Chapter Text
"Bunny."
Fingers skim over his ear. Oscar flinches hard. He turns rapidly, coming face to face with the man, his brows drawn tight.
"Please don't." It comes out sharper than he intends, but the hand withdraws slowly.
"Have you got a tail too?"
Oscar backs up a step. The music of the club pounds through his body.
"I'm not an animal, mate." He rubs roughly at the backs of his hands. His eyes dart around the room before training back on the man in front of him, searching carefully.
"Os-car."
A hand on his upper back, right between his shoulder blades.
Oscar's eyes widen.
"You're tense," Carlos remarks. The man who touched his ears disappears in a half-second flat. Suddenly, Oscar is caught in limbo between cool relief and hot terror. His senses are confused enough for Carlos's hand to slip up to the back of his neck, fingers running through the start of his hair.
Oscar's knees threaten to give out from under him.
"They are always touching, no?" Carlos's hand is firm and warm. "I'm used to it." He sounds entirely at ease, but his ears are pinned back against his head, and his tail, ever moving, has wrapped itself around his leg.
Oscar shakes his head, only once back and forth, and bites hard on the inside of his mouth. His blood is rushing through his body, heart slamming in his chest, over and over. Every atom in his body tells him to flee, to make a run for it before the big bad fox can catch him.
The crowd parts, and Oscar gets a glimpse of the man from before. He swallows, his throat full of bile. Carlos's ear flicks back before sticking low against his hair again.
Oscar is frozen.
"They won't bother you when I'm around."
Finally, Carlos's tail begins to move again, swishing lightly back and forth, brushing against Oscar's leg. His ears soften too, popping back up.
Oscar can't convince his feet to move as Carlos shifts closer to him.
"Even Charles gets tired of it." Carlos's voice is low, more of a rumble in the back of his throat.
Oscar has seen the way Charles's ears twitch and flick back, and his face falls flat and annoyed, unblinking, and his tail drops like dead weight. He's seen his nose twitch uncomfortably, and his lips curl up to show hints of his teeth.
"They are just not being used to um—" he gestures with the hand that is not on Oscar's body. "How do you say?"
Oscar's teeth press together so hard his jaw aches.
"Um…"
He lets out a long sound as he searches, then stops.
"Prey."
Oscar's entire body jolts, his ears pushing flat back against his head, his short tail tucked up against himself, hidden beneath his trousers. He yanks himself free of Carlos, stumbling a healthy step away. Frantically, he glances side to side, searching the room for an escape before meeting Carlos's eyes.
There's that look.
Oscar's hands come up to wrap around himself.
Carlos's ears lift a fraction, attention sharpening.
"You're safe with me." It doesn't come out as reassurance, but as a promise. Oscar doesn't feel safe. "They won't bother you."
Oscar can't help but think it is more like they won't challenge him, won't interrupt his hunt.
Realistically, Oscar knows that Carlos wouldn't eat him, of course not, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to.
That's how he looks at Oscar anyway, like something to eat. It's why Oscar can't stomach being in his presence for two minutes without freezing and fleeing. His rabbit instincts are well aware that Oscar is much, much further down on the food chain from Carlos.
Carlos's brow quirks downward, assessing. Something in Oscar's brain screams at him to start running now, before Carlos can try anything, and get a good head start.
"Am I—" Carlos reaches out to touch the side of Oscar's forearm, and Oscar snatches it back toward himself.
"I—I have to go," he stutters, eyes wild. Then, he darts into the crowd. They swallow him whole as Carlos's hand closes around air.
His eyes follow Oscar's position as he disappears, his ears, mostly black, save for the rust color at the bases, prick forward, listening. But the space is far too loud for him to hear much of anything, and all the noise blends together into one overwhelming symphony.
"Mierda," he mutters, glancing down at his feet.
»»»
One of Charles's fang teeth hangs over his lip. The only bit visible is a tiny, sharp triangle of bright white. It is only ever the one that sometimes sticks out, mostly when Charles has recently eaten, and he is thinking hard enough that he does not notice it.
His tail is wrapped around Max's arm, its tip flicking.
Max's fingers are in his hair, scratching slowly at his scalp between his ears, which shift and twitch in response to the touch.
"I am only trying to be nice," Carlos remarks, sitting in a chair across from them.
Max lets out a skeptical hum, and Charles glances at him.
"You are very physical," Charles points out, and when he shuts his mouth again, his tooth goes back to the right spot. "I'm not normally with him. Maybe he doesn't like it."
Carlos considers his hand on Oscar's back, and against his neck, and toying with his hair. He looks between Charles and Max.
