Archive of Our Own

Two Years Ago,

The waiting room smells like antiseptic and paper, the air carrying the quiet hush of a medical office. Lando sits with Theo on his lap, his fingers gently tracing circles on his son’s tiny back. The boy’s head rests against his chest, thumb tucked into his mouth, curls brushing the fabric of Lando’s hoodie.

He’s two years old now. Two, and still quiet.

The nurse had smiled kindly when she asked for Theo’s name, but Lando saw the flicker in her eyes when the little boy didn’t answer, only pressed his face deeper into his dad’s shoulder. Now, the pediatrician’s office door opens. “Mr. Norris? You can come in.”

Lando’s legs feel heavier than they should. He carries Theo in, sits where he’s told. The room is decorated with cartoon animals and pastel posters about growth milestones. Every one of them feels like an accusation.

Theo plays silently with the toy car he brought, rolling it across Lando’s thigh. The wheels make a faint click against the denim. No babble, no words, not even Daddy or Papa.

The doctor’s voice is soft when she begins. Too soft. The kind of tone people use when they’re afraid to break you. “So, you mentioned Theo doesn’t speak much?”

Lando nods, swallowing hard. “Not much,” he says. “Not at all, actually.”

“How old is he now?”

“Just turned two.” The doctor hums, typing something into her tablet. “And how’s his understanding? Does he follow instructions?”

“He does. He looks when I call his name. He… he smiles sometimes, when I sing. But he doesn’t—he never tries to say anything back.”

Theo’s car falls from his hand and lands on the floor with a soft clatter. Lando bends to pick it up, heart hammering in his throat.

The doctor hesitates, then meets his eyes. “I’d like to refer Theo to a developmental specialist,” she says carefully. “It could be a speech delay, or part of a broader communication issue. We’ll know more after an evaluation.”

The words are calm, too clinical but Lando feels them like a crash. Speech delay. Evaluation. Broader issue.

Each one settles in his chest like a weight. He nods numbly, pretending to understand, pretending to breathe. His scent wavers faintly in the air something muted, metallic at the edges. The doctor explains next steps, early intervention programs, therapy sessions. Her voice becomes a blur.

Theo tugs at his sleeve, wanting to be held, and Lando gathers him up, holding tighter than before. His son smells like baby shampoo and safety, and Lando suddenly feels guilty for every moment he’d been too tired, too distracted, too afraid to notice something was wrong.

By the time they step outside, the late afternoon light paints the parking lot gold. Theo rests his head against Lando’s shoulder again, still silent. Lando whispers, barely audible, “It’s okay, bug. We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

But his voice breaks on the last word. He’s twenty-three, single, scared, and the future suddenly looks like a long, empty road with no map.

Theo’s small fingers curl around the string of Lando’s hoodie, holding on tight and in that tiny, wordless gesture, Lando clings back to the only thing that still feels certain, whatever happens, it’s him and Theo against the world.

The apartment is quiet when they get home. Theo’s small shoes land by the door, one tilted sideways, one perfectly lined up. His toy car drops next to them like always. Routine and predictable.

After lunch, Theo curls into the couch with his blanket, eyes fluttering closed mid-cartoon. Lando strokes his hair until his breathing evens, until the little chest rises and falls in rhythm.

The room smells faintly of milk and detergent, Lando called it the smell of home, if home could still feel heavy. He stands there for a long time, staring at the soft rise of Theo’s belly under the blanket.

Two years old. Two years of wondering what he’s doing wrong. Two years of waiting for a word that never comes. He sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

The silence presses on him until it hurts. He wants to scream. Wants to break something, to shake the walls until the ache stops echoing. Because what if it’s his fault? What if the reason Theo doesn’t talk, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t call him Daddy—is because of him?

Because of those nights when the house was full of shouting, when his ex stormed out again, scent sharp with anger and disappointment. Because of the slammed doors. Because of the words no unborn child should ever hear.

Lando’s throat tightens until breathing feels like punishment. He remembers it too clearly the way his alpha mate had stared at the test result in disbelief, the way joy had never appeared.

The fights came after. Over everything and nothing. Over money. Over the baby. Over how Lando smelled too much like fear and not enough like submission and maybe, maybe Theo had heard it all from inside him, the rage, the rejection, the crying. Maybe he’d learned silence before he even learned breath.

The thought makes Lando fold in half, pressing his face into his hands. His scent falters again—thin, hollow, bitter at the edges. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, the words cracked. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Theo stirs in his sleep, just a small shift, fingers tightening around the blanket. Lando freezes, then reaches out and rests a trembling hand over his son’s back. “I’ll do better,” he promises softly. “I’ll make it right.”

Outside, rain starts against the windows—gentle, steady. Inside, Lando sits in the dim light, head bowed, shoulders shaking, letting the sound fill the silence he can’t bear.

It’s the first time he cries in months. No people, no pretense, no strength left to fake it, just a father and his quiet boy, the ghosts of a love gone wrong, and the faintest hope that maybe one day, one day the silence will turn into something softer.

Two years later

The kitchen smells like coffee and rain. Theo sits at the table, legs swinging, cereal half-eaten, humming softly under his breath no words yet, but music all the same. He’s four now, taller. Surprising everyone with how expressive he can be without saying a thing.

Lando’s laptop screen glows on the counter, his inbox open to an unread message that he’s been staring at for ten minutes.

From: McLaren Racing Ltd.
Subject: Application Follow-Up.

His heart won’t stop pounding. He almost didn’t apply. The listing had felt too big, too far, too impossible. Race engineering was something he used to dream about before everything collapsed before sleepless nights and baby bottles and custody documents and therapy waiting rooms.

But his old professor had sent his name forward. “You’re still one of the best I ever taught, Lando. Don’t waste that.”

And now, somehow, McLaren had replied. He clicks it open, breath held.

“Dear Mr. Norris,

We were very impressed with your credentials and prior experience in simulation and performance data. We’d like to offer you a position as Junior Race Engineer on our upcoming F1 program, starting this season.”

He reads it again and again.

It feels unreal like something that belongs to another version of him. The one who used to spend nights building telemetry models, who could talk about engines and aerodynamics until dawn. The one who hadn’t yet learned what heartbreak smelled like.

Theo drops his spoon with a soft clink and looks up, curious. His wide green eyes blink up at Lando, head tilted.

Lando laughs shakily. “Guess what, bug?” Theo doesn’t answer, but he grins that quiet, sunshine-bright grin that’s become his language.

Lando kneels beside him. “Daddy got a job offer.” He pauses. “A big one.”

Theo pats his cheek with sticky fingers, and somehow that makes it real.

Later, after Theo’s gone to bed, Lando calls his mum. Her voice crackles through the line, warm and proud. “McLaren? Oh, sweetheart, that’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t even feel real.”

“But you deserve this,” she insists. “You’ve worked so hard. You always did.”

Lando swallows. “It’s just…if I take it, I’ll have to travel a lot. Races, testing. I don’t want Theo to feel—”

“Lando.” Her tone softens. “He’ll be fine. He has me, he has you. You can’t stop your life forever. You’re allowed to start again.”

The words hit deep, gentle but sharp. He’s spent so long surviving that he’s forgotten what it feels like to move forward.

He looks toward Theo’s room, where the night-light glows faintly through the crack in the door. His son sleeps soundly, a stuffed bear tucked under his arm.

Lando exhales, long and trembling. Maybe this is what healing looks like not forgetting the past, but daring to build something new beside it.

The next morning, he sends the email.

I accept the offer. Thank you for the opportunity.

His hand shakes when he hits send. It’s a small motion a click, a breath but it changes everything. Outside, the sun climbs through the clouds. For the first time in years, Lando’s scent stirs faintly in the air again not hollow, not bitter, it's something warmer.

Like the beginning of spring.

The suitcase lies open on the floor. Small clothes, shirts with dinosaurs, soft pajamas, the tiny blue jacket Theo loves are folded carefully beside it. Lando works slowly, making sure everything smells faintly of home, of him.

Theo sits cross-legged on the carpet, building towers with wooden blocks. Each time one topples, he just rebuilds it without a sound. Resilient, patient too patient for a four-year-old.

Lando glances at him and smiles faintly. “You’re gonna have so much fun with Grandma and Granddad,” he says. “You know that?”

Theo doesn’t look up, but his little mouth quirks his version of a yes. Lando’s chest tightens. He keeps folding. Socks, favorite blanket, therapy notebooks, the small bear Theo refuses to sleep without. Each item feels like a piece of himself packed away.

The quiet fills the room again, heavy but calm. He stops for a moment, hand pressed against the suitcase edge, trying to steady his breathing. He hates this part. The leaving.

But then his eyes drift toward the stack of bills on the table, crisp white reminders of everything he owes. The therapy sessions that have started helping Theo connect, the speech specialist who costs more than his old salary could cover, the vitamins, the good formula brand that keeps Theo healthy.

He’d promised himself once; Theo will never have less because of me.

Lando takes a slow breath, pushing the ache aside. This job, this opportunity means stability. Means rent paid on time. Means a future that doesn’t rely on charity or favors. He crouches beside Theo and touches his shoulder gently. “Hey, bug.”

Theo looks up, eyes curious.

“I’m gonna work for a little while, okay? But Grandma’s house will be fun. They’ll take you to the park, and you can show them your new blocks.”

Theo blinks once, then reaches forward, placing one of his wooden blocks in Lando’s palm as if to say keep this with you.

Lando laughs softly, tears threatening. “Thanks, baby. I’ll keep it safe.”

That night, after Theo’s asleep, Lando double-checks everything his employee contract, Theo’s bag by the door. The apartment feels too big without sound.

He sits on the couch, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the dark window. His scent drifts faintly in the air, a bit tired, but steadier than it used to be.

He whispers into the quiet, “I’m doing this for you, Theo. So you’ll have everything you need.”

His voice trembles, but there’s conviction beneath it. This isn’t running away anymore. It’s moving forward for both of them. When the clock hits midnight, he finally stands, zips the suitcase closed, and rests his hand on it for a moment.

Tomorrow, he’ll leave for McLaren. Tomorrow, everything begins again.

The glass of the McLaren Technology Centre gleams under the early spring sun, all sleek lines and quiet authority. Lando stands outside the main doors, badge clutched in one hand, backpack on his shoulders.

New year, new job, new city. He still can’t believe he’s here.

Inside, everything hums with precision, screens flickering with telemetry data, the faint scent of metal and coffee and focus. He follows the HR assistant through the wide corridor, trying not to stare too obviously.

Two years ago, he’d been fixing small engines for a private team, making barely enough to cover Theo’s therapy. Now he’s walking into McLaren.

The assistant gestures toward an office pod near the garage. “This is your workstation, Mr. Norris. You’ll be working directly with one of our race drivers—Oscar Piastri. He’ll meet you shortly.”

Lando blinks. “Right. The Australian.”

“Mm-hmm,” she smiles. “Been with us a couple of years now. Very calm head on his shoulders.”

Lando nods, half-listening, half-terrified. He’s read about Oscar—two seasons in, clean driving style, sharp with data. Still young, though; younger than Lando, which makes the idea of “working under” him slightly surreal.

He’s unpacking his laptop when the door clicks open. “Hey, you must be the new engineer.”

The voice is warm, confident but not loud. Lando turns.

Oscar stands there in a McLaren polo and a soft grin, his posture relaxed, curls slightly messy, eyes a clear hazel-green that seem to take in everything at once. He looks every bit the composed professional the articles described, yet there’s something unguarded about him.

“Yeah,” Lando says, straightening. “Lando Norris.”

“Oscar Piastri,” he replies, offering his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

Their palms meet a brief, firm shake and Lando feels the faintest hum in his chest. Not the spark of attraction yet, just… recognition. Oscar’s scent is subtle but grounding like cedar and rain cooled asphalt, steady and fresh. It catches Lando off guard for a second.

“Nice setup you’ve got here,” Oscar says, glancing at the workstation. “They’ve been talking about bringing you in for months. Apparently, you’re a bit of a wizard with performance data.”

Lando huffs out a small laugh. “Wizard’s a stretch. I just like numbers.”

“Well, I like fast cars,” Oscar grins. “Guess we’ll get along.”

The day unfolds in quiet rhythm, orientation, briefings, introductions. Lando finds himself slipping into the pace easily, like muscle memory waking up. It’s been years since he’s felt this capable, this useful.

