Chapter Text
Oscar often slipped into unhealthy fixations, it came natural to him. However, he did not think of them as unhealthy, unlike everyone else, and especially unlike his child psychologist, who nodded his head understandingly and continued to ask why Oscar kept choosing the same route to go to school, despite it being longer. Oscar didn't understand what the question was even about. He just chose it, why change the decision when it's already been made?
He loved intricate, deep topics that gave him space for obsession, so he could delve into them for years. In between his interests, Oscar felt like he was going crazy — his brain, accustomed to taking every detail seriously, clung to every little thing, clearly overestimating its importance.
Autism. It was autism, he knew, he listened to his psychologist. Sometimes. He wasn't going to change, not that he'd ever be able to.
His success in karting was largely due to the fact that it became a new topic that Oscar thought about day and night. He reviewed all the recent Formula 1 seasons, and seemed to know every significant moment in the history of the sport and every driver. Soon, he already had his favorites, and, of course, he also knew everything about them.
That's how he first heard about Lando Norris.
The guy was only a year older than Oscar himself, but he was already promised to have a great future. Oscar thought it was normal to keep track of all his social media, like his every post, know his birthday, his favorite driver, his favorite track, his favorite food—know everything about Lando that could be found on the Internet or heard in their common circles.
Lando was a racing driver, and Oscar loved racing, there was nothing personal about it.
That's what he told himself for a long, long time, convincing himself that he wasn't doing anything weird. He had never been so obsessed with a real person before, so his approach hadn't changed at all. He studied Norris the same way he studied the Egyptian pyramids, the Bermuda Triangle, or the Dyatlov Pass as a child—as if Lando were a mystery, not a real, living person. Oscar wasn't just his fan, he wanted to solve him. And soon it became hard to ignore.
“Lando is participating in—”
“You're obsessed with him, Oscar,” Hattie cut him off, sliding the earphone back into place, making it clear that she wasn't interested in the rest of the story.
Oscar tried to mention Lando less. But he couldn't think less about him.
Usually, his fixations ended as soon as they stopped bringing new emotions. A year, two at most — that's how much he gave to each interest. But Lando was not a phenomenon or an event, Lando lived in parallel with Oscar, he was at the ascent of his career and there was always something new to learn about him. Therefore, Oscar's interest has only grown over the years. There was a joke in his family that Lando was his man-crash, to which Oscar reacted by rolling his eyes and trying to explain that “he just respects Lando as a racer, his potential...”, his sisters didn't care and soon Oscar just accepted it.
But he also started thinking about it more often. First, about how stupid and ridiculous it is. Then about that strange sour feeling that appeared every time he learned something new about Lando's personal life. He knew so much about him, but he preferred not to read anything about his girlfriends. Oscar explained this by saying that he was primarily interested in Lando as a racing driver and he followed his career only, but this excuse quickly ceased to sound convincing even to himself — Oscar knew everything about him, about his family, habits and oddities. His career was so important to Oscar precisely because it was the only thing they had in common. But Oscar was always just interested in Lando. And he felt something strange, bordering on possessive instinct. It's like when someone starts listening to your favorite band and you think the person isn't worthy of it. No one was worthy of Lando, Oscar came to this conclusion unexpectedly for himself. And at that moment, for the first time, a feeling of discomfort enveloped him, as if he was losing control over his obsession. Before that, he could always stop, or figure out the approximate time when he would let go. But Lando filled his every day without even knowing it, and Oscar wanted more.
He began to think that if he knew Lando, they could become good friends. He began to imagine how they would spend time together. How Lando would laugh at his jokes and praise his racing successes.
“Who are you talking to?”
Oscar stopped himself, turning to Hattie.
“Nobody... just thinking.”
“You were whispering to yourself and smiling.”
“I was just thinking...”
