Chapter Text
“Mate, you can’t keep going around talking about Oscar like this and expect not to be found out,” Max said, nodding at the TV screen, tone steady and slightly pressing in the typical way he uses when he’s trying to talk some sense into his friend.
“What? I was excited, mate. Can’t even be that?” Lando answered with his mouth full, not even looking up from his phone.
“That’s not excitement. Excitement is…I don’t know, certainly not this. Not bringing up your teammate every ten seconds. Frankly, your teammate should be the last thing on your mind when you win a world championship.”
Lando stopped chewing and swallowed. He huffed out a short breath, looked at Max, glanced up towards the TV, then looked back down at his burger, frowning like when Jon tells him to do something he hates.
“It’ll be fine. He didn’t even show up. He probably didn’t hear it.” He mumbled, gripped his phone, and pretended to read an article.
“Oh my god.” Max sighed, throwing his hands up. “Mate, you’re…” he trailed off, not sure what would be the right advice here. He took a deep breath, “Lando.”
Lando looked up, eyes guarded.
Max held his gaze, voice soft as he spoke, “How long do you plan to let this go on? Cuz it’s only a matter of time before Oscar, or the media, finds out. One of the two.”
“They can’t prove anything,” Lando said instantly.
“I’m not saying—just, why don’t you, like, at least try to test the waters with him? See what happens?” Max said, and only silence followed. Lando returned to eating, breaking eye contact.
Max tried again. “I mean, it’s...just a small crush like you said. Right? It’s not the end of the world. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Oscar’s good guy, he’s not gonna embarrass you even if he’s not interested, man.”
Lando let out a long, deep exhale, shoulder slumped. He shifted once on the couch, eyeing the finished wrapper in Max’s hand, the indication clear. “Don’t know. Don’t wanna think about it.” He ended the conversation.
Max sighed, taking in the clear rejection and dismissal in Lando’s body language, and stood up. “Alright. If you’re not gonna…take action-” he chose words carefully, something he rarely had to do with Lando. The one he grew up with, the friend he would always back without question, the one who’s been acting weird for months before Max physically forced Lando to tell him what’s wrong. “-then you’ve got to be more careful. Stop bringing him up unprompted, man. It’s…yeah.” He left it at that, cleaned up his own takeout trash, and left the apartment.
----
Lando stared at his own interview footage for one more second before he turned it off, scoffing to himself as he looked at the helmet shelf, shaking his head.
In a way, he knew he'd kinda fucked up. A lot of the interviews he did after the race were supposed to be about his post-win thoughts, but instead, he talked about everyone but himself. His family, his team, his friends, his teammate.
Now that he watched the footage back, it was clear that he had spent a good amount of time in almost every answer talking about Oscar Piastri. The talent, the dedication, the…impact on Lando.
But Lando was just…high on the win, he guessed. High on the emotions, the rush, the adrenaline. In that moment, all he could think of was Oscar.
Oscar, with his easy smile, his delightful giggles, his concentrated frown, his tilted little pout when confused…and all Lando said is that he’s fast. How low-key did Max want him to be?
He should’ve never told Max about the crush. One that he had just started to come to terms with weeks ago. What started as friendly collaboration and easy banter for them suddenly got heated up as the third season started. And ever since Oscar outperformed him to the point where Lando had to completely change his approach, the next thing he knew, he was analyzing Oscar’s data every day, studying his routine, his menu, the way he stepped on each pedal, the timing he pressed every button. Day after day. For months, thoughts of Oscar were just taking up his every waking moment.
What tripped up Lando more was…during weekdays, Oscar Piastri was on his mind 24/7, but when the weekend arrived, and they had to get together and do media, all of that had to be put aside again. If Oscar were psychoanalyzing him too, Lando wouldn’t have known. Because none of them would address it. None of them would bring up how nail-biting and close their numbers were unless directly prompted. They both just…did things like before. Like the championship didn't exist.
Oscar still smiled and looked at him, still nodded at whatever Lando said and put a hand on his waist, and still took over with a clean and professional answer while Lando joked around. Somewhere between the marketing games, the car rides, and the sim bets…the thought of Oscar not being there became a terrifying and suffocating one. The need for Oscar to be near, to finish his sentences, and to be the grounding and steady presence for Lando kept growing and growing, to the point where Lando literally lit up around him and felt lost without him.
Of course, it wasn't until he caught himself thinking of Oscar when he touched himself that he came to the conclusion of having a crush. Ever since then, it’s been a painfully awkward thought to live with.
Which was why, when Lando achieved his lifelong dream--his first-ever Formula One world champion title, all he could think of was Oscar. All he wanted was Oscar by his side, celebrating with him. Smiling at him.
Lando would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt when Oscar was nowhere to be found that night, but he gets it. He just wished he could talk to him.
Not that any of it mattered anymore. Because Lando had made his choice. Oscar would never know about anything, Lando would never try anything, and it wouldn't last forever. Lando just had to wait it out. He just had to play dumb, be normal, and everything would go back to where it was.
The new season would start, and hopefully, it would be as intense and close between him and Oscar as this one was. So that Lando could once again have the excuse to be thinking about Oscar-god-damn-Piastri at all times.
—
“I wish Oscar could win today. That’ll make me happier.”
Oscar’s head snapped up from the salad bowl he was making to the screen on which a man in the papaya suit, eyes sparkling, skin shining, curls sticking on his forehead, celebrated the achievement of Oscar’s dream.
He paused for precisely one minute, then went back to the task at hand after Lando’s done talking about him in what’s supposed to be the winner’s own moment.
He could still remember how Lando had found him before Abu Dhabi, after all the strategy meetings. Alone, in the hallway to their driver’s rooms.
“We swap if we can, Osc. Go get Max." The man half-smiled at Oscar, weirdly relaxed when he should be nervous. Oscar would be nervous.
“…isn’t it risky?” He remembered hearing himself say, finding the fact that Lando gave a damn about Oscar’s standing rather…difficult to trust. When he heard that suggestion from the engineers at the team meeting table, he nearly laughed.
Asking the driver with the most chance of winning the championship to let his teammate through, so the teammate could fight for P2? What a joke. No one on earth would agree.
Except Lando did. Not only that, Lando came to find him to tell him again. To make sure Oscar knew that Lando had meant it. How wasn’t he afraid that Oscar might do something to keep him off the podium? How wasn’t he nervous that if Oscar didn’t surpass Max, it would put even more risk on his chances? It was almost like Lando believed in Oscar or something. Are teammates supposed to be like this?
“This race was always gonna be risky. Come on.” Lando held out a fist towards him, and when Oscar looked up into Lando’s eyes, double-checking, he saw trust in there.
He bumped his fist with Lando wordlessly, nodding his answer.
Lando smiled.
“Go win it, Piastri. Let’s be one-two.”