"Lando is physical with him."
Max lets out a little scoff.
"Yeah, mate, but that's Lando, no?"
Carlos's brow narrows. Interestingly enough, Charles's driver's room smells entirely of Max.
"What are you meaning?" he asks. Max tilts his head a touch, pressing his lips together.
"He's his teammate," he points out. "They've probably done training camps together, and they do lots of media together, and Lando invites him out every weekend. I mean, they're much closer than he is with anyone else."
Carlos's nose twitches, and one ear flicks back.
"So maybe he's fine with Lando being physical," Max thinks.
"But not me?"
Charles shrugs.
"Lando is also…" he brings up two fingers mimicking a pinch. Carlos squints.
"What?"
"Um…" Charles drags it out. "Non-threatening."
Carlos frowns.
"I'm threatening?"
Charles glances at Max, grimacing.
"Of course not," Charles settles on, Max hand stills, threading his fingers in Charles's hair. "Not to me. Not to the other grid hybrids," Ollie and Kimi, raccoon and wolf hybrids. "Or anyone else. Just maybe," he pauses to gnaw on his bottom lip. "Just maybe to Oscar."
Carlos lets out a little sigh.
"Why would he find me threatening?" he questions. Max looks away from Carlos. "We can barely fight for points."
Max's laugh comes entirely out of the back of his throat at Carlos's confusion. He tries to subdue it, but of course, there is still sound. Charles jabs him in the shoulder, and Max glances at him, making a quiet protesting sound.
It is silent for a moment, as Carlos tries to wrap his head around it.
"Carlos, you're really just trying to be nice to him?" Charles asks, brows raised. Carlos looks away as he answers, interlocking his fingers together in his lap.
He hesitates a beat too long, avoiding eye contact. Then, finally, he hums.
"Of course, hybrid to hybrid. You are knowing. He is still not comfortable as a hybrid on the grid. I only want to help."
Charles lets a breath out his nose, folding his arms over his chest.
"Then maybe it is best for you to talk to him about it."
»»»
Lando is spread out like a starfish on his carpet as Oscar comes out of the shower, dropping his fireproofs in the laundry bin and pulling on a shirt and pants.
Lando likes Oscar's driver's room more than his own; the dim lighting and nicer furniture are all part of the accommodations Oscar receives. He seemed thrilled when he found out that Oscar was a hybrid, which makes Oscar think this is recurring behavior. All of Lando's past teammates have been hybrids.
The phone screen light illuminates Lando's face.
"D'ya think Charles and Max are like… fucking?"
Oscar raises an eyebrow, running a towel through his hair.
"Mate, I know they're fucking," he says. Lando puts his phone aside and meets Oscar's eyes, his gaze wide. Oscar sits on the couch, towel still limply over his head.
"Max is into that?"
Oscar's arms cross over his chest as he squints.
"Into what?"
"The cat thing." Oscar blinks a few times, biting on the inside of his mouth. "Mate, I knew he was freaky." He says it like it's some triumphant discovery.
Regardless of his intent, it makes Oscar's throat sour. As if it would be weird for a non-hybrid to want to be with him in that way, like it would solely be some kind of sexual thing. If he says something, Lando will tell him it's not what he meant, but that doesn't change how it sounds. He swallows and then shrugs.
"They've known each other forever, right?" Oscar points out. He reaches up to scratch at the base of one of his ears. "Max is still obsessed with all the same stuff he's been obsessed with since he was a kid. Charles included."
Technically, Charles has a girlfriend, but it's well known among the hybrids on the grid that it's a mutually agreed status boost. Carlos's ex-girlfriend and Charles's fake girlfriend have been fucking for months.
Lando's lips spread up, brightly.
"You're doing the thing, mate." Oscar's brows press together as he tries to understand. One of his ears has drooped downward. The other is still up. "I Googled it, and it's called helicopter ears. I think it's the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life, Osc."
Oscar rolls his eyes, reaching up to try to force his ear back up.
"I really can't take a picture?" He drags it out long and whiny.
Apart from his close family, Lando is the only one who has ever seen his ears do this. Out in public, he is always toeing the line of stressed too far to be comfortable enough. But a warm shower, dim lighting, and the furniture arranged around the room in the right way, and a good second free practice have all helped him feel safe and relaxed.
Oscar's brow narrows, a warning.
"No."
Lando sighs.
"Fine." It's all light and breathy.
He picks up his phone again, scrolling for a while longer as Oscar zones out.
"Mate," Lando waves his hand back and forth in Oscar's direction.
"Hm?" Oscar doesn't even look.