He began to fantasize about Lando almost all the time. As if he was right next to him, living in his house and never leaving Oscar's side. It was great, it was nice. And most importantly, it felt very natural. Oscar knew how Lando talked, how he moved and held himself. He could perfectly recreate the conversation with him, as if they really knew each other.
A couple of times, Oscar felt like he wasn't making up the answers at all—that Lando was really there, lying on his bed and laughing at him for spending a Friday night at his parents' house.
“Mate, I've never met such an introvert.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the hardcore one?”
“I don't think I’m an introvert.”
Lando sat up in bed, turning to Oscar, the dim light of the lamp making his eyes sparkle.
“Oscar, you're like a book example of an introvert. Don't you have any friends?”
“I do...”
“Well, go somewhere already!”
Oscar didn't know what to say to him, the illusion froze and for a few moments he was alone again. He replayed the dialogue several times, trying different endings. He didn't know how it happened, but one moment Lando was leaning over him with a sly look, and the next, his lips were covering Oscar's.
Oscar closed his eyes, opening his mouth slightly, his hand burrowed into the emptiness of his dark curls.
“Oscar!”
He exhaled sharply, snapping his teeth and hurriedly lowering his hand. “Coming, mom...”
“I have to go...” He whispered. The dusty air of his cluttered room did not answer him.
…
And then he got hired by McLaren. At first, as a backup pilot, but it still meant that he would be able to see Lando all the time. Oscar felt weird about it. Of course, he was happy. But on the other hand, it was as if he already knew Lando, he was used to talking to him, sharing everything that hurt and hearing the answers to his questions. Yes, his imagination could never completely replace a real person, but Oscar felt like in a movie where one of the spouses, after amnesia, does not remember the wedding and the birth of 4 children. Oscar knows him, but for some reason this real Lando doesn't know him back. It was strange, Oscar didn't know how to behave, he was lost between such a familiar illusion and the real Lando, with whom he could now actually talk.
He was so scared.
“Hey, mate! Oscar, right? Welcome!”
“Um...”
They crossed paths in the hallway, Lando was in a hurry, but he had obviously already been informed about Oscar. It was a routine phrase, and even to that Oscar couldn't react like a normal person. He broke out in a cold sweat as soon as Lando's curly head loomed at the end of the hallway, he didn't expect that he even knew who Oscar was.
He felt worse than the fans who were ready to cry at the mere smile of Norris. If this goes on, Oscar will start crying next time too.
…
He didn't cry. He even managed to pull himself together and answered Lando as coherently as possible. All his expectations turned out to be naive nonsense — they did not become friends, he was not the only one who could become worthy of Lando. He was just a backup driver, but Lando was already working on his career and Daniel was in his life. And unlike the rare polite conversations they shared about nothing in particular, Lando had something much more reminiscent of friendship with Daniel.
At such moments, Oscar recalled why a child psychologist asked him about the route to school and told him to make the number “4" from plastic sticks. It didn't matter then, he was coping with all his weirdness and didn't feel how different he was from others.
All the painful realizations about his diagnosis caught up with Oscar, too, because of Lando. First, when he saw Carlos Sainz, and then Daniel Ricciardo. And they both stood next to Lando and made him smile.
Oscar just couldn't compete with them. It was so easy for these people to do exactly what he himself could not parody, no matter how much he tried. They had a natural charisma. And Lando broke into a thousand embarrassed, high-pitched laughs in their presence. Oscar would never have been able to get the same joy out of him.
All his fantasies were so enjoyable precisely because in them Lando existed in the reality that Oscar had chosen for them. He directed their conversations himself, playing both roles, and when he didn't like the result, he just started over. In real life, Lando did what he wanted, which meant Oscar had no chance.
…
Lando was sitting across from him, barely awake, and looking at him with baffling attention. Oscar tried to look as calm as possible, after all, he should have been happy about his own achievement — he got a seat in the top team and finally fully participated in the championship. But his thoughts, of course, kept returning to Lando, who was now his teammate.
Now they just had to start talking. Moreover, now they had to start doing almost everything together, at least as far as work went.
