Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the season for new intakes at the McLaren Technology Centre, which means that all sectors, engineering and finance alike, have individuals eager to pursue their dreams in motorsports.

There was a meeting with the higher ups, race engineers and drivers to decide who to hire. A name kept being pushed up: one Oscar Piastri, graduated top of his class with his Masters in Mechanical Engineering at an impressively young age, being only 24. With an incredible GPA and his Formula Student performances, there’s no wonder he’s so enticing to F1 team’s recruiters.

Lando doesn’t even bat an eye when Oscar and some other engineering students are selected for an interview after more consideration. More bored than anything, honestly. It’s not like he’s not impressed, but did this really have to include the drivers too? He knows better than to ask, though.

When he briefly glances at Daniel, he looks equally as bored; the “this could have been an email” expression is apparent on his face. As dreadful as this was, it was quickly past and forgotten. Until now.

While sipping his drink alone in the cafeteria, Lando sees a familiar brown head of hair, with a McLaren branded lanyard around a neck, and he can’t quite place where he’s seen him before. The man locks eyes with him, looking visibly relieved. It’s not long before the man is standing in front of him, hand outstretched. Lando takes it cautiously.

“Hi. I’m Oscar Piastri.”

…Pastry? “Lando Norris.”

“Do you happen to know the directions to the engineering department?” Piastri grimaces. “Can’t be caught being late on my first day.”

Oh, he’s not a fan. “I thought you- Never mind. It’s on the third floor. There should be signs around.”

“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.” And Piastri does a small wave over his shoulder while walking away. Lando thinks nothing of it, other than ‘that guy definitely did not read whatever they sent him.’ He can’t blame the guy, he never did either.

Lando’s been spending so much time on the sim, from day to night, testing out corner entries and exits, different tyre strategies for the upcoming race in Baku, until his eyes were red and dry. He called it a day when he crashed while he was blinking. That’s not a good sign.

He decides to head down to the cafeteria to get food. He could eat after hours of simming. On the way down in the elevator, he meets… what was his name? He can’t remember, so he settles for a small nod and a smile.

Unfortunately, the brown haired man breaks the silence, “Lando, right? Thanks for saving my ass a while ago.”

“It’s alright. You were… Pastry, right?”

The man cracks a grin, amused at Lando’s horrified look and apology for forgetting.

“It’s Piastri. But, really, just call me Oscar. Piastri’s too… formal. People might think you hate me.” Oscar jokes. Lando hopes the floor would swallow him whole. Thankfully, the elevator dings and the doors open, saving him from any further embarrassment.

“See you around, Norris.” Lando returns an equally big grin and a wave, then heads to the cafe. If you asked him, he absolutely did not think of Oscar’s smile on the way there.

Chapter Text

After a stressful race, all Lando wants to do is to go straight home without responsibilities. Unfortunately, he is a public figure, so he forcibly drags himself to the media pen to have mics shoved at him and answers the questions that are meant to get him to say something that PR will not enjoy.

Through gritted teeth, self-control and Sophie’s stare down, he gets out of the media pen controversy-free. While talking to Sophie, he bumps into him. “Oscar! I didn’t know you were here!” Lando says his goodbyes to Sophie when they reach the garage.

“Hi Lando. Um, yeah, I’m here with the engineers.” There’s a moment of quiet as Oscar looks at him with pursed lips. “Are you okay? I saw the race. If you need anything-“

Lando scowled. “Oscar, it’s over. Don’t bring it up.” He looks dejected. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

Oscar frowns. “You sure?”

Lando has to contain himself from losing it. He knows he’s coming from a good place, it’s just… after bad races he just wants to be alone. And maybe a hug. But he can’t, so he settles for second best. Distracting himself with the loudest music he can find, playing COD and getting pissed—stuff like that. “Oscar, please stop asking. I’m fine.”

Oscar stops, and pulls him next to his side. He leans in close, and Lando can feel his breath ghosting over his ear when he says, “You can call me any time if you need someone to talk to, yeah?” When he turns to face the taller man, he has a smile on his face. That damned smile.

Oscar pulls away with a small bye and goes to do his responsibilities, leaving a Lando with a chill where warmth was against him before. It’s only when he’s on the way to the airport that he realises he doesn’t even have Oscar’s number. With the low frequency they meet each other, it’ll be a while before they can talk properly again. For now, he just has to pass the days and enjoy his break to the fullest. A double header is just around the corner and he knows the exhaustion is going to be overwhelming.

Lando has half a mind to just ask if he can have access to the employee files, but realistically he’d just be shut down with a ‘No, that’s literally a breach of privacy.’ He spends his time on the plane just thinking. Thinking of how shit the race went, thinking of Quadrant, thinking of Oscar. Lando spends his time at home in Monaco by lazing around and streaming. Halfway through a game, a thought pops into his head: he could try to find Oscar on social media.

Then a whole debate starts in his head—does he even have social media? Would he want Lando to go poking around to seek him out? What if Oscar doesn’t want to be bothered? Why is he so desperate to find him anyway? He’s so distracted that he doesn’t realise that the guy peeked and Lando’s character dies immediately, much to his despair and his Twitch chat’s amusement.

When he returns to the MTC, he doesn’t think about Oscar at all. Almost forgetting about it, even, just focusing on the next races. But during boring meetings about race day weather and rain pitting, his mind drifts to a certain brown haired engineer, and he zones out until he’s being asked a question.

“-ando? What about you, what do you think?”

“Uh- Yeah. That’s fine.” He looks over to see Daniel hiding a smile behind his hand and pretending to write something down. Prick.

When the meeting finally ends, Lando walks out with Daniel, who obviously wants to poke fun at him.

“You were not paying attention. What were you thinking about, mate?” Daniel inquires with a raised eyebrow.

He says, exasperated, “It’s nothing! It’s just- the meetings are so boring. How do you even actually listen?”

Daniel actually, really, cackles, “That’s the thing, I don’t.”

“…What? How?”

He flips through the notebook, and Lando realises they’re mostly blank, save for a few lines on some pages, and even then, the sentences go something like: ‘see max later’ and he narrows his eyes at a grinning Daniel.

“Why are you trying to look like you’re paying attention?”

“So I don’t look like a lovesick fool. Like you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You had heart eyes and everything!”

“No, I definitely did not.”

Daniel just looked at him and shrugged, like he knew something Lando didn’t. “I’m just saying, you look like me when I see Max. And that’s not a good sign.”

