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Oscar finds out he’s been disqualified from Instagram.
He knew their case was with the stewards, and he knew it wasn’t looking good for either of them, but his stomach still swoops when he scrolls through his reels, and suddenly some influencer is shouting his name into a podcast microphone. “Oscar’s been disqualified. Oh, my God, Oscar’s been disqualified!”.
Oscar lets the phone sink down in his lap, the same moment it begins buzzing furiously with messages. The screen lights with messages from Andrea, Zac, Mark, his mother, Mark again, Lewis, Logan, his mother again, Lando, and Mark again.
He tears his gaze away from his phone and blinks up, at the white, plain wall across the room.
He waits for his brain to decide how he feels about this, angry, sad, frustrated, but no feeling really crystalizes itself from the swirl inside his mind, instead, suddenly, he is just tired.
It should concern him, how little he cares, how little energy he has left to care about anything at this point. Emptiness is a strange sensation. He’s sure Lando is pacing his hotel room by now, screaming at someone on the phone, feelings exploding out of him. Oscar can understand it. As it stands, Lando has more to lose after all.
And really, shouldn’t he be happy? If any, the disqualification levelled the playing field again, he’s only twenty-four points behind Lando again, one race win, but he’s also neck to neck with Max now, which is a whole other thing in itself.
His smart watch vibrates, his reminder to leave.
He’s meeting Charles and Max at the private Airstrip to fly home in the AirMax.
Just for another moment he stays there, on the couch, staring at his suitcase, sitting packed and closed by the door. He expects to feel hesitant to get on a plane, to have to interact with other people, even if they are the people he loves most in the world, or to at least feel anxious over how they will react. Knowing his boyfriends, they will bend over backwards to make him feel better, to cheer him up, even though he is literally fighting one of them in the championship.
Instead, there is nothing.
He gets up from the couch, puts on his nondescript, black bomber jacket and reaches for his suitcase.
He leaves the room behind without looking back.
The ride to the airport is silent. The driver seems to sense Oscar is going through it, so he leaves the radio off, and doesn’t attempt to make small talk and instead quietly drives them through the streets of Vegas.
Las Vegas is never dark. The sky above is an inky blanket, but down in the streets, lights flash on every corner, bright and loud and alive, messy and tragic and hopeful.
Vegas is a strange mixing bowl of won hopes and lost dreams, where fortune and misfortune walk hand in hand, where luck and risk dance a dangerous, eternal dance. And Oscar is in the midst of it all, being pulled and tossed in every direction all at once.
He leans his head against the cool window of the car and lets the lights outside blur into a kaleidoscope of color as they fly by, so caught up in his own mind he doesn’t notice when the car comes to a stop.
“Mr. Piastri.”, the driver asks, gently, startling Oscar. “We’re here.”
The private Airstrip is brightly lit and Max’ plane sits proudly by the gate. The ladder is still down, and a black Ferrari SUV is just pulling away, meaning Charles was just dropped off as well.
Oscar climbs out of the car and accepts the suitcase the driver pulls out of the trunk for him. He shakes his hand and slips him a fifty-dollar bill, before making his way over to the plane.
He hands his case off to the flight attendant who greets him by the door. Her name is Peggy, she’s been with Max for years and she’s taken to Oscar in a surprisingly maternal fashion, always making sure he has a warm blanket and that he drinks enough water. On one memorable occasion she slapped Max’s hand off Oscar’s thigh, be cause he needed rest, not being felt up. She regards him with a. concerned look but doesn’t say anything.
Oscar takes a steeling breath before he begins to climb up the stairs.
Inside the plane it’s comfortably warm. It smells like home, leather and Max’ cologne and Charles’ detergent and Oscar’s shampoo.
He ducks into the cabin and immediately finds himself with an armful of Charles, who seems to have waited for him by the door and hurls himself into Oscar’s arms immediately.
“Oscar, oh, my darling, I saw the news, I am so sorry, are you alright?”
He mutters into Oscar’s ear, while wrapping him up in his arms, like a very clingy octopus. Pierre had a point when he nicknamed Charles calamar.
“Yeah.”, he mutters back, letting himself be swept up in Charles’ embrace. He inhales Charles’ scent, the spice of his perfume, his clean laundry scent. “I’m okay.”
Charles makes an unconvinced noise into his ear. “Are you sure?”, he asks, quietly. “It is okay if you are not, my love.”
“It’s not like there is anything I can do about it, is there?”, Oscar shrugs. Charles lets go of him, to hold him at arm’s length. He searches Oscar’s face, brow furrowed in concentration and concern as if he’s trying to sus out, if Oscar is lying.