Oscar tried to convince himself that he wasn't happier about it than he was about his new opportunities.
Lando began to get to know him better, or rather, they said that they began to get to know each other better, but Oscar was godlessly lying. Although what he knew about Lando began to play with new colors when Oscar could actually observe him in real life.
What initially captivated Oscar and made him so seriously obsessed with Lando was his kindness. Norris was one of the most generous and open-minded people Oscar knew. He was emotional, but all his mood swings, frowning lips, unreasonable tears — everything was sincere. Lando couldn't lie, couldn't object, was malleable and forgiving. Oscar admired that.
They really got closer, but not enough for Oscar. He continued to feel how far away he was from Lando, especially when the team forced them to make videos for social media. They were told the idea, and Lando would sigh wearily and go to fulfill it, like another contract clause. Oscar didn't like it either, of course, but the way Lando visibly changed when the camera turned off.… It was impossible not to take it personally.
Oscar didn't notice how this year had gone, he didn't think it was possible, but he and Lando had actually been teammates for the whole season. However, their relationship hadn't changed much, they were colleagues, and Lando didn't seem to want anything more from Oscar than that. And Piastri himself did not know how to compete with the motley crowd of friends who surrounded Lando almost all the time. He was never alone. Oscar didn't know if he was jealous or sympathetic.
The following season brought Lando a lot of disappointments. Oscar wanted to help, but he was making things worse himself, getting closer and closer to Lando and his achievements, starting to cast a shadow on them with his progress.
“Who would you choose between McLaren drivers?”
“Oscar.”
Horner and his straightforwardness. Oscar wasn't going to move to Red Bull, but he was flattered.
…
“Oscar! How are you?”
Mark had aged noticeably in recent years, and for Oscar, this was reflected not in his wrinkles, but in the calmness of his eyes.
“All good.”
“Oh, is it, kid? Are you a champion already?”
Oscar exhaled. When Mark invited him to a bar, he hoped to spend the evening in the pleasant, mumbling company of his mentor, but he was clearly having one of those days — something was eating away at him and he was going to bite into Oscar's career, as if it were his vendetta. He wondered what Mark's advice would be regarding Red Bull.
“I won my first race.” A cold beer was placed in front of him, and Oscar finally noticed that Mark was almost finished with his own. No, he's not going to ask anything about Red Bull today.
“Um,” Mark mumbled, finishing his beer in one gulp, “Zak's probably still mad that it wasn't his firstborn.”
“I think Zak is happy that we were able to get the points as a team.” Oscar retorted softly. Mark was right, but he didn't want to talk about it right now.
“Oscar...” Mark stared at him with his sad piercing gaze. He reminded Oscar of St. Bernard dog. “You need to win this year.”
Oscar grinned, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Yes, that would be great.”
“No—” Mark suddenly took his elbow and squeezed it. “You don't understand, you have to win.”
Oscar didn't try to pull his hand away, but this conversation seemed pointless to him.
“I'll do what I can, like always...”
“Oscar.”
What's wrong with him today? The anniversary of some fateful fight in Red Bull of the previous era?
Mark peered into his face, searching for something there. Oscar was never very expressive, so what he was looking for there was a mystery.
“Oscar, listen, there will be a change of regulations in 2026 and Toto knows when to start preparing for such things, he is already doing it, believe me. There will be chaos in 2026, you can't take that risk, you have to take the title now, while McLaren has a decent car.”
“Mark, I'll do what I can.” Oscar repeated it more slowly and clearly.
“We need to do more!” Mark hissed, getting close to his ear.
Oscar let out a chuckle.
“What do you suggest, fall at Zak's feet and start crying please, please, can I be the first driver? I don't think he'll prioritize me, Mark, you said it yourself, Lando is his favorite child.”
Mark nodded vigorously, now patting Oscar on the shoulder.