Lando said something akin to ‘piss off’ and leaves him to his own devices, shaking off the remarks from Daniel that are not true. First of all, he’s not out. Second of all, he’s an F1 driver. He’s seen the media vultures all circle around Daniel’s and Max’s relationship when they first went public, never asking about the race but only personally about their relationship.

It took Max and Daniel months until it finally died down, along with community service for Max after an interviewer crossed the line. Lando doesn’t want that to happen to him. Even then, there were still the circuit locations to worry about. When they traveled to countries with questionable human rights for queer people, he saw the struggle when Daniel and Max are restricted in their interactions.

Of course, the drivers had protested, with Lewis, Daniel, and Max especially vocal, but they were just 20 people, there was nothing they could really do. Lando really, really doesn’t want that to happen to him.

While he’s on the way to his next responsibility of the day, a familiar warmth passes him. He’s surprised to see that it’s Oscar, walking like a man possessed in the direction of the elevator.

As they step in together, Lando beams. “It’s funny. We keep meeting here.”

“Lando, this is literally only the second time.” Oscar’s head is tilted to look at the floor displayed on the screen. “Can’t really stay, sorry. Will has us all busy this week. See you on my break, if we run into each other again.”

“Oh- yeah. That’s probably important. Good luck, Osc—ar.”

Oscar huffs a laugh, “Osc? That’s new.”

It’s unfortunate that Lando keeps putting himself in these situations. “I- Sorry, didn’t mean for that to- you know.”

“Lando, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Reassures Oscar, and he steps out of the elevator with a smile, bunny teeth and all. It’s only after the door closes that Lando realises he forgot to ask for his number. Shit.

Chapter Text

Lando doesn’t like staying at the MTC too long, especially during media day. He has the social media manager following him around, telling him about the reception of the type of videos they post on Instagram. Honestly, he lost the plot long ago, and just does what he needs to. Explainer videos, some other team game thing he has to do with Daniel, this time being ‘never have I ever’, pictures being taken of him and Daniel at random—he’s exhausted.

There’s only so much he can endure of cameras being shoved in his face and constantly having to be aware of your expressions, so he’s more than glad to be done with it. The sky is already beginning to darken, and he can’t wait to head back home.

As fate would have it, he meets him in the elevator again. As the door opens, he sees Oscar on the other side and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up from his throat. “Mate! The elevator is basically our spot now!”

“We really do keep meeting here. What are the odds?” He looks a little closed off; hesitant.

Lando does remember to ask for his number, but he’s tentative, especially with how Oscar looks right now. How do you even start something like that? “Hey Osc, remember when you- at Baku.”

Oscar looks a bit surprised, then relief paints his face. “Yeah, why?”

“You told me I could call you any time.” He feels a bit flustered asking like this, but whatever works, works.

“Oh. I did.” And with that, Lando feels like the biggest idiot in the world. The elevator dings, interrupting his train of thought and they both step out. Lando feels heat creep onto his cheeks, trying to get out of the situation, he was about to just turn around and walk out when Oscar says, “Guess you don’t actually have my number. Uh… can I have your phone?”

Lando hands over his phone, suddenly feeling vulnerable. How is he so trusting of this guy he barely sees and only met a few months ago? For all he knows, Oscar could be trying to snoop through his phone, but somehow, he feels this is different. He trusts him.

“We should try not meeting in the elevator for once, I think.” He says with a slight curve at the corner of his lips as Oscar hands his phone back.

“What do you mean? The elevator is the peak hang out spot!”

He raises an eyebrow. “If you like the same saxophone runs on loop, maybe.” And it wasn’t even that funny, yet despite himself, Lando throws his head back and laughs.

Oscar grabs the strap of his backpack tighter and starts walking towards the entrance. “See you tomorrow, Lan.” He’s caught off guard by the sudden nickname, and he guesses it must be showing because Oscar frowns a little, “Don’t like that? Sorry.”

“Wait! I, uh- it’s fine, don’t worry.” The Australian’s smile creeps back onto his face. “Right then, bye Lan.” Lando feels giddy. Feels like he managed to make a new friend. “Bye, Osc.”

When Lando checks his phone at home, he sees that Oscar named himself ‘Aussie No. 2’ and giggles.

Aussie No. 2

british person number 5 here

Lmao you guys are a common breed

???

Too many of you colonisers

excuse u i did no such thing

You guys got the whole grid

there are five??? of us???

I’m not counting alex so thats

20%. basically the whole grid.

lol did u pull out the calculator for that

Of course not

4/20 times 100 is not a hard thing to

calculate

haha 420

Very mature lan.

…

im ignoring u

🥳

seen

Despite the threat, Lando finds himself smiling from ear to ear at the words in his phone and eagerly waiting for a new text notification from Oscar to pop up. When he doesn’t get any, he feels a little disappointed, but goes on with the rest of his day. Oscar’s allowed to be busy, of course. He’s literally an engineer. Pushing the thought of the Aussie to the back of his mind, and just ignoring his phone entirely. It’s only until night time that he caves.

Aussie No. 2

look at my dinner

[You sent a photo]

It lasted 4 hours. That’s 4 hours

longer than i thought it would last.

Did you make that?

im gonna ignore the first message

no i didnt i cant cook at all

Why is that not surprising to me

I guess it DID look too good to be

true. A near perfect pasta dish.

didn’t sound like you at all.

youve known me for only a few months wdym

Maybe you’re predictable

ok thats just rude

No i’m just kidding i saw your pancake making video

It didn’t leave a good impression

you watched my video???

aww 🥰

Youtube autoplay did it not me

whatever helps u sleep at night osc xx

Blocked.

Recently, Lando’s break days consist of working out and texting Oscar at any opportunity. From something small like animals on the street to pictures of Lando and some of the drivers partying in Monaco. Usually, Lando doesn’t remember doing the latter.

When race weeks approach, both of them don’t have time to be on their phones. Instead, they hang out during their lunch breaks, earning Oscar a few questioning looks from his coworkers, curious on how their newcomer has landed a friendship with the ever elusive Lando Norris.

Their friendship had been out of the public eye for only a moment. Social media really does take your private life to chew on and spit out. The cameraman caught a glimpse of them together before the race at COTA, and all hell broke loose from there. It’s not like Lando hasn’t been seen with another friend before, so he’s not even sure why Twitter and Instagram have been blowing up.

It’s only when he opens Twitter after weeks of ignoring his notifications that he realises: it’s because of Oscar. Every tweet he’s mentioned in is some variation of ‘heart eyes’ and wondering who the cute guy beside Lando is. To say his ego wasn’t a little bruised would be a lie. When he takes a good look at the picture, he does think it’s a good picture of them.

