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Lando noticed it before Oscar did.
It started small, the kind of thing that usually didn’t warrant attention. Just a quiet cough between debriefs and a slight sniffle when they left the track. Oscar wasn’t one to complain, and he always brushed off concern with that mild, calm tone of his.
“Mate, you good?” Lando had asked one morning in the McLaren sim room when Oscar’s voice came out raspier than usual.
“Fine,” Oscar said, waving a hand dismissively. “Probably just the air con.”
But over the next couple of days, “fine” turned into more coughing, skipped meals, and a glassy look in Oscar’s eyes that Lando couldn’t ignore.
By Thursday evening, they were back at their shared flat, a quiet and cozy space not far from the MTC. Lando was sprawled on the couch editing a clip on his laptop when he heard another coughing fit echo from the kitchen. He looked up just in time to see Oscar leaning against the counter with one hand braced against it, the other pressed to his chest.
“Os?” Lando called, setting the laptop aside and crossing the room.
Oscar straightened quickly, forcing a weak smile. “I’m good. Just went down the wrong way.”
“Uh-huh. Because water randomly attacks your lungs now?” Lando frowned, stepping closer. “You look awful, mate.”
“Thanks,” Oscar muttered, half amused, half tired. He tried to wave him off again, but his breathing sounded wrong. It was too shallow and sounded like it consumed every ounce of energy Oscar had.
Lando hesitated, watching him for a long moment. “When’s the last time you took your temperature?”
Oscar looked confused. “Why would I— Lando, it’s a cold. Everyone gets them.”
Lando crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Most people don’t look like they’ve just run ten laps when they’re standing still.”
Oscar sighed, clearly done with the conversation, and shuffled back to the couch. He dropped onto it, pulling the blanket off the backrest and curling up beneath it.
“You’re worrying too much.”
“Maybe you’re not worrying enough,” Lando shot back, but softer this time. He sat beside him, feeling the heat radiating through the blanket. “You’re burning up.”
Oscar gave a small shrug, eyes half-lidded. “It’ll pass. I’ll take something later.”
Lando didn’t like that answer, but he let it go for the moment.
By the next morning, it was not better.
Lando woke to coughing that sounded harsh and painful, like it was tearing out of Oscar’s chest. He found him sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, one hand gripping the sheets.
“Os…” Lando’s voice was still rough with sleep, but the sight woke him fully. “You sound terrible.”
Oscar tried to talk but dissolved into another coughing fit. His skin was slick with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead. Lando didn’t even bother asking this time; he pressed the back of his hand to Oscar’s cheek and felt the fever immediately.
“That’s it,” he said firmly. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“No,” Oscar croaked. “Lando, it’s fine. I just…I need rest.”
“You’ve had three days of ‘just rest,’” Lando said, trying to keep calm. “You’re not getting better. You’re getting worse.”
Oscar tried to stand but swayed. Lando caught him instantly, an arm around his waist. The weight of him, how unsteady he felt, made Lando’s chest tighten.
“Please,” Lando said quietly. “Let me take you in. Just to be safe.”
Oscar met his eyes, seeing how serious he looked, and finally nodded.
Rain drummed softly against the windshield, rhythmic and steady, the only sound between them for a while. Lando kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his boyfriend’s thigh, glancing over every few seconds.
Oscar sat angled toward the driver’s seat but staring mindlessly out the passenger window. He kept his hood up as he counted the passing streetlights. His cheeks were flushed with fever, eyes dull and tired. He’d barely protested when Lando helped him out of the flat which, in itself, said a lot.
“You okay?” Lando asked quietly as he turned onto the main road.
Oscar hesitated. “Yeah. Just—”
He coughed, then winced. “Just feel stupid.”
Lando frowned. “Stupid?”
“For…making you drive me to the hospital for a cold,” Oscar muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “Feels dramatic.”
Lando let out a soft snort. “Mate, you’re practically glowing with fever. That’s not dramatic, that’s medical.”
Oscar huffed a tired laugh, still avoiding eye contact. “I just…hate stuff like this. Sitting around, people poking you with things. Feels like I’m overreacting.”
“You’re not,” Lando said simply. His tone wasn’t teasing this time, just calm and steady in that way that always cut through Oscar’s quiet self-doubt. “You’ve been sick for days. You can barely breathe. This isn’t you being soft, it’s you finally letting someone help.”
Oscar shifted, embarrassed. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” Lando interrupted, glancing over long enough to catch his eye. “That’s kind of how this works. You put up with me leaving socks everywhere, and I make sure you don’t pass out on the kitchen floor.”
That got a faint smile out of Oscar, small but genuine. “Such a fair deal.”
“Thought so,” Lando said, lips curving up slightly as he turned back to the road.
For a while, they just listened to the rain. Oscar leaned his head against the window, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. He looked pale and worn out, but calmer now.
When they reached the hospital car park, Lando pulled into a spot near the entrance and cut the engine. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Oscar sighed, quiet and resigned.
“Still feels silly,” he murmured.
Lando turned to him, softening. “You feeling this bad isn’t silly. And you’re not alone in there, okay? I’m with you.”
Oscar’s eyes flicked toward him, tired but grateful. “Thanks.”
Lando smiled faintly. “Always.”
He got out, came around to Oscar’s side, and opened the door. Oscar hesitated for a moment, like the simple act of getting out was admitting he was really sick. Then he took Lando’s offered hand, letting him steady him as they stepped out into the cool air.
Lando kept that hand until they reached the sliding doors, a constant reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.
The hospital was quieter than expected, the kind of late-evening calm that only existed in sterile corridors and softly humming machines. The nurse led them through a maze of pale hallways, Oscar walking slowly beside her, Lando half a step behind, close enough to catch him if he stumbled.
