Chapter Text
The first time that Silvia sends an email after the inks dried on the paper with a phone number and a detailed document that had definitely not been written that day, albeit there was his name on the cover and special allocations made for anything another celebrity might need- Oscar stares at the phone number attached at the bottom with a hand hovering over the ‘save’ button for far too long.
His living room’s a mess of clothes strewn across all while Logan was currently making his way from the luxury boutique to find a good outfit for Oscar’s official WAG paddock visit the next day.
“My phone has exploded Oscar! I know I said go to the race, I swear I never said get a boyfriend!”
“Well I wasn’t exactly planning on it either Logs!”
Then comes the fact that there is McLaren that is going to pull up below his apartment in exactly twenty minutes- and Oscar Is currently thumbing across the contact on his phone and wondering if their situation is good enough to send a text over.
The other thing that also weighs heavily (figuratively and literally, if the guitar on his lap is anything to go by) is the fact that this shift, which was originally meant to spark the seeds of music back into his mind was doing anything but that.
“I need to get a grip” He shakes his head, finally shifting his feet off of the couch just as the doorbell rings. The concierge holds out a an outfit covered in plastic while the “Loro Piana” is subtle across the cream coloured shirt inside.
Theres technically two hours for his entry into the paddock, but the thing about a PR relationship is that it tends to need basic chemistry to kickstart it as well- and so had come the beautiful decision for Lando to get to know Oscar for a while before they actually put the plan to motion. And oscar’s not going to disagree, not for this definitely.
And so when the text remains unsent, and fifteen minutes later Oscar’s dressed in clothes that fit him nicely and walks down to the main door- the McLaren that waits outside revs its engine ever so slightly before he opens the door and is immediately greeted with a smiling Lando in the drivers seat. “Hey Babe”
“Nicknames already?” Oscar cringes and then turns that to an awkward tilt of his lips when Lando shakes his head, theres a red already threatening to crawl up.
“We’ve got to make it authentic no?”
And really, Oscar can’t disagree with that. The seats are fine navy leather, the whole car smelling of expensive perfume that makes his nose tickle even as his feet feel the vibrations of the engine as they turn out of the driveway- and he tries his hardest not to stare at the Brit who’s currently locked eyes on the road.
Lando looks good.
He always looks good, a traitorous part of his brain cuts in.
The Driver’s in a grey quarter zip with it’s collar half up on the right side, there are bracelets adorning his hands already while sunglasses perch on his nose with a bright orange stripe down their sides.
Is he too underdressed? He shifts in the seat, eyes looking down on his own bare wrists and then at the beige shirt which was far too expensive and yet now seems far too plain.
“You clean up well,” Oscar clears his throat as he speaks, cutting through the silence- and the small talk greets him with a sideways glance from Lando.
“You too Oscar,” there’s an accent to lando’s voice which he’s already too aware with, and yet it doesn’t stop the traitorous flip of his heart when it causes the ‘r’ of his name to roll into a drawl.
“Excited for the race?”
“Very” He’s not lying, not at all- and he knows that however much the Brit thinks he has no idea about this sport, that excitement doesn’t sound so palpable in the single syllabus- “I mean, you’re going to have to explain the basics- but it’ll be fun”
“The most important thing I have to tell you is that I’m gonna win this one,” There’s conviction in Lando’s voice, and even as his hands tighten on the wheel- the confidence makes Oscar snort softly.
“What? I’m not joking mate-“
No, No I’m not disagreeing-“
“I’v to just keep it in turn 1, then its a parade for 72 laps- let me tell you, the starts the only interesting thing here,” Oscar can only shut his mouth and listen far too amused the exact second Lando starts to rant, words tumbling out at a fast rate even as the car slows down round the turns, ”-don’t tell anyone I said that though, I’d get my citizenship taken away-“
“That’s the biggest concern,” he nods solemnly, and is greeted with a hand leaving the wheel to rise in the air, placating, before falling right back down.
“Exactly! But like hey, if you get bored I can get Jon to take you around after the first fifteen, like there is this amazing gelato place five minutes away- you’ve to just show your face right? We’ll stick the start, then you can disappear- I know the song writings taking some time, might want to get out of the noise if you want to get the tunes sorted-“
Oscar almost doesn’t register the last sentence because Lando cuts himself off and promptly slams on the brakes with a speed which has Oscar’s neck flying forward.