Oscar is talking animatedly to him about something, a tablet tucked under his arm and an open journal in his hand—Lando looks focused; race suit hanging at his waist while he’s looking up at the taller man, with, admittedly, hearts in his eyes.

The first thing he did when the picture went public was text Oscar to say his apologies, but he was calm about it. Not that he liked the prying eyes, but he just said “Well, it was going to happen eventually.” and “I looked good. Who was the photographer and can i hire him?” followed by a defeated text of Oscar not being paid enough by McLaren to get himself his own photographer.

Lando shoots back a joking text saying he could be his photographer, accompanied by his proudest work, mostly to show off, but his offer is seriously accepted. He makes a mental note to bring his camera to more races in the future. It’d be good to revive lando.jpg, he thinks.

Chapter Text

Lando has his clothes strewn all over the floor of his bedroom, mentally checking off all the things he needs to pack for the week. Team kit, check. His merch, check. He takes a look around the room, finding for anything he might have forgotten. That’s when he thinks of his camera, sitting forgotten and with a probably dead battery on his desk.

He figures he might as well bring it, with Oscar’s agreement and all. He could get some nice shots this weekend, save some memories for himself. Lando never brought it, he wouldn’t have time between media day and track days to take anything good anyway, but now he has a reason to try—and that makes the extra weight feel feather-light.

In Vegas, his hands are on the camera at all times; in the paddock, out on the streets, and even moments before getting into the cockpit—taking pictures of anything, everything. If most of the pictures are of Oscar, he isn’t aware of it. He knows he takes nice shots, and it’s not his fault that most of the nice views include a certain brown haired Australian. Oscar in the garage, analysing telemetry graphs alongside Will, Oscar smiling at him across the table, Oscar with his back turned towards him against a backdrop of the bright neon lights of Vegas. It’s not all Oscar, but it’s a close thing.

There’s shots of Daniel and Max when he decided to invade the McLaren garage, and some of the scenes in Vegas, but when he posts a carousel of photos on Instagram, there’s not a lot of non-Oscar pictures to be seen. The fans notice, of course—happy about the cameos of the “hot McLaren engineer”, and likewise commenting on the frequency of the appearance of said engineer in the photos.

Aussie No. 2

hey do u have an insta

I do but i don’t use it, why?

@OscarJP

It’s private, but just request.

ok thanks

i was gonna tag u in the pictures

Oh don’t do that please. my

phone will explode.

lol i wont then

ill still follow u if thats ok

Yeah, that’s fine.

Lando makes a note to his private account to follow Oscar on Instagram (after confirming that it was, in fact, himself), and notices that he has some posts up. He has the sudden urge to scroll through everything on his page, even if it is just a few pictures. Careful not to hit the like button on accident, he stalks his Instagram. There are pictures of him and his family from around 2022, but he does take note on the lack of a father figure. That’s… Lando feels like he’s intruding into something private in Oscar’s life.

The guilt slowly creeps into his mind—he feels like he’s learnt too much of what he’s not supposed to know. In the short times that they’ve known each other, they never really talked about themselves. Lando finds himself wishing that he could know more about Oscar from Oscar himself—and he swipes off the post with a sunken feeling in his chest. He DMs Oscar a ‘hi’ and leaves his phone when Jon calls for him.

No time for this. He has a championship battle to win.

Qatar is a tough track for Lando, especially when it’s a part of a double header, even more when he’s sleep deprived from trying to adjust to the local time. Lando dreads this track every season, and it’s the only place where he actually enjoys the pre-race ice baths. The sun beats down on him, strong and unforgiving as he does his duties on media day.

The heat during free practice was manageable, but from the weather forecasts this week, it’s only going to get worse. Qualifying had him pushing to the limits of himself and the MCL39, clean through every sharp corner in turns 4, 5, 6, and 10. Every turn of the wheel surgical in his fight against Max for pole.

On his timed lap near the end of Q3, he makes a mistake. A miscalculation that forces him to go a little too wide. He ‘pushed too hard, got too greedy’ as his brain helpfully supplies. He knew that push cost him the front row, even if it was just a few tenths of a second. A front row that maybe could’ve secured him his first world championship win.

So now he sits in P3, and really no one is that upset about it except him. They’re all thinking that Lando could easily overtake to P1. But what if he doesn’t? All these advantages and all he could do was end up in third. He’s the issue, he knows it. He-

His internal spiralling is interrupted by a few knocks on his driver’s room door. “Lando, you alright? Do you need to cool down?” Jon’s voice sounds concerned on the other side.

Lando’s fireproofs are on the floor, along with his skin-tight undershirt while the fan in his room is on full blast. “I’m fine. It’s not too bad right now.”

“Okay. Just say the word if you need anything.” And he hears the footsteps get softer outside his door. He really needs a shower right now, but his bones feel like jelly, and all his energy is spent. He doesn’t think he could get up for another hour, and then his eyes close, succumbing to his exhaustion even when his whole body feels sticky and gross with sweat.

When he wakes up, he finds that his clothes aren’t on the floor anymore. Instead, they were placed into the laundry basket. The last thing he notices is an uncomfortable-looking sleeping Oscar. He’s sleeping almost completely upright, and Lando can’t help but feel bad.

“Hey, Osc.” He tries, tapping his arm gently. When the engineer doesn’t stir, Lando tries a little harder. “Oscar…? I probably missed so many meetings. Shit. They’re going to kill me.” Oscar shifts a little—a small furrow in his brow, mumbling something incoherent, and goes right back to sleep, dead to the world. Lando’s heart squeezes at the sight, and he decides to just let him have a well-deserved rest.

He heads to the bathroom to get rid of the sweat still on his body, the water pelting on him; washing away the remnants of his qualifying result, thoughtless as he stands under the freezing shower, its cold replacing the oppressive heat of Qatar.

He steps out of the bathroom, in a papaya coloured polo and shorts, to see that Oscar is still asleep. When he takes a closer look, the eye bags and dark circles around his eyes are heavy. Despite the tiredness evident on his face, he sleeps like an angel. Peaceful and unharmed. Lando didn’t think that someone that’s asleep could look so gorgeous.

Lando didn’t need to look far. Oscar’s right here.

Chapter Text

“Fuck, fuck-! I’m so sorry guys…” Lando turns his radio off before switching off the engine. Parked at the side of the track, he climbs out of the car, dejected, disappointed, and furious at himself. He already feels it. The media and fans closing in on him, asking him ‘why?’, and ‘how?’.

