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i. São Paulo-Guarulhos International Airport, Monday November 4th 2024 (6:12 AM)
Oscar looks at Lando, who looks at his phone.
Unbeknownst to him and everyone else in their vicinity, Oscar is at war with himself. His willpower is tested by the second, but his nervous state of being is camouflaged by his calm and collected demeanor.
For the past hour or however long it is that Lando has been sitting next to him, Oscar has been fighting the urge to run his hands through Lando’s hair. It looks silky to the touch and smells so good Oscar wants to bury his nose in the curly strands. But abstain he must.
This is no good. His hand twitches, and for a short moment, Oscar is genuinely afraid that it will reach out—without his permission, mind you—and card his fingers through Lando’s hair. Which would be weird. And awkward. And confusing. And not something teammates do, even though Oscar kind of wishes they did. Christ, he’s starting to feel like a creep.
If there were anyone else around besides the members of their team, he’d distract himself by people-watching. Unfortunately for Oscar, there aren’t any. And he isn’t in a mood where spending time on social media or reading or listening to a podcast is particularly tempting. So he ends up listening to music and watching Lando, who’s scrolling through TikTok, instead.
This is a thing Oscar has been doing a lot lately, stealing glances at Lando. It wouldn’t be a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that it’s getting to a point that’s bordering on obsessive. And Lando is bound to eventually notice the mopey expression Oscar has on his face whenever he looks his way.
Before his overthinking can spiral further out of control, Lando stretches his neck and bumps into Oscar, snapping him out of it. Lando then yawns, locks his phone, pockets it—
And leans onto Oscar.
It catches him off guard; he freezes and waits for Lando to move away.
One, two, three, four, five beats pass and Lando remains plastered to Oscar’s side.
Oscar quite frankly finds himself at a loss. Objectively speaking, Lando leaning on him isn’t even that big of a deal—but it sure feels like it. Because even though his rookie season is in the distant past, Oscar still kind of looks up to Lando.
Lando, who at a surprising speed has fallen asleep on Oscar’s shoulder. He’s breathing slowly and curled towards him, clinging to Oscar’s arm in his sleep.
As a Formula 1 driver, you can’t help but get close to your teammate—be it good or bad—with how much you’re around each other, but the two of them aren’t this close. At least Oscar didn’t think they were. Either way, Lando has never been particularly touchy with him.
Assuming it’s a fluke of sorts, Oscar is about to slowly move his arm, just enough to gently wake Lando. But then, out of nowhere, a sudden plot twist occurs: Lando snuggles closer. And Oscar has no choice, really, but to stay put.
Lando’s eyes are closed and his mouth is slack. Oscar tries and tries and tries not to stare. He’s recently been exposed to pictures and videos of himself being caught in 4K looking at Lando with ‘heart eyes’, whatever those are. Even though Lando has a magnetism about him that makes it impossible to look away, Oscar should at least try to be less obvious about it.
Though still magnetic, the Lando leaning against him looks exhausted. He seems to bear a lot of the season’s challenges like a heavy burden on his shoulders.
As if beating Max and the RB20 would be realistic for anyone.
Yesterday’s poor results must have gotten to him, because his tan complexion has gone pallid and there are dark circles under his closed eyes. And like a sorry cherry on top: a worried furrow between his brows.
Lando continues to push himself far beyond his limits and it’s only gotten worse as the season nears its end. The least Oscar can do is be a good teammate and sit still.
So he does.
Suddenly, he realizes that his phone is in his pocket. His pocket that Lando is leaning on, full weight and all. Oscar is nothing if not a realist, so he gracefully accepts his fate and listens to the same song on repeat for god knows how long.
When Lando wakes up and leans back to look at Oscar, a lingering drowsiness coats his every feature; face soft and hair a bit mussed where it has been pressed against Oscar’s shoulder. The furrow between Lando’s brows is gone and he gives Oscar a small smile.