When they reached the small room, Oscar sat obediently on the bed while the nurse adjusted the pillows and clipped a pulse oximeter onto his finger. Lando hovered by the door, trying to stay out of the way and failing spectacularly. His eyes flicked from the monitor to the IV stand to the oxygen tubing like he could memorize what everything did just by staring hard enough.
“His breathing’s been really shallow,” Lando said quickly when the nurse started noting things down. “And his fever spiked this morning like, really bad. He hasn’t eaten properly in two days. And—”
The nurse gave a small, practiced smile. “We’ll take good care of him. The doctor’s on her way to assess his lungs. Looks like you got him here just in time.”
Oscar gave a quiet groan, leaning back against the pillows. “Don’t tell him that,” he muttered. “He’ll never let me live it down.”
Lando ignored him, watching as another nurse came in to start an IV. “Is that antibiotics? Or fluids? Both? Should he be sitting up more?”
“Both,” the nurse said patiently, her tone kind. “And this position’s fine for now. We’re going to help him breathe a bit easier first.”
Lando nodded, but his hands wouldn’t stay still. He sat fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie and his foot tapping against the chair leg. Every beep from the monitor made him glance up.
“Lan,” Oscar said softly after a moment, eyes half-open. “Relax, you’re making them nervous.”
The nurse laughed quietly. “I’ve seen worse,” she said, taping the IV line in place.
Lando finally sat, dragging the chair right up to the bedside so he could rest his arm on the edge of the mattress. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m not great at the calm thing.”
Oscar tilted his head just enough to look at him. His face was pale and a little glassy, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You don’t say.”
“Hey, I’m just making sure you don’t spontaneously combust or something,” Lando shot back, softer now. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Oscar’s wrist, careful not to disturb the IV line. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“I know,” Oscar murmured, eyes slipping shut. “You worry too much.”
“You’re a pain, you know that?” Lando said softly, voice catching despite himself.
Oscar’s lips twitched behind the mask. “Told you it was just…a cold.”
Lando let out a shaky laugh, half exasperation and half relief. “I wouldn’t consider pneumonia ‘just a cold’ so I think I win the argument this time.”
The nurse finished her checks smiling, jotting a few notes on the chart before giving Lando a reassuring smile. “He’ll start feeling better once the antibiotics kick in. Fever should drop overnight.”
Lando exhaled, shoulders dropping for the first time in hours. “Thanks. Really.”
As the nurses left, the room grew quiet except for the low hum of the machines. Lando leaned back in the chair, still watching Oscar’s slow, steady breaths. When Oscar’s hand twitched, Lando took it gently, thumb brushing against his skin in small, absent circles.
He stayed like that long after Oscar drifted off, watching and waiting for the tightness in his chest to ease.
The nurse had just stepped out, and the doctor adjusted the oxygen flow before leaving a few instructions. Lando carefully placed the mask over Oscar’s nose and mouth, making sure the straps were snug but not tight.
“Okay, you just need to keep this on for a little while,” Lando said gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “It’ll help you breathe easier.”
Oscar nodded, letting the mask stay on at first. His chest rose and fell more steadily, and Lando felt a flicker of relief.
But a few seconds later, Oscar tilted the mask down just enough to mumble, “Lan…can you—?”
“Keep it on, Os,” Lando said immediately, reaching to adjust it back over his nose. “You need it. Just breathe it in.”
Oscar sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I know, I know…I just—want to talk. I feel weird not talking.”
“You can talk with it on,” Lando said, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. “Just…don’t pull it off.”
Muffled, Oscar muttered something else, tugging the mask slightly to the side again. Lando gently pressed it back. “Nope. Right there. Stay.”
“Fine,” Oscar murmured, voice hoarse and quiet. A few moments passed, and he leaned forward again, whispering, “Lan…you’re staying, right?”
“Of course I am,” Lando said, thumbs brushing along Oscar’s wrists. “But the mask stays on. You’re not getting off that easy.”
Oscar huffed a tired laugh and tried once more, tugging the mask sideways. Lando caught it almost instantly. “Os, seriously. Stay put. Please.”
This time, Oscar rolled his eyes, but finally let it remain in place, breathing slowly. Lando stayed close, watching the chest rise and fall, the shallow coughs lessen, the faint flicker of color return to Oscar’s cheeks.
Every so often, Oscar would lean just enough to whisper something and Lando would hum softly in reply, letting him talk without pulling the mask off. When the mask slipped or shifted, Lando’s hands were there in an instant.
“See?” Lando said quietly after a few minutes. “You’re already breathing easier. This works.”
Oscar gave a small, embarrassed smile behind the mask. “I feel like such a baby.”
“You’re not a baby,” Lando said firmly, brushing his thumb over Oscar’s knuckles. “You’re just human. Sick humans need help.”
Oscar exhaled slowly, finally letting himself relax against the pillows.
“Okay…fine. But you’re still annoying,” he murmured, just loud enough for Lando to hear.
“As always,” Lando replied, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And you love it.”
Oscar’s eyes twitched at the corner, a faint smile breaking through the exhaustion. Lando stayed there, hand in his, ready to remind him gently again if he tried to pull the mask off.
Oscar stirred to find Lando asleep in the chair, chin resting on one palm and his other hand still intertwined with Oscar’s. The faint light from the monitors painted his face in soft blue.
When Oscar shifted, Lando’s eyes snapped open immediately. “Hey,” he murmured. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Oscar said, voice hoarse but sincere.
Lando gave a small, tired smile. “Good. We’re not doing this again.”
Oscar squeezed his hand weakly. “No promises.”
Lando chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “You’re impossible.”
Oscar smiled faintly, eyes fluttering closed again. “You love it.”
Lando’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I really do.”
And for the first time in days, Lando let himself believe that everything was going to be okay.