Oscar moves through the garage with quiet assurance, nodding to mechanics, asking questions that actually make sense. He’s young, yes, but grounded a kind of steadiness Lando can’t help but notice.

Later, they review a data run together. Oscar leans close, pointing at the screen, and for a second Lando’s focus drifts. The alpha smells like clean rain after heat not overpowering, just there, making it comfortable. Lando pulls back quickly, pretending to adjust his notes.

Focus, Norris, remember bills. Theo, and work.

Oscar glances at him. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Lando says too fast. “Just thinking.”

Oscar’s smile is small, knowing but kind. “Good. I like people who think.”

By evening, the facility has gone quieter. Most of the team’s left, the corridors echoing faintly with distant machinery. Lando packs up, exhausted but unexpectedly light.

On his way out, he spots Oscar across the glass hall, talking with a mechanic, laughing at something. The sound catches in the air,  and Lando feels that strange flutter again.

It’s nothing, maybe just admiration. Professional respect. Still, when he gets back to his temporary flat and sees Theo’s wooden block sitting on the counter where he left it, he smiles faintly and taps it with a finger.

“Day one done, kiddo,” he murmurs. “We might actually be okay.”

For the first time in years, the air around him carries something almost gentle like sunlight filtering through after a long, grey winter.

The garage hums with the soft, constant rhythm of machines at rest. Most of the team went home hours ago the corridors now half-lit, the air thick with the smell of oil, rubber, and the faint sharpness of energy drinks.

Lando is still there. He sits hunched over the workstation, laptop casting a pale glow across his face. Lines of telemetry scroll down the screen, numbers swimming before his eyes, but he keeps going adjusting, testing, saving again.

The new season starts soon, and every small improvement counts.  He’s tired, but used to tired. It’s easier to stay busy than to think. A soft knock on the metal frame breaks the quiet. “You still here?”

Lando blinks, glancing up. Oscar leans against the doorway, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy from the late hour. “Could say the same to you,” Lando replies, smiling faintly.

Oscar shrugs. “I was reviewing some laps. Saw the lights still on in here.” He walks closer, hands tucked in his pockets. “You always work this late?”

“Sometimes.”

“You do know the computers won’t love you back, right?”

Lando chuckles under his breath. “That’s debatable.” Oscar grins and steps closer, peering at the laptop. “Telemetry?”

“Yeah. I think I found something in the braking phase—” But Oscar’s attention drifts when Lando’s phone lights up beside the keyboard, buzzing softly.

A message notification. A photo lighting the screen for a second a boy with curls like Lando’s, eyes the same wide green, holding a wooden block shaped like a car.

Oscar tilts his head. “Cute kid,” he says casually. “Your brother?”

Lando’s hand stills on the mouse. For a moment, he says nothing then exhales softly, voice lower. “No,” he murmurs. “That’s my son.”

The words hang there, gentle and heavy. Oscar blinks, caught off guard. “Your son?”

“Yeah.” Lando smiles faintly, the kind that almost hurts. “Theo. He’s four.”

Oscar’s eyes soften immediately. “He looks just like you.”

“Poor kid, huh?” Lando jokes weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. But his hands are shaking a little not from shame, just from the sudden exposure.

Oscar doesn’t laugh. His tone stays calm, quiet. “He’s beautiful.”

That knocks the air out of Lando more than he expects. Most people either pity him or go awkward. Oscar just means it.

“Thanks,” Lando says after a moment.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

“Not because I don’t want to,” Lando admits. “Just… this job’s demanding. Most people don’t expect an omega engineer to also be a dad. And—well, I don’t want to give anyone a reason to think I can’t keep up.”

Oscar nods slowly, eyes still on him. “You’re doing fine, Lando.”

The words are simple, but they land deep something steady, reassuring.

Lando looks down at his phone again, at Theo’s little grin frozen in pixels. His chest aches, warm and hollow all at once.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Trying to.”

Oscar leans on the table beside him, close but not invasive. “You miss him a lot, don’t you?”

“Every day.” The silence that follows isn’t heavy — just quiet, soft like understanding. Oscar finally straightens, smiling gently. “Go home, Lando. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lando nods, pretending to close his laptop, but when Oscar leaves, he sits there another minute, staring at Theo’s photo. The warmth in his chest lingers long after the door clicks shut.

Oscar’s apartment near the McLaren Centre is small but neat white walls, one couch, the faint hum of the city through the window. Normally, after a long day, he would fall asleep instantly. But not tonight.

He tosses, turns, stares at the ceiling. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the soft glow of Lando’s phone screen, the way that photo had lit up the engineer’s face that quiet, proud smile when he said, “That’s my son.”

Theo. Four years old. Green eyes like his father’s. And Lando, calm, capable, always polite omega suddenly looked so different when he spoke about him. Softer. Human in a way that made Oscar’s chest twist.

He exhales, rolling onto his back. This shouldn’t bother him. He’s had colleagues with families before. But something about Lando feels different. There’s a stillness to him, something careful, like he’s always holding part of himself back.

Oscar closes his eyes and tries to remember Lando’s scent from earlier. It should be easy omegas always carry a hint of themselves, even when they’re calm: a touch of warmth, a softness in the air. But Lando’s scent had been… nothing.

Empty.

Oscar frowns into the dark. He’s been around enough people to know how an omega’s scent usually feels especially one who has a child. Even if they’re unbonded, there’s always some trace of warmth, a signature that lingers.

But Lando smelled like the air after rain has stopped, clean, but hollow. No echo of another scent. No lingering comfort that usually follows an alpha’s presence.

He sits up, restless, scrubbing a hand through his hair. It makes no sense. Maybe Lando’s suppressing his scent some omegas do, especially at work or maybe…

Oscar shakes his head, cutting off the thought before it forms. It’s not his place to wonder. Still, something about it hurts the idea of someone so gentle carrying emptiness like that.

He thinks of Lando’s quiet voice, the tired smile when he said, “Most people don’t expect an engineer to also be a dad.” The way his eyes had flickered—pride and guilt tangled together.

Oscar leans his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His own scent hums low in his chest, unsettled a mix of curiosity and something he doesn’t want to name.

He doesn’t know why it matters so much. But the thought keeps circling back, What kind of life does someone live, to have a scent that carries nothing?

Outside, a car passes by. The glow fades across his walls, and silence fills the room again.

Oscar lies back down, eyes still open to the dark. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Not when his mind won’t stop replaying the way Lando had smiled at a picture as if love still lived inside him, even when everything else was quiet.

Bahrain hums with dry wind and sun. The track shimmers in the afternoon heat, engines growling in the distance, monitors flickering under the white tents.

Pre-season testing always feels endless, early mornings, late nights, constant adjustments. Every screw, every data line, every reading has to be right before the real thing begins.

Lando’s world shrinks to numbers and sound. He barely notices the sweat on his neck or the ache behind his eyes. He just keeps moving, headset on, tablet in hand, reading telemetry as the car flashes by in a blur of papaya.

It’s easier this way. The noise drowns everything else.

When the run ends, Oscar climbs out of the car, pulling off his helmet, hair damp and curling from the heat. His smile is faint but real. “Feels good,” he says, handing the steering wheel back to a mechanic. “Balance’s better than yesterday.”

Lando nods, already checking the data. “Yeah. Sector two’s smoother.”

“Because someone stayed up all night again?” Oscar teases, glancing at him.

“Don’t start,” Lando mutters, but he’s smiling.

The rest of the afternoon blurs into debriefs and more adjustments, until the sun sinks low and the track glows gold. Most of the crew have wandered off for dinner by then, the air finally cooling. Lando stays behind under the tent, reorganizing cables, when Oscar returns—fresh from a shower, hair still damp, carrying two bottles of water.

He hands one over wordlessly. “Thanks,” Lando says, taking it with a nod.

For a while, they sit in quiet the distant hum of equipment, the call of night insects somewhere beyond the paddock.

Oscar watches him for a moment. Lando looks tired not just physically, but in the quiet way that sits behind his shoulders, as if he’s always bracing for something.

Finally, Oscar speaks, voice soft. “Can I ask something?”

Lando glances up, cautious but not closed. “Sure.”

“You’re the only omega on the team.”

Lando blinks, surprised. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Oscar hesitates, eyes gentle. “Are you… alright working around alphas?”

For a second, Lando doesn’t answer. His hand stills halfway through twisting the water bottle cap.

Then he exhales a small, tired sound. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Oscar doesn’t push. He just waits.

Lando glances away, watching the empty track. “It used to bother me. The scent, the pressure, the way people look at you when they realize you’re… not like them.” He pauses. “But after Theo came along, things changed. I don’t have the luxury of being uncomfortable anymore.”

Oscar’s chest tightens. “That doesn’t mean you have to be okay with it.”

Lando smiles faintly, small and sad. “You learn to be.”

The wind shifts slightly, bringing a faint trace of sand and oil. Oscar’s scent hums quietly under it, clean, calm, grounding — and Lando’s eyes flick to him briefly, like he notices the steadiness but doesn’t dare lean toward it.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Oscar says softly. “If anything ever feels off anyone — you can tell me.”

Lando looks at him for a long moment, unreadable then he nods once. “Thanks, Oscar.” And that’s it. No more words, only the faint rustle of paper and desert air moving between them. But for the first time, something unspoken lingers there a small thread of trust, fragile but real.

On the next race, Melbourne roars. The crowd, the heat, the impossible glitter of sunlight over the circuit all of it blurs into noise and movement. Pit crews shouting, flags waving, radios crackling. And then, over the comms, the words everyone’s been waiting for,

“P1, Oscar. That’s P1!” The cheer that follows almost shakes the air itself.

Lando doesn’t even realize he’s running until he’s halfway down the pit lane, headset still around his neck. Everyone’s shouting, laughing, pulling each other into hugs. Oscar climbs out of the car, helmet off, grin so bright it almost hurts to look at.

When he turns and spots Lando, he doesn’t hesitate just grabs him in a breathless hug, both of them still half-running. For a heartbeat, everything stills. Oil, sun, dust, and the solid warmth of another person who’s worked just as hard.

“We did it,” Oscar breathes against his shoulder, laughing, voice muffled.

Lando laughs too, a bit breathless, and dizzy. “You did it.” But Oscar just shakes his head. “Couldn’t have without you.”

It’s over too soon. The chaos pulls them apart, team members rushing in, cameras flashing. But something about that moment that closeness, the way Oscar didn’t even think before reaching for him, stays with Lando long after the podium confetti falls.

That night, the city hums differently. Melbourne feels soft under its lights, all the rush gone quiet. Oscar texts him a few hours later,

Dinner? My usual place. Just to breathe for a bit.

Lando almost says no, a habit maybe and exhaustion, or self-preservation but something about the invitation feels…safe. 

So he goes. The restaurant isn’t fancy. It’s a tucked-away corner spot near the harbour—warm lights, wooden tables, a view of the water. The staff greets Oscar like an old friend, then quickly seats them in a quiet booth.

Oscar orders for both of them, easy and familiar, then leans back with a sigh. “Feels weird, huh?”

“What does?”

“Winning. You spend years chasing it, and when it happens, it feels… smaller than you thought. But better, too.”

Lando smiles faintly, stirring his drink. “You did good today.”

“You too,” Oscar says simply. “You always do.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable. The kind that feels earned. 

Halfway through dinner, Oscar asks not prying, maybe just curious “How’s Theo doing?”

Lando pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he almost deflects the old instinct to keep it brief, to keep it safe. But Oscar’s expression is soft, and patient, not pushing. So he sets his fork down. “He’s… okay,” he says quietly. “He’s four now. He’s been in therapy for almost two years.”

Oscar’s brow furrows slightly. “Therapy?”

“Speech delay,” Lando says. His voice stays steady, but his hands tighten around his napkin. “He didn’t talk when he was little. Not a sound, only… looked at me. And I kept thinking—maybe I did something wrong.”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt.

“I used to fight a lot with his other parent,” Lando continues. “Too much yelling, too much noise. When I was pregnant, it was chaos. Sometimes I think he heard all of it — and when he was born, he just… chose quiet instead.”

The confession sits heavy for a moment. The soft clatter of dishes somewhere in the background, the hum of the sea outside. Oscar finally says, voice low, “That’s not your fault.”

Lando lets out a quiet breath. “I tell myself that every day. Still hard to believe it sometimes.”