“Woah-“
“Sorry!” Lando's eyes are wide immediately, one hand flying off the wheel. “Sorry, sorry—I missed the turn.”
Oscar blinks. “The turn?”
There's a beat, and the Brit seems to have to be deciding something, eyes furrowed while his teeth poke out behind a disappearing bottom lip.
“I definitely missed the turn.” He sounds distracted saying it- not nervous. Like he'd lost the end of a thought halfway through speaking.The moment something had clicked behind his mind right before the sentence is abandoned entirely.
“I promise I usually drive better than that.” The indecision disappears with a tilt of the Driver’s head and suddenly Oscar’s back to staring at green eyes that glitter in the rays of clear sunlight above them.
Oscar only grins, theres that itch to tease the older back under his skin- cutting through the earlier thoughts of maintaining a clear distance between them whenever the cameras weren’t pointed “What was that about making it through turn 1 again?”
By the time they pull into the paddock, Lando's already halfway through another story about Jon nearly poisoning himself with some protein shake with mangoes, and Oscar barely has time to laugh before they're swallowed by the noise.
The cameras flash far too quickly and the fans shove helmets and posters near his face at speeds which seem inhumane, and yet Lando smiles and signs like its the most normal thing.
The thing about being Oscar however, is the fact that the people know who he is as well- and so when Lando walks forward slightly, the questions turn away from whether McLaren’s going to win- to the topic of the singer currently on an unnoficial hiatus like bloodhounds.
“Oscar! I love your music so much-“
“Oscar- can you sign this please?”
He answers, leans towards the barricades slightly and watches the people shove their phones for a photo “thank you! Yeah sure mate, where?”
If there was one thing Oscar had gotten good at over the years, it was this.Not the interviews, God no. Not the cameras either. Not the fans screaming his name from across streets or the endless cycle of when's the album coming and what inspired this song and can we expect a collaboration?
No. Oscar had gotten good at hiding. Because somewhere between small London flats and managers who insisted he needed to "show more personality", Oscar had cultivated the art of slipping through the cracks.
Smile politely, answer vaguely.
This wasn't his world. He had fans, ofcourse he did- you can’t host concerts if there is no one to come for them. But his fans had quickly realised the one thing their artist had told them from the very first time his music went viral- that he preferred to keep it quiet.
And perhaps some of that was luck, but most of it had simply become an unspoken agreement between him and the people who listened to his music. They got the songs, he got the peace.
“How long have you known Lando?”
“Oh, not-” Another phone appears.
Someone shoves forward—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jostle him sideways and send a cardboard cutout of Liam Lawson fall right onto his feet. Oscar catches himself on the barrier quickly, but the small yelp leaves his throat before he can stop himself.
Beside him, Lando’s gaze sharpens right at him with a cap in his hands, and immediately slows.
“You alright?”
Oscar blinks. Another microphone appears in front of his face, and its without realising that Oscar takes a step back- his eyes are widening softly, that feeling of panic that rises every time he had gone out back in London rising.
“Yeah- no worries” the words are automatic, monotone.
It’s in that time, as Oscar can only try to think of a reply as the crowd reaches over again- that he doesn’t notice the exact second Lando’s face stops with the smile and his eyes harden right before he steps closer.
Oscar doesn’t even realise it till it happens. Lando’s hand reaches over, fingers wrapping around Oscar's wrist for a second before slipping down naturally and taking his hand instead.
“Sorry, guys,” he says easily, smiling like this is the most normal thing in the world “He's with me now”
It takes an embarrassingly long time for Oscar to realise that Lando’s still holding his hand- even as they walk into the paddock, even as the crowds are much smaller and the clicks of phones are subdued by the chatter of engineers as they make their way to the garage.
It’s not tight, not wrong- just there.
And its as they walk, as Oscar makes sure his arm is lax even as hes being led- fingers closed around a hand far bigger than his own, that the thought arises that maybe this is just who Lando Norris really is.
Friendly, easy to talk to, who smiles on and off camera and doesn’t seem to have a change of personality when he’s out of the paddock.
“Statement on the relationship, Lando?” The question rings out over the noise, Oscar’s head snaps to the reporter seconds before Lando turns his head in the same direction.
Martin Brundle, Oscar’s brain supplies- and maybe if this was another time he would have gawked a little bit as the man walked closer. But right now?