“Right.”, he finally says. “Come on, I fear Leo will chew up the seats if I leave him alone for too long and then Max will be angry again.”
He leans in, to peck Oscar’s lips, grabs his hands and whisks him away into the cabin, where Leo is perched on one of the window seats and is indeed looking quite intrigued at the armrest of his seat.
Charles deposits Oscar into his usual seat, already draped with his orange (not papaya, just orange) blanket, his water bottle in the cupholder. Charles sits across from him and pats his thigh with an easy smile.
Oscar lifts his legs to rest them on top of Charles’ thighs and Charles rests his hands on top of them, running his hands across Oscar’s ankle.
Suddenly, Leo perks up, his tail swishing excitedly side to side. Charles follows his gaze and smiles too.
“Hello”, Max says behind Oscar. “How are you, my loves?”
Charles twists to accept the kiss Max presses to his lips. “Congratulations mon amour.”, he says. “I’m so proud of you.” Max caresses his cheek with a smile before he turns to Oscar.
“Hi, schat.”, he leans down to kiss Oscar too, a gentle press of lips against his, Max’s hand on his jaw. “How are you?”
Oscar allows himself to get lost in the kiss. “Good.”, he says. It’s not quite a lie, but not the truth either. “Congratulations. That was an impressive drive.”
Max smiles, but the unspoken thing hangs between them, how Oscar and Max are not tied in points, both twenty-four points behind Lando how the next race will decide who is still in the fight for the championship, or if Lando takes it home next week. Whatever way it will end, it will not be pretty.
If either of them wins against the other, Oscar is not sure how it will affect their dynamic. If Lando wins, Oscar will be declared the loser of McLaren, if he wins, he’ll make Max lose and if Max wins, he’ll make Oscar lose and either way, no matter who wins, someone else will pay the price.
They look at each other for a moment, and Oscar can tell, that Max is thinking exactly the same, that he’s trying to solve the same dilemma in his head.
Charles regards them silently, thumb still running back and forth over Oscar’s ankles, eyes darting between them.
They haven’t talked about this.
Of course, they have talked about their relationship and their jobs, trying to date in this deathly competitive sport is insane enough as it is, but dating two people in this sport is just plain stupid, and yet, somehow, they’ve made it this far and Oscar is determined to not let anything take this away from him. They have agreed that whatever happens on the track must stay there, and if it can’t, they have to find a solution together, but this feels too large to just leave it on the track.
Max steps back and takes his seat next to Oscar, but not before leaning over and ruffling the wavy fur on top of Leo’s head.
He fastens his seatbelt and leans back into the leather seat.
For a moment it’s eerily quiet in the cabin, as the plane slowly begins to taxi.
Peggy arrives with Max’ protein smoothie and Charles’ iced coffee. Oscar waves her off, when she asks what he wants, and she frowns at him but doesn’t say anything.
“Okay,” Charles says, when the plane has settled in the air. “I’m sorry, but we must address this.”
Max’s eyes dart between them, warily, but he doesn’t say anything.
“You know, I am right.”, Charles says, gently, “This situation real and it is here, and we must talk about it.”
“Yeah.” Oscar agrees.
“Next week it will be decided if Lando wins or if the Championship goes to Abu Dhabi.”, Charles says. “And it is unlikely, that all three of you will stay in the competition.”
Max nods. “It’s impossible.”, he says, grimly.
Charles draws his bottom lips between his teeth, before he continues. “That means either next week one of you if out of the contention.”, he points between them, “Or Lando DNFs and it’s between the two of you.”
He pauses for a moment, a concerned look on his face as he seems to try and find a way to phrase what he wants to say next.
“And if that happens, either of those things, we must know how to deal with them. Because I do not want this to break us.”
“It won’t, Charlie.”, Max says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. Charles gives him a look, that makes it clear he is calling on Max’s bullshit.
“It might. It is easy to say that now, but once the frustration and the jealously and the adrenaline hit, it is just as easy to say things you do not mean and that cannot be taken back.” He looks between them, making sure he still has their attention.
“And whatever happens, you must allow your feeling to be felt, but you must also be ready to talk about them. And you must be willing to forgive and move on. But it is okay to be sad. That is important. You can be sad, but we must all know, that we are safe, with each other and we will get thought his. Together.”
“You’re right.”, Max says. “Look, I didn’t think I’d even be in the title fight this year. So, to have made it this far, is great. But you are right, of course, and whatever happens, it will be frustrating for one of us.” He looks at Oscar. “You know, I really thought you had it in the bag most of the season anyway, so to be fighting you now isn’t what I saw coming.”