“Another beer, please.” He called. Oscar shook his head, indicating that he’s good. “Lando... fucking Lando...” Mark coughed. “He's worse than you, Oscar, it’s just a fact, so it’s only fair…”
Oscar frowned. Lando was his idol, and he felt strange receiving such contrasting compliments. And what would be fair?
A new bottle of beer smoked in front of Mark, and he willingly took a big sip, immediately squinting. “We need to make sure that you win, so listen to me carefully. Are you listening?” Mark lowered his voice and motioned for him to bend lower.
Oscar hurriedly nodded his head, leaning closer to Mark.
“You have to make a wish, and make the right wish.” Mark took something out of his pocket. A battered box with the inscription “One Wish Willow” laid on the bar in front of them.
Oscar crumbled. He had a lot of respect for Mark and everything the old man had done for him, but he shouldn't have ordered a second beer.
“Mark, I think I'm not that desperate yet, bring it to me somewhere in Monaco, preferably right at the pit stop.” He laughed, twirling his bottle in his fingers.
Mark grabbed his elbow again, this time squeezing until it hurt, and Oscar let out a muffled gasp, squinting at Webber.
“Oscar, please...” Mark sounded desperate. Oscar was starting to get stressed out. “Please don't make my mistakes.”
Well, now Oscar was ashamed. He knew that his presence always reminded Mark of days gone by in one way or another, and not always of sunny days. He picked up the wish box, pretending to examine it.
“You have to make a wish. Please promise me that you will make the right one.” Mark kept asking, some of his words mixing together.
Oscar sighed and nodded obediently, as long as Mark calmed down.
“Okay...okay, good..” muttered Webber, showing the bartender the cash he had left next to his empty bottles. “I'm sorry, I dragged you out in the night, it's just important...”
Oscar stood up after Mark, patting him reassuringly on the back. “It's okay, Mark, it was good to see you.”
As they left the bar, Mark continued to mumble something unintelligible, and Oscar made sure that he was able to call himself a taxi. They were already saying goodbye when Mark abruptly pulled him, not calculating the force. Oscar gasped and awkwardly smiled with pursed lips, but Mark did not let go.
“Oscar. It's real.” Mark whispered, and Oscar swallowed an unpleasant lump in his throat.
“Yeah... alright, Mark.”
…
Oscar walked around the room, stepping over his own things, which were piled on the floor like seaweed after a storm. They seemed to smell like that too. Oscar never liked and did not know how to put things in order. He needed to gather everything he needed as soon as possible, at least in some kind of bag, and head to the airport for his flight to Shanghai.
There was a legend among the drivers about the curse of the home Grand Prix, and Oscar was beginning to believe in it. Although, compared to Charles, he has not yet suffered enough to say that Albert Park hadn’t accepted him. P9. Lando was at the top of the podium, as if he belonged there. He should be there too, standing next to him, pouring champagne down his neck and listening to his squeaky laughter.
Oscar ignored Mark's call, buzzing under a mountain of his T-shirts. And the second one, and the third one… He just wouldn't stop calling. Oscar fished his phone out from under the rubble of clothes and reluctantly pressed “answer.”
“Yes—”
“Did you make a wish?”
Oscar frowned, sitting down on an island on the floor that was free of junk. He was sure that Mark was just drunk and under the influence of some of his own weirdness. But for some reason, this topic seemed to worry Webber even when he was sober.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, back at the bar, I—”
“You're lying.” Mark snapped.
“Why would I—anyways… Listen, Mark, I think I've lost it, I'm sorry, but I don't think that's the most important thing to me right now.”
“Oscar,” Mark paused significantly, “there's nothing more important to you right now in the whole world.”
Oscar looked at the phone in his hand as if it were Mark himself.
“What, more important than racing?” He chuckled.
“This is racing. Find a wish, call me when you make it.” At that line ended and Oscar was left sitting on the floor in complete confusion.
