Chapter Text
“Ugh.”
Oscar watched Lando rub a hand over his face and then grimace as he realised all it had really done was wipe sweat and dirt into his eyes.
“Thought you’d have worked out not to do that by now.”
Lando stuck his tongue out. “Shut up, m’tired.” He leant back against the mirrored wall of the lift they were in and closed his eyes.
Oscar’s lips twitched as he held back a soft smile and he shoved his hands into his hoodie, and watched as the door slid closed, and the lift jerked into movement.
It had been an unusually long day, between the actual race and everything that went with it, the media circus, their post race debriefing and then some sort of cock up with the hotel. Or transport to the hotel. Oscar wasn’t entirely clear. All he knew is that it was closing in on eleven PM and neither of them had managed to find time to shower and both of them were well past wanting to be horizontal and unconscious.
“Least you’re home tomorrow.”
“Mmmm,” Lando grunted quietly in response. “Small miracles. Just enough time in my own flat to remember how nice it feels.”
Oscar huffed. “Better than another hotel.”
Lando had a place in the UK, Oscar didn’t. Lando got to sleep in his own bed for those races. Oscar didn’t.
Lando cracked his eyes open. “Keep telling you to stop pissing about in hotels and use my guest room.”
“And I keep telling you I don’t plan to add any more fuel to the internet rumours.”
Lando rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else and Oscar’s eyes flicked back to the little digital display proudly counting out floor numbers as they ascended.
Or at least it had been.
It wasn’t moving now, showing a static number fifteen instead.
Oscar frowned at it and waited a few seconds, nothing changed and slowly he realised he couldn’t feel it moving either.
He reached out and pressed their floor again.
Nothing.
Then he tried the open door button.
Also nothing.
“Uh.” Oscar felt his heart beat pick up rapidly as he jammed the open door button and the large number twenty seven again and nothing happened.
“Wha’s wrong?” Lando’s voice sounded strangely loud.
“I— ” Oscar took a deep breath and tried to make his heart stop hammering at his ribs. “The lift’s stopped,” he forced out.
“Ugh, great,” Lando muttered. “Sounds about right.”
Oscar pressed his jaw together and nodded. That was a normal reaction to this situation, mild annoyance and irritation. Not whatever the hell Oscar’s body was doing now.
Oscar opened his mouth slightly, trying to inhale as deeply and as quietly as possible before he turned around to Lando. “Be a funny story for PR tomorrow, yeah?” He forced a smile onto his face and felt the way it didn’t sit quite right.
Lando frowned at him. “You alright, mate?”
“Yes,” Oscar said, way too quickly.
Lando didn’t look like he believed him. He didn’t say anything though, just reached past Oscar to press the emergency button a few times until a voice crackled through the speaker. Oscar stepped back, pulling his hands out of his hoodie and grasping onto the metal bar running along the sides of the lift.
The metal was nice and cool under his fingers.
Lando was still talking to the person on the other end of the emergency line, his back towards Oscar. Oscar stared at him, frowning as he tried to focus on whatever the hell the person on the other end of the line was saying and failing.
Lando’s hoodie was too big for him.
Oscar wondered why he’d never really noticed before, the way it bunched up around his waist, caught on a belt and spilled over down his hips. The edges were rough, a little threadbare, the material faded and worn.
“Oscar.”
“Hmm?” Oscar’s eyes snapped up.
Lando wasn’t talking into the speaker anymore, he wasn’t facing away anymore either.
Lando was staring right at him, eyebrows furrowed and gaze narrowed.
“They said there was some sort of electrical problem in the hotel, just waiting on an engineer or something.”
“Right,” replied Oscar. “Cool.” He swallowed. “Seems a bit off, really, fancy hotel like this. You’d think they’d be better than that.”
Lando shrugged. “Guess things break, even for rich people.” He grinned. “We should know that right?” He waggled an eyebrow.
Oscar got it.
Car bad.
Haha.
He smiled tightly.
Lando stared at him. “Are… you okay?”
“Yep.” Oscar was aware his voice was oddly high. “Obviously, just a bit annoying isn’t it? After… you know.” He swept a hand out in front of him, not sure what exactly he was referring to and hoping that Lando filled in the blank for him.
“Right,” said Lando, looking at him dubiously. “It’s just… you’re shaking, mate.”
Oscar stared at his hand.