"Do you have a tail? I don't think I've ever seen."
Oscar's eyes snap to him, his nose twitching.
"Yeah, of course," he says, quietly.
"Is it like… a pom-pom?"
"That's a common misconception."
Lando shrugs, not really caring.
"Carlos's tail is crazy. When he gets excited, I swear that things a safety hazard."
Just at the mention of Carlos, Oscar tenses, and his ear pops up again, alert.
Lando lets out a huff of a laugh, and Oscar glances away, his cheeks flushing pink.
"What's your thing with Carlos?"
"My thing?" Oscar feigns innocence nearly as well as Charles acts.
Lando puts his phone on the ground, sitting up properly so he can meet Oscar's eyes.
"Every time he gets done talking to you, he looks like… like a kicked dog or something."
It's so embarrassing that Oscar can't even say it out loud.
"There's nothing with me and Carlos," Oscar insists. He feels his tail twitch against the inside of his boxers. "If he has something going on, that's his thing. He hasn't told me anything about it."
Lando tilts his head to the side, his expression proof of how poor Oscar is at lying.
"Okay," he drags the word out long. "But you know that Carlos is like the sweetest guy ever, right?" Yes, Oscar has heard that a few times. "Like, he's the most harmless guy on the grid. He's nicer and more thoughtful than me."
Oscar's laugh stays behind his lips.
Lando clutches at nonexistent pearls, like he's grievously offended.
"Rude." Oscar reaches for his bag. "He's totally enamored with you, by the way, for a reason I'm still trying to understand because I'm pretty sure that you're an asshole."
That's exactly what Oscar is concerned about, Carlos's obscure enchantment. It makes no sense, and it comes from nowhere. Oscar thinks it's a worthy cover for Carlos's interest in making him his next meal.
Oscar doesn't respond, not looking at Lando, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulders.
"Got dinner with Mark," he says. Lando groans.
"You're just deflecting," he insists, collapsing back down onto the floor. He can stay here all night for all Oscar cares. He walks to the doorway.
"I'm not deflecting." He says it sharply, so there is no allowed argument. He pulls open the door. "There's nothing with Carlos." He raises his brows, trying to make it sound certain. "See you tomorrow, mate."
"See you," Lando chirps.
After Oscar shuts the door, he leans up against it, his head falling back lightly against it. He huffs, pulling his cap on over his half-dry hair and guiding his ears through the holes before setting off.
»»»
"You're strung up today, kid," Mark comments, mixing the salmon into his salad. His second set of ears, barely visible above his hair, remains stationary, hardly ever moving.
Oscar glances away to hide the twitch of his eye.
Mark tilts his head to the side.
"Practice went well," he gestures vaguely with his fork in hand, taking a bite. "I know last race was not great, but you're definitely the fastest here. You just have to keep it clean, you have this one. Don't stress about it."
Mark takes a bite of the salad as Oscar rearranges the greens on his plate.
"Besides, I've heard whispers about McLaren wanting to do another contract extension for you, so—"
Oscar tunes him out, glancing down at his plate, taking a tentative bite.
"Osco." Mark waves his hand in front of Oscar's face. Oscar looks up to meet his eyes. Mark's entire expression is a touch turned down. "Talk to me."
"I'm happy with the results today," he says, but it sounds flat and unexcited.
Mark blinks at him.
"Right, mate, what happened?"
Oscar sighs.
"Do you think I'm cute, Mark?"
Mark's entire expression changes, and a few half sounds come out of his mouth.
"Sorry?"
Oscar skewers a piece of spinach on his fork.
"Do you think I'm cute?" The way he repeats it is so bland that it doesn't aid Mark's understanding much. "Am I cute? Do you think people think that I'm cute?" He huffs. "If you asked someone, at random, in the paddock to describe me with one word, do you think they would say 'cute'?"
Mark stares at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape. Then the corners of his lips stretch up, and he lets out a breath of a laugh.
"Phew, I thought we were about to have a very difficult conversation."
Oscar squints. A second passes, and then his jaw drops.
"Oh. No—um—no, not like that." His cheeks burn.
"You think that people think you're cute?" Mark asks. Oscar is grateful he's brought them back around to the main point. He glances away and his brows furrow as he tries to explain.
"Some people say that," he explains. He grabs another forkful. "They call me bunny. They try to touch my ears."
"Some people?" Mark's tone matures. Oscar gestures with his loaded fork.
"Fans, media…" he spends a second deciding whether to continue, "some of the mechanics, the drivers."
Mark's lips press together. For a moment, a rare one, he seems to really stick out as a hybrid, something about his posture reads so firmly far from human, much closer to bear.