Oscar’s heart does an unexpected quadruple backflip and he hesitantly smiles back.
ii. Wynn and Encore Las Vegas, Tuesday November 19th 2024 (4:55 PM)
When Oscar meets Lando in the lobby, he’s running late. The decision to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator surely explains why his breath catches and stutters the moment he lays his eyes upon Lando, who looks all golden and radiant where he stands underneath the dim overhead lights.
Oscar isn’t waxing poetic when he swears that Lando’s eyes sparkle when he lifts his head and looks up. A group of women turn their heads and check Lando out as they walk past him, their gazes lingering. The satisfaction of being the only person Lando has his eyes on is something Oscar will unpack at a later point in time.
A year and a half in Formula 1 equals a new wardrobe; Oscar still doesn’t know quite what to think or feel about the fact that the sheer size of his neck makes it difficult for him to fit into some of his old clothes. Other than his brand new suit not looking terribly awkward on his build, he doesn’t think it’s that big of a change.
Lando, however, does a double take. His eyes widen a fraction and his eyebrows rise slightly as he looks Oscar up and down. Oscar wouldn’t be surprised if smoke was to come out of his ears with the way he’s burning up under the attention.
The urge to fidget under Lando’s keen gaze grows stronger by the second, but Oscar is a man of control and withstands it. He puts his hands in the pockets of his pants and straightens his back.
Oscar is the epitome of coolness. Of casualness. Of—
“Oscar Piastri, you look dashing!” Lando says enthusiastically.
“Dashing?” Oscar can’t help but smile. “Is this George’s vocabulary rubbing off on you?” he asks, going for a joke there’s a 50% chance that Lando will get.
Lando ignores Oscar’s quip—it’s tragic how his wit is lost on him—and instead pinches the fabric of Oscar’s charcoal jacket between his thumb and index finger, assessing it.
What the hell does Lando know about fabric?
Oscar notices that Lando is wearing a cologne different from his usual one; it’s something woody and smoky. Unable to resist, he takes a step closer.
“The color really brings out your eyes.” Lando looks up at Oscar and smiles, teeth on show and eyes soft where they crinkle at the corners.
“My eyes? They’re just brown?” Oscar knows he should accept the compliment like a normal person, but both his brain and heart are kind of in overdrive.
And come on, who says things like that out loud? Lando Norris, apparently.
“They're all,” Lando lets go of Oscar's jacket so he can gesture with his hands,“chocolatey.”
“Chocolatey?” Oscar asks. God, he sounds like a parrot repeating everything Lando says. A flustered one at that.
“Yup,” Lando says, popping the ‘p’.
“I mean, thanks,” Oscar corrects himself. A normal response at last. Now, was that so hard?
“Yours looks really… nice,” Oscar continues. He gives his response a two out of five on the awkwardness scale.
Lando looks pleased, however. It might be the light playing a trick but Lando’s cheeks look to have reddened. Before Oscar can examine it further, they are whisked away to an awaiting car.
The gala is like most galas are—terribly boring. After five drawn-out speeches, a six-course meal and photo ops, the two of them are done and waiting for their ride back to the hotel. Lando, who Oscar just learned had a DJ set the night before, looks two seconds from passing out.
Once their car arrives, they enter the backseat from opposite sides. Oscar sits behind the driver but instead of taking the other window seat, Lando scoots over so that he’s in the middle, right next to Oscar. He then puts his head on Oscar’s shoulder and closes his eyes. Caught off guard, Oscar sits still and tries to even out his breathing as he looks at the flashing lights that pass them by.
Lando quickly dozes off, lulled to sleep by the slow jazz coming from the radio.
They're approaching the hotel and as the car is about to enter the drop-off area, Oscar quickly asks if the chauffeur can continue driving them around for a bit longer; he'll tip him.
It’s just that he’d like to see more of the city. They’re in Vegas after all. He tries to keep his voice down, not wanting to wake Lando up, and stumbles over his words a bit. The driver gives him a side-eye in the rearview mirror, but obliges.