He doesn’t know. He can’t give an answer that they want to hear.

Lando pulls off his helmet and balaclava then quickly makes his way back, he doesn’t need the cameras on him right now. The walk back to his side of the garage was dreadful. Every mechanic patting him on the back felt like it was mocking him; telling him ‘that could’ve been you.’ with pity in their eyes.

Zak coming up to him feels even worse. A supportive but painful smack on his back is a reminder of who he has to impress. If he loses the championship with this rocket ship of a car, who knows what chances he has next year with new regulations—who knows what they’ll do to him.

He watches as Daniel secures them the Constructor’s with an amazing P2 finish, pushing them past the line. Celebrations start in a few minutes post-media, so he has to look happy for the team, even though he’s never felt worse.

Champagne showers never felt so foreign, even now, as the 2025 Constructor’s Champions. Why can’t he just be happy for this? He grimaces. Every smile he forces never quite reaches his eyes—every laugh hollow and choked out.

Now, soaked to the bone and cold, he takes another long walk back to the driver’s room after saying his congratulations to his teammate. Daniel looks like he’s about to say something, but stops, and the moment passes. Lando feels his eyes boring into the back of his head.

On the way back, he sees Oscar, sitting and talking contentedly with another engineer—his hat and shirt are soaked, dark patches still visible where it never fully dried; he sees Max, sneaking into Daniel’s driver’s room when he thinks no one is watching.

He sees Zak talking to Andrea, with Andrea making the briefest eye contact with him. He almost thinks that he’s going to walk up to him, before turning back to address their CEO.

His eyes land on Oscar again—he always seems to end up back there—and he feels a small genuine smile pull at the corner of his lips. He knows there’s a party at the MTC in a couple days to celebrate the WCC win, and he finds himself wondering if Oscar would be there.

Lando really doesn’t know what to put on. It’s not like he has to impress anyone, but nothing in his closet screams ‘We just won a championship’, so he decides to text Oscar about it.

Aussie No. 2

osc

i need your help

Did you burn down your room?

what no wtf

i need u to pick out my outfit

What makes you think i have good advice?

Have you seen what i usually wear

thats true

whatever nvm u suck

Wait maybe i can help though. Show

me the choices

Lando sends over a few pictures, first, of a baby blue button-up, with deeper blue wide denim jeans and his usual white sneakers. Second, a grey sweatshirt paired with light blue cargo pants, same shoes. The last picture features the new light grey turtleneck that draped nicely he’d bought recently but never got to wear, with the same denim jeans as the first picture. He sends out a ‘feels like im playing dressup with my sisters again’ and giggles.

Aussie No. 2

I like the turtleneck but the jeans are

not it. Try turtleneck and cargo pants

it does look better

thanks osc i owe u one

if i get laid today i gotta credit u

send them your business card or smt

oscar piastri’s boutique

Haha

👍

or maybe u could start something else

OMG

piastri’s pastries!!

I’ll consider it after you win 8 WDCs

what

Lando’s days feel less monotonous with Oscar as a constant in his life now. Before this, it was only the occasional text from Jon, and even then, it was just to make sure that he was sticking to his meal plans. He called his mum and dad from time to time, but the feeling of loneliness across all the countries never really left. He shook off the thoughts and grabbed his phone—Lando’s gonna be late if he drags it any longer.

When he walks in the main entrance of the MTC, everyone cheers. Smiles on everyone’s faces, and hands that weren’t holding a flute or two were rare. Lando lets himself be high-fived by every passing staff member and even the occasional selfie as he walks over to the table filled with drinks.

He’s two drinks in before he spots Oscar. The engineer is nursing his drink near the edge of the room, but he looks as if it’s untouched. A smile cracks through Lando’s face as he strolls up to him, his hand up like he wanted to wave. “Osc!”

A wide grin is on his face in seconds, “Lan!”

“Was looking for you! You having fun?” He leans on the wall beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Oscar laughs slightly, “I already had the non-alcoholic ones, but they just keep giving me drinks! I can’t say no! I’m keeping this one as an excuse so I can say I already have one.” He smiles, then offers the drink to Lando. “Want it? I need to drive home later, can’t drink.”

He accepts the drink, swirling the champagne gently in his grasp, then taking a big swig out of the flute.

Oscar starts, “I remember you saying you would get laid?” With a quirked eyebrow and an amused grin.

Lando coughs out a laugh, “Hah- Nope, I don’t want HR on my ass. Can you imagine the insane scandal it would become?”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he swears he saw a flicker of pain in Oscar’s eyes. It leaves as quickly as it arrived as he looks up at the ceiling and says, “Yeah, I could.”

By the end of the night, Lando was way too many drinks in, some of his own doing, most of Zak pushing more drinks to him. In his words, ‘You should be celebrating! You contributed most of the points!’ But an ugly part of him inside voices out, ‘You haven’t won. You don’t get to celebrate.’ He grips the neck of the glass harder and grits his teeth—trying to force that thought out of his head.

“Lan—? Shit, you’re really drunk.” Oscar pries the drink out of his hand and places it down gently on the table. “Come on, you need to get home.” Oscar places a steady hand on Lando’s lower back, guiding him out of the MTC and letting Andrea know on the way out.

“Can you—your address?” Lando slips in and out of consciousness, clearly not catching the question. Oscar sighs, trying to wake him enough to answer. When it becomes clear that it isn’t going to happen, he gets to his car to drive back home. He hopes Lando doesn’t mind.

Juggling holding up a drunk man and fighting with his front door lock is hard, but after a bit of fumbling, the front door clicks open. Oscar sets him down gently on the sofa and places a glass of water and paracetamol on the side table, careful not to wake him up.

Just as he’s about to go change, Lando has a loose grip on his wrist, pulling him down—whispering ‘stay’ soft enough for him to hear. His heart softens, promising that he’ll return, that he’s only going for a few minutes. When he comes back, Lando grins lazily up at him, before falling asleep.

“Fuck.” He whispers softly to no one but himself.

His mind recounts the last few hours of the evening. Lando looking so damn good in that outfit he picked out. Lando’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down the drink he handed to him.

Oscar presses his palms to his eyes hard enough to see stars. He’s genuinely, truly, completely fucked.

Chapter Text

The first few times they met, Oscar didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about when Lando smiles hard, his eyes smile along with him. Didn’t think about how Lando’s feelings reflects onto him. Didn’t think about how welcome he’s felt since his first step into McLaren, all because Lando tried to include him in everything he did.