It was.
He shoved it back in his pocket.
“Osc—”
“Don’t,” he bit out sharply. The last thing Oscar needed was anyone getting up close and personal whilst he had a bit of a freak out about being trapped in a lift. “Just… go over there and… and ignore me.” Oscar exhaled and managed to run a hand through his hair, yanking it harshly when his fingers caught on sweaty, sticky knots and got tangled and shoving it back into his pocket.
Lando’s face twisted strangely, softening in a way Oscar had never seen before and, instead of backing away, he just stepped closer. “Oscar, mate,” Lando said, far too softly. “I’m not gonna just fuck off and ignore you while you have a panic attack.”
Oscar laughed and his fingers tightened around the bar and fisted inside his hoodie. “I am not—”
“Yeah,” Lando interrupted him. “Yeah, I think you are.”
Oscar opened his mouth to object again, even though Lando was basically correct. He wasn’t, technically, having a panic attack at this specific moment in time, but it was certainly building. The lift felt too big and too small all at the same time and his face was hot but the thought of taking his hoodie off to cool down sent shivers down Oscar’s spine. He didn’t think he could have let go of the metal hand rail if he’d tried and there was no amount of deep breathing that was going to push back the tightness in his chest and the way his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage.
He hadn’t felt like this since he was a kid.
This was stupid.
“No it’s not,” Lando said quietly. “We’re trapped in a small box and we don’t know when we’re going to get out, it’s normal to be anxious.”
“Well you seem to be just fucking fine,” Oscar spat back, flinching at how unnecessarily rude he was being.
Lando shrugged. “You should have seen me when Max’s plane hit turbulence and dropped a couple thousand feet.”
Strangely that did make Oscar feel better. The idea of Lando freaking out over a bumpy flight.
Lando grinned at him. “Yeah? That made you feel better? Prick.”
Oscar huffed, a weak half laugh that didn’t really make it out properly. “I… uh…” he trailed off and bit his lip. “It’s… um… just—” he squeezed his eyes closed and inhaled sharply.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Oscar opened his eyes again, Lando hadn’t moved, his feet were still planted firmly on the floor in the middle of the lift, halfway between Oscar and the digital display, halfway between his eyeline and the glowing red reminder that this lift wasn’t going anywhere and they were stuck in it.
“I don’t like small spaces.” Oscar pushed the words out in a rush, avoiding looking at Lando, or the closed doors, or the way the walls seemed to be tilting inwards.
Lando frowned. “Mate, you strap yourself into a F1 car every week.”
Oscar looked at him, and at the open confusion on his face, and almost laughed. Of all the responses he’d expected, that hadn’t really been one of them. Oscar supposed Lando had a point, sort of, F1 driver seats weren’t exactly big. They couldn’t be. Every millimeter counted.
“That’s different,” he said. “It’s just… like… I’m not stuck in that. I can leave.”
Lando opened his mouth and then closed it again, apparently thinking better of whatever he was going to say. Oscar could guess. He’d had the same conversation with himself and his mother a few times.
The way that statement was patently pretty false the second anything went wrong.
How something going wrong wasn’t exactly an unreasonable expectation given what he was doing.
“It’s different,” Oscar said again, a little more firmly.
“Okay.” Lando shrugged. “It’s different.”
Oscar closed his eyes again and gripped the rail a little tighter. The brief back and forth with Lando had actually done something to distract him and hold back the overwhelming feeling of not being able to breath or see or hear. Oscar’s face still felt too hot though, and the sticky residue of some energy drink he’d thrown down his throat before leaving the paddock now tasted awful and turned his stomach every time he swallowed.
“Do you need to sit down?”
“No,” Oscar snapped, even though yes, absolutely that would probably be a lot better than trying to make his legs stay still and hold him up.
“Well,” Lando said carefully. “I think I’m gonna sit down, been a long day, you know?”
Oscar refused to open his eyes, he could hear Lando moving around, the rustle of his clothes and the way the air shifted as the other man crossed the gap between them and slowly let out a long sigh.
“Ah, much better, been on my feet way too much.”
Oscar couldn’t help but snort a little. They’d been sitting in a car for most of the day, then sitting in the paddock, then sitting in the media pen. The last thing they’d been was on their feet.
