Work Text:
The heat still clung to his skin, a sticky reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The lights above the paddock were blinding – White, merciless – and the reporters were already waiting, microphones raised like weapons.
Oscar swallowed hard, his throat tight. Forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. His race suit smelled like burnt rubber and engine oil. The air was thick with champagne and victory… just not his.
Someone asked a question – something about “team orders” and Lando's overtake – but the words blurred. He turned his head just slightly, catching sight of the big screen behind him.
Lando was on it.
Grinning, drenched in sweat, arms thrown around the mechanics. The orange sea of McLaren was roaring behind him, flashes of victory, of belonging. Oscar felt the sharp twist in his chest – a feeling too familiar to name.
He wanted to look away. He couldn’t.
The crowd on the screen lifted Lando onto their shoulders, a champion’s celebration, and for a moment Oscar thought he saw him look around, searching for someone. Maybe him. Maybe not
A reporter asked. “How’s the relationship with your teammate after today?”
Oscar smiled again – practiced, empty.
“We’re fine. It’s racing. Things happen.”
He blinked back the sting behind his eyes, breathing through his nose, trying to keep his voice steady.
When the cameras finally dropped, he stood there for a second longer, watching the screen flicker. Lando’s smile froze mid-laugh, and something inside him cracked quietly.
The paddock was quiet now, the noise of celebration fading into tired laughter and the soft hiss of champagne bottles long gone flat. Oscar hadn’t joined them. He’d stayed behind in the press room until the corridors were empty and silenced, his victory smile washed off in the bathroom sink.
When he finally pushed open the door to McLaren’s motorhome, the lights were dimmed – everyone else had gone. Only Lando was there, sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
For a second, neither spoke. The silence between them was heavy enough to feel alive.
Lando was the first to break it.
“You weren’t there.”
Oscar let out a tired laugh – not cruel, just hollow.
“You were surrounded. You didn’t need me there.”
Lando stood, the floor creaking softly under his boots.
“Don’t say that. Of course I-“
“You were celebrating, Lando,” Oscar cut in, voice shaking now. “And I was doing interviews about how we’re fine. How we’re fine when I don’t even know if we are anymore.”
Lando looked at him then – really looked. Eyes glassy from exhaustion or guilt, maybe both.
“We just won the Constructors’, Osc. We did it. You and me. We’re supposed to be happy.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said quietly. “But it feels like we lost something on the way there.”
Silence again. The hum of the air conditioning, the faint sound of someone laughing outside, far away.
Lando took a small step closer.
“I don’t want this-“ he gestured between them “-to fall apart because of a championship.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened.
“But it’s already starting to, isn’t it?”
That broke something in both of them. Lando closed the space between them in two steps, hands hesitating before resting on Oscar’s shoulders.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Even when it’s messy. Even when it hurts.”
Oscar’s eyes fluttered shut. He leaned into the touch, just barely.
“Then don’t make it me your rival,” he said. “Not tonight.”
The ride back to the hotel was silent. The city lights bled through the tinted windows, painting them both in gold and neon blue. Lando’s hand rested close to Oscar’s on the seat between them – not touching, just close enough to feel the warmth.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the room.
Lando dropped his pass on the table, kicked off his shoe, and turned to Oscar with that tired little smiled – the one he only ever showed when his heart was too full and too afraid.
“You still mad at me?”
Oscar shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice came out quiet.
“No. Just… tired of feeling like we have to choose. Between us and everything else.”
Lando sighed and sat beside him.
“I don’t want to choose. I want both.”
“So do I,” Oscar said, staring at the carpet. “But every time I see you on the podium, every time they cheer for you and not for us – it feels like I’m supposed to hate you. And I can’t. I never could hate you.”
Lando reached out, fingers brushing Oscar’s cheek.
“Then don’t. Don’t hate me. Just – stay with me, yeah? Even if it’s hard.”
Oscar looked up at him finally, eyes soft, exhausted.
“It’s always hard.”
Lando’s thumb traced his cheek, slow and trembling.
“Then we’ll be hard together.”
It made Oscar huff out a laugh, small but real. The kind that said we’re not okay, but we’re trying. When they finally lay down, it wasn’t something romantic – it was human. Two bodies too tired to fight, too scared to let go.
Oscar’s arm slipped around Lando’s waist as the city hummed outside their window.
“You think it’ll be different next season?” Lando murmured into the dark.
Oscar hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Silence again. Then, soft –
“But I love you.”
“I know,” Lando whispered. “Me too.”
They drifted off like that, the night thick with what they couldn’t say.
And when the sun came up – warm, unforgiving – the world hadn’t changed. The championship fight was still waiting, the headlines still sharp. But for a few quiet minutes, before the day found them again, Oscar turned toward Lando and let himself believe it could last.
Their love wasn’t easy, or safe, or certain. But it was real. And that was enough – for now.
Light slipped through the curtains, soft and gold, dust catching in the air like something sacred. The city was waking up outside; traffic murmured, faint laughter echoed from the street below.
Lando woke first. For a moment he just watched – the rise and fall of Oscar’s breath, the small crease between his brows, the way the sheets tangled around him. It felt fragile, like the calm after a storm.
When Oscar stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes, Lando smiled.
“Morning.”
Oscar’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Morning… You didn’t sleep much.”
“Didn’t want to,” Lando admitted, brushing a hand through Oscar’s hair. “Didn’t want to miss this.”
Oscar gave him a tired grin, soft and a little shy.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Only for you, and I know you like it” Lando murmured, and for the first time in days, Oscar didn’t argue.
The silence stretched again – not awkward now, just quiet. Lando’s thumb traced slow circles on Oscar’s wrist, grounding both of them.
“We’re okay?” he asked eventually.
Oscar nodded, small but sure.
“We’re trying. That counts for something.”
Lando’s relief came out as a laugh, half-broken. He leaned in the before he could stop himself – a hesitant press of lips, slow and uncertain, but real. Oscar kissed him back just a gently, a promise in the soft exhale between them.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together.
“We’ll figure it out,” Lando whispered.
“Yeah,” Oscar breathed “Together.”
Outside the world kept moving – engines warming, headlines waiting – but for that brief morning, it didn’t matter. The fight, the fear, the noise… all of it could wait.
For now, there was only this: a shared heartbeat, a fragile peace, and the kind of love that survived even the loudest storms.