But now, in the quiet morning after, with the Brit still sprawled out on the sofa, sleeping quietly, he can’t not think about it. Lando smiling giddily every time he gets pole, the grin on every podium, paired with the signature run of his hands through his hair.

The saccharine sound of Lando’s laugh—Oscar can almost visualise the tan hands covering his face, his shoulders shaking slightly are the only sign of laughter; his sadness that makes him want to comfort wordlessly—he’s never been good with words—to hold him like an anchor holds a ship.

He risks a glance to his living room. Lando’s arm is over his eyes, the other hanging off the sofa. The humming of the coffee machine stops. He pours himself a cup of coffee. At the same time, the tea is done steeping. It’s disgustingly domestic, yet Oscar finds himself wishing it would be forever.

Lando wakes with a groan when Oscar is settled in on the opposite end of the sofa, peeling his arm from his face, eyes squinting at the harsh sunlight funnelled into the living room.

“Where- What the fuck?” Lando gets up with a jolt, regretting it immediately as his head spins, but he catches a glimpse of a person, “Osc? Wha—?”

“Welcome to my shitty flat.” He deadpans, “You were drunk yesterday and wouldn’t tell me where you live, so,” He tilts his head to the indent left by a sleeping Lando, “You crashed here.”

Relief paints his face as he probably realises he didn’t get kidnapped, “I- You didn’t have to. Thank you.”

“Couldn’t just leave you there, could I?” Oscar gestures to the water and paracetamol on the table, “Take those, and there’re extra toothbrushes in the cabinet.” He points to the direction of the bathroom, then adds, “Be quick. Your tea is getting cold too.”

Lando pauses, before turning back to him, “Oscar, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to have been so lucky to have you.”

Oscar waves him off and goes back to sipping his coffee. As he hears the bathroom door click shut, he tries to pretend that those words meant nothing to him—and it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done in his 24 years of life.

Oscar’s a logical person. An engineer that graduated top of his class, got onto the President’s List, and yet—the way Lando makes him feel is irrational. Lando’s untouchable, unthinkable to even get to meet for most people. He hopes it’s just a quickly fading crush, the ones you have on strangers passing on trains.

But now that he’s in Lando’s life, there’s uncertainty. He shouldn’t allow himself to pine, to wish, yet a small part of him thinks there’s a chance—but he doesn’t operate on chance. He’s always been 100% sure of something before execution. He can’t rely on probabilities, not when his livelihood is on the line. Oscar’s worked too hard for this; the future he wanted more than anything. He won’t throw it all away for a pretty boy.

Lando looks through the bathroom cabinet, grabbing a new toothbrush, heart still warm with the thoughtfulness of Oscar’s efforts. He thinks of the warm tea still outside waiting for him, and someone in his life who cares about the small things happening, like his lap times and nice views outside his apartment in Monaco.

He steps out of the bathroom, brain still struggling to catch up through the hangover, and stumbles to sink back into the sofa, warm cup of tea in hand and the warmth of a close friend by his side. He could get used to this. But once Lando fully sobers up, he feels as if he’s overstayed his welcome.

“…I should leave, I don’t want to bother you any longer than I should.” Lando stands up, and retreats to the kitchen to clean the mug, “Sorry, and, uh- thank you.”

He watches as Oscar’s brows furrow before he trails him into the kitchen, “You’re not a bother, Lan. Never.” The mug is taken from his hands and placed into the sink before he can protest, and he feels heat creep up to his cheeks. “You didn’t have to- I have working hands, you know.” He jokes, earning a ‘shut up, you muppet.’ and a breathy laugh from Oscar that Lando feels pride for drawing out.

“I can drive you back, if you want.”

“You’ve already done so much though, it’s alright!”

“You sure?”

“I feel so bad, I’ve done nothing except ruin your one off day.” Lando groans, “I hope I at least wasn’t that much of a handful. I’ve been told I get clingy when I’m drunk.” He mentally facepalms as he thinks back to other occasions at parties.

Oscar snorts, “They’re right. Lightweight.” He goes to unlock the front door.

“Rude,” The Brit narrows his eyes at the other, “Please tell me I didn’t say anything embarrassing though.”

“Nope, thankfully for you. You passed out almost immediately.” He lies through his teeth, not thinking back to the way his heart went a few beats faster when he was asked to stay in that voice—nor the fact that his wrist burned under Lando’s grasp.

“Thank god, I would never live that down.” Lando steps out of the door, then hesitates before saying, “Thanks for taking care of me, actually 5 star hotel material. Hilton pales in comparison.” He laughs. “Bye, Osc.”

Oscar huffs a laugh, “Hah- I doubt that. Get home safe, Lan.”

As the door shuts, he sighs. The flat feels colder without Lando—as if all the warmth in his home left with him. But still, some residual warmth exists in the two cups in the sink, and the used green toothbrush in his bathroom.

Chapter Text

It’s the final stretch. Lando’s last chance at proving himself. He doesn’t leave any stones unturned; watching onboards at the airport, paying just a little more attention in meetings, getting into the right headspace, adjusting and fine tuning every little thing so the disaster in Qatar doesn’t happen again.

He’s in the sim for hours, and when it ends, it starts again. Lando has the Driver’s Championship in the palm of his hand, now he just has to close his fingers over it. The only thing stopping him from being in the simulator all day is Daniel’s time in the sim, and even then, he’s watching intently on the sidelines, noting every hundredth of a second that he can get.

McLaren is going like an unstoppable force, with everyone working their asses off to make sure they end the 2025 season with the best results they can possibly get. Lando doesn’t think he’s seen the garage so quiet, save for the tapping of keyboards and muffled voices in meeting rooms.

“—as usual, tyre grip is going to be a little lacking—“ Their head race strategist rattles on, “—if you think you can control it, go for it. But be careful. Especially you, Lando.”

Andrea jumps in to add, “I don’t think I need to stress again how important pole is to our race. We have a fast car—a good car that is the fastest on the grid. Once we get on pole, it’s just a matter of extending the lead and playing it safe then.” If his piercing gaze hits Lando like a freight train, he tries not to let it show. He puts on a face of confidence.

Lando drives his first flying lap in qualifying, fast through corners, engine roaring as he slices through the air at the long straight. It’s perfect. He feels at one with the car, it’s teamwork with the machinery, instead of fighting it through every turn.

As Lando finishes his lap, Will announces, “That is pole position, Lando. Pole position. Nice work, really great drive.”