“How’s he now?”

“He’s learning,” Lando says, and there’s pride there, bright and small. “He says a few words. Loves cars, of course. His therapists say he’s catching up. He’s… brilliant, really.”

Oscar smiles. “Sounds like he gets that from you.”

Lando laughs a quiet, startled sound, as if he’s not used to anyone saying something kind without a catch. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

They linger long after the plates are cleared. Talk drifts from racing to small things like travel, music, food, Theo’s obsession with toy cars. By the time they step outside, the night air smells faintly of salt and warmth. Lando tucks his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says.

Oscar’s smile is easy. “Anytime.” And for the first time in years, Lando realizes he means it.

The hotel lobby buzzes with the low, tired rhythm of the morning after a race weekend. Suitcases roll across the marble floor, coffee cups clink, and team members exchange half-awake goodbyes before scattering toward flights and connecting buses.

Lando stands near the glass doors, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, travel jacket zipped up halfway. His flight leaves in two hours, yes in commercial, it's packed, and long. His mind’s already half in the sky, half at home with Theo.

He’s checking messages on his phone when a soft voice cuts through the noise. “Hey.”

Oscar’s there still in his McLaren hoodie, duffel over one shoulder, hair falling across his forehead in that perfectly effortless way that makes him look younger than he is. He’s holding a small paper bag, folded neatly at the top.

“For Theo,” he says simply, handing it over.

Lando blinks, surprised. “What’s this?”

Oscar’s smile is a little shy. “Just something from the gift shop. Thought he should celebrate the win too.”

Lando opens the bag carefully. Inside is a soft kangaroo plush, tiny paws clutching a toy race car. It’s ridiculous and adorable all at once.

He laughs, not the polite kind, but something warm that actually reaches his eyes. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

Oscar shrugs lightly. “Theo deserves a trophy too.”

Something in Lando’s chest softens at that. No one ever includes Theo like that not outside his parents, not really. Most people just nod politely when he mentions his son and move on but Oscar never does.

“Thank you,” Lando says quietly, meaning it. “He’ll love it.”

Oscar looks at him for a moment, the corners of his mouth tilting up. “I hope so.”

A call from across the lobby breaks the quiet, Zak waving for Oscar, the jet crew already gathering. The drivers fly home with the senior team; the engineers take the long route. “That’s me,” Oscar says, adjusting his bag. “You’ll text me when you’re back?”

Lando nods. “Yeah. As soon as we land.”

“Good.” Oscar’s eyes linger a second longer than necessary a flicker of something he hides with a grin. “Safe flight, Lando.”

“You too.”

And then they part Oscar heading toward the VIP exit, sunlight flashing off the glass doors as they close behind him.

Lando stands there for a moment, paper bag still in his hand. The kangaroo’s small stitched smile peeks out from the edge of the wrapping, absurdly cheerful.

He can already imagine Theo’s delighted little hands reaching for it, the way his son’s eyes would brighten maybe even a giggle if they’re lucky.

For the first time in a long while, the thought doesn’t make his chest ache. It just feels… light.

By the time Lando’s plane touches down in England, he’s running on coffee and adrenaline. The weekend still hums faintly in his veins — the noise of engines, the champagne, Oscar’s laugh — but all of it fades the moment he steps into arrivals.

Because waiting at the end of everything is Theo.

He drives straight from the airport to his parents’ house, the familiar quiet of the countryside wrapping around him like a blanket. The moment he parks, his mum’s already at the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, eyes warm.

“You look exhausted,” she says, pulling him into a hug anyway.

“Feels about right,” he mumbles into her shoulder, smiling. “Where’s he?”

“In the living room. Been asking for you in his own way.”

Lando’s chest tightens at that. He doesn’t even take off his shoes before heading in.

Theo’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by toy cars and a half-built wooden track. His curls are messier than ever, and his tiny tongue pokes out in concentration as he tries to fit one piece into another.

When he looks up and sees Lando, his eyes go wide that bright green spark lighting instantly. “Hey, bug,” Lando says softly.

Theo’s mouth opens, and he makes a sound — not quite a word, but something close, breathy and soft, a tiny “da–” before he gasps, scrambling to his feet and running forward.

Lando drops to his knees just in time to catch him. Theo’s small arms wrap tight around his neck, curls pressed into his shoulder, the faint smell of soap and crayons filling his senses.

“Oh, bug,” Lando whispers, eyes stinging. “I missed you so much.”

Theo hums, face buried in his shirt, little hands gripping tight like he never wants to let go.

After a while, when Theo finally pulls back, Lando reaches for his backpack and the small paper bag tucked inside. “I brought you something.”

Theo tilts his head, curious. Lando unwraps the soft kangaroo plush and sets it in his lap. The little toy race car stitched between its paws gleams under the light.

Theo blinks then grins, wide and bright, fingers tracing over the car before hugging the toy close.

“‘Roo,’” Lando says gently, naming it for him. “Kangaroo. Like the ones in Australia.”

Theo’s lips move. A faint sound, almost a whisper, slips out— “Roo…”

It’s barely there, but it’s something.

Lando’s breath catches. “Yeah,” he says softly, smiling so wide it hurts. “Roo.”

His mum, watching quietly from the doorway, smiles too—eyes glistening with quiet pride.

Later that night, when Theo’s asleep in his little bed clutching the plush tight, Lando sits beside him in the half-dark. The toy’s stitched grin peeks out from under the blanket, and for some reason, it makes his heart ache in the gentlest way.

He thinks of Oscar, the way he’d smiled when handing him the bag, the easy, thoughtful tone in his voice.

“Theo deserves a trophy too.”

Lando runs a hand through his hair and exhales, a small, tired laugh escaping him. “Guess you were right,” he murmurs to the quiet room. “He really does.” Outside, the night is soft. Inside, for the first time in a long while, so is Lando’s heart.

Back at McLaren HQ, the rhythm of work has settled into something sharp and steady. Engines hum in test bays, keyboards clatter, and screens glow with lines of numbers that only a few people in the room can truly read.

Lando’s one of them, headset on half a sandwich forgotten beside his laptop, eyes fixed on tire temperature data from the last simulation run. Beside him, Oscar leans over the desk, still in his race suit, one glove half-off.

“You’re seriously recalibrating that again?” Oscar asks, amused.

“It’s off by two degrees in the rear left,” Lando mutters, not looking up.

“Two degrees won’t matter.”

“It always matters.”

Oscar grins, shaking his head, but stays there anyway watching him work, the way Lando’s brows furrow in concentration, the tiny crease that forms at the corner of his mouth when he’s deep in thought. It’s oddly… peaceful, even in the fluorescent chaos of the simulator bay. Until Lando’s phone bings.

He blinks, startled, glancing at the screen. An alarm flashes in bright letters,

🕔 17:00 – THEO THERAPY

Lando’s eyes widen. “Crap.” He scrambles to save his files. “I need to go. I’m supposed to pick Theo up before his session—”

Before he can even stand properly, Oscar’s voice cuts in, steady and easy “I’ll drive you.”

Lando freezes. “What?”

“You’ll hit traffic if you go alone. I’m done for the day anyway.”

“But you don’t have to—”

“I know.” Oscar’s already grabbing his jacket. “Come on, Norris. Let’s go.”

Lando blinks, caught between surprise and gratitude. “You’re impossible.”

Oscar smiles. “Efficient.”

The drive out of Woking is calm in late afternoon sun spilling gold over the roads, soft music humming through the car speakers. Lando gives quiet directions, though Oscar already memorized the route the second he’d looked it up on his phone.

“You really didn’t have to,” Lando says again, eyes on the road.

Oscar just shrugs, eyes flicking between him and the traffic ahead. “You’d do the same for me.”

Lando hums. “You don’t even have a kid.”

“Still.”

The word hangs there, a simple word but meaning more than it sounds. When they pull up to Lando’s parents’ house, the garden is alive with soft evening light. The door opens before Lando even knocks his mum, warm smile and quick hug, “You’re just in time, love. He’s inside, playing.”

Then she notices Oscar and beams. “Oh, hello! You must be the driver. Lando mentioned you.”

Oscar laughs, polite. “Yes, ma’am. Oscar.”

Lando rolls his eyes. “Mum, please don’t embarrass me.”

“You do that fine yourself,” she teases, disappearing back inside.

And then Theo appears. He’s standing near the sofa, kangaroo plush clutched tightly in his arms. The moment he sees someone new behind Lando, he stiffens, his small hands gripping harder, little feet edging back until he presses against Lando’s leg.

“Hey, bug,” Lando says softly, crouching to his level. “It’s okay. This is Oscar. He works with Daddy.”

Theo doesn’t answer. Just buries his face into Lando’s shoulder, curls tickling his neck.

Oscar stands very still, a bit careful, respectful. He can feel the little omega’s unease, the sharp flicker of fear at an unfamiliar alpha presence. So without thinking, he lowers his own scent, the natural instinctive hum of his alpha energy softening until it’s just a faint trace, clean and warm like sunlight through glass.

The air changes. Lando notices it first that subtle shift. Not dominant, not strong just gentle. A kind of calm that wraps around the room quietly, like safety.

Theo peeks up. For a moment, his wide green eyes meet Oscar’s. The boy studies him, small nose twitching, fingers tightening on the plush. Then, slowly, he tilts his head and peeks out fully from behind Lando’s neck.

Oscar doesn’t move. He just smiles, small and soft. “Hi, Theo.”

Theo blinks then hides again, though not as tightly this time. Lando laughs quietly, brushing his curls. “That’s progress.”

Oscar shrugs, still smiling. “He’s smart. Just cautious.”

“He gets that from me.”

“I figured.” They share a look, in quiet ways. The kind that sits between friendship and something gentler, too early to name but already real.

As Lando carries Theo out toward the car for therapy, Oscar follows beside them, keeping a respectful distance. Theo glances back once just once and when he sees the same easy smile waiting, he doesn’t hide again.

By the time they step outside, the sky’s already dipped into early evening that in-between light, soft and fading, where everything looks a little dreamlike.

Lando opens the back of Oscar’s car, rummaging through a neat stack of things his parents kept ready in their garage. “Ah, here,” he says, pulling out a toddler car seat, still spotless. “Mum said it’s better to keep one here for days like this.”

Oscar blinks. “You have a spare seat ready at your parents’ house?”

Lando grins faintly, half embarrassed. “Occupational hazard. I plan too much.”

Oscar steps closer, watching him adjust the straps with practiced hands the smooth rhythm of someone who’s done it a thousand times. Lando checks the base, tightens the latch, gives it a small tug. Perfect.

Theo stands nearby, plush kangaroo in hand, gaze flicking between the two of them. His curls catch the last of the sunlight.

“Alright, bug,” Lando says softly, lifting him. “Car seat time.”

Theo doesn’t resist just buries his face in Lando’s shoulder until he’s settled and buckled in. Lando tucks the plush into his lap and smooths his hair down.

Oscar watches, something in his chest tightening. It’s the way Lando moves so gentle, and careful, not a hint of frustration in sight even though they’re clearly in a rush. It’s love that doesn’t demand anything in return.

When Lando finally closes the door, he exhales, resting a hand briefly against the window where Theo’s small silhouette sits quiet.

Oscar unlocks the car and gets in, the engine humming to life. They pull out of the driveway, streetlights flickering on as the road unspools before them.

For the first few minutes, there’s only the sound of tires against asphalt, steady and soothing. Lando occasionally turns around to check on Theo, voice warm and patient.

“You comfy, bug?”

There's no answer.

“Do you want your juice box?”

Still nothing just wide eyes watching the passing trees. Oscar glances through the rearview mirror. Theo’s expression is calm, but distant almost like he’s watching the world from underwater.

Lando sighs quietly and smiles, though there’s a hint of sadness in it. “He’s just… like that. Some days he hums or points at things, but most of the time, he just listens. He’s always listening.”

Oscar doesn’t reply immediately. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “He’s quiet,” he says softly.

“Yeah.” Lando looks out the window. “Too quiet sometimes.”

The words sit between them, heavy but gentle. Oscar doesn’t push. He just lets it breathe.

The GPS voice breaks the silence, monotone and crisp “Turn right in 300 meters.”

Theo’s head lifts, eyes following the sound.

Oscar notices it, the small flicker of attention. “He likes that voice?”

