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The hotel room was quiet, almost too quiet after the high of the race weekend, the kind of silence that wrapped around Lando like a weighted blanket he hadn’t asked for.
He sat curled into the far corner of the plush hotel couch, one knee drawn to his chest, a cushion hugged to his stomach like a shield. The television was on, muted, flickering through post-race highlights. He’d already watched himself cross the line in P4 three times, each time the replay zoomed in on Oscar first, the winner, the brilliant, focused, composed and mentally stable teammate.
Then the slow replay of Lando’s Saturday crash, dramatic music added for flair by the broadcasters, and suddenly the tightness in his chest was back.
Oscar emerged from the ensuite in sweatpants and one of Lando’s older hoodies, still damp at the cuffs where he’d washed off the champagne. He paused when he spotted Lando’s posture, the way his boyfriend hadn’t moved in nearly ten minutes since he left to shower.
Lando didn’t look up. Just stared at the screen like it was holding something over him. Like if he blinked, it would all get worse.
The Aussie crossed the room slowly, not saying anything at first. He sat beside him, close enough to touch but waiting, because Lando in this state was delicate. Not fragile, never that, but worn. Paper-thin and stretched too tight.
Eventually, Lando broke the silence himself, voice scratchy and small. “They’re right, you know. On Twitter. I saw a clip of one of those stupid radio shows too. Apparently I can’t handle pressure, or championship, or… anything, really.”
Oscar frowned immediately, concern flashing through his eyes. “Lando—” They'd already had this discussion last season.
“I know what you’re gonna say.” Lando finally looked at him, eyes tired, red-rimmed but not wet. “That I did great. That P4 after what happened on Saturday was impressive. That I kept my head down. That I helped with strategy.”
Oscar tilted his head. “All true.”
“But it doesn’t matter, does it?” Lando said, his laugh hollow. “Because no one sees that. They just see you winning, and me bottling. Again.”
His boyfriend stayed still for a beat, then gently reached forward.
“Give me your phone.”
Lando blinked. “What?”
Oscar held out his hand. “Your phone. Now.”
“No, I—”
“You’re not arguing with me about this. You’re spiraling and you're reading bullshit written by people who wouldn’t last five seconds in your helmet. Phone. Now. We have a rule.”
Lando hesitated, visibly bristling, but then, maybe out of exhaustion or trust or both, he dug the device out from under the cushion and handed it over. Oscar turned it off completely and set it out of reach, then returned his attention fully to Lando.
“You don’t get to beat yourself up for something you’ve already survived, Lando,” he said softly. “You bounced back. You drove smart. And no one, not Twitter, not pundits, not even you, gets to take that away.”
Lando looked down again, voice almost inaudible. “It still doesn’t feel enough. Not next to you.”
Oscar’s expression softened instantly. He reached out, cupping Lando’s cheek in one hand, coaxing him to look up.
“Hey. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn us into a comparison chart,” Oscar said gently. “You and me? We’re not tally marks on a board. We’re not in a fight for who deserves more praise. We’re partners. You still love me when I mess up. I still love you when you do.”
Lando’s mouth trembled slightly. He looked like he wanted to believe it. Like part of him did believe it, but the voice in his head was still louder.
Oscar leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead and lingering there. “You’re allowed to feel disappointed. But you are not allowed to forget that I am so proud of you. Every race. Every lap. Not because of your finish position, but because I know how hard you fight to be better. You don’t give up. You care too much. That’s what makes you special.”
The Brit let out a shaky breath, the kind that made his shoulders rise and fall too fast. His eyes fluttered shut. “I wish I could see me the way you do.”
Oscar pulled him gently closer, wrapping both arms around him and burying his nose in Lando’s hair. “Until you do, I’ll keep reminding you. As many times as it takes.”
Lando’s fingers fisted in Oscar’s hoodie, clinging like a lifeline. “What would I do without you?”
“Crash on a Saturday and read too many hate tweets afterwards,” Oscar murmured against his temple.
That got a half-laugh, wet and tired. But it was a laugh.