He had to clean the room completely to find the damn box. In the process, he found a couple of test sheets from high school and his sister's hairpin, which was lost around the same time. That is, everything except for the thing that was handed to him less than a month ago.
He collapsed wearily on the bed, twirling the worn package in his hands. Mark must have kept it for years. Oscar stared at the ceiling, it was all kind of eerily strange.
Lando was right when he told Netflix that victory was a drug, and the happiness of a first triumph quickly turns into an insatiable desire to get even more. Oscar already knew what it was like and now he wanted to win every race he participated in. He wanted this title. Maybe he wanted it more than he wanted Lando.
He didn't notice how he agreed with his sisters' jokes. The change was so smooth and transparent that Oscar realized what it was all called when he hugged himself in bed once again, imagining that it was Lando's wide palms now squeezing his ribs.
He loved Lando, was in love with him, had a crush—whatever you want to call it. But Hattie was right, Oscar was obsessed with him and wanted him in every way he only could. All to himself.
Oscar remembered Rosberg with all his parting words and obvious regrets. In Formula 1, you can't have friends if you're fighting each other on equal terms — it's a matter of human nature, not control. This year will kill something in them that has not yet been born, and Oscar will never be able to nurture it again. It was either Lando or the title.
Oscar swallowed hard. It felt like a childhood question about who you love more, dad or mom, and you immediately feel like an asshole, no matter what you choose.
But this was no longer a hypothetical question for him. If he wins, Lando will never look at him the same way again, much less in any new way. Was it an acceptable price for him?
Oscar knew the answer, but he didn't want to admit it.
On the other hand, he won’t feel worthy of Lando if he doesn’t win. By showing him that he's worse, how can he claim an even bigger prize than the cup?
Everything would be easier if Lando just waited for him in the garage after every race with headphones and a guest pass.…No, they’ve met because of this sport, in any other situation Lando wouldn't look in his direction. Oscar closed his eyes and grimaced, there wasn’t a single scenario in which he got everything he wanted.
His fingers mindlessly opened the box, extracting a cheap wand. What is he even doing?
Lando was the main problem for him this year. And everyone knew this, but only Oscar understood what the problem actually was and its scale. Everything revolved around Lando, he had been the center of his life for several years. And no matter what Oscar did, he couldn't learn to be desirable for him. The only thing he couldn't learn and hone was the real skill of being someone Lando would want.
His fingers automatically broke the wand, it turned out to be quite fragile, Oscar did not notice how it cracked. He hesitated, but the wish was already on his tongue. It's been there for a couple of years now.
“I wish Lando Norris loved me more than anyone in the entire world.” He whispered a little hoarsely and very, very quietly. A real wish that sounded too loud for his ears, not used to hearing this truth.
He picked up the phone to text Mark (he wasn't going to call just to let him know), strangely, it seemed to him that a notification had just arrived, but the screen was empty.
Me: i made a wish
Mark W.: The right one?
Oscar grinned. Yes. But it's better for Mark not to know what's right for Oscar.
…
Oscar just hoped that the bathroom in his room would not be behind a glass window, as in all previous years, but behind a normal wall. For some reason, Chinese suites were made mainly for perverts. Did Oscar look like a pervert?
He fell on the double bed, his bag flew to the other side of the room, almost hitting the trash can. Oscar turned his head, no longer surprised by the glass surface directly in front of his sleeping place. Again.
He was about to go to bed when there was an uncertain knock on his door. Oscar frowned, he wasn't expecting anyone. The door clicked and Oscar found himself face to face with his teammate. He swallowed awkwardly, immediately backing away, unwittingly inviting Lando in.
As usual, Lando's skin was darker after the break, and he looked like a bronze statue with his curly hair and olive tan. He smiled at Oscar, wide and welcoming. As if he was glad to see him.
“Osc!” Lando tilted his head, examining Oscar with his sparkling eyes. “I'm so glad you came...”
Oscar grinned, rubbing his shoulder. He didn't understand what Lando needed, but he wasn't complaining at all.