Lando hums. “Yeah, I think so. He always listens to automated voices like the train announcements, or navigation. It’s predictable, you know? Never loud, never different.”

Oscar nods. “Makes sense. The world’s quieter that way.”

That earns a faint smile from Lando. “Yeah. Quieter’s safer, sometimes.”

They stop at a red light. Streetlamps blur gold across the windshield. Oscar risks another glance in the mirror. Theo’s watching him, really watching, with those big green eyes that look so much like his father’s.

For a heartbeat, their gazes meet. Theo doesn’t flinch this time. He just holds the kangaroo close and blinks, slow and curious. Oscar feels something shift inside him a warmth he can’t quite name. 

When they finally arrive at the therapy clinic, Lando gets out first, unbuckling Theo and lifting him gently. “Hey, champ. Big day, yeah?”

Theo tucks his head under Lando’s chin, fingers gripping his shirt.

Oscar follows them to the entrance — bright posters on the walls, little chairs lined up, cheerful colors that somehow feel both hopeful and heartbreaking.

A therapist waves from the door. “Hi, Lando! Ready for our session?”

“Always,” Lando says with a smile that looks practiced but kind. He crouches down beside Theo. “You’ll be great, yeah? Daddy will be right outside.”

Theo doesn’t answer. He just holds up his kangaroo.

“That’s right,” Lando whispers. “He’s cheering for you too.”

The therapist takes Theo’s hand gently, carefully and leads him inside.

The door closes with a soft click and suddenly, the silence outside feels heavier than it should. Lando stands there for a second, staring at the closed door, jaw tightening like he’s holding back something sharp.

Oscar doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside him on the waiting bench, elbows on his knees, letting the quiet settle.

After a long while, Lando exhales. “He’s getting better, they say. Little things. Eye contact. Reaction. But some days…” He trails off. “Some days, I just wish I could hear him call my name.”

Oscar’s chest aches. He doesn’t reach out just says softly, “He will. When he’s ready.”

Lando looks at him then, eyes tired but grateful. “Yeah. When he’s ready.”

Oscar doesn’t know when it started. The ache. The pull. The quiet, bone-deep urge to protect.

Maybe it was the way Lando talked about Theo in soft voice, tired smile, a hint of guilt he didn’t deserve. Maybe it was the way Theo had looked at him in the car mirror those green eyes, silent but searching.

Whatever it was, it sat heavy now, low in his chest, a steady thrum of don’t hurt them. don’t let the world hurt them.

He’s not sure what to do with that. He’s an alpha he knows how instincts work but this feels… different. He shouldn’t even be reacting like this. Lando’s not his omega. Theo’s not his child.

And yet here he is, sitting in a quiet clinic hallway, leg bouncing, fighting the strange urge to scent the air just to make sure they’re safe.

Lando sits beside him, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, exhaustion hanging in the curve of his shoulders. “I think today went well,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Oscar. “He didn’t cry when he saw the therapist this time.”

Oscar hums, eyes still on the door. “He trusts them more now.”

“Yeah,” Lando smiles faintly. “Trust takes time.”

Oscar glances sideways there’s something in Lando’s tone that makes his chest tighten again. The kind of tiredness that doesn’t come from work or lack of sleep, but from years of holding everything alone.

He wants to say something you’re doing great, you’re not alone but before he can, the clinic door opens.

A small figure darts out, curls bouncing, paper clutched in tiny hands.

“Theo—” Lando starts, already half-standing.

But Theo doesn’t run to him. He runs to Oscar. Tiny feet patter against the tile until he’s right there, pressing the paper against Oscar’s leg with both hands. His eyes are wide and bright, his little chest rising and falling fast, like he's so excited, and proud.

Oscar blinks. “Hey, bud,” he says softly, crouching down so they’re eye level. “Is that for me?”

Theo nods once. Then he lets go of the paper and steps back, watching. It’s a drawing colorful scribbles and shaky shapes. A car, unmistakably, orange and white with big wheels. Two stick figures beside it, one taller, one smaller, holding hands.

Oscar’s breath catches. “This is…” He swallows. “This is amazing, Theo.”

Theo’s eyes flick to his face and for the first time, there’s a tiny, fleeting smile.

Lando stands behind them, frozen for a moment, his own eyes glassy. “He—he doesn’t usually…”

“I know,” Oscar murmurs, looking up. “He chose to.”

Theo tugs at Oscar’s sleeve then a soft, tentative movement. His scent shifts, faintly sweet, the scent of comfort.

Oscar feels it that same shift in himself, unintentional, instinctive. His own scent goes warm and low, grounding, like sunlight through honey.

Theo blinks up at him, wide-eyed and instead of hiding, he just stands there, close enough that Oscar can feel his tiny hand brush his knee.

It’s something fragile and perfect. Lando takes a quiet breath, and the sound trembles. He looks at Theo then at Oscar and something deep in him stirs, the edges of his guarded heart softening.

Theo had never done that before. Never offered anything to someone new. “Guess he likes you,” Lando says finally, his voice low and thick.

Oscar smiles, small and uncertain. “Guess I like him too.”

Theo beams then a tiny, wordless expression that feels like sunlight after years of rain. And for the first time, Lando realizes he’s not scared of that warmth blooming in his chest. Not tonight. Not when it makes his son smile.

By the time they step out of the clinic, the sky’s deep purple, city lights blinking awake across the quiet streets. Theo’s still clutching his drawing, his tiny hand tucked safely into Lando’s.

“Dinner?” Oscar asks suddenly, voice soft, almost tentative. Lando blinks. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. Something quick,” Oscar shrugs, trying to sound casual. “You’ve both had a long day.”

Lando hesitates he wants to say no, that they should head home, that Theo needs his routine. But when he looks down, Theo’s still wide awake, curls bouncing, his small mouth forming a curious little o at the mention of food.

“Alright,” Lando says finally. “But something easy.” Oscar’s grin is instant. “Nando’s?”

The little restaurant is warm and noisy, filled with the smell of grilled chicken and laughter. They find a booth near the back, tucked away enough that Oscar can relax, baseball cap low and hoodie up. He still keeps his head down when ordering, murmuring a quiet thanks to the cashier who doesn’t even look twice.

Lando settles Theo beside him, pulling out wipes, sippy cup, small cutlery from the bag that looks like it’s been packed by a professional. Oscar watches, amused.

“You’re like a one-man survival kit.” Lando snorts. “Single parent habit. Always be prepared.”

When the food arrives, it’s warm and simple, a grilled chicken, rice, chips. The smell alone makes Theo’s legs bounce under the table, little sneakers tapping against the seat.

“Hungry, bug?” Lando teases, cutting up tiny pieces. Theo nods hard, curls bobbing. He eats quietly, methodically, eyes occasionally glancing across the table at Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t miss it. He smiles whenever their gazes meet, not too much, just enough to let the boy know it’s safe.

They eat in an easy rhythm, small talk, quiet laughter, Theo’s curious gaze darting back and forth. Halfway through, Lando looks up and nearly chokes on his drink. Theo his shy, silent, wary little boy has leaned sideways, just a little, pressing his shoulder into Oscar’s arm.

He’s not saying anything. He just leans. Trust, in the simplest form. Oscar freezes for a split second, spoon midair. Then, carefully, he lowers it and lets the boy stay there, keeping his movements slow, gentle.

“You okay there, champ?” he murmurs.

Theo hums. Barely a sound. Then he reaches into his plate, picks up a single golden fry, and holds it out to Oscar.

Oscar blinks. “For me?” Theo nods once, solemn.

Lando covers his mouth, hiding a smile that’s way too fond. “You should take it. It’s an honor.”

Oscar chuckles, accepting the fry like it’s something sacred. “Thanks, buddy. Best one I’ve had all day.”

Theo watches, satisfied, then goes back to his food, small feet still kicking lightly under the table.

Lando leans back, exhaling quietly. It’s such a small thing a fry, a lean, a hum but for him, it feels enormous. Theo trusts Oscar and that… that hasn’t happened in years.

Oscar catches his gaze from across the table, his expression soft and unreadable. No words pass between them, but something warm settles in the space they share. For the first time in a long while, Lando feels full not just from food, but from something heavier and sweeter.

They weren't officially a family, but that hardly seemed to matter anymore.

Race weekends blur into each other, early flights, long briefings, nights that end with data still glowing on the laptop screen. But somehow, Oscar doesn’t mind anymore.

He’s found a new rhythm now. A quieter one. One that includes short messages that pop up between meetings a photo from Lando of Theo painting, or a random text saying “Theo said ‘car’ today, well kind of. More like ‘cah.’ Still counts.”

Oscar had stared at that one for a long time, grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even realize when it starts the habit of bringing something small every time.

A toy car from the airport. A chocolate bar from a sponsor gift bag. A sticker sheet with cartoon race tracks.

He never gives them directly to Theo not without asking first but somehow the little gifts always end up in Theo’s hands. Lando doesn’t say much about it just a soft smile, sometimes, or a look that lingers a second too long.

In the paddock, Oscar’s world is all noise and fire but between the chaos, there are moments when he catches Lando’s scent. Muted, faint, like rain that’s forgotten how to fall. It makes something deep in him ache.

There’s no bond there, just the absence of one like a wound that’s learned to close without healing. Still, he feels it.

Every time Lando walks past, quiet and focused, every time he leans over the pit wall with his headset on, his expression lit by the glow of the monitors. Oscar tells himself it’s instinct or maybe a concern but that’s a lie, and he knows it.

Lando feels it too. The air shifting whenever Oscar’s nearby. The warmth of his scent like golden, and steady, something that feels too much like home. It creeps into his clothes, the garage, the stupid rental car they share back to the hotel. He notices it everywhere.

At first, it’s comforting, feel so familiar then, it starts to hurt. Because Lando knows how this story ends. He’s lived it. He’s watched love curdle into shouting, promises burn into ash, and the scent bond that once made him feel safe become a prison he couldn’t breathe in.

He still wakes some nights with the memory of it his ex’s scent thick in the air, sharp with anger, the baby inside him flinching from every raised voice.

He swore he’d never let anyone that close again. Never let his scent open up like that again and yet one quiet afternoon at the track, when Oscar passes him a bottle of water and their fingers brush, Lando feels it.

A flicker. A warmth curling under his skin, soft and terrifying. He looks up too fast, stepping back as if burned. Oscar blinks, startled. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando says quickly, voice tight. “Just—long day.”

He doesn’t notice that his scent shifts, faintly no longer hollow, but trembling, cautious, like something trying to wake. Oscar notices and it takes everything in him not to reach out, not to ruin whatever fragile trust Lando’s built to survive.

It’s harmless, he tells himself just kindness but the ache in his chest says otherwise. It feels like wanting something he’s not allowed to have and when he exhales, the air smells faintly of something he hasn’t felt in years like warmth, and life, the beginning of spring. He turns off the lamp before it can grow stronger.

The garage is quiet long after midnight. Most of the team’s gone back to the hotel, the echo of laughter and footsteps fading into the still air. Only the hum of cooling engines remains that soft, metallic whisper of a day that never really ends.

Oscar’s still there, leaning against the pit wall, scrolling idly through his telemetry data. He’s about to pack up when he hears it, not not a noise exactly, but a shift in the air.

A small, unsteady breath then another. He looks up. At the far corner of the garage, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment crates, Lando’s sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His hands are trembling. His eyes are unfocused.

Oscar freezes. “Lando?”

Lando doesn’t respond. His breaths come quick and shallow, chest rising too fast. His scent usually quiet, neutral is scattered now, thin and broken, sharp with fear.

Oscar’s instincts flare instantly not with dominance, but alarm. He moves slowly. “Hey. Hey, it’s me.”

Nothing. Lando’s gaze is somewhere far away caught in the kind of memory that hurts to breathe through. Oscar kneels a few feet away, careful not to close the distance. “You’re safe, Lando. You’re here, yeah? McLaren garage jusg us.”

Still nothing. Lando’s fingers dig into the fabric of his overalls, trying to ground himself but every inhale sounds like it burns. Oscar’s throat tightens. He wants to reach out, but he knows — knows — that touch isn’t what Lando needs right now.

So instead, he sits down. Right there on the cold concrete floor, not too close, not too far. And he breathes. Slow, even. In through his nose, out through his mouth.

One breath then another and with each exhale, his scent shifts into calm and steady, not yet claiming or even pushing but just there.

