Lando stares out the window, watches trees pass with tired eyes and knows he’ll just be going for a shower and then bed. He can’t make himself eat when he’s this tired, it’s a whole debacle with his family that it’s unhealthy especially for how much he karts but Lando shoves it off with a light smile and a simple "I'm not hungry, I dunno.” Before waking up the next day starving. 

Lando listening to his parents’ speech blur into slurs as his eyes droop shut and he ends up asleep on Ollie’s shoulder, a light sigh coming from his older brother even as he allows the young boy to stay where he is. 

Suddenly Lando’s shoulder is being shaken and he’s wide awake again, face to face with his mother who he reaches to like he’s still a toddler; She carries him inside all the same, places him down on the steps and watches as he fusses with race boots and racesuits before he’s in sweat pants and a t-shirt and little socked feet go climbing up the stairs towards the shower. 

Lando stares at himself in the mirror for a moment making expressions; A grin, a frown, furrowed brows, something disappointed, and then he remembers the boy who stared at him with a mix of awe and disappointment. Maybe he wanted to win? Maybe he didn’t want Lando winning? Lando wished he stayed just a little longer so he could talk to him about his distorted expression. 

He showers. Puts on Mario pajamas and almost immediately shoves himself in bed. Silky sheets make his body feel cold and he tugs his PSP from under his pillow, Crash Banicoot has never let him down, he’s still high on adrenaline and barely tired, his eyes wide as he stares at the screen and plays level after level until his eyes burn with the familiarity of exhaustion. 

He hears Oliver sneeze from the other side of the room and doesn’t say ‘Bless you.’, maybe that will come back to his consciousness. He doubts it. 

He burrows himself close to a teddy bear he’s had since birth and hums with all the intent of going to sleep and then the boy who watched him’s face flashes behind his eyes; he looked tired; Lando can only assume he had his own race beforehand. 

Lando doesn’t actually know why he’s thinking so much about this stranger. Maybe he was the other highlight aside from the actual trophy; Someone watching him like they cared, even if they didn’t stay for his podium. Lando blinks to himself, sighs and shoves his face into his teddy. 

Anything to get his brain to silence itself. 

When his eyes finally give into the exhaustion his entire body slumps and Lando breathes mellowly, tired from the day and ready for the next. 

He doesn’t dream that night, sleeps like a log like most nights, he doesn’t think much of the day besides that random boy who had his eyes on him the entire time. It’s like his brain has emptied itself before he fell asleep and now he’s drifted dreamlessly into sleep. 

The next day he still remembers messy curls and bright eyes; Though as school days blur and his family continues being chaotic the memory slips, karting tracking blend into one and Lando forgets the boy who watched him his entire race when he was trying to get the Cadets ‘O’ Plate, He gets more podiums, he forgets. 

He remembers calloused hands, being too small for his kart, and his fluorescent helmet. 

Lando’s eleven year old brain only has so much space.

Chapter Text

Twelve for Max Fewtrell was filled with secondary school woes, that kid’s stupid fluorescent helmet, missed homework for karting on unfamiliar tracks, and missing Singapore; Max’s second home was never too far away, they vacationed there every now and then but still his heart yearned for beaches, humidity, and the language he had picked up as a toddler. 

Nostalgia beat on him like a dead horse and he burrowed his face in blankets at the prospect of the cold British weather until his mum rubbed his back gently and told him it was time for school. 

School was never really a problem. He has mates, his teachers liked him enough even if he was a chattermouth and he understood the lessons just fine, he just hated the enclosed environment, the nothingness of learning something he didn’t actually care about; He would much rather be out on the circuit making himself bone-tired instead of writing essays in his english classes with a scowl on his face. 

And when the weekends came he was greeted with his karting friends, his team, his coach and he was right back in the seat where he wanted to be. 

Karting gave him an adrenaline rush; the narrow corners and fast straights, you’d think he was a pro by now but he hasn’t even been approached by a junior team; he traveled all about the world karting with his parents help, Las Vegas, back to the UK, multiple places in Europe, and back home again. 

He was all over the map as he built a career out of this at twelve, even if he was tired and fussy by the time he got home; homework from school pushed aside and thoughts of how to improve his abilities winding about his head like blue birds. 

By mid-August, Ricky Flynn Motorsports had asked if he was interested in joining their team and Max stared back at his dad with a grin and then nodded. He was on his way upwards as his school assignments piled high and his mother chastised him. 