54 minutes and a 120% tip later, Oscar wakes a sleepy Lando to tell him that they’ve finally arrived at their hotel.
iii. McLaren Technology Centre (MTC), Thursday November 28th 2024 (1:38 PM)
They’re at the headquarters, talking strategies and having long-winded meetings—it’s intensive, to say the least.
While Lando looks fine, healthy, in the morning, his complexion slowly changes and becomes paler and paler as the day goes on. Sometime after lunch it becomes clear: Lando is sick. To prevent him from infecting others, he’s escorted to a break room like some kind of patient zero.
A couple of engineers throw pitying looks his way when he trudges out of a meeting about the benefits of soft tyres in cold weather. Oscar suspects it’s bending time and space, given how long it has been dragging on. The meeting resumes as soon as Lando is out the door, but an emotion Oscar doesn’t know how to name lingers under his skin long after he’s gone.
The remaining meetings are rescheduled and will be held digitally at a later date so Lando can participate. As a result, Oscar has the rest of the day off which gives him the perfect opportunity to relax. Like you’re supposed to after having a long and tiring day.
You’re not supposed to seek out your sick teammate.
To Oscar’s defense, his immune system has always been solid, tip top, even. And Lando didn’t have any flu or cold-like symptoms. He probably ate something bad. Yeah, that’s it.
Worst case scenario, Oscar has to quarantine for a day or two. The upcoming race got cancelled and there’s two weeks until Abu Dhabi—if he actually were to catch something, there’s no doubt he’ll recover in time.
But there’s no need to think about that, really, because he won’t get sick. Obviously.
This sure is a whole lot of justification just to be around Lando. Jeopardizing his health, even though it obviously is nothing serious, is perhaps going too far. But Oscar feels bad and Lando is all alone and he has pushed himself so hard this season.
It’s not like they’re keeping Lando’s whereabouts a secret, but like a cheap imitation of an undercover agent, Oscar has to discreetly ask around for directions.
Checking on your teammate isn’t even a big deal. It isn’t!
And it isn’t even a big deal either, that Lando has been more and more open and affectionate with him, that he has let his guard down. It’s not an overnight change, but a gradual one—something that must have developed for some time until it grew big enough to be noticeable.
Before he can further overthink and maybe even change his mind, Oscar enters the break room and quickly closes the door behind him.
Lando looks pitiful. He’s lying on a couch, on his back, with an arm thrown over his face. Oscar’s heart is close to aching at the sight.
Lando moves his arm and peeks at Oscar. “Osc? What—what are you doing here?” he asks groggily.
“Just came to check on you.” Oscar’s voice doesn’t wobble when he speaks. Success!
Lando’s face does a funny thing at that and he quickly covers it with his arm again.
Oscar makes his way to the couch and sits down not far from where Lando’s head is lying.
“Are you alright?” Oscar sounds soft; tender.
“Mmmpfh,” Lando eloquently mumbles into his arm.
Feeling daring, Oscar snakes his hand under Lando’s head and murmurs “up.”
Lando gets the gist; he scoots closer and lifts his head so that it’s in Oscar’s lap.
“You’re going to get yourself all sick,” Lando says, moving his arm and looking up at him.
Lando’s face is redder than Oscar has ever seen it and his gaze keeps flitting like he’s purposefully avoiding eye contact.
“My immune system is bulletproof, mate.” Oscar cracks a small smile.
Lando rolls his eyes but smiles back. Curiously, he starts fidgeting with his fingers and looks to the side when their eyes finally meet.
“You look exhausted.” Without his permission, really, Oscar’s hand starts running through Lando’s hair.
Lando makes a dissatisfied sound. “You’re ruining my hair,” he whines, but pushes his head further into Oscar’s palm. He stops fidgeting so he can cover his face with his arm for a third time.
“Too bad,” Oscar says dryly and continues.