Lando’s breaths start to falter. Then, slowly, they begin to follow the same rhythm ragged at first, then steadier. His trembling eases.

Minutes pass. The silence grows soft instead of sharp. Finally, Lando blinks once, twice and the world slides back into focus. The garage. The floor, and Oscar. He swallows hard, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” Oscar says quietly. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Lando stares at him, dazed, the aftershocks still running through his body. “I thought—it just—I smelled—I remembered him. My ex. The night we—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching.

Oscar’s heart aches. “You don’t have to explain. You’re safe now.”

Lando looks down at his shaking hands. “I hate this. I thought I was over it.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be,” Oscar says softly. “You just have to keep going.”

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of their breathing. Then Lando exhales, long and slow, the last of the panic leaving with it.

He glances sideways. “You… didn’t touch me.”

Oscar nods. “Didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Lando studies him the steady eyes, the calm scent, the way he doesn’t move closer even now. Something shifts inside him. Not sharp like fear, but soft, unfamiliar.

“You didn’t try to fix me either,” Lando says quietly.

Oscar gives a faint, tired smile. “Didn’t think you needed fixing.”

And that’s what breaks him, in the gentlest way.

Lando lets out a shaky breath, pressing a hand over his chest. For the first time in years, the air doesn’t feel heavy.

Oscar stays beside him until his breathing evens completely. No demands. No questions. Just quiet. Just safety.

When they finally stand, the night’s gone still again.

Lando looks at him, eyes soft but uncertain. “Oscar?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Oscar shrugs, but his smile is warm. “Anytime.”

Lando hesitates, then adds, barely a whisper, “You make it easy to breathe again.”

Oscar’s heart stumbles. He doesn’t answer just lets his scent say what words can’t: you’re safe. you’re not alone. And for the first time since everything fell apart, Lando believes it.

Morning slips quietly into the McLaren factory, golden through the windows, humming with the familiar rhythm of people settling in. The scent of burnt coffee, engine oil, and tired laughter fills the engineering bay — another ordinary day in a job that never really ends.

Lando walks in a little later than usual. His eyes still shadowed from lack of sleep, but his shoulders lighter. There’s a steadiness in the way he moves, like he’s finally breathing without flinching.

Oscar notices immediately. Of course he does. He's halfway through a conversation with a mechanic when Lando laughs. It's soft and brief, but it carries across the room all the same. Oscar doesn't realize he's been watching until the mechanic gives him a light nudge.

"You good, mate?"

Oscar blinks and tears his eyes away. "Yeah," he says. "Fine."

Lando drops his bag at the workstation beside him, greeting everyone with that small, crooked smile that never quite hides the exhaustion. When he finally looks up, Oscar’s already watching.

“Morning,” Oscar says gently.

“Morning,” Lando echoes, voice lighter than last night.

He catches the concern still written all over Oscar’s face and huffs a little laugh. “You can stop staring. I’m okay.”

Oscar tilts his head, unconvinced. “Sure?” Lando nods. “Yeah. Slept. Ate breakfast. Did the normal human thing.” He grins, and it’s teasing enough to make Oscar’s shoulders ease.

“Good,” Oscar says, lips curving. “Because I wasn’t sure if I had to drag you to the cafeteria myself.” Lando smirks. “You’re too nice for your own good.” “Occupational hazard,” Oscar murmurs.

They fall into work easily after that, reviewing setup notes, adjusting data sheets, debating telemetry graphs. But between the numbers and chatter, Oscar keeps glancing at him, quiet checks like clockwork.

Lando catches him once and laughs under his breath. “You can relax, Piastri. No panic attacks today.”

Oscar looks embarrassed. “Just making sure.”

“I know,” Lando says softly, meeting his eyes. “And… thanks. For last night.”

Oscar’s reply is simple: “Anytime.”

Lando nods, smiling then seems to remember something. “Actually, you made Theo’s night too.”

That catches Oscar off guard. “What do you mean?”

Lando unlocks his phone, swiping through his gallery until he finds the image. He turns the screen toward Oscar a slightly blurry screenshot from a video call.

Theo’s holding up a printed photo, the kind snapped from a race weekend. Oscar in his race suit, helmet under his arm, standing beside the car. Theo’s grinning, curls wild, the kangaroo plush tucked under one arm.

“He wouldn’t stop showing me this,” Lando says with a helpless laugh. “He saw your race on TV yesterday and then made Mum print the photo. Kept pointing at it, saying ‘Ossah!’ over and over.”

Oscar’s breath catches. “He—he said my name?”

“Well, sort of,” Lando teases. “More like… Ossah. But we’ll count it.”

Oscar laughs, and it’s the softest sound Lando’s heard from him something honest and boyish. “That’s—wow. That’s… that’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” Lando says, and there’s pride in his voice, not just for Theo but for what that moment means. “He doesn’t talk much. But he tried. Because of you.”

Oscar swallows hard, eyes still on the photo. “He’s amazing.”

“He is,” Lando agrees quietly. “And he really likes you, you know.”

Oscar looks up. “Yeah?”

Lando nods, lips twitching into a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. He doesn’t usually warm up to people that fast. Guess you’re special.”

Oscar feels the warmth bloom deep in his ches too big, too fast and has to look away before it shows on his face. “I’m the one who’s lucky, I think.”

Lando chuckles softly before turning back to his laptop, pretending to focus on the graphs. But the scent drifting across the table betrays him. He's beginning to trust again, and Oscar takes it in as though it's the rarest thing he's ever been given.

Saturday mornings were supposed to be simple. Coffee in a travel mug, Theo humming softly in the back seat, the quiet rhythm of tires over asphalt. Lando tried to keep life as routine as possible. The steadier their days were, the easier Theo seemed to breathe.

Oscar had flown back to Australia a few days ago for his mum's birthday. He'd mentioned it in the MTC break room without thinking twice, and somehow that made it feel more intimate than a carefully chosen confession.

“Mum’s birthday. Haven’t been home in months,” he’d said with that shy little grin and Lando had smiled back, meaning it when he said, “She’s lucky to have you.”

Now it was just him and Theo again. The car smelled faintly like sugar and vanilla from Theo’s snack bar, sunlight flickering through the window. Theo kicked his legs quietly, clutching the same kangaroo plush Oscar had given him weeks ago.

“You ready, bug?” Lando asked at a stoplight, glancing at him through the mirror. Theo nodded, curls bouncing, eyes half-drowsy.

The drive to the clinic was short. Lando parked near the back, the familiar grey building standing against the late morning sky. For once, everything seemed to be going right. Theo was calm, they were on time, and Lando let himself believe the appointment might be easy.

Then a voice he hadn't wanted to hear again called his name, “...Lando?” The voice froze him mid-step. He turned, and every muscle in his body tensed.

Luke.

Still tall, still smug, carrying himself with the same sharp, polished confidence of an alpha who had always believed the world owed him something. Theo's biological parent but that was where the connection ended.

Luke’s lips curled into something cruelly nostalgic. “Well, well. Never thought we’d cross paths again.”

Lando’s jaw locked. “Fuck off, Luke.”

He moved without thinking, stepping slightly in front of Theo as every omega instinct urged him to protect his child. Luke’s eyes flicked down to the small boy half-hidden behind Lando’s leg. Theo had gone completely still, clutching his plush tight, eyes wide with fear. His small hands trembled.

Luke laughed softly, that familiar sneer curling at the corner of his mouth. “So that’s him. The little mistake that ruined everything.”

“Don’t you dare,” Lando hissed.

But Luke wasn't listening. His expression changed the moment he caught Lando's scent. The smug smile faded, replaced first by confusion, then by cold recognition. He stepped closer. “Wait. What is that smell?”

Lando froze as Luke leaned in, sniffing the air around him, around Theo. His eyes widened, a dark growl curling from his chest. “Huh. Already settled to another alpha? Didn’t take you long, did it?”

Lando blinked, confusion slicing through his anger. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Luke laughed bitterly. “Don’t play dumb, Lando. I can smell it all over you. You, and—” his eyes darted to Theo, “—him. Someone’s claimed you both.”

Lando's stomach dropped. He couldn't smell what Luke had picked up—omegas rarely noticed lingering scent markers unless they were looking for them but he knew exactly what Luke had realized.

Oscar. The realization came slowly, terrifyingly. The late nights at the garage. The calm scent that had grounded him when panic clawed through his chest. The steady, quiet presence that always made Theo relax.

Oscar's scent lingered on him, warm and familiar, faint like sun-warmed linen and smoke had seeped into his skin, his clothes, his home. And apparently, Luke could smell it.

He wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or something deeper that made his throat tighten. “Get out of my way,” Lando said coldly. “You don’t get to talk to us.”

Luke scoffed, stepping back. “Whatever you say. Just don’t go crying again when your new alpha gets bored too.”

Lando’s vision blurred for a second, maybe anger, or grief, or shame, all mixing into something heavy but then a soft tug at his sleeve brought him back.

His son was clinging to him, curls trembling, eyes glassy. “Hey,” Lando murmured, crouching down, blocking Luke completely from view. “Hey, look at me.”

Theo’s lip quivered. “Dada…” he whispered, small and hoarse.

It was barely a sound. But it was a word. Lando’s breath hitched, his throat closing. He pulled Theo close, burying his face in those curls that smelled faintly of baby shampoo and something else — that subtle, grounding trace of Oscar.

Luke’s car door slammed behind them, finally gone.

Lando stayed there in the parking lot, holding his boy tight, breathing in that quiet scent of safety that didn’t belong to Luke. It belonged to someone who had never demanded, never shouted, never hurt. Someone who just stayed.

The house was unusually quiet by the time they got home. Theo had fallen asleep almost immediately, still clutching the kangaroo plush with one small hand wrapped around its soft ear. Lando tucked him into bed, pressed a kiss to his curls, and lingered for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest before quietly leaving the room.

He should have gone to bed too. Instead, he cleaned a kitchen that didn't need cleaning, wiped the same counter three times, opened his phone, closed it, then opened it again. Oscar's name sat at the top of his messages. It was late in Australia probably already morning and Lando wasn't even sure why he wanted to call. Nothing had happened that couldn't wait. He just wanted to hear Oscar's voice. Before he could change his mind, he tapped the call button.

The dial tone buzzed once, twice, then— “Lando?”

Oscar’s voice came through, rough with sleep but warm, steady the kind of sound that hit something deep inside Lando’s chest.

“Hey,” Lando whispered, suddenly unsure. “Sorry, I—didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Oscar said softly. “I was awake. You okay?”

Lando hesitated. His throat felt tight. “Yeah. I just… wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—” he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “For being you, I guess. For… being kind. You don’t even realize how much that means.”

There was a pause on the other end, a rustle of sheets. “Lando,” Oscar murmured carefully, “what happened?”

Lando froze. He tried to laugh it off. “Nothing, really just—one of those days.” But his voice broke halfway through the sentence, and that was all it took.

Oscar knew the sound of Lando coming apart. He'd heard it once before in the garage, when the weight of the past had become more than Lando could carry. “Hey, hey,” Oscar said quietly, all alert now. “You’re safe. Just breathe, okay?”

Lando pressed his hand against the counter, knuckles white. His voice shook. “I saw him, Oscar. My ex. At Theo’s clinic.”

A beat of silence. Then Oscar’s voice, lower now. “Luke?”

Lando’s breath came out sharp. “Yeah.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing,” Lando said quickly, though the tremor in his tone betrayed him. “He just—said things. Looked at Theo. Said horrible things. And then—” he choked, swallowing hard. “He said he could smell someone else on me. That Theo smelled like another alpha. I didn’t— I didn’t even realize until he said it.”

Oscar stayed silent, listening. The way he always did.

Lando rubbed his face, tears threatening. “It was you, wasn’t it?” he whispered. “Your scent. You’ve been around us so much that… that it stuck.”

“Maybe,” Oscar admitted softly. “I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t—”

“I know.” Lando’s voice cracked again. “I know you didn’t. It’s just… when he said it, I didn’t feel angry. I felt—safe. And that scared me more than anything.”

Oscar’s breath hitched faintly.

Lando exhaled, trembling. “Because every time I trusted an alpha, I got hurt. But you… you’re different. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

For a moment, there was only silence the soft sound of Lando’s shaky breathing and Oscar’s quiet presence on the other end.

Then Oscar said, gently, “You don’t have to do anything, Lando. Not tonight. Not ever, unless you want to. You just… breathe. Take care of Theo. Let me worry about the rest.”