The day Max came home from being asked he launched himself at his mother and rambled on “A team wants me! I’m doing good, they want me to race for them and I’ll have a real team. It’s gonna change everything and maybe I’ll really be in F1 and it won’t just be some weird dream! Mum!” She had grinned at her son and held his cheek, the grin on his face splitting from the middle and making the few baby teeth he still had visible. 

Her baby was growing up. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

His nickname hasn’t been “baby” since he was seven but Max all the same just stuck his tongue out at her before she covered his face in kisses and told him to go up and wash up; Spaghetti was on for dinner tonight and Max couldn’t slip the dog any of that so, he quickly washed his face and fussed with messy curls. 

Max ran downstairs, argued with his siblings over which chair was his and then was presented with food that was eaten slowly before his brother asked “Has anyone seen my shiny Pikachu?” Max schooled his expression lightly, it’s been almost a year since he stole the card from the car and still apparently his brother’s been looking for it. So, with a mouthful of spaghetti Max shakes his head and points at their younger sister. 

This one action starts a full on spat and Max just shrugs and excuses himself before washing his plate and heading upstairs. 

The boy sits on the edge of his bed and examines the stolen Pokémon card, it glimmers in the light of his overhead light and he thinks back to that night of his DS and that fluorescent helmet that won’t leave his mind; like something permanent, never to be forgotten because it stands for something he doesn’t quite know the meaning behind yet. 

Bright orange and black and a head being thrown all about the track. 

He shouldn’t care anymore but he does. He’s always had too big of a heart, too much love in his tiny body it would probably spill from his hands if he dared to touch it. 

Maybe it’s why leaving Singapore left such an impact on him; why his mother’s words of “It’s just like a second home now.” stung when she said them. Max doesn’t like the British weather, always too cold or too hot, never anything in the middle. 

He tucks the Pokémon card into a book he had been using it as a bookmark for all this time.

There was once a girl in Singapore he swore he was fascinated with until they moved, he can barely remember her now; And yet he remembers this random boy’s helmet and racing number, the way the kart tossed him about. 

And that he’s pretty. That’s his only marker of him. 

If he saw him again maybe he’d be refreshed but the competition wasn’t even in Max’s town so he shrugs it off with his day clothes and shoves on pajamas. Childishly printed on embroidered teddy bears all over the pants as he opts for a white t-shirt. 

His parents come up to tuck him in this time and he feels younger than he’s felt in months; He’s only twelve and he’s put the weight of Formula One on his own shoulders, not that he doesn’t enjoy it, there’s just so much pressure he can’t imagine what goes through someone who karts for fun’s head. 

He wants to make it to the top and have the glory there. 

Max’s eyes close and his eyes are fluorescent once again like they have been for months; This odd fascination will be the death of him he thinks. He doesn’t think of other boys like this so why this small boy who could control a kart despite his size, maybe it was his technique, maybe it was how he immediately went to his coach. 

His brain is a swirl of maybes until his brain gives into blackness.

Chapter Text

Lando wasn’t sure if he loved or hated the United Kingdom; He had an ache in his bones to travel for as long as he could remember. If he actually made it to Formula One he would be all over the map with a grin on his face and cameras all around him, cameras made him nervous but he’d do anything for his dream to actually come true, 

Lando ran up to his karting garage just to fall directly onto cement and come up with skinned hands, shrugging it off and greeting his coach. 

“Lando! Quite a fall there little lad, you doing okay?”

He nodded and grinned up at the older man, his teeth gapped and sweet. Racesuits were put on, boots were shoved on feet, and a helmet was placed on Lando’s head before Lando was settling into his kart determinedly. 

It was a training day and he made his way around the track over fifty times before his arms began hurting too much, skinned hands making his grip loose and his knees sore from pushing on the brake and gas pedal. He stared back at his father as he was stopped at the start line and flattened his face; He didn’t want to practice anymore, he was tired and ready to go home and take a nap like any other twelve-year-old. 

He watched his dad converse with his coach and then there was a gentle, “Up! No more for today, Lan!” Lando Grinned and then was up out of the seat and running on weak legs towards the two men in the garage. 

Lando’s father took him for ice cream after; The refusal of removing the racesuit continued even as he ordered chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and sat beside his dad. 

The afternoon was slow, Lando’s body felt like it was moving in slow motion as he got back into the car and eventually fell asleep against the slightly bumpy window, the scenery outside something long past that he didn’t care for as his dreams were filled with a faceless boy with messy hair being carried away by his father, as soon as he was out of view the car came to a stop and Lando’s father was lifting him up to carry him upstairs and tuck him into bed. 