He seems to examine Oscar's face carefully.
"Just your ears?"
Oscar nods, and Mark takes a breath.
"I'll talk to Stella about it," he decides. It's best this way. Stella will talk to the team, and he'll bring it to the union. Oscar doesn't mind the mechanics knowing the complaint came from him, but he'd rather the drivers not. He's more than happy to let George Russell navigate the subject at the next union meeting.
"Okay," Oscar agrees, timidly. He shuts his eyes for a few long seconds, considering whether or not he is willing to embarrass himself by bringing up the other topic. "You're a bear hybrid."
Mark raises an eyebrow.
"Mhm."
"So have you—uh—" At the edges of his lips, it sounds so insane. "Have you ever wanted to eat another hybrid?"
"Eat another hybrid?"
Oscar nods sharply.
"Oscar…" Mark drags it out like he is about to reprimand Oscar. "Do you want to eat someone?"
"No!" Oscar yelps. "No, mate, obviously not."
Oscar has a hard enough time stomaching the protein required to stay fit as a driver.
"Okay." His brows are raised, and his lips pressed upward toward his nose.
"There's just—someone—" he says the word strongly, "That's a hybrid of something that normally eats rabbits. And I keep getting this feeling that…" Oscar groans, putting his face in his hands.
"That they want to eat you?"
"Right," he says, not looking up again.
"Do I know them?"
Oscar shakes his head so fast that it gives Mark his answer.
"No, definitely not." Mark's lips press together, and Oscar gets the horrifying sensation that he's talking to a parent. Ever since Mark became his manager, he's felt a bit like that. "I know they won't eat me, but it seems like they want to."
Mark seems to be trying very hard to take him seriously, not to laugh at Oscar's belief that someone he knows wants to eat him.
Oscar sighs.
"Every time he—they look at me, my instincts make me freeze up."
"Is it possible that you're misinterpreting how they're looking at you?" He puts emphasis to show that he's caught Oscar's slip-up.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe he's interested in—" Mark stops abruptly, clearing his throat. His cheeks tinge pink, and he blinks a few times, shallowly shaking his head. "I don't know. I've never heard of that."
Oscar swallows, trying to read his expression.
"Maybe you should ask him," Mark suggests. "Talk to him."
Clearly. The problem isn't that Oscar doesn't know what to do, but that he can't get within two meters of Carlos without his stomach dropping and his pulse racing, let alone get that close and manage to articulate his concerns.
He sighs, rubbing at his temples.
"I'll figure it out," he mutters.
»»»
Mark is wrong because Oscar only takes second in the race.
His tail aches, as it does after a long time spent in the car. It will never be something he complains about, though, because he needs to ensure it looks like he belongs, like anyone similar to him belongs. He needs to make sure that everyone understands that it's not only non-hybrids and predator hybrids who can have spots on the grid. That he's earned his place, and he refuses to be babied because of the looks of his ears and tail.
"Good race," Charles coos, dimples present.
His hand touches the side of Oscar's forearm. Charles's tail is swishing back and forth behind him rapidly, his ears, beige and black-striped, sticking straight up, following every little noise.
"Congrats on the win."
Charles's suit has a zipper for his tail, because after he gets out of the car, he prefers to set it free. Oscar's tail is much too short for that to be appropriate.
Oscar does not hug his team members because they know the touch bothers him, but they still show up to cheer him on, and he always dedicates time to talk to them and clasp a few hands before heading back.
Max is in line behind him to get weighed, and Charles is in front.
"I thought you had me for a bit there, mate," Charles remarks to Oscar. They fought a lot toward the start of the race before it mellowed out.
"I thought I did too," Oscar admits, scratching at the back of his neck.
"It was the early pit stop, no?" Max says, from behind him. Oscar glances back and then nods.
"Yeah, if we'd pitted three or four laps later, I would've at least been close enough to try an overtake."
"I had the same problem, but it was Lando," Max tells him, but he's gazing at Charles. He reaches up to run his fingers through his hair above his ear. "Hard to avoid the dirty air on this track."
"Definitely."
Max reaches out to put a hand on Charles's shoulder, stepping past Oscar for a second to mutter something into his ear. A laugh tumbles from between Charles's lips, and Max's hand ruffles Charles's hair, both of his ears forcibly pressing back beneath Max's palm before popping back up.
Oscar could never.
"Don't you think, Oscar?"
Oscar blinks a few times. He got so distracted that he missed Max turning back to him.
"What?"
Charles glances at Max, and Max lets out a huff of a laugh.
"I said, Carlos had a good race, don't you think?"