He can only watch, with a smile on his face while he can already hear Logan’s voice yelling in his ears on ‘maintain the facade please’- but Lando doesn’t hesitate, instead his hand squeezes on Oscar’s even tighter, warmth enveloping cold hands right before he reaches over to the microphone with a twinkle in his eye and then tilts to wink right at Oscar before he answers.
“Let's get through turn one first, yeah?”
The laugh that breaks out of Oscar’s lungs is part shocked and part incredulous, and for the first time a semblance of a real grin rises on his face.
Because Lando walks ahead while the fans gasp like he had practiced that answer even though the conversation they had had was spontaneous, walks with one hand in his pocket and the other not leaving his own while the words ‘PR’ crumble above both their heads.
And in it all, as Papaya orange overcomes Oscar’s vision slowly right as Zak greets them at the entrance- Oscar wonders, vaguely, if it's possible to spontaneously combust before twelve in the afternoon.
They talk- Zak’s voice bellows and Oscar manages the polite nods while he tries his hardest to pretend that the whole walk had been the most boring of ones he had ever been on.
But its ten minutes in, that the first teams person walks over to the Brit and Oscar knows dully, that this is where they separate.
“Right, Oscar- we’ve got to move to the back, data’s calling- you want to come? I mean- not compulsory but-“
“I don’t mind”
“Actually,” Oscar says, falling into step beside Lando as they walk through the garage entrance. “Why's it so quiet?”
Lando glances over. “You say that whilst surrounded by a whole garage of people”
“No, but like-”Oscar gestures vaguely. They’re almost by the headsets now, Oscar can already see Jon by the table-“Shouldn't there be music?”
Lando freezes the exact second he reaches for the headphones. “Music?”
They say you tend to blank out on your exact surroundings when thrown out of your comfort zone, and so Oscar doesn’t realise he’s giving the Brit a deadpan look till the words exit his mouth and then comes the realisation of the fact that he should not have known it.
“Your pre-race playlist.”
And for the first time since he'd met him, Lando looks at Oscar with a look that falls under the category of suspicious more than It does of anything else.
“You know about that?”
I regret speaking
“Everyone knows about that,” the words are quick, and yet it doesn’t take away the gaze that locks him under- “I mean- its not like I didn’t do any research before coming here-“
A smile tugs at the corner of Lando's mouth, eyes not leaving the exact second he sees the slightest of red crawl up pale skin- but his gaze softens. “So you researched about my playlists?”
“Not your playlists, but like about you, so I don’t make a fool of myself here- which I am currently doing anyways, so-“
Lando cuts him off, “No you’re not.”
“Im not?”
Lando expression softens, and there's something vaguely amused in it. “I uh, just didn't feel like it today.”
The frown creeps up Oscar’s face before he can stop it, “No?”
“Nah.”
“Why?”
Lando shrugs. “No reason.”
And maybe there isn’t, maybe Oscar's reading too much into it.
But because somewhere in the back of his mind, hidden beneath years of race highlights and interviews and random fan compilations—
He knows that he remembers Lando once saying,” I need music before a race. It's weird if it's silent."
But today, the driver's room remained quiet.
“Anyway,” Lando says, seemingly oblivious to the wheels turning in Oscar's head, theres a grin on his face which seems a little too nervous- but Oscar knows its probably from the nerves.
Heck, if Max Verstappen was starting on P2 with him- everyone should be nervous.
“Jon's here, though. He'll show you around.” There's an apologetic look in his eyes already, because he's walking backwards as he says it, pointing vaguely towards the garage where three engineers have started looking around impatiently.
And yet its as he does move that Oscar notices his fingers flex phantomly- even as his own doesn’t stop tingling.
“Best of luck.”
Lando’s grin is blinding, “Cheers.”
And then he's gone, swallowed by engineers and strategists and race preparations.
And only then does Jon appear beside him, coffee in hand and a smile which Oscar doesn't quite trust- because there is something deeply concerning about the expression of a man who had just watched Lando Norris abandon his sacred pre-race playlist and seemed far more entertained by it than alarmed.
The engineer only hums when Oscar looks at him, eyes flickering towards the driver's room and then back to the singer with an amusement that felt entirely too knowing.
“Nice to meet you Oscar- lets get you settled before our driver starts pretending he doesn't need twenty minutes to himself before lights out.”