More dreams of that faceless boy; Lando’s tugged along the circuit but the boy with no expression, no karts are in sight and it’s quiet. Lando quickly registers it’s night time and he’s being guided by someone his age he doesn’t even know, he blinks, the boy looks at him. “I liked your helmet!” There’s no mouth for the sound to come out of, just a vague outline of a face and messy curled hair. “With the orange and black, I liked it!” Lando just stares. 

He wakes up with chills and checks if there’s anyone around his room; under his bed behind his closet doors. Anywhere. 

When the room is obviously empty Lando climbs back into bed and tightens the covers around himself as protective cover and allows his eyes to drift back closed.

He doesn’t dream anymore after that.

Lando goes through a week of school; Meaning he struggles to read the board for multiple days, kids fuss with him over his ability to popcorn read and his teacher asks him if he needs help reading the paper she just passed out. It’s not his fault all the letters look jumbled together and he can’t tell ‘your’ from ‘you’re’ which is apparently a sin in secondary school. 

He goes through five days of lunches where one day he ends up with chocolate milk spilled over his white polo and he gives up that Tuesday and tells himself that school is actually bullshit. Not that he would say that out, he promises his mum he wouldn’t swear until he was thirty and he intends on keeping the promise.

By Friday he has a stack of homework and half of it is already considered late. He doesn’t really mind all that much because he gets to go karting the day after, his father told him if his grades slip he’s at risk of not doing it anymore but he’s scoring higher than kids outside of his age group so Lando really doubts it.

Just like he doubted the fact that they would take away his computer access. He still can’t get back into MySpace to delete his account he made when he was eight and stupid.

Lando sleeps and doesn’t dream. He tries not to think about messy hair and disappointed faces, he buries his head in his pillows most nights.

Racesuit, boots, helmet, the same order every time before Lando cozied into his seat; This was a real race with real podium and he wasn’t prepared to lose because he hadn’t even let the thought cross his mind, it’s light out and away they go and Lando is starting position three, he stays in the same spot until there’s a chance to overtake on a corner and he makes his way into position two, there’s a large gap between position one and two but lando slams his foot on the throttle and lets his brain go empty as he chases the other kid.

Solemnly, in his opinion, Lando gets second, yet he still grins for cameras holds his trophy up and sprays sparkling grape juice at his competition; There isn’t a rude bone in Lando’s body even if he walks up to his dad, shoves his face into his stomach and sulks with his medal around his neck.

His father leads him to the car and speaks to him softly, “You can’t always be first, Lando, you have to be happy with what you get even if you get P20. You’ve got to be able to be grateful for even being in the points, love.” And Lando looks at him teary eyed and nods

“D’you think I could join a real team this year maybe?” A tear falls onto his cheek that he quickly swipes away with a huff.

His father laughs, “We’ll find you one, keep your head high, no more tears.”

In April he joins Ricky Flynn Motorsport looking for something a bit more competitive than the usual smaller kart races. A Junior team for karting where he reckons he would actually start a career there even at twelve. His hopes were practically in the sky for such a young boy; A young boy in an oversized racesuit and boots too big for his little feet. 

It felt like the beginning of something.

Chapter Text

The day before Max left to be a cadet for Ricky Flynn Motorsports he cut his hair. 

Properly hacked at it with scissors until the curls on his head weren’t so messy and his babyface looked the slightest bit mature. And he was fine cutting away at it until his mum walked in and her hands flew up to her mouth, eyes watery, “What are you doing Max?!” Max blinked at her, set the scissors down and bit at his lips.  

“It needed a trim anyways.”

There’s hair lining the sink and Max is stood guilty as sin until she just chastised him to get ready for karting; “It’s your first day on a real team, get your stuff together.” That’s how he ends up with a duffel over his shoulder with his new racesuit, boots, his helmet, and a few different commodities (His shiny Pikachu card that’s bent as the edges now, his DS, and a hoodie with his school’s name on it.)

Breakfast and the car ride to the track is a short endeavor; until Max scans the boys on his team and he recognizes almost immediately that face. Cropped dirty blonde hair, wild eyes, and gapped teeth when he smiled as he spoke to other kids. His racesuit is a bit big on him. 

“See you at seven then, son?”

“Yea, yep, see ya!”