Oscar's lips part.
"Um—" he glances around, trying to think of where Carlos placed. Carlos is being interviewed by Nico Rosberg.
Max raises an eyebrow.
"He came back from twelfth…" he says it slowly, like he is trying to help Oscar remember. "Took third right on the last lap."
Charles and Oscar were both eight seconds ahead of the pack, so of course Oscar didn't notice. Sometimes he wonders if Max is more focused on driving his race or using the track screens to stay up to date on everyone else's.
"Must've been good," he comments, as Charles steps up to get weighed. He turns back to look at Oscar.
"All hybrid podium," he remarks.
Max has cut him in line.
Oscar squints for a second. He knows Max hasn't done it on purpose, so it's not worth mentioning.
"You coming out with us tonight, mate?" Max asks after he steps onto the scale. Oscar shrugs.
"I guess." Max gives him a smile. "With Lando?"
Max nods.
"Charles will text you."
He definitely will not. Charles is organizationally terrible. More likely, Lando will come knocking on his hotel room door.
"Um, okay."
Charles has already started his interview by the time Oscar finishes weighing, so he stands off to the side, sipping water.
"Nice drive."
Somehow, Carlos has silently snuck up beside him.
It's been a full week since he's spoken to Carlos. A week since he darted at that club, disappearing back to his hotel, dimming the lights, and violently shaking.
Nice drive? How does he respond to that?
Oscar settles for a sharp nod.
"You too," he mumbles. He takes a careful step away from Carlos and rubs at the backs of his hands with his fingertips.
Oscar's body goes cold as Carlos's eyes follow his movements. One of Carlos's ears flicks forward, and his tail goes entirely still as he reduces Oscar to little patterns, to the angles, to his possible exit routes—to a rabbit being watched by a fox.
"Dirty air was bad." Carlos scratches one of his ears as he talks.
Oscar doesn't even hear himself respond.
"George put up a good fight," Carlos adds.
Oscar swallows thickly, cursing his instincts. Carlos is being friendly, and they're in public. Even if Carlos has hidden alternative intentions, Oscar needs to be polite back.
"He pitted late?" Oscar manages.
Carlos's lips turn up, and his tail does a swish just from hearing Oscar's words. He shakes his head.
"Lando and Max held me up for a while, fighting each other."
Carlos takes a sip of his water and then pushes his ears back to get his team cap on. It takes a second of adjusting, but both his ears pop up again, out from the holes.
"It will not be long, hm?" Carlos remarks.
Oscar blinks a few times rapidly. It won't be long? It won't be long until what?
He shifts on his feet.
Carlos squints, gazing at him and tilting his head to the side.
"Until you win a championship," he clarifies. Oscar lets out a rough breath. "You're P2, after this, no? You are more than good enough." Carlos grins at him, and Oscar's eyes snap down to his teeth. His lip quivers. "It will be very soon."
Oscar swallows thickly. Any gratitude he tries to muster up dies in his throat.
"Caco asked me the other day, and I was saying that you're the one to watch."
Oscar's cheeks flood. He watches Carlos's eyes sweep over them, and then Carlos's tail swishes again.
"Thank you," Oscar stutters. His hands are shaking, and his tail is tucked between his legs.
Mark's voice bangs around against the insides of his head.
Talk to him.
Carlos's intentions seem pure, even if his eyes do not. He's not retiring any time soon, and neither is Oscar, so they're definitely going to run into each other each weekend. Oscar needs to get used to being around him. And the longer he remains in a conversation with Carlos, the more words he manages to get out, the less frozen he feels.
So maybe… maybe Oscar just needs to face his fears.
He watches Carlos carefully while he's talking, not taking any of it in, eyes lingering on his face, his lips, and then his hands as he gestures limply. The idea hits Oscar so quickly, his eyelashes flutter as he blinks rapidly.
"Oscar? Where did you go?"
Exposure therapy.
Carlos waves his hand in front of Oscar's face.
"Os-car. They are calling for you."
Oscar squints and notices the media prompters gesturing for him to come over. He glances at Carlos, his heart still furiously pounding, his nerves still zapping around his body. Carlos tilts his head to the side.
"Right." It comes out all pitchy. "Right, thanks." He forces himself to start moving, unable even to turn his back on Carlos. He puts a hand up. "See you around, mate."
Carlos's brow twitches down, like he's a little confused, and his lips spread up again, bright, his tail moving back and forth behind him unceasingly.
"Yes, I'll see you," he chirps, putting an awkward hand up and then clasping it into a fist when he decides it's not quite what he wants. "Mate."