Something in Lando broke open then not in pain, but in relief. “Okay,” he whispered, voice small. “Okay.”

Oscar’s tone softened even more. “You did good today. You protected him. You always do.”

Lando closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the counter, letting the words wash over him. “You really should be asleep right now.”

“Can’t,” Oscar said quietly. “Not when you sound like this.”

A quiet laugh slipped from Lando tired but real. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Oscar said with a smile in his voice. “But I’ll stay on the phone till you calm down. Deal?”

Lando hesitated, then whispered, “Deal.”

Minutes passed without another word. They stayed on the line, listening to each other's breathing, the silence between them no longer uncomfortable. By the time Lando drifted off against the couch, his phone still resting in his hand, the weight he'd been carrying didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.

The knock came just as Lando was trying to convince Theo that pasta couldn’t be eaten cold straight from the fridge. Theo disagreed wholeheartedly, clutching the spoon like a sword.

Lando sighed, scooping the bowl away before his son could make a bigger mess. “Okay, truce,” he said gently, brushing curls from Theo’s forehead. “We’ll warm it up later, yeah?”

Theo blinked solemnly before giving a small nod and a quiet hum of agreement. A moment later, three familiar knocks echoed through the apartment, and Lando felt his chest tighten before he even reached for the door.

He wiped his damp hands on a dish towel as he crossed the room, Theo padding after him with the kangaroo plush dragging behind by one floppy leg. The moment Lando pulled the door open, the hallway light fell across the man waiting outside—a suitcase in one hand, a hoodie creased from travel, curls slightly tousled, and tired eyes that softened the instant they found him.

Oscar.

For a heartbeat, Lando just stood there, frozen. “You’re back.”

Oscar smiled softly. “Yeah. Got in early. Zak told me to rest, but I figured I’d… stop by.”

“You just got off a fourteen-hour flight,” Lando said, exasperated and fond all at once.

Oscar shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.”

And then, from somewhere below them a quiet gasp. Theo had peeked out from behind Lando’s leg, green eyes wide, little fingers clutching the plush tighter. Then, without warning, he ran.

Straight toward Oscar.

Oscar barely had time to drop his suitcase before he was catching a small, warm weight against his chest, Theo wrapping his arms around his neck, silent but sure.

Theo’s curls brushed his jaw, the faintest sound escaping his lips a tiny “Ossah.”

Oscar froze. Then he smiled, soft and almost shy, holding him steady. “Hey, buddy. Missed you too.”

Lando stood in the doorway, heart twisting. He’d never seen Theo move that fast for anyone before. Not even his parents.

Theo usually needed time—quiet introductions, space to observe but now he was settled easily against Oscar, like he’d been waiting for him all week.

And maybe, Lando thought, maybe he had. Oscar straightened slightly, still balancing Theo on his hip, and glanced around. “So this is home?”

Lando blinked, then realized he was still standing there, flustered. “Oh—yeah. Sorry. Come in.”

The apartment was small but lived-in a cozy two-bedroom tucked near Woking, with toys scattered across the rug and a wall covered in Theo’s drawings. Crayon suns, stick figures, messy swirls of color.

Lando’s laptop still open on the kitchen table, surrounded by empty mugs and half-folded laundry. Oscar smiled at the sight, setting his bag quietly near the couch. “You weren’t kidding when you said he owns the place.”

Lando huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I just pay the rent.”

Theo tugged Oscar’s hoodie, pointing toward a colorful stack of toy cars by the window. “Oh,” Oscar said softly. “You want to show me?”

Theo nodded, then squirmed down from his arms and padded off, stopping halfway to glance back, as if making sure Oscar was following.

Oscar shot Lando a small grin before following Theo to the floor, sitting cross-legged beside the mess of toys.

Lando leaned against the kitchen counter, just… watching. Theo handing Oscar a bright red car his favorite one. Oscar pretending to inspect it seriously, murmuring something that made Theo’s shoulders shake in a silent giggle.

The room smelled like dinner and home and something new — faint but familiar, Oscar’s scent lingering under it all. Lando hadn’t realized how quiet the flat had been until now.

He watched Theo crawl closer, small hands on Oscar’s sleeve, eyes lit up in that rare, precious way. And it hit him hard that maybe Theo didn’t just need words to connect. Maybe he needed this. A steady presence. Someone who made the air feel safe to breathe.

Oscar looked up from the carpet, meeting Lando’s gaze across the room. Neither of them said a word. But the air between them said everything.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the neighboring buildings, the living room had transformed into a battlefield of toys. Plastic cars lined up in parade rows, puzzle pieces everywhere, one lone dinosaur balancing heroically on a sofa cushion.

Theo had dragged Oscar through all of it — showing every toy, every drawing, every carefully stacked block tower with the solemn pride of a curator giving a private tour.

“And this one?” Oscar asked, holding up a toy plane with one missing wing.

Theo nodded, curls bouncing, eyes bright. He didn’t say a word, but the tiny smile tugging at his lips was answer enough. Lando watched from the kitchen, arms crossed loosely, pretending to tidy up but really just watching his chest warm, throat tight.

Theo hadn’t looked this alive in weeks. Oscar sat cross-legged on the rug, completely at ease in the chaos, matching Theo’s quiet energy perfectly. 

Theo crawled closer again, plopping himself right next to Oscar. His little hands reached out, tugging gently at Oscar’s sleeve until he got his attention. “Hey, bud,” Oscar murmured, smiling.

Theo hesitated, then slowly, carefully, climbed into Oscar’s lap. He shifted once, twice until his back rested against Oscar’s chest, tiny curls brushing under his chin.

Lando froze mid-step. Oscar didn’t move. He just let Theo find his place. His hand instinctively hovered for a second unsure if it was okay until Theo reached for it himself.

Small fingers wrapped around Oscar’s palm, turning it over. Theo sniffed softly, nose wrinkling a little, and then pressed his cheek against Oscar’s shoulder, breathing him in.

The motion was instinctual. Something only omegas and their pups did when they trusted. When they felt safe. 

Oscar felt it like a pulse in his chest. The air shifted around them, faint but real the soft mingling of scents that carried comfort. Theo’s light, innocent scent twined with his own steady one, and beneath it all, something else began to stir.

Lando’s scent. For months, it had been quiet muted, hollow, like ash after rain. Now, slowly, it rose, hesitant but warm, the faint sweetness of burnt sugar and static, something alive.

Oscar’s heart stuttered. He looked up, and Lando was standing in the doorway, frozen halfway between the kitchen and living room. His eyes wide, his lips parted slightly, as if he felt it too the soft bloom of connection he hadn’t known he still could feel.

Theo yawned, nestling closer into Oscar’s chest, small hand still clutching his. His eyes were half-lidded now, sleepy and safe.

Oscar smiled faintly, brushing a curl off Theo’s forehead. His voice was low, barely above a whisper. “You happy now, hm?”

Theo made a small, content sound, nuzzling closer the kind of quiet joy that didn’t need words.

Lando’s breath hitched, just barely audible. The scene was simple a child half-asleep, an alpha holding him, the air humming with the scent of belonging and yet it felt monumental.

Because this, Lando realized, was the first time his home didn’t smell empty. It smelled like life. He swallowed hard and turned toward the kitchen, blinking fast. “Dinner’s ready,” he murmured, voice catching slightly.

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his chin gently against Theo’s curls and whispered, more to himself than anyone, “Yeah. I think it is.”

Dinner was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt heavy but not uncomfortable just full. Theo had eaten well, tiny spoon clattering on his bowl, head bobbing with sleep by the end of it. Now he was tucked in bed, one hand curled around his kangaroo plush, the faint hum of his baby monitor filling the silence of the small flat.

Lando and Oscar sat across from each other at the kitchen table, two plates mostly empty, the soft yellow light flickering above them.

It should have been easy a peaceful evening after a long day. But Lando’s chest wouldn’t stop tightening.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, eyes half-tired but still gentle. He’d already helped clean up without asking, stacking dishes, wiping the counter, pretending not to notice the way Lando’s hands shook when their fingers brushed.

Now, in the quiet aftermath, Lando finally said it. “You shouldn’t make it this easy.”

Oscar blinked. “Make what easy?”

Lando’s voice cracked. “Feeling safe again.”

The air seemed to still, Oscar didn’t move didn’t try to reach out, didn’t press. He just sat there, giving Lando the space he needed. Lando hated that kindness. Hated that it made him want to cry.

“I keep waiting,” Lando whispered, eyes on his hands. “Waiting for you to snap, or shout, or just leave. That’s what alphas do, isn’t it? They leave when it gets hard.”

Oscar’s jaw twitched, but his voice stayed soft. “I’m not them, Lando.”

Lando laughed bitterly. “I know that. You’re too good. Too calm. Too fucking kind.” He rubbed at his eyes, exhaling sharply. “You’re too good to be true.”

Oscar leaned forward a little, elbows on the table. “Lando—”

“Don’t,” Lando said quietly. “Don’t tell me it’s okay. Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Oscar said, firm but not harsh. “I’m just telling you the truth.”

Lando’s eyes flicked up, green and glassy.

“I never forced you into anything,” Oscar continued. “Not trust. Not comfort. Not whatever this is between us. If you don’t want it—if you don’t want me—you can say so. I’ll understand.”

Lando’s throat worked. He couldn’t find words.

Oscar’s voice softened again, barely above a whisper. “But if you do want it, even a little, I’ll be here. Patiently. Until you’re ready.” 

Silence stretched again. Lando looked down at the table the empty plates, the water ring from Oscar’s glass, the faint scent of something warm in the air that wasn’t just dinner. His hands were trembling again.

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I’m scared to find out.”

“I know,” Oscar said. “That’s okay.”

Lando laughed weakly, shaking his head. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Oscar said, smiling faintly. “But you’re worth the effort.”

Lando’s breath hitched a small, unsteady sound. He didn’t look up. Couldn’t. He just sat there, staring at his hands, fighting the ache in his chest. And when Oscar finally stood to leave, gathering his jacket quietly, Lando didn’t stop him.

But as the door clicked shut, the scent he left behind lingered, warm and steady, and impossibly gentle wrapping around the space like a promise that didn’t need to be spoken.

And for the first time in a long while, Lando let himself believe that maybe, maybe, this time could be different.

The paddock was alive again that particular buzz of a race week morning, sunlight reflecting off garages, radios crackling, mechanics shouting tire codes.

Lando stood by the pit wall, headset slung around his neck, clipboard under one arm. The scent of fuel and asphalt already clung to his sleeves — comfortingly familiar now.

Oscar was a few feet away, in his fire suit, going over notes with his engineer. Calm as ever.

Until Lando called out, “Hey, wait a sec.”

Oscar turned, helmet tucked under his arm. “Yeah?”

Lando stepped closer, a small smile tugging at his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out — a tiny square sticker, slightly crinkled, colors bright and uneven like it’d been drawn by a child.

It was a cartoon car with wide round wheels, and next to it, three stick figures: one tall, one small, one with wild curls that looked suspiciously like his own. Over it, scrawled letters in messy crayon font, “Go Fast!! – Theo”

Oscar blinked. His lips parted, and for a second, he looked completely unguarded.

“I, uh…” Lando rubbed the back of his neck. “Theo made that for you. Well, he drew it, I just… printed it on sticker paper.”

Oscar stared at it, then at Lando. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “He said you need ‘speed magic.’ Guess that’s toddler logic.”

Oscar smiled — slow, wide, real. “Then I guess I shouldn’t waste it.”

He peeled the backing carefully and pressed the sticker onto the back of his helmet, right below the visor hinge. It looked a little ridiculous next to the sponsor logos and sleek carbon finish — bright crayon chaos on glossy perfection.

But somehow, it fit.

“There,” Oscar said, stepping back so Lando could see. “Properly blessed by Theo.”

Lando grinned, a genuine one that reached his eyes. “Good luck, Oscar.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said quietly. Then, softer, “For more than the sticker.”

For a moment, they just stood there two alphas revving engines, engineers shouting numbers, but the world felt small and still.

Then Oscar slipped his helmet on, the faint shimmer of the sticker catching the sunlight, and gave a little nod before heading toward the grid.

Lando stayed behind, watching as the car rolled out. And maybe it was nothing just a sticker, a race, another Sunday.