Oscar eased them down onto the couch, tucking a blanket over Lando as he went. “Still no Luna tonight to force cuddles, so I guess it’s up to me.”
Lando hummed quietly, already nestling against him, legs tangled. “You’re warmer anyway.”
They stayed like that for a long while, wrapped together in the quiet hum of the hotel room, the only sounds the faint buzz of the air conditioning and the soft, steady cadence of their breathing. Lando hadn’t said much more after curling into Oscar, but Oscar didn’t need words to know how exhausted he was, emotionally more than physically.
He could feel it in the way Lando’s arms clung to him, fingers curled tight into the fabric of Oscar’s hoodie like if he let go, everything might unravel again.
Oscar didn’t let him go.
The television eventually shifted to a black screen, the highlights ending in silence. The suite dimmed to only the soft yellow glow of a bedside lamp, casting a warm light over the two of them. Oscar ran his fingers through the back of Lando’s curls, thinking. Not about the race, not about the win, but about him.
About how unfair it was that someone like Lando, who put his whole soul into this sport, could still feel like a failure because people only saw a crash and not the recovery. Because they loved a simple narrative, even when the truth was far more layered.
Eventually, Lando stirred against him with a small, groggy noise. Wasn't actually a nap but he'd been close.
“Still here,” Oscar whispered gently.
“Mhm.” Lando didn’t open his eyes. “You’re comfy.”
Oscar smiled softly. “You’re clingy.”
“You love it.”
“Terribly.” Oscar kissed the crown of his head. “You okay?”
Lando didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pressing closer still. “I think so. Still kinda… heavy. But I feel better. A little.”
Oscar nodded. “That’s good. That’s all I want.”
Lando finally cracked one eye open. “Didn’t mean to ruin your win.”
“You didn’t,” Oscar said without missing a beat. “You never could. You’re part of everything good about this.”
“You mean that?”
“Every word.” Oscar nudged their foreheads together. “You’re my home baby.”
Lando blinked at him, eyes bright and a little glassy again, but this time with something softer. Hope. Love.
He leaned in and kissed Oscar. Just a small press of lips, tender and thankful, like a promise sealed between them.
“I’ll try,” Lando whispered after. “To believe it all the time.”
Oscar nodded. “That’s all I ask.”
They settled again but this time, into the warmth of the bed, bodies curved together like puzzle pieces that had always been meant to fit. No social media, no crashing thoughts, no rankings or headlines, just them. Just this.
Tomorrow, the world would come again.
But for tonight, Oscar held him like it couldn’t touch them.
Lando lay with his face pressed into Oscar’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady, grounding, real.
He was still tired. Still raw.
But here, tucked into Oscar’s warmth, he could breathe a little easier.
Oscar kept his hand moving slowly up and down Lando’s spine, over the cotton of his shirt. “I wish I could fix it all for you,” he murmured after a while, voice low and almost sleepy. “Make them see you the way I do.”
Lando’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, curious. “How do you see me?”
The Aussie hesitated for only a second. “Brilliant. Brave. Stubborn as hell. And so, so deserving of love. Of peace.”
Lando tilted his head just enough to look at him. “Even when I’m spiralling?”
“Especially then,” Oscar said without flinching.
The older man blinked, his expression open and vulnerable in the dim light. “I don’t get how you’re always so sure.”
“Because I know you.” Oscar leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone, then another near his temple. “Better than I know anything else. And I know how hard you work. How deeply you care. That’s not a weakness, Lan. That’s the strongest thing about you.”
Lando sniffed quietly, not quite crying but close enough that Oscar’s shirt was growing damp again. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re gonna make me gross-sob again, Osc.”
Oscar laughed softly and rubbed his thumb under Lando’s eye. “You can gross-sob all you want. I’ve got you.”
A beat passed.
“I’m really proud of you, you know,” Lando whispered. “You nailed that race.”
Oscar’s smile softened. “Thank you. It meant a lot, doing it with you in the other car too.”
“I wish I could’ve done more.”
“You did,” Oscar said firmly. “You fought like hell today for P4 after yesterday’s crash. That’s doing more. That’s racing. That’s you.”