“YES! Will, the car- It’s—it’s amazing, mate. You’re doing frickin’ miracles around here.” Lando’s ecstatic voice sounds out to the pitwall.

Will’s voice filters in through the radio, “Good to hear, but it’s not just me. Go get that Driver’s now, mate. Make us proud.”

“Verstappen hasn’t pitted, we can undercut here. 32 more laps to go.” He’d make a choice, but his mediums are pretty old, and it’s causing him to lose time to Max every lap, so Lando has no other option but to agree, “Box this lap.”

“Copy, box box.”

With fresh hards on, he’s a few tenths behind Max now, with no one except Daniel trailing closely behind them. With the strategy call, Lando reclaims P1 when Max finally pits for mediums, but he knows that he’s going to have to defend like his life depends on it, especially now that he’s a little slower on the hards.

Lando grips the steering wheel tighter, like he’s looking for some kind of reassurance. Lap after lap, he defends his position, with some unintentional help from Daniel, who keeps Max behind him. He tells himself to buy the Australian some nice wine later as a thank you.

Every time Lando finishes a lap, he inches ever closer to his first WDC title—and as he’s on the last lap, the fireworks are deafening when he sees the chequered flag wave proudly.

“WILL! WE FUCKING DID IT! WE DID IT!” Lando exclaims through the radio.

“Congratulations, Lando! What an amazing drive, we are so so proud of you! Bring it home!” He can hear the shouting of the McLaren garage through Will’s mic, and it’s even louder as he pulls up to parc fermé. Lando gathers all the strength he still has in his legs to run to the barriers, where everyone’s pats and laughter swallow him completely. His eyes prick with tears of joy, blurring his sight, but he would recognise that silhouette anywhere.

“Lando, oh my GOD! You’re amazing, I knew you could do it!” Oscar has both hands on Lando’s shoulders, shaking him slightly before pulling him in for an engulfing hug and a light tap on the helmet. “I’m so proud of you!”

Zak has the biggest grin Lando has ever seen, and he prepares himself for the signature tight bear hugs he gives. “Fantastic work out there, you were amazing, Lando.” He feels a heavy hand patting his back before Daniel and Max comes to congratulate him.

Lando takes a moment to lie down in the cooldown room, trying to get rid of the heat of Abu Dhabi on the cool floor. Then, as he stands on the podium, a first time world champion, a sweat and champagne drenched Lando closes his eyes to soak in the win, and ‘God Save the King’ has never sounded so sweet in his ears before.

After the team celebration, he makes a beeline for Oscar in the garage, and pulls him in for a proper hug, still wet and sticky with champagne—Oscar gasps at the sudden cold soaking through his shirt, but reciprocates properly anyway. He pats his back a few times before whispering into his ear, “I’m so proud of you, Lan. You really did it.”

Lando smiles, mischievous, “Just need 7 more for that pastry store.”

“I still can’t bake, you idiot.” Oscar pulls back, walking along with the shorter man back to Lando’s personal room.

“Better start practicing then!” He jokes, as he pushes the door open. “You need a new shirt, Osc?” He points to the wet spots on the front of his papaya coloured uniform.

“I wonder who caused that?” Oscar fakes an expression of deep thought, sarcasm dripping from his voice, causing Lando to grin sheepishly, “I’ll take it, thanks.”

“Come in, then.” He opens the door wider for the engineer to step in, then closes the door with a soft click. “There’s a few new ones in the closet, I’m gonna go shower—you can use it after I’m done, if you want to.” Then Lando shuffles awkwardly into the bathroom, leaving Oscar to sit alone while waiting.

Looking around the room, he notices the bracelets of various colours—most likely given by fans—sitting on the side table, along with a bunch of other trinkets.

He’s scrolling mindlessly through his phone, checking the team group chats of everyone losing their minds, when the bathroom door opens.

If someone told Oscar that all he needed to lose his entire vocabulary was a guy with wet hair, he would have laughed in their face; but now, standing face to face with Lando, he can’t find his voice at all for a bit. Okay—that’s new.

“Your hair is really nice.” Oscar mutters aloud, without really thinking about it.

“Thank you, I put a lot of effort into it,” Lando laughs, a little embarrassed, “So, now that the season’s over, what will you be doing?” He changes the subject, and asks while attempting to dry his hair with a towel, prompting Oscar to laugh at the curls poking out everywhere.

“I’m probably going home, I missed my family.”

“Melbourne, huh? I was thinking of going to Perth, you know, to hang out with Daniel—but honestly, I’m probably just going to end up third-wheeling them.” He pulls a face of disgust. Then a thought pops into his head, “Oh! I could go with you instead!”

Oscar tilts his head slightly, and Lando can’t help that it reminds him of a cat. “You wanna come to Melbourne?”

“You could show me around! Be my tour guide!” The idea of spending time with Oscar is exciting to him for reasons he has no clue about.

“I don’t mind, but it might not be as fun as you think it would be.” He hums, and checks the time, “It’s getting late, I’ll just get this off at the hotel.”

“Come on then, I’ll drive you back.” Lando beckons him to follow.

Oscar cringes a little, “Mate, I’m going to get your nice interior so gross with all this on me.”

“You’re going to get some random guy’s car dirty anyway, if you call a cab. Just- shut up and come with.” And Oscar does.

Chapter Text

Aussie No.2

hey do u wanna go to a party

I’m not really a partying person

come on its gonna be fun

at least come for me

I was planning on getting sleep

you know?

Season’s been hectic, I just want

to sleep in

your no fun

It’s only a couple days or so until

we have to get back to work and

I’m tired Lan

Don’t get too drunk though. And

make sure to stay safe

its not going to be much fun

without you there

The other drivers are there,

you’ll be fine without me

k then gn

Lando feels disappointed, but if he’s learnt anything about Oscar, trying to separate him from his bed takes a wrestler, so he gives up and goes by himself, carpooling with Daniel and Max. He sits in the backseat, while the couple at the front cracks inside jokes that goes over his head.

It feels lonely, somehow.

Woking at night is bright, and the streets aren’t barren at all. Colourful lights are put up in preparation for Christmas, and the chilly weather forces him to sink further into his jacket.

He pushes the door open to a room of strobe lights and bass that thrums beneath his feet, and bodies that are intertwined on the dance floor.

“You want a drink?” Max inquires after they sit down at a booth. Lando nods, then shrugging to signal that he doesn’t really care about what he gets, but regrets it after he receives a gin and tonic, the only thing the Dutchman drinks. Lando takes a sip, the bittersweet taste lingers, but it’s crisp. It’s surprisingly pleasant.