Oscar swallows. He would never say it out loud, but for a moment there, he also thought he had it. It seems like a lifetime away now.
He casts his gaze down at his lap and says nothing. What would he say? It’s not like he can explain it. How he tries and tries and tries and still can never match his power in the early races. How he has the nagging feeling that McLaren have done… something, but it makes no sense, and he can’t prove it and even if he could, it is too late now.
“Oscar, darling,” Charles says carefully. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it kind of feels like you’ve given up lately. We’re worried about you.”
“Yeah,” Max adds, equally gentle. “I know we are talking about a title fight here. And I know this is messy and complicated, but I still want you to fight for the title. I want you to fight me. That is the point here. And right now, it kind of feels, like there is something in you that is holding you back.”
Oscar bites his lip to stop it from trembling. “I— “, he chokes out, “I don’t know.”
Charles slowly rises from his seat and crouches down before Oscar, resting his hands on Oscar’s thighs. “Oscar. I know this is hard. But you cannot give up yet.”
Somewhere in Oscar’s peripheral vision Max moves too, until he’s in front of Oscar as well, gently nudging Charles to make some space for him. Charles vacates the space, but hands stay on Oscar, a warm, familiar weight.
“Osc.”, Max says gently. “I love you. And nothing is going to change that. Not if you win this championship against me, not if you lose it to me and certainly not if we both lose it to Lando. I know everything is a little messy right now. But I never, never, want you to hold anything back. Not with us, and not on the track.”
He reaches up to cup Oscar’s cheek with his large hand. “Oscar, I want you to fight me. I want you to give everything you have got. I want you to race me, keep me on my toes. Because you have what it takes. I believe you have it more than Lando does. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my boyfriend. I’ve said that long before you joined us, you can ask Charles.”
Next to him Charles frantically nods. “It’s true.”, he says. Oscar feels a smile creep onto his face.
“So here is what we will do.”, Max says. “You will fight me, tooth and nail. And I will fight you, just as hard. And we will deal with everything else, but promise me you will fight, Oscar. Promise me.”
Oscar looks down at him, at Max and at Charles. They both are looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes, full of trust and concern and determination and Oscar realises, not for the first time, how loved he is.
These two men, love him, unconditionally and furiously, and they believe in him in a way no one has ever believed in him before. They worry about him, more than about themselves and they want him to succeed more than anything. And Oscar will be damned if he lets them down.
With shaky hands he unbuckles his seat and flings himself down, into their arms, and they catch him, Max’s arms around his waist, Charles hands on his shoulders, and he clings to them, face hidden in between them, eyes screwed shut.
“Okay.”, he whispers. “Okay. I will fight you. I promise.”
Max hums against his hair. “Good.” He mutters. “That’s all I ask.”
“And, really,” Oscar admits, finally, “I think that disqualification was kinda funny, honestly.”
Charles snorts. “It certainly did sway things you way, didn’t it?”, he cranes his head back to look between them. “Maxie, are you sure your engineers didn’t file a few millimetres of those floors?”
A wicked smile crosses Max’ face. “I plead the fifth.”, he says. Oscar flicks his forehead. “You’re not American.”, he says. “You can’t plead the fifth. And besides, I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
Max rolls his eyes and surges up to kiss Oscar. Oscar supposes it’s mostly to keep him from talking, but he happily lets himself get lost in Max’s lips, at least right until Charles makes a whiny sound about feeling left out and Max hums against Oscar’s lips, before leaning over to plant a smacking kiss on Charles’ cheek.
Charles huffs, and Oscar leans over to gently kiss his lips, which earns him a happy purr from Charles and a soft laugh from Max.
“We’ll be okay, yeah?”, Charles whispers against his mouth. “I promise you, Oscar. We’ll be okay. Whatever happens. I’ll make sure.”
“I see”, Max grins, “You will make sure, yeah?”
Charles nods, earnestly. “And if I have to tie you both to me, to keep us together, I will.”
“Thank you.”, Oscar runs his hands along Charles’ jaw. “For looking out for us.”
“Well, someone has to.”, Charles kisses him again, before heaving himself off the floor, with an exaggerated groan. “I’m getting too old for this.”, he announces, letting himself fall back into his seat.
“Wait until you get to my age.”, Max shoots back. Charles grins down at him. “I will let you know in sixteen days, cherí.”, he teases, but he still offers his hand to Max to help him up.
They continue to squabble as they all fold themselves back into their seats and Oscar knows, this is all far from over, and the hardest part of all of this is still ahead, but right now, for this very moment, he thinks they’ll be just fine.