Lando’s mouth, not covered by his arm, quirks up.
“You are kind of insane for seeking me out like this, though. Considering I’m sick and all—I don’t know—germy. I didn’t know you took risks like this, Oscar.” Lando bites his bottom lip, holding back a smile.
You’re worth taking risks for, Oscar wants to say, but he bites his tongue.
“I don’t know, I like to live on the edge. Formula 1 racer and all that,” he deadpans instead.
Lando chuckles and a comfortable silence envelops them.
“Keep talking,” Lando mumbles.
“Um,” Oscar says, smooth as ever.
His mind goes blank like it tends to do when someone unexpectedly asks him to keep talking about nothing, or tell them about his favorite movie or series or band.
“C’mon, tell me about the boring meetings or something,” Lando begs.
Oscar obliges and his recap of tyre strategies and aerodynamics quickly makes Lando’s breath slow down. Oscar gently moves Lando’s arm, still covering his face, into a more comfortable position once he’s sure Lando is asleep.
Lando recovers a day and a half later and Oscar doesn’t get sick.
See? Bulletproof immune system.
iv. The Ritz-Carlton Abu Dhabi, Monday December 9th 2024 (11:47 AM)
Oscar wakes up and briefly wonders if he’s dreaming, but then he registers the sour taste in his mouth and the feel of last night’s champagne-sticky clothes clinging to his body. There’s also a heavy weight on top of him, pushing his belt buckle down so that it’s digging into his skin.
The heavy weight on top of him moves and Oscar realizes it’s Lando, whose body is draped over his. Fully clothed and breathing into Oscar’s neck. The rhythm of his heartbeat is slow and steady compared to Oscar’s wild one. He can feel it, as they’re lying chest to chest.
They’re in Oscar’s hotel room and he has no idea, no clue, about how they got to this state. He urgently needs to take a shower and brush his teeth and then go back to sleep for at least 16 hours. Closing his eyes, Oscar tries to stop a developing headache in its tracks by sheer willpower alone.
He tries to remember last night. They were celebrating the constructors’ championship. There was a competition to see who could drink the most shots in the shortest amount of time. He thinks they both participated, but that’s where his memories come to an end.
The only other thing he remembers is how beautiful Lando looked when he was downing shot after shot after shot, his shirt riding up whenever he lifted the glass to his mouth.
Lando shifts slightly and Oscar feels his warm breath on his neck. Mere seconds from combusting, he urgently needs to do something about the situation.
“Lando,” he whispers and jostles him.
“Oscar,” Lando whines. His head stays where it is; lips mere millimeters from touching the bare skin of Oscar’s neck.
Oscar wheezes exaggeratedly just to make his point.
“Wanna sleep,” Lando continues, petulant, and snuggles closer.
“You’re kind of choking me, mate,” Oscar wheezes—for real this time.
“Fine.” Lando sighs dramatically. He rolls over so they’re lying side by side, both with their backs flat on the bed.
“Can you believe we won?” Lando’s voice cracks as he yawns.
“First time in, what? 26 years,” Oscar says.
“I’m coming for that win next year.” Lando turns towards him, rolling onto his side.
“As if,” Oscar scoffs. He remains on his back, but turns his head.
When their eyes meet, they’re wearing identical grins.
Lando scoots closer and presses his face into Oscar’s neck. Again. He simultaneously throws an arm over Oscar’s waist and sighs.
“I’m really happy it’s with you,” Lando murmurs. Thankfully, this time his mouth is on the still-buttoned-up collar of Oscar’s shirt and not his bare skin.
Yet, like a mountaineer, Oscar’s heart climbs up his throat.
“Yeah?” Oscar is all breathless and blushing.
Lando nods into his neck. “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”
“Not Daniel? Not even Carlos?” Oscar asks because he’s tired and not thinking clearly and can’t help himself.
These thoughts have been gnawing at him since he joined the team. This fragile moment between them that feels both significant and unreal at the same time, makes him feel safe and brave enough to ask.