After a few minutes, the other drivers funnel in. He gets a pat on the back and a ‘congrats’ from everyone that arrives, making him blush and thank all the people that came.

A few drinks in, then he’s on the dance floor, doing embarrassing moves that make George and Alex cringe, and he’ll take that as a win. Lando pretends to not notice Ollie and Kimi pulling out their phones to record as Carlos comes to hype him up.

When he has enough of the dancing, he goes to the bar to get another drink. Lando finds a girl’s eyes from across the club, and he gets flustered when she winks at him, causing her to laugh. He can see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and it’s intriguing.

The calling out of the bartender pulls his attention back, and he takes the drink with a sheepish smile. When he turns back, she’s not there anymore, and he goes on with the rest of his night. It is his celebration anyway.

She finds Lando again, somewhere near the side of the room, and she’s even prettier up close, “Hi, I… saw you from across the bar, I thought you were, uh- really cute.” She giggles, her smile a little shy, “Are you here with anyone?”

“Yeah, I’m with my friends.” Lando tilts his head to the rest of the group bundled near the booth.

“Oh! Sorry, I haven’t even—I’m Magui.” She shouts over the music,

“I’m Lando.” He says before he shivers, the cold and the iced drinks getting under his skin.

“Sorry if this is a bit forward, but do you wanna get out of here..?” She leans in to say against his ear.

Lando promptly chokes on his drink, real smooth, Lan, “I don’t think they’d be very happy about that…”

“Oh, can I have your number instead, then?” Magui asks.

He feels apprehensive. How can he be sure that she won’t leak it? But she doesn’t seem to know who he is… Lando hesitates before nodding, pulling out his phone to exchange contacts. He turns back to the table of drivers to see them all looking at him, then quickly turning back to return an apologetic smile.

When he walks back to his friends, he’s greeted by hands clapping his shoulder and questions about the girl. Lando shrugs it all off, but they get more animated. The rest of the night is great, he’s buzzed with his friends, and there’s a new number saved on his phone.

Lando wakes up with only a minor headache, thanks to him not drinking as much last night—he’s grateful Oscar told him off for last time.  When he’s conscious, he realises his phone has been chiming for god knows how long, and then he reads the texts from Charles, and it’s an article featuring pictures of him talking to Magui.

“Formula 1 Driver Lando Norris Spotted At A Club With A Mysterious Woman” the title shoves itself in his face, followed by snippets of what they said to each other.

Of-fucking-course. He can’t even have privacy for one day. The information’s accurate. Scarily accurate. It usually doesn’t shake him up like this but… He impulsively blocks her number, trying to get away from this media circus, throws his phone down onto his bed, and stares at the ceiling for god knows how long. His phone keeps buzzing non-stop, texts from everyone about that damn article.

It’s only a text from Oscar that makes him get up and respond to everyone. Every text is a link to the article, except Oscar’s.

Aussie No. 2

Are you okay? I saw

i thought i got used to it

but then

idk why this is affecting me so much

it will pass like everything else

idk

It’s justified to feel this way

Do you need anything?

can u come over

i dont think i can handle being alone

Fuck

I’m at work Lan

I’ll be there after I get off yeah?

yeah

thank you

really

Until Oscar gets here, Lando doesn’t think he’s going to move. Just—stay down until he feels miserable enough to get up again. Until his pity for himself surpasses the exhaustion. Hours pass like minutes, and he’s drifting in and out of sleep.

Lando reluctantly drags himself into his shower, throwing his clothes into the basket haphazardly, stepping in and just standing there. Letting the water wash over him, to wake him up somehow. As if this was just some kind of nightmare.

He jumps into the sim for hours on end, driving his heart out until the article is out of his head. Doing lap after lap of Monza, losing himself in the speed.

When Oscar clocks out, it’s already 6pm, and he’s exhausted. He gathers what strength he has left to get dinner for him and Lando, then heads to the driver’s place.

He rings the doorbell, and a second passes before he hears shuffling from the other side. The door swings open to a bundle of messy curls in a papaya hoodie, because even at home, he’s loyal like that.

“I brought food for us.” Oscar waves the takeout bag, and Lando looks like he’s about to cry.

“Thanks for coming— I just—“ The Brit huffs and trails off, stepping aside for Oscar to come in.

The food is set gently on the kitchen counter, “I got you spring rolls. I don’t know how many you wanted so I got… 18? They only let me order in threes,” Oscar sniffs at the bag, the smell of food making his stomach growl.

Lando’s eyes widen, “What? How much did it all cost? I’ll pay you back.” But he’s just waved off.

They sit at the TV, Oscar scrolling through what to watch, while Lando is devouring the contents of the containers. He watches on with a knowing look, “You didn’t eat, did you?” Oscar sighs.

A few minutes into the movie, his phone pings, and when he checks, it’s Lando sending him way too much money. There’s no winning this battle, so he just resigns to the other man stealing and pocketing his phone, refusing to return it.

“Can I have my phone back?” Oscar huffs.

“I don’t trust you!” Lando holds it up in the air, avoiding the engineers every attempt to snatch it back.

“If I get fired because I didn’t check my emails, I’m going to throw you under the bus. Literally and figuratively.” He deadpans, trying to reach for his phone again.

“Big words, Piastri.”

Oscar snorts, “Not my fault that you’re lacking in the brains department.” He stands up, and so does Lando. It takes the Brit a moment to realise the height disadvantage he has, but he steels himself anyway. “I will wrestle it back from you. I swear.” And it sounds like a promise.

Before Lando has a chance to respond, he’s being tackled into the cushions, limbs tangled as Oscar pries his phone out of his hands, the sudden change surprising him, and the thought of the compromising position they’re in—wait, what the fuck is he thinking about?

The phone is wrenched out of his grip in his moment of weakness, a victorious looking Oscar sits on the other end of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, unaware of the thoughts swirling in his head—okay, what can he do about that? He wills his pink cheeks away and tries his best to avoid Oscar’s gaze, trying to continue watching the movie that he’s already lost the plot of and hoping his face isn’t illuminated by the bright screen in the darkness.

The more he tries to focus, the more his mind strays. Flicking glances at the other man and thinking back to other times his heart fluttered because of him. The way he looks at Oscar hasn’t gone unnoticed, but honestly, Lando just thought it was normal—polite, even—to look at someone while they’re talking to you. Though he can’t explain the electricity that shot up his spine when they hugged. Or that time Oscar took care of him so well that it made him feel safe, and dare he say, loved.