And Max is out of the car and jogging slightly towards his teammates all his age, some a bit older and then the boy makes eye contact with him and Max knows, he knows, he’s fucked; he started swearing after he turned thirteen and all the kids in his canteen did it too, “Fuck” still feels odd in his mouth, like his tongue is too heavy and can’t form the word right. 

Then the boy is pointing at him and walking over to Max; “You watched my race! Two years ago, that was you!” And Max’s face flushes bright pink, “I’m Lando, Lando Norris.” It’s said with a huge grin and a brightness in his eyes that Max can tell he means the kindness behind it. 

“Max Fewtrell, you were bloody quick when I watched you.” 

Lando; what an odd name. Unique, yes and Max feels like he’ll be hearing so much more of it in the future, like an omen that he was meant to meet this other boy. Maybe he really should have stayed for his podium, watched him celebrate and then they could’ve met earlier, shared what was left of sparkling grape juice and have sleepovers. 

But fluorescent helmet boy—Lando, is in front of him now and asking gently “I usually sell these before races but… you seem special, d’you want a sticker? I made them myself.” Max laughs gently and nods, they go through stickers for five minutes until Max lands on a little papaya and sticks it on his helmet, somewhere near the side. 

Then they’re being called over by their coach and Max remembers this is a training day. He can talk to Lando after. 

Max rocks on his feet as teammates are assigned for the day until he suddenly hears “Max F and Lando! You’ll be helping each other out today.” He stiffens and then goes malleable like clay when Lando runs up to him with a smile, “I hope you know how to push a kart, Fewtrell.” A light tease, a joke, something sweet and childish. 

“Oh, please!”

While Lando shoves on his racesuit they talk mindlessly. 

“Are you older or younger than me? I was born in November.”

“Older, July.”

“Where’d you grow up?”

“Singapore.”

Lando’s face contorts. “Why would you come here?!” and Max doubles over in laughter as the younger shoves his shoes off in place for racing boots. 

“The bigger races are here.”

“Okay… How tall are you? Other kids say I’m short for my age but—.”

“One-hundred-fifty-nine centimeters.”

“Oh. I’m only one-hundred-fifty. On the dot.”

The older grins, he’s quite cute up close; beauty marks and freckles and eyes full of determination. 

Max likes how curious he is; How eager he is to talk about anything and everything, he asks question after question and never gets bored until his helmet is tugged on and Max taps the side making Lando glare at him lazily through the visor. 

They move Lando’s kart to the track with some difficulty but it makes it there anyways, the dirty blonde sits and cozies himself in before giving a thumbs up to Max go push him for his practice lap. The boy whips around corners, speeds down straights, and Max is watching the other members and wonders how they’ve managed to get Lando on such a low ranking team for how well he performs. 

Ten stop-watch timed laps later and Lando’s climbing out and Max’s kart is the one on track. He knows this circuit like the back of his hands so by the time they’re done with ten laps the two have time to spare. 

Max shows Lando his DS. Shows him Pokémon and tells him his time is “A bit shit right now but it should be better soon.” and Lando replies with “I didn’t know you swore.” Max blinks at him. They're thirteen and Lando is surprised at swearing, he was either raised very well or simply coddled. 

When seven hits he doesn’t really want to leave Lando. 

He’s made a friend by accident and wants to keep him around like some sort of safety blanket that talks without you asking him to, he makes Max want to have conversations unlike the kids in school. 

Lando’s father walks up and the younger grins. 

“Hey! This is Max!”

His father raises his eyebrows in surprise and smiles; that same smile that Lando has before shrugging “You’ve made a friend then.” They’re sitting on cold concrete and staring at Max’s DS. 

And then Max’s dad is right in tow waving at his son and approaching the two boys. 

“I see you’ve made a friend.”

Max looks up at him and nods “Lando Norris, he karts like a—a madman!” Both their fathers laugh and Lando lays his head on Max’s shoulder. 

“Maybe we can get you two together outside of karting, he can spend the night or something.” Max’s dad eyes Lando’s as he speaks and he receives a nod in return. 

“Of course!”

The two boys hug before they leave and Lando smacks a heart sticker on the front of Max’s helmet making the older boy laugh. 

“See you soon!”

“See ya!”

And they’re off in different directions as Max runs towards the car leaving his father behind near the karting garage. 

Max is asked a million questions about his first day with Ricky Flynn Motorsports; He answers all of them but all he can really think about is Lando Norris, who asks too many questions, sells stickers, and is definitely too advanced for their team. 