“What? No, of course not!” Lando tightens his hold on Oscar. “I mean, no offense to them, but you’re like…” he continues, but trails off.
Lando lifts his arm, moving it from Oscar’s waist to around his neck.
“I don’t know, you’re amazing, Osc,” he says around a yawn, all casual and straightforward. There’s no trace of coyness or shyness or embarrassment in his voice. “Couldn’t see myself with anyone else,” Lando adds.
Oscar swallows. He wants to tell Lando that he’s amazing too and that Oscar may be a little bit in love with him, but Lando’s words overwhelm him and he has to take time to fully absorb them.
He could never have imagined Lando saying that he likes him more than Daniel and Carlos, which is perhaps a juvenile thought to have, but Oscar has been comparing himself to the two of them for almost two years.
Lando likes him. He’s happy to have Oscar there, with him, by his side. And Oscar knows he isn’t lying, knows Lando well enough to deduce whether he’s saying something just for the sake of it.
“Same,” Oscar confesses after a while. “I really like spending time with you and. And racing, obviously. I really like you.”
He nervously waits for a response, but quickly realizes that Lando has fallen back asleep.
Oscar sighs. He should bite the bullet and get up. His mouth is desert dry and he desperately needs a glass of water. And that shower. And to check his phone that probably has a whole lot of unanswered messages and calls.
Instead, he lies there and feels the slow beat of Lando’s heart.
He closes his eyes and brings his own arms around Lando to the best of his limited ability, which is a struggle with how determinedly Lando clings to him.
Oscar can’t see himself with anyone else either.
v. Lando’s Apartment Central Monaco, Friday January 3rd 2025 (6:04 PM)
When Oscar knocks on Lando’s door, he’s not sure what to expect. Lando has invited him over for a movie and dinner, which sounds like a date but it isn’t explicitly stated as such and is thus hovering in a frustrating grey area.
This results in Oscar spending an embarrassing amount of time picking out his outfit, as if Lando isn’t used to seeing him in all kinds of garish shades of papaya. He eventually lands on a pair of dark blue jeans and a heavy knitted sweater appropriate for the weather.
When Lando opens the door, he’s wearing black jeans, a knitted crewneck and a heart-shaped smile. For a fleeting moment, it looks like Lando is about to say something, but he closes his mouth and welcomes Oscar inside. And just like that, the moment passes.
Once they’re sitting next to each other on Lando’s couch, they fall into easy conversation and neither of them pay any attention to the movie. Oscar gives a recap of his Christmas holiday—including the accidental torching of a gingerbread house—and Lando, finally having figured out Oscar’s dry sense of humor, keeps cracking up.
Lando starts telling him about his own Christmas adventures, but is visibly tired. It’s like he used up all his energy on laughing at Oscar’s jokes.
“I can’t believe you’re about to fall asleep on your guest,” Oscar says as Lando yawns for the fifth time in the span of three minutes.
“Sorry, the stream yesterday went on for, like, too long.” Lando does not sound sorry in the slightest.
It makes Oscar feel more affectionate than annoyed—they’re going to eat dinner soon anyway, so what’s a short nap?
Oscar stretches his arm out and loops it over Lando’s shoulders, gently cupping the back of his head. “C’mere.” Oscar coaxes Lando to lie his head in the junction between his neck and shoulder.
“You always let me do this,” Lando speaks into Oscar’s neck, words coated in fondness.
“Do what?” Oscar is sure that playing dumb is the way to go here.
“Never mind,” Lando mumbles and nestles closer.
Lando’s breathing slows and deepens, and Oscar stares at the large TV screen without absorbing any of the movie’s plot. Lando’s words play on a loop in his mind.
You always let me do this.
Oscar does, but he didn’t think Lando would notice.
Something about the stray thought of Lando never falling asleep on him ever again and instead sleeping on someone else, pierces Oscar like a bullet.