“Yeah, I decided to come a little earlier...”
“I haven't seen you for too long.” Lando sounded the same as he did in the interview, when his voice was sugary and gentle. Then people would see the real him on streams and consider him an arrogant freak.
Oscar liked his arrogance. He liked everything that was natural to Lando. That's why that voice was bothering him now. Lando never thought it was necessary to play PR specifically for Oscar.
“It's only been a few months...” Oscar pursed his lips again, hoping that his eyes did not look indifferent, he was told that he looked repulsive sometimes. Lando didn't seem to be repelled by anything at all.
“I don’t know... it's hard for me when you are not around for so long.” Lando finally looked away from him, frowning, as if what he said really upset him.
Oscar sucked in a hissing breath, nodding awkwardly. His neck was probably already showing all his emotions.
The room was dark, the conceptual design suggested light only in areas with obstructed passage, but Lando's eyes were glowing. As if someone was shining a flashlight right out of his pupil — a small bright dot that made the iris visually darker, giving his look more emphasis. Oscar couldn't look into those eyes for long, Lando's attention made him bend and crumble.
“We saw each other not too long ago. A couple of weeks I guess…” Oscar whispered, immediately hating himself for saying that. Lando didn't seem to like it either.
“It's not been a couple of weeks, Oscar.” Lando leaned against the wall behind him, never letting Oscar out of his sight for a second. He wasn't smiling anymore.
“Huh, whatever you say, mate...”
“Did you miss me?”
Oscar probably made some kind of sound — a painful exhalation. He stared at the floor, just like when he was a kid, when he didn't understand what people really wanted from him. He didn't know how to react, what Lando wanted from him, or what game he was going to play. For several years, he only noticed Oscar as part of his own contract, and now he's asking if Oscar missed him in the two weeks they haven't seen each other.
“Did you miss me?” Oscar grinned weakly, trying to make a joke of it, he raised his eyebrows and looked at Lando with slightly narrowed eyes.
Lando didn't smile back.
“Oscar, did you miss me? Is this a difficult question?” At these words, his tone took on a strange note. Oscar didn't understand him, he had been learning to read his every move for so many years, but now he didn't understand Lando at all.
“Yes...” Oscar replied softly, feeling what territory they were entering, his heart was pounding against his chest with frenzied force, it seemed that he had circles in front of his eyes. “I always miss you.” Lando didn't ask that, but Oscar couldn't stop the truth from coming out of his mouth so recklessly.
Lando's eyes widened and he abruptly pulled away from the wall, looking around.
“Um, yeah, mate... See you later!” Lando blurted out and flew out of Oscar's room without turning around, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway, dumbfounded and, it seems, even more in love.
“See—” The door slammed shut right in front of Oscar.
He covered his face with his palms, checking the temperature of his cheeks—yes, he was definitely red as a crab, Lando couldn't not notice this.
I always miss you.
Oscar pressed his fingers harder on his eyes until he saw colorful sparks. What was he thinking? He probably didn't understand something again, didn't recognize another joke or some kind of trend. He blurted out the truth where some kind of social code was clearly expected of him. Oscar was an idiot.
He went to sort his stuff out, maybe this time he would even put it in a spacious closet the room provided. Well, or at least it won't scatter on the floor.
When he finished, it was past midnight. Of course, at the height of the season, time meant little because of the constant flights, but he had to be up tomorrow at local time, so—
There was a thud. Oscar froze. He stared at the closed door in front of him, feeling the floor give way beneath his feet. It was like being five years old again and being left alone at home for the first time.
Knock, knock.
Oscar exhaled sharply. It's probably someone from the team, but it's already so late… He made an effort to move and went to the door, trying the handle.
Lando was standing in front of him again. Oscar nodded again, greeting him as if they hadn't seen each other an hour ago.
“Are you still up?”