But when Oscar crossed the line hours later, P2 and glowing under the podium lights, the camera caught it that bright, crayon-colored patch on his helmet.

And back home, Theo squealed when he saw it on TV, patting the screen and shouting a garbled, delighted sound that Lando hadn’t heard before.

A sound close to a word. Maybe “Oscar.”

The McLaren Technology Centre buzzed with its usual rhythm—whirring machinery, distant laughter, the sharp hum of simulators. But to Oscar, everything felt a little… off.

He hadn’t seen Lando all morning. No quiet “morning” in the simulator bay, no warm scent drifting faintly through the air.

By noon, he was checking every corner under the pretense of fetching telemetry notes. When he still found nothing, he finally turned to James, one of the senior engineers.

“Hey, have you seen Lando today?”

James looked up from his laptop. “No, mate. He called in sick, I think. Said his kid’s not well.”

Oscar froze. “Theo?”

“Yeah.” James shrugged. “Said the boy’s got a fever. Probably caught something from daycare or the clinic. Poor bloke.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. He pulled out his phone and, sure enough, there it was a message timestamped 3:04 am.

Lando: I think I can’t come to HQ today. Theo has a fever. And me too.

Sorry, will catch up with the sim data later.

Short. Tired. The kind of message written with shaking fingers and half-closed eyes.

Oscar sat there a moment longer, staring at the screen, thumb hovering like he could reach through the text and fix everything from there.

By the time his sim session wrapped up that evening, he’d already made up his mind.

He didn’t even stop to think if it was appropriate if he’d be intruding or if Lando would want company. He just… went.

Rain had started to fall lightly by the time he parked outside Lando’s flat. The building was modest, a bit old, lights glowing faintly behind drawn curtains.

He took a deep breath, balancing the grocery bag he’d grabbed on the way — soup, medicine, juice boxes with little cartoon cars and knocked softly.

It took a moment before he heard footsteps, a faint cough, and then the door opened.

Lando stood there in a hoodie two sizes too big, hair messy, cheeks flushed with exhaustion. His scent, faint lavender and worn paper was dulled by the haze of fever.

“Oscar?” His voice rasped, soft and disbelieving. “What are you doing here?”

“You texted at three in the morning.” Oscar lifted the grocery bag, trying to smile. “I figured you didn’t mean that as a challenge.”

Lando blinked, then huffed a small, weak laugh. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Too late,” Oscar said, stepping in before Lando could argue.

The flat was warm, dim, and cluttered with life, toys scattered near the sofa, a blanket fort half-collapsed near the TV. Theo’s scent lingered faintly in the air: milk, crayons, something sweet.

And there, curled up on the couch with flushed cheeks, was Theo himself. He stirred when Oscar came closer, blinking sleepy green eyes.

“Hey, champ,” Oscar murmured, crouching beside him. “Rough day, huh?”

Theo didn’t answer — just reached a small, fever-warm hand toward him, curling his fingers around Oscar’s sleeve.

Something in Oscar’s chest melted. He turned back to Lando, voice gentler now.

“Go rest. I’ll heat the soup. You look like you’ll fall over if you breathe too hard.”

Lando hesitated, guilt flickering in his tired eyes but he didn’t argue and later, when the soup simmered quietly and Theo slept curled between them on the couch, Oscar stayed. Not because he had to. But because the thought of leaving them alone in that quiet, feverish night felt unbearable.

The apartment was quiet now the kind of quiet that hums low and deep after a long, messy day. The rain outside had turned into a steady drizzle, tapping softly against the window. The air still smelled faintly of chamomile tea and fever balm.

Oscar stood by the bedroom doorway, half-lit by the glow of a small nightlight shaped like a moon.

Lando lay on the bed, one arm draped protectively over Theo’s small frame. Both were finally asleep — their breathing even, the tension that had clung to Lando’s shoulders now melted into the sheets.

Oscar moved closer, careful not to wake them. He reached out, brushing the back of his hand against Theo’s forehead.

Warm, but no longer burning. The fever had broken.

A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slipped out quietly.

He lingered a moment longer, adjusting the blanket, tucking it around Theo’s shoulders the way Lando had shown him earlier. Then he whispered, almost to himself, “Good job, little guy.”

The soft light caught on Theo’s curls, wild and golden even in sleep. Something in Oscar’s chest tightened — protective, fierce, unexplainable.

When he finally stepped out, he left the door open just enough to hear if either of them stirred.

He dropped onto the couch, exhaustion catching up all at once. The cushions smelled faintly of crayons, fabric softener, and Lando’s quiet scent. He hadn’t planned to stay, but the thought of leaving now, of walking away from that soft warmth down the hall, felt wrong.

So he didn’t. He just sat there in the dark, head tilted back, eyes closing. The hum of the rain blurred into the background — until, hours later, something shifted.

A faint rustle. Small footsteps padding across the carpet.

Oscar blinked awake, the clock on the wall reading 2:07 am.

There, by the edge of the couch, stood Theo a tiny silhouette wrapped in a blanket patterned with cartoon cars. His curls stuck up in every direction, eyes wide and sleepy.

“Hey, buddy,” Oscar whispered, voice rough from sleep. “You okay?”

Theo didn’t answer, just blinked at him, holding the blanket tighter. Then, without a sound, he climbed up onto the couch and plopped down beside Oscar — small legs curling under him.

Oscar froze, unsure for a second but Theo shuffled closer, pressing his head against Oscar’s side, still holding the edge of the blanket between his little fingers.

“Oh,” Oscar breathed out, soft, surprised. “You want to sleep here?”

Theo made a quiet hum the smallest sound, but enough.

Oscar smiled, barely moving as he reached for the blanket, tucking it over both of them. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Couch camp it is.”

Theo yawned, a tiny puff of air against his shirt, and within minutes, he was asleep again breathing steady, warm against Oscar’s chest.

Oscar looked down at him, one hand hovering uncertainly before resting lightly against Theo’s back.

Somewhere, deep in the stillness of that small flat, something in him settled too. He wasn’t supposed to fit into this picture. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But with Theo’s little hand still fisted in his sleeve and Lando’s faint scent drifting from the next room…it felt like he already had.

Lando woke to silence. That rare, heavy kind of silence that didn’t belong in his mornings. Usually, by now, he’d hear Theo’s soft rustles — the shuffle of blankets, the little hum he made before padding out to find his toys.

But the bed beside him was empty. The small, warm shape that should’ve been there—gone.

His chest seized instantly. “Theo?” he called softly, sitting up. No answer.

Panic hit like a jolt of cold water. He threw the blanket aside, stumbling from the bedroom barefoot. “Theo—?”

He didn’t even get the second syllable out before he saw it.

There, on the couch framed in the soft grey of early morning Theo was curled up, small as ever, blanket half slipped off his shoulder. And beneath him, leaning awkwardly against the armrest, was Oscar.

Theo’s head rose and fell with Oscar’s breathing, his tiny hand still fisted in the fabric of Oscar’s hoodie.

Lando froze. His panic drained all at once, replaced by something quieter something he couldn’t name.

Oscar was still asleep, mouth slightly parted, the faintest crease between his brows. His arm rested protectively around Theo, steady even in sleep.

The sight made something deep inside Lando ache.

He moved closer on instinct, careful not to make a sound. He crouched by the couch, fingers brushing Theo’s hair, then gently pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Cool. Fever gone.

Relief left him weak. He exhaled slowly, letting his hand linger a moment longer. “You scared me, bug,” he whispered.

Theo stirred but didn’t wake. His little hand twitched, tightening slightly on Oscar’s hoodie — like he was afraid the alpha might disappear if he let go.

And then Oscar shifted too, eyes fluttering open. It took him a second to focus, his gaze hazy before it landed on Lando crouched beside him. “…Hey,” Oscar rasped, voice still soft with sleep.

“Hey,” Lando whispered back. “You… uh, you had company, I see.”

Oscar blinked, glancing down at the sleeping toddler sprawled across his chest. He smiled, a small, sheepish, tender. “Yeah. Couch invasion around two a.m. I didn’t have the heart to move him.”

Lando’s throat tightened. “He—he never does that,” he murmured, eyes flicking between them. “Theo’s… cautious. Even with my parents.”

Oscar looked up at him then, eyes steady, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s a good kid. Just needed to feel safe.”

Lando swallowed hard, his chest tight with too many things at once—exhaustion, gratitude, confusion, a pull he was trying desperately not to name.

He stood slowly, brushing a hand through his hair. “You could’ve gone home last night, you know.”

“I know.” Oscar smiled faintly, gaze still soft. “Didn’t want to.”

And for a moment just a moment Lando couldn’t look away.

The morning light filtered in, golden and fragile, catching in the edges of Oscar’s hair, in the quiet safety of that small flat that suddenly felt too full, too warm, too much.

He turned away before his heart could trip over itself. “Coffee,” he muttered. “You want some?”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Only if you’re making it.”

Lando didn’t answer, but his lips curved despite himself as he moved toward the kitchen. Behind him, Theo stirred again soft, content and Oscar settled him a little closer, hand gentle on his back.

The sound of rain had stopped. The world outside was waking. And maybe just maybe something else was, too.

The scent of coffee filled the small flat — warm, rich, comforting. Sunlight crept slowly through the thin curtains, catching in the dust motes that floated lazily above the kitchen counter.

Lando leaned against the counter, mug in hand, watching as Oscar tried — really tried — to slice strawberries for Theo’s cereal without making a mess.

“You know,” Lando teased, hiding a grin behind his cup, “you’re supposed to cut them, not mash them.”

Oscar laughed under his breath, looking down at the uneven pile of strawberries. “Hey, I’m a driver, not a chef. My precision only works above 200 kph.”

From the living room, Theo giggled — the quiet kind, small but unmistakable. It made both of them freeze, like the world had suddenly stopped spinning for that sound.

Lando turned, eyes wide. “You heard that?”

Oscar’s answering smile was soft. “Yeah. That’s new, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Lando whispered, voice tight with something fragile. “That’s really new.”

Theo was sitting cross-legged on the couch, clutching his blanket, bright eyes watching them like they were the morning’s best show. His fever was gone, cheeks pink again, curls wild.

Lando brought his bowl over and set it in front of him. “Here you go, champ.”

Theo reached for the spoon obediently, though his eyes never left Oscar, who was wiping his hands with a paper towel.

“I’ll, uh, go wash my face,” Oscar said, glancing toward the small bathroom down the hall. “Look human again before I scare him.”

Lando snorted. “Pretty sure nothing about you scares him, Osc.”

But the moment Oscar disappeared into the hallway, the shift was instant.

Theo’s spoon clattered against the bowl. His eyes darted toward the empty space Oscar had been standing in just seconds ago. His lip trembled — once, twice — and then a sharp, broken cry escaped him.

Lando nearly dropped his coffee.

“Theo, hey—hey, it’s okay!” He rushed forward, kneeling in front of him. “Bug, what’s wrong? You’re okay, yeah? It’s just me.”

Theo shook his head, small hands reaching out toward the hallway, eyes filling with tears. His cries grew louder — raw, panicked, the kind that made Lando’s stomach twist.

“Theo, sweetheart, I’m here, I’m right here—”

But it didn’t stop. His little chest hitched, breath coming in shaky bursts.

Then the bathroom door opened.

Oscar stepped out, hair damp, towel slung around his neck — and the crying stopped instantly.

Theo hiccupped once, turned toward the sound, and then — without hesitation — slid off the couch and ran straight for him.

Oscar blinked, startled, as Theo collided gently with his knees, small arms wrapping around his legs.

“Whoa—hey, hey,” Oscar murmured, dropping to a crouch. “What’s this?”

Theo didn’t answer just buried his face against Oscar’s chest, the small, uneven breaths finally starting to steady. Lando stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, heart twisting at the sight.

Oscar looked up at him, quiet, questioning.

“I…” Lando swallowed hard. “He’s never done that before. Not even with me. Not like that.”

Oscar’s eyes softened, one hand rubbing soothing circles over Theo’s back. “Maybe he just needed someone else to hold onto for a bit.”

Theo mumbled something small a sound too low to be words, but it made Oscar smile.

He didn’t know it yet, but it was the same little hum Theo made when he was safe.

And Lando standing there, mug forgotten in his hand realized that for the first time in years, his son wasn’t the only one learning how to trust again.

Theo was still trembling.