He could see what Lando was doing though. Giving him an out, an acceptable reason to collapse onto the questionable carpet floor of the lift. Oscar knew he should take it, his fingers itched to follow. But the thought of letting go of the rail was too much, the thought of giving into this stupid, irrational, all body fear.
“It’d make me feel better if you sat with me.”
Lando’s voice was quiet, low and soft and barely there, and Oscar could hear the edge of nerves in it. The noise that rarely came out, that underlying anxiety that Lando worked really hard to hide from everyone. The fear that he was doing something wrong.
Oscar hated that he was causing that.
Perhaps a little more than he hated being trapped in this lift, because, almost against his will, his knees bent and his back slid down the side of the lift, awkward over the railing as he finally let it go and settled on the floor.
Lando bumped his shoulder. “Felt like a tit, sitting down here all alone.”
“You are a tit,” Oscar mumbled. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, both hands now shoved into his hoodie and his head tilted back against the cold metal mirror lining the walls of the lift.
“Rude.” There was no heat in Lando’s voice. “I’m a freaking delight.”
Oscar knew the correct response was to laugh, shove his teammate and make some crack about him being a nightmare to travel with, or a pain in the arse to do media with or an absolute menace to race against.
He couldn’t quite manage that thought, not with the way Lando had — somehow — managed to do what Oscar hadn’t. Calm his heart. Push the panic back enough it no longer felt like it was going to swallow him whole. Talk his body back off an edge Oscar hadn’t even realised still existed. All without making Oscar feel pathetic or handled.
Oscar let out a long breath and nudged him back lightly. “You’re alright.”
“High praise there from Piastri.” Lando deepened his voice, mocking the generic sound of every reporter or commentator they’d ever had the mispleasure of hearing talk about them.
Oscar huffed. “Fuck off.”
“Can’t,” Lando said. “Lift’s stuck.”
Oscar couldn’t stop the snort that came out, loud and ugly and way too nasal. He opened his eyes and dragged his hands out of his hoodie and wrapped his arms around his legs. “Christ.” He exhaled and pressed his chin into his knees. “Fuck. I… I just… didn’t think this was still, like, a thing.”
“It’s happened before?”
Oscar didn’t respond for a second. The idea of anyone else knowing still felt hot and horrid in his chest.
Slowly he nodded.
Lando had already seen, the damage was already done, if his teammate was going to use this against him in some way then Lando already had more than enough ammunition. Oscar couldn’t exactly say how Lando could weaponise this, but he’d learnt early on in his career that anything could be if someone wanted to enough.
Lando didn’t really seem like the type though.
He never had.
Oscar didn’t think anyone at Alpine would be sitting on the floor of a lift with him, arm and leg pressed comforting along Oscar’s, breathing quietly and softly and humming to fill the silence.
“I… uh… when I was younger—” Oscar started slowly, breaking off as his voice cracked.
“You don’t have to,” Lando said, poking one finger across the small gap between them and jabbing Oscar lightly in the arm. “It’s your shit, you don’t, like, owe me or whatever.”
Oscar swallowed. “Nah, I… um… I don’t mind,” he said, lying a little bit. “Might help.”
Lando spread his fingers out, gesturing for Oscar to continue, and Oscar tracked the movement, watching each rough skinned joint move.
“Never really liked small spaces,” Oscar said abruptly, jerking his eyes away and back up to the ceiling. “But I think it’s more about… not being able to get out, you know?” He shrugged. “Didn’t bother me too much when my sisters shoved me in mum’s blanket chest, but then they sat on it and wouldn’t get off.”
“Shit.” Lando let out a low whistle. “Gotta love sisters.”
Oscar glanced at him, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They didn’t know. They just thought the fact I wasn’t yelling at them to let me out meant I was like, biding my time or whatever.” He leant back against the wall. “They felt awful when they opened it and found me in there, crying.” He picked at a loose thread on his cuff. “Baby’s first panic attack.” Oscar laughed, trying to force it into a joke, the sound echoed hollowly around the lift and fell flat.
Lando didn’t laugh back and Oscar very pointedly didn’t turn to look at him. The last thing he needed was to see pity, or worse, sympathy over his teammates face.
“That sucks man,” Lando murmured.
Oscar felt him shift around, fidgeting a little on the floor next to him, Lando could never sit still. Lando’s shoulder pressed against him harder and the warmth of his thigh seeped through two sets of joggers, hastily slung on after stripping out of their race suits.