Lando bent his head and smiled, this time with complete sincerity. Wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes and his face took on its own hand-drawn look, as if he were someone's painting.
“I didn't tell you,” Lando took a step forward, pushing Oscar back into the room, his wide palm resting on the hard-beating heart of the guy in front of him, “I missed you too.” Lando whispered, leaning as close as possible to Oscar's ear, touching his neck with his breath.
Oscar completely stopped functioning, he did not see or hear anything except Lando, who clogged all his senses. He always smelled so good, Oscar wanted to lower his head and bury his nose in the crook of his neck — to suffocate there.
“I always miss you, Osc...” Lando's lips touched his Adam's apple. Just his lips, weightless—Oscar swallowed hard when their skin touched, and closed his eyes, exhaling.
“What the fuck?”
Oscar blinked, immediately coming back to reality when the tone of Lando's voice made such a strange leap. Lando was still standing very close, but now he was frowning, his eyes darting over Oscar's chest in horror. He quickly withdrew his hand, as if something had burned him. He looked so scared, but there was something else on his face, Oscar couldn't figure out what it was.
Lando's nose made a barely noticeable upward movement and everything became obvious. Disgust. Oscar felt his shame curl into a wet, cold lump inside him. But Lando came to him on his own, Oscar would never—
“Lando?” His voice didn't sound like his own.
“When did I come here…What? What the fuck? That shit, I told Max not to bring it, I—” Lando chewed the words hard, clutching his temples and wincing as if he was in pain. Oscar held out his hand to him, but Lando only recoiled from him.
“Are you okay, mate?”
Lando continued to stare at the floor, blinking slowly, as if trying to memorize the pattern on the carpet.
“Yes, I am, it's just... a bad race...”
Oscar tilted his head forward, thinking he had misheard.
“Well, if P1 is bad now... then I'm sorry.”
Lando shot him a puzzled look, peering into Oscar's face, he continued to squint either in pain or from the effort to do something. Oscar didn't understand what.
“P1 that's great, Oscar, congratulations.” He said suddenly a little louder.
“Lando, please, what's going on?” Oscar tried to grin, but this conversation and this strange Lando made him uneasy.
“Oh, yes, I'm sorry… I've been acting weird all day, I've been using…”
Oscar automatically looked out the door, looking around. Why was Lando getting stoned in the middle of such a crucial season at all? Oscar unceremoniously grabbed his shoulder and pushed him deeper into his room, he didn't need to hear from Zak for these rumors.
“I understand you're on edge, but—don't… Whatever Max brings — don’t do it, do you hear me?” He turned to Lando, who was looking at him with intense interest.
“Yes, I'm sorry...” Lando repeated, smiling dreamily.
“No need, I would only be grateful, if you came high to the race...” He smiled, raising his eyebrows.
The grin immediately faded from Lando's face.
“Really?”
Oscar swallowed, it was a dumb joke.
“No, of course not. You should rest. If you've been doing drugs recently, I don't know about tomorrow's start—”
Lando's lips covered his.
Oscar gasped, low and completely shameless, his body instantly turning into cotton wool under the grip that only tightened around his waist. Lando held him closer, and closer, and closer. Until their teeth collided from how close they were standing. Lando seemed to be trying to squeeze Oscar and shove him into himself. They kissed with no rhythm or technique, moving on the intensity of the moment, Lando periodically jerked his head and bit Oscar's lips, he hissed at that and tried to open his mouth wider. Lando kept licking into his lips, as if he didn't need to breathe at all, but Oscar could already feel his head swimming.
“Wait...” He groaned, burrowing his head into Norris' shoulder, finally breathing in his scent so close.
“Oscar...” Lando whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Oscar...”
He kissed his neck instead of answering.
“Oscar, please...”
“Yes?” Oscar finally pulled back, trying to force his eyes to focus in the dimness of the room. “What do you want?”
Lando shook his head, resting his forehead against his.
“You.”
Oscar kissed him again, pushing him to the bed.