Small, uneven shivers ran through his little body as Oscar lifted him gently, settling onto the couch with Theo perched on his lap. One small hand clung desperately to the fabric of Oscar’s hoodie, knuckles white from the grip.

The other fisted into the sleeve like letting go would make Oscar disappear again.

Oscar held him steady, one arm secure around Theo’s back, the other resting lightly over his tiny shoulder. His scent — warm, steady, grounding — filled the room, a protective blanket wrapping around them both.

“Hey, hey…” Oscar murmured softly, lowering his voice into something slow and soothing. “It’s okay, bud. I’m right here.”

Theo hiccupped, still shaking, face pressed against Oscar’s chest. That alone nearly broke Lando.

He stood a few steps away, watching helplessly — torn between wanting to scoop his son into his arms and realizing… Theo wasn’t reaching for him this time.

Oscar stroked Theo’s curls, gentle and careful.

“Listen, buddy” he whispered, keeping his tone warm. “I just went to the bathroom, yeah? Just for a minute. Everyone goes to the bathroom. Even you.”

Theo sniffled, head lifting just enough to look at Oscar with those huge, glassy green eyes — so like Lando’s it hurt.

Oscar brushed a tear from his cheek with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, slow and sincere. “If I need to go somewhere, I’ll always tell you first. Promise.”

Theo’s breath hitched. His little hands tightened on Oscar’s hoodie again like the world was tilting and Oscar was the only steady thing to hold on to.

Oscar leaned his forehead gently against Theo’s. “See?” he murmured. “Still here.”

Lando’s throat closed. He’d seen Theo frightened before overstimulated, overwhelmed, or hurt. But this… this was different. This was panic at the thought of losing someone.

Someone he’d only known a few weeks and Oscar who didn’t even hesitate held Theo like he’d been doing it his whole life.  “You okay, bug?” Lando asked quietly, stepping closer.

Theo didn’t look at him. He stayed pressed into Oscar’s chest, tiny body slowly relaxing as Oscar continued to murmur reassurance into his hair.

And when Oscar spoke again, voice barely above a breath, it wasn’t just for Theo. "Not leaving," he whispered. "Not him...not you."

Lando's heart skipped. He looked away before Oscar could see his expression.

It wasn't just Theo who believed him anymore. Lando felt it too, in the quiet way his instincts no longer urged him to pull back every time Oscar stepped close.

When he looked up again, Oscar was already watching him. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.

Theo reached out with one small hand and rested it against Oscar's cheek.

Oscar smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned into the touch. "Yeah, bud," he whispered. "I've got you."

Lando watched them in silence. Somewhere along the way, without either of them noticing, Oscar had become part of their lives.

Theo refused to leave Oscar’s lap. Even after the tears dried, even once his breathing steadied, even after Oscar gently asked, “Want to sit with Daddy for breakfast?”

Theo shook his head hard and held on tighter. So Oscar stayed where he was — sitting at the small kitchen table, Theo perched on his thighs, wrapped in a blanket like a tiny koala determined never to let go again.

Lando tried he really tried not to stare. But something about the sight made his chest feel strange. Too full. Too warm. Too hopeful. Too dangerous.

He flipped a pancake on the stove purely so he didn’t have to watch the way Theo was absentmindedly playing with the drawstring on Oscar’s hoodie, like it was the most fascinating toy in the universe.

“All right,” Lando exhaled, sliding a plate in front of Oscar. “Let's continue eat again.” Theo blinked up at the food… then at Oscar… then at the strawberries Oscar had cut. He picked up a piece — a small, soft slice — held it up with both hands…and gently pressed it against Oscar’s mouth.

Oscar blinked in surprise. Across the table, Lando did the same.

Theo simply waited. A small smile tugged at Oscar's lips as he accepted the strawberry from Theo's fingers. "Thanks, buddy," he said, taking an exaggerated bite. "That's the best one."

Theo's shoulders relaxed immediately, his eyes lighting up as the last traces of tears faded from his cheeks.

Lando couldn't help laughing. "Look at you," he said, shaking his head. "Feeding him before you even eat."

“Clearly I’ve been adopted,” Oscar murmured, still smiling at Theo, who now leaned proudly against his chest. Then Lando slid a pancake onto Oscar’s plate.

Not onto the stack. Right onto his plate. Oscar blinked at it… then at Lando.

Lando tried to act normal, but his ears went warm. “It’s, um…” He cleared his throat. “It’s my best one.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of flirting?” Lando sputtered. “Wh—what? No! It’s— it’s— Theo likes when people eat my pancakes!”

Theo nodded like this was the solemn truth of the universe. Oscar bit back a grin. “Well,” he said lightly, cutting a piece of pancake one-handed while keeping Theo steady with the other arm, “then I’m honored.”

Lando sank into the chair across from them, but the sight did something to him, Oscar eating the pancake. Theo leaning fully against him

Oscar’s scent soft and gentle around them both Theo offering him another strawberry like a ritual. Oscar accepting it every time

It felt domestic. Way too domestic. Like a family breakfast in a life Lando had never dared to imagine. Oscar glanced up unexpectedly, catching Lando staring. Their eyes locked. Something fragile and tender sparked between them.

Oscar didn’t look away. Instead, he nudged the edge of his plate toward Lando with a small smile. “Want a bite?” Lando’s heart did something terribly inconvenient. He snorted, trying to cover it. “I’m not eating your pancake. That one’s charity.”

“It’s a very emotional pancake,” Oscar said solemnly. “Passed down with deep meaning.”

Theo giggled, a tiny, breathy sound and shoved another strawberry at Oscar like he was feeding a baby bird.

Oscar took it.  Lando pressed a hand over his face. “I’m losing to you. He’s fully ditched me.” Oscar leaned forward slightly, voice low but warm. “He didn’t ditch you,” he said. “He just… found room for someone else.”

Lando’s breath caught. And for the first time, the idea didn’t terrify him.

Rain tapped lightly at the window. The TV hummed with low-volume news coverage, nothing loud, nothing exciting — just background noise settling into the flat like it belonged there.

Oscar sat on the couch, fingers curled around a warm mug Lando had forced into his hands (“You look half-dead, Osc, drink it before you fall over.”). He’d meant to sip it. 

Instead, he couldn’t stop staring at the scene on the floor. Theo lay sprawled on his tummy on the rug, tiny cars lined neatly in front of him. Lando lay beside him, one arm folded under his head, curls messy, shirt riding up a little as he helped Theo make a “race track” with pillows.

Theo reached for a car and quietly rolled it toward Lando.

Lando rolled it back. Theo’s eyes crinkled in a silent smile. They did it again. And again.

So simple. So soft. So theirs.

Oscar should’ve looked away. He didn’t.  This picture — this softness — wasn’t his to have. Wasn’t his to want. Yet he did.

God, he did.

He swallowed hard, trying to refocus on the news anchors droning about weather patterns — anything other than the warm ache in his chest. But his eyes drifted back immediately.

And he saw it then, impossibly clear:

Two omegas. Alone. Surviving in a world built for people bigger, louder, more dominant.

Lando standing alone in this flat, paying bills on his own, doing therapy appointments, late-night fevers, panic attacks, endless work hours. Theo learning to navigate a world that didn’t understand him, quietly clinging to the only parent he’d ever really known.

No alpha. No partner. No backup.

Just them. Together. A tiny pack of two, tightly held together by necessity and love.

Oscar’s stomach twisted — a sharp, uncomfortable knot of emotion.

He hated that image. Hated the thought of them struggling alone. Hated imagining Lando — bright, beautiful, exhausted Lando — holding Theo close in the dark when things got too heavy, whispering to him that they’d be okay even when he wasn’t sure of it himself.

He hated that reality existed for them at all.

Because now…

Now that he’d stepped into this space — this home — Oscar couldn’t see them that way anymore.

Not a lonely omega and a child.

A family.  A family looking at him with the same wide green eyes — identical in color, identical in quiet hope. And he realized: They weren’t relying on him because they were weak. They were relying on him because they trusted him.

Theo glanced up from the rug first. His small eyes landed on Oscar. Then he crawled a little closer to Lando, nudged one of the toy cars, and pointed it toward the couch — toward Oscar.

“Yeah?” Lando asked, smiling gently and brushing Theo’s mess of curls. “You want him to play too?” Theo looked at Oscar again and gave the tiniest nod.

And that was it — the final hit. The one that sank deep, right into the vulnerable part of Oscar’s chest.

Lando sat up a little, curls falling over his forehead, green eyes soft as he looked up at Oscar from the floor.  “Come here,” Lando said quietly, patting the rug beside him. “It’s— it’s okay.”

Oscar blinked. His throat tightened.  Something in the air shifted.

Warmer. Closer. Dangerously tender.

He set his mug down, exhaled once, and stood. Every step felt heavier than it should. He lowered himself onto the rug, right beside Lando, legs folding awkwardly under him.

Theo climbed straight into his lap — again — like he belonged there.

Oscar swallowed.

Lando watched him, expression unreadable but gentle.

And Oscar realized, This wasn’t a picture he “wasn’t meant to see.”

This was a picture they were quietly… slowly… letting him become part of.

The rain hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had grown steadier a soft constant whisper against the windows that made the whole flat feel smaller, quieter, warmer.

Theo had drifted off on Oscar’s lap, tiny fist tangled in the fabric of Oscar’s shirt. Lando had whispered a soft, “Got him,” and carefully scooped the boy into his arms.

Oscar watched them disappear down the hallway—Lando’s silhouette, gentle and sure, Theo curled against him like he’d done it a thousand times. And maybe he had.

A few minutes later, Lando reappeared. His steps were quieter now, shoulders lower, curls damp from where Theo had drooled on him. He shut the bedroom door with a soft click.

The living room felt different with just the two of them, more fragile. Lando hesitated for a moment, then crossed the room and sat down beside Oscar on the couch. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that Oscar could feel the warmth radiating off him.

They sat like that. Listening to the rain. Listening to their own breathing.

Oscar turned his head first. Lando was staring at his hands thumbnail worrying a tiny tear in his jeans, jaw tense like he was bracing for something he didn’t know how to name.

“Lan…” Oscar said softly.

Lando flinched but only slightly. Enough to tell Oscar he’d been deep in his own head, the kind of place that hurt to stay in too long.

Oscar kept his voice low, careful, the way you speak to someone holding something breakable. “You know I’m here…” he paused, searching for the right words, “not to waste your time. Right?”

Lando blinked. His eyes lifted, wide, startled like he hadn’t expected anything gentle. Anything real. “What?” Lando whispered.

Oscar could’ve reached for him. He didn’t. He kept his hands to himself, open, visible, safe. “I’m not here because I’m bored,” Oscar said quietly. “I’m not here because I pity you or because I feel obligated.”

Lando’s throat bobbed, Oscar leaned back slightly, giving him even more space. “I’m here because I want to be,” he continued. “Because you and Theo matter. Because you’re… important to me.”

Lando sucked in a tiny breath, the kind you only take when your heart stings unexpectedly. “Osc…” he murmured, eyes shining with something caught between hope and fear.

Oscar shook his head softly, reassuring. “You don’t have to say anything. Not now.”

Lando pressed his lips together, trembling.

“I just—” Oscar exhaled slowly. “I need you to understand something.” Lando nodded, barely.

Oscar’s eyes softened, voice dropping even quieter. “I will wait,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready. However long that takes.”

Lando closed his eyes.  Like it hurt. Like it healed. Like he’d been holding himself together with both hands for months and suddenly… he didn’t have to.

His voice when it came out was almost a breath. “Oscar… don’t— don’t promise things like that.”

“Why not?” Oscar asked gently.

“Because I might believe you,” Lando whispered.

Oscar’s chest tightened. But he didn’t move closer. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t cross the boundary Lando wasn’t ready for. He simply said, steady and warm, “Good. I want you to.”

Lando opened his eyes, looked at him really looked and Oscar felt it, that fragile, blooming thing between them that had been growing quietly, stubbornly, long before he ever acknowledged it.

Lando’s voice was even softer now. “You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered. Oscar smiled —small, aching, sincere. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’ll take care of you while I do.”

Lando let out a shaky laugh, half-choked, half-relieved. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t move away. He just sat there beside Oscar, letting the moment be what it was without fear, without rushing, without running.

Rain tapping the windows. Two people finally facing the truth, They were already falling just waiting for the courage to land.