Chapter Text

Lando asks his dad to call Max’s dad to ask Max if he wants to spend the night. Within five minutes the boy has the answer yes and Max’s father asks where his address is—It turns out they’re only about twenty minutes away from each other. So, Lando does what he does for any sleepover, sets up his Nintendo-Sixty-Four, makes sure there’s extra blankets, and steals the leftover spring rolls from the fridge. 

By the time Max does get there Lando has demolished four spring rolls, gotten his own controller greasy, and this is all before he wipes his hands on his pants and runs up to Max to hug him. They’ve become fast friends due to their teammateship in karting; they tease and laugh and joke about things that they shouldn’t until one throws their head back and clutches their stomach so hard it feels like they’re dying a little. 

“Lando, you're squeezing my ribs, mate!”

And the younger just grabs tighter before letting go and guiding Max to his room with a skip in his step; His walls are lined with Rossi posters, MotoGP merchandise covering certain parts of his dressers and bedside tables and still Max says “This is bloody sick!” Even as Lando gives an embarrassed smile and thanks him gently. 

Spring rolls are passed back and forth between games of Mario Kart; Lando tells stupid jokes and watches Max smile out of the corner of his eye, he think Max is pretty like the lads at school think every other girl is pretty, little freckles dancing on his maturing adolescent face and hair turning into tighter curls as he ages. Lando admires him like the boys in his grade would the prettiest girl in class. 

He thinks that’s something to be ashamed of. 

They fall into conversation. 

“Have you ever liked anyone, Max?” Totally self indulgent, something to shut his brain up really, the last question was ‘What is your favorite Pokémon?’ So, Lando’s gone and turned it on its head. 

“Yea, a couple girls in passing, that’s really all. What about you?”

You, you, you, since the day we met you because you were nice and took my stickers and didn’t say I was small, because you teased but not too much, because you know when I need a hug and we’re only thirteen, because you know me like the back of your hand and it’s only been two years; Is this wrong? Maybe. 

“No, I don’t think so.” He lies through his teeth with red cheeks and Max pokes at them but nods. 

“Why’s Rossi your favorite rider?”

“Oh my god, Max! Because he’s a legend—!” Lando goes on for five minutes and Max watches him with a fond smile, something gentle on his face like he prompted this on purpose just to see Lando happy. 

“Why wouldn’t he be?!” Max bursts out in laughter at that and tells him gently “I don’t watch MotoGP, Bob.” and Lando furrows his eyebrows. 

“Why’d you call me Bob?”

“Your name on the Nintendo. It’s Bobinski.” 

Lando flashes him a smile and nods, “It’s for when I’m famous and need an undercover name.” And Max agrees that Bobinski will work. 

By the time they’ve run out of spring rolls and every Mario Kart track has been played twice over, Lando retires to his bed with an odd face, spending time together with Max outside karting has his brain going haywire; Would he let me play with his hair? Would he let me kiss him? Would he stay my teammate forever? Would he—? The butterflies in his stomach feel like moths as they seek to get out to somewhere light, not trapped in his stomach. 

Max joins him on the bed, Lando throws a leg across Max’s abdomen, comfortable and warm as he feels Max’s clothed skin beneath his own, he kind of feels like he’s on fire but he can deal with that when he doesn’t feel so comfortable, his eyes sleepy and Max’s face calm. 

“You’re a cuddler aren’t you? I’m gonna wake up with you on top of me.” 

Lando doesn’t see the issue there so he just shrugs with a big grin, “Maybe so!” Max giggles lightly and the lamp beside Lando’s bed is turned off. 

“Goodnight Max.”

“Goodnight Bob.”

Lando’s restless through the night and Max sleeps like a log; The only thing that doesn’t change is Lando’s leg thrown over Max’s body and Max’s hand lying softly on top of it. He falls asleep at four in the morning to wake up at eight, four hours later; face to face with Max, his face going bright red as Max still sleeps calmly. Is this wrong? No, this is just two mates at a sleepover. 

Lando just happens to think Max is very pretty. 

When Max eventually wakes Lando's dad takes them to breakfast at a diner, they talk quietly in the morning and when they get back to the Norris house Max packs up his belongings and gets ready to go home; With the absence of Max, Lando feels a bit like a part of him is missing like a missing puzzle piece to his jigsaw has abandoned him even though he sees him in two days for karting again, Lando sighs brushes his teeth and gets on with his day.