The movie eventually comes to an end and the sound of Lando’s steady breathing fills the silence. Oscar’s fingers drum on the couch cushion as he thinks back to Abu Dhabi.
Instead of making things awkward, the morning they spent lounging in Oscar’s hotel room, all hungover and reeking of alcohol, breaks some kind of invisible barrier and brings them closer. And here they are, starting the new year tangled up on Lando’s couch.
His breath sticks to his lungs once he is hit with the realization that Lando is something, someone, he maybe, possibly, hopefully can have if he just speaks up.
Afraid that he’s going to lose his nerve, Oscar is about to shake Lando awake. But his phone does the work for him when it starts going off in his pocket.
Lando lifts his head from Oscar’s shoulder to look at him, bleary eyed and confused.
Oscar quickly checks his phone and sees that it’s a missed call from his nutritionist. Well, that can wait. He swipes the notification away and puts his phone on airplane mode.
Taking a deep breath, Oscar steels himself.
“I let you, um, do it because I like you,” he says clumsily.
“You what?” Lando asks, suffocating a yawn. He’s in the process of blinking himself awake and is bound to soon catch up.
Trying to gather his thoughts that are scattered all over the place, Oscar bites the inside of his cheek and does his best not to fidget.
“I like you? I mean—” Oscar stumbles a bit over his words in the process, tongue heavy in his mouth. He clears his throat and forces himself to continue. “I like you. A lot. So.”
Lando furrows his brows. He looks confused as he stares at Oscar and stays silent for a couple of beats too long.
Oscar is about to take everything back because he’s a coward, but then Lando finally speaks.
“You like me?” he asks and sits up straight, all traces of tiredness wiped away in an instant.
Sinking into the cushions, Oscar looks down and fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater. Not knowing quite what to say, he stays quiet.
After a pause that feels like it goes on forever, he feels Lando move closer to him.
“Oscar, come on. Look at me,” Lando says gently.
“I’m not going to bite,” he continues, tone light and voice breathy. His hands cover Oscar’s.
Oscar lifts his head, and they’re face to face. And Lando is smiling, beaming, at him—looking at Oscar in a way that makes a furious blush spread all over his face.
All Oscar can focus on is how happy Lando looks. And how badly he wants to kiss him.
To his surprise, it’s Lando who leans in and closes the small gap between them.
+ i. In Lando’s arms, date: unknown (time: unknown)
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Oscar mumbles dryly before yawning. Lando giggles and the conversation comes to a natural lull.
After a while, Lando is about to continue where they left off and make a quip about how he’s the funniest person in the entire world, actually.
Until he feels the slow fall and rise of Oscar’s body.
Wait.
Oscar is falling asleep.
Lando looks down at Oscar and is so filled with love and fondness that he’s minutes away from melting. He’s relieved he isn’t wearing his fitness tracker because surely it’d wake Oscar by going off and expose how Lando’s heart is running amok in his chest.
Oscar is drooling on Lando’s chest, which should, like, gross him out or something, but it doesn’t. Because Oscar looks adorable, boyish, when he sleeps. His face is relaxed and hair mussed after rubbing his face into Lando’s chest in his sleep. To prevent it from tangling, Lando gently runs his hands through Oscar’s light brown locks, the sun's rays having given them a golden hue.
He doesn’t know how long he’s liked Oscar.
Doesn’t know if he woke up on an ordinary Wednesday and was in love, just like that. Doesn’t know if it’s something that took root the moment their eyes met for the first time.
Doesn’t know if it has been lurking beneath the surface until it got activated the first time Lando felt safe enough to fall asleep and use Oscar as a pillow; like a sleeper cell. No pun intended.
What Lando does know, however, is that he loves Oscar. And trusts him. And leans on him.
And he knows Oscar leans on him too, although he’s too stubborn to show it most of the time. And trusts him. And loves him.
Because Oscar allows himself to be vulnerable around Lando.
Like he is right now; asleep in Lando’s arms.