His knee knocked against Oscar’s and didn’t move.
It was all strangely grounding, the firm presence of his teammate pressed up as close to him as Lando could reasonably get without actually climbing into Oscar’s lap. Oscar didn’t really have time to process that thought before the lights above them flickered and dimmed.
“Shit,” Oscar exhaled and felt his heart pick up again and his neck break out in a cold sweat that trickled into his hoodie and down his spine.
The speaker on the opposite side crackled and a tinny voice flooded the lift. “We’re just switching to emergency power whilst the fault is fixed, you’ll be moving again in a few minutes.”
Oscar groaned and curled forward, forehead pressed to his knees as he tried to breathe calmly, in through his nose, out through his mouth.
Lando’s hand on his back startled him and he flinched.
“Sorry,” Lando said and withdrew it.
“No.” Oscar twisted his neck, peering across to Lando before he really thought about it. “It’s… that was—” he swallowed and stared across the tiny gap, begging Lando to understand and not to make him ask.
Lando nodded and the heavy weight of a large flat palm was pressed into Oscar’s back again.
“Fuck,” Oscar looked away again and swore into his lap. “I can’t stop thinking about how high up we are. The… the like… drop, you know?” He let out an empty echo-y laugh. “Can’t do anything about it but I can’t stop thinking about just…” Oscar made a low whoosh noise and a poor imitation of something exploding.
Lando shook a little next to him and Oscar heard the suppressed snort escape out of his mouth. “I mean, sure, that could happen.”
Oscar turned to glare at him. “Not helpful?”
Lando shrugged. “You’d prefer if I lied to you? Act like accidents never happen? Or, like, if we jumped at just the right moment we’d be okay?” He shot a knowing look at Oscar and raised an eyebrow.
Oscar just stared back.
“You don’t like being bullshitted with the car,” Lando murmured. “Figured you don’t wanna be bullshitted here.”
Strangely Lando was right, Oscar’s heart was still fluttering a little in his chest but nowhere near as bad as it had been when the light’s dropped. The residue of sweat was still sticky on the back of his neck but he no longer felt like he was going to throw up.
Oscar swallowed and rolled his jaw. “Thanks.”
Lando smiled and Oscar felt the hand on his back move slightly, Lando’s fingers digging into his skin and pressing against him just a little harder.
“You know,” Lando said quietly and a little bit hesitant. “Lift’s are very safe.”
Oscar frowned at him.
“I mean, like, there are a couple different fail safes, it’s basically impossible for them to drop.”
Oscar wasn’t really sure what to say but Lando didn’t seem to require a response. The man leant back against the wall and rested his head against it, hand still squarely on Oscar’s back, scratching it lightly.
“Each cable can fully support the lift on its own and there’s loads of them.” Lando held his hand out and held a finger up, counting. “There are mag brakes, and those fail, like, on yeah? So it’ll still stop.” He lifted another finger. “Mechanical brakes.” He lifted another finger. “And,” Lando said. “If everything really goes tits up, there’s a shit tonne of oil at the bottom to land on.”
Oscar stared at him. “You know an awful lot about lifts, mate,” he said eventually.
Lando’s cheeks flushed a strange pink colour and his eyes darted away from Oscar’s “Might have googled it whilst you had your head buried in between your knees,” he muttered, almost embarrassed.
Oscar’s heart took a swandive through his chest for an entirely different reason.
“Oh,” he said stupidly, cursing himself when Lando pressed his lips together and swallowed and looked like he actually sort of wanted the lift to drop if it meant getting out of this conversation. “No one’s ever—” Oscar stopped, throat dry. He cleared it and wet his lips. “Mostly people just tell me to get over it. Or get all weird about it.”
Lando stopped chewing on his lip and looked back at him again. “That’s a bit shit, mate,” he said quietly. “Not like you can help it.”
Oscar wasn’t sure why he was so surprised that, out of everyone, Lando would understand struggling with things you couldn’t help, things that made life harder and that people saw and judged and found you lacking for.
“Still,” Oscar said softly. “Bit pathetic, isn’t it.”
Lando rubbed at his back and Oscar couldn’t decide whether it was good or absolutely mortifying how calming he found that.
“No.”
And Oscar didn’t really know what to say to that.
Lando’s firm and quiet refusal of Oscar’s assertation and how it came without any caveats.