The cogs in his head turn. Shit. Love, huh?

Chapter Text

“It’s getting late,” Oscar yawns and stretches, feeling his joints pop. God, he’s getting old. His neck is so sore. “Lan?” He turns his head when he gets no response from the other end of the sofa, and gets an eyeful of Lando—messy curls and eye bags, with his hoodie slightly lifted (Oscar looks away at the last part.)—slouched, and asleep. “Hey, sleepyhead.” Lando mumbles something incoherent before slowly blinking awake.

“Oh,” He frantically checks his phone when he’s conscious. “Shit, it’s 10. I’m so sorry, do you want me to get you home?”

“I don’t exactly have work tomorrow, it’s no big deal.” Oscar sighs, and sinks deeper into the extremely comfortable sofa that probably costs more than his yearly flat’s rent.

“You can stay here, then,” Lando’s sleepy brain works slower than his mouth, “If you want.” He reaches for the remote to turn off the television—the movie long ended—trying to play it cool. His heart doesn’t get the memo. “Oh, uh, when are you flying home again?”

“Next week… Monday. Until new years.” Oscar pauses, “Still sure you wanna go?”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.” He laughs, earning a shove from Lando.

“Hey! I’m being real here!”

As they shift into comfortable silence, Oscar feels it. Finally puts a name to it. It’s strangely intimate, to have your friend come home with you. Where you grew up; the views you’ve seen your whole life. Leaving your soul bare on the table for another to witness.

@l4ndosbob 🔒

omg? i think i just saw lando at the airport

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↳ @l4ndosbob 🔒

    HES ON MY FLIGHT. WHAT

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“Lan. We’re gonna miss the flight, hurry up!” Oscar sighs, watching the man run faster through the airport, attracting stares from other people. Lando gives him a sheepish grin as they walk through security, Oscar’s hand gets swatted away when he tries to reach his bags; replaced by the older’s lifting it onto the conveyor. The look on his face must be obvious, because Lando is trying not to laugh, but his shoulders trembling slightly gives away the act. It’s strangely endearing, he thinks, and files it away for later.

When they finally board the plane, Oscar had never been so grateful to plane seats before. Limited leg space and all. “Thank god. There were like no seats in the airport. I was another minute away from being on the floor.” He sinks into the seat, it’s cramped and uncomfortable, but he’s not standing anymore. It’s only when Lando’s beside him—their arms pressed together in the middle that it dawns on him that they’re gonna be practically connected to each other for a whole 23 hours.

Right. Okay. He should’ve seen this coming. He keeps his facial expressions in check—he nearly laughs when he thinks about someone once telling him “your face has subtitles, dude.”—but Oscar is nothing but a master at faking it until you make it. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden jolt of pain up his arm, caused by a guy trying to lift up his bags into the cabin.

“Hey mate. You just hit him.” Lando stares at the guy, who rolls his eyes; Oscar can see the sheer shock on the other’s face, followed by frustration, and before Lando can say another pointed statement, he’s silenced by the Australian.

“Rude, but what can you do?” Oscar shrugs, then feels his body being brought closer to Lando’s; they’re shoulder to shoulder at this point, with a large hand clasped at his waist—his brain supplies him with every swear imaginable in all the languages he knows. “I’m fine, Lan.” Oscar tries, but he doesn’t let go until the plane is in the air. The warmth of Lando’s hands spread all throughout his body, and he’s never been one for melodrama, but he thinks he could die happy here.

The Melbourne sun beats down on them the moment they get off the plane, the heat unbearable for Lando, who decided to wear a hoodie before the transit flight, even though Oscar told him it was a bad idea.

“Osc, I’ll never doubt you again.” Lando’s fanning himself with his hoodie while they wait for their Uber outside Tullamarine Airport.

“I told you,” He sighs. “You can use my shower later, you muppet.” Oscar feels a lump in his throat as he watches the other man pull up the hem of his hoodie to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. Get it together.

He merely beams at him, “You’re adopting my mannerisms!” then it’s the younger man’s turn to roll his eyes, even with a flushed smile still present on his face.

“I’ve spent way too much time with you, clearly.”

The Uber pulls up to the Piastris’ home, where Lando greets them with charm and an overwhelming British politeness in the form of “Hi, Mrs, Piastri!” followed by a furry white dog circling at his feet.

“Basil!” Oscar scoops up the Havanese into his arms while his tail wags violently.

“Welcome, welcome; come in, Lando—I’ve heard so much about you!” Nicole beckons them in.

The men share a flustered glance, when Oscar pushes Lando into his room, “Alright, mum! See you at dinner!”

As the door closes behind him, Lando is the first to break the silence, “You talk about me?”

Oscar rustles through his closet to find towels, shoving it into the driver’s hands, “You need a shower mate.”

“And you are avoiding the question.” Lando raises an eyebrow at the younger.

“I see you almost every day, and work on your side of the garage.” he adds, “Muppet.” and closes the door in his face. He can hear a laugh coming from the other side, then the sound of running water. Crisis successfully postponed.

With that dealt with, he goes out to greet the rest of his family. His mum keeps making eyes at him at every mention of the McLaren driver from Edie and Mae. Hattie doesn’t seem to care, thank god.

He gets tired of catching his mother’s look, “Mum, don’t start.” He groans.

“You let him dote on you yet you wouldn’t even let me walk you to school.” She says it like such a statement. Like it’s definitive. He can’t even deny it, just retreats in shame.

As Oscar enters the room, the last thing he expects is a wet-haired shirtless Lando Norris, successful Formula 1 driver—being in his childhood bedroom looking like some kind of demon sent from hell to torment him.

“Oscar, What the frick! Knock!” He shrieks, darting back into the bathroom and closing the door with a slam.

“I think you forget that this is literally my own home.” He says, face flushing rapidly.

“I forgot my clothes. I just wanted to grab them,” Lando mumbles from the bathroom. “Thought I could get away with it.” Oscar takes pity on him and hands him his clothes through the crack in the door.

“My mum is dying to talk to you, so…prepare yourself.” He shrugs, as if he doesn’t know why. As if he hasn’t talked about Lando in every call from his mother. He tries not to let on too much, but she knows. Of course she knows. He yawns, come to think of it, he didn’t sleep that well. He lays out as many blankets and anything else that he can find to make it comfortable as possible for Lando on the floor. Then his head hits the pillow, and he’s out like a light.