Lando bit his lip, and then gave a small, tired nod. “It was a good drive.”
“It was a great drive.”
The Brit exhaled slowly and finally let his head fall back onto Oscar’s chest with a little groan. “You’re annoying when you’re this emotionally intelligent.”
Oscar grinned into Lando’s curls. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”
Lando didn’t answer right away, but the arms tightening around Oscar’s middle said enough.
Eventually, the warmth of their bodies lulled them toward sleep. Oscar murmured sleepy nonsense against Lando’s hair, and Lando listened like it was the only truth in the world that mattered.
And before he drifted off, Lando whispered, small and sincere:
“Thanks for being my safe place.”
Oscar squeezed him gently in return.
“Always.”
—
Morning came slowly in Jeddah.
The heavy curtains in their hotel suite kept the sun mostly out, but a sliver of golden light crept in from the edge, catching the edge of the rumpled sheets and Lando’s curls, still messy from sleep and pressed against Oscar’s chest. He hadn’t moved much, had barely stirred at all in the night, and Oscar had stayed with him the whole time, wrapped around him like a shield from the world.
Lando woke first, blinking blearily at the stillness of the room. For a second, he didn't move. He just breathed in the scent of Oscar’s skin, warm and familiar, a bit like the shampoo from the shower and the faintest trace of something sweet, maybe the chocolate chip cookie Oscar had insisted on eating at the hotel.
Oscar’s arms were still around him, loose in sleep. His face was turned into the pillow, mouth parted slightly, breathing soft and slow. Lando smiled, just a little, tracing the curve of his boyfriend’s shoulder with his eyes. Oscar looked so calm when he slept. Peaceful. Like nothing in the world could touch him.
Lando wished he felt like that.
But the silence gave space for the voices in his head to creep back in—quiet but persistent.
You only got P4.
You crashed in quali.
You’re not consistent.
You’re not fast enough.
You’ll never be what they want you to be.
He exhaled shakily and tried to will the thoughts away. Tried to remind himself of what Oscar had said the night before. Tried to hang onto that warmth.
“Hey,” came a low, sleep-rough voice from beside him. Oscar cracked one eye open, already searching his face. “Where’d you go just now?”
Lando blinked, startled. “Nowhere.”
Oscar didn’t say anything. Just shifted so he could look at him properly and reached up to gently brush the hair off his forehead.
“You’re thinking too loud again.”
Lando huffed. “Don’t know what you mean.”
Oscar just looked at him, quiet, patient. Lando cracked first.
“Just… woke up with the same noise still in my head,” he murmured. “Thought maybe it would be gone.”
Oscar made a soft sound of sympathy and leaned in to kiss the edge of Lando’s brow. “You don’t have to fight it alone. Never, remember.”
Lando’s eyes burned a little. He hadn’t meant to get emotional again, but the way Oscar looked at him, like he could see it all, the cracks and the ache and the guilt, and still chose to love him anyway—it was overwhelming in the best way.
“I don’t know how to be proud of P4 when all anyone talks about is how I’m not enough,” he whispered. “Not fast enough, not smart enough, not, whatever. Not Oscar.”
Oscar flinched slightly. “Lando…”
“No, I don’t blame you,” he added quickly. “I’m so proud of you. You deserved that win. I want you to win. But—” He broke off, voice small. “Sometimes I feel like I’m standing still while you’re taking off, and I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up.”
Oscar sat up slowly, bringing Lando with him, not letting go for a second. He took Lando’s face in both hands and looked at him like he was the most important thing in the universe.
“You’re not behind,” he said, firm and low. “You’re right here. With me.”
Lando’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.
The Aussie leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. “You are not falling behind. You are not broken. You’re Lando. And that’s all you ever have to be.”
The tears came again, not heavy, not overwhelming, just quiet and real. Lando closed his eyes and let them fall.
Oscar kissed the top of his head, murmuring, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out baby.”
They stayed like that for a while, breathing together.
When Lando finally pulled back, sniffling and red-eyed, Oscar handed him a tissue from the nightstand and gave him a soft smile. “That’s two post-race cry sessions in a row, you know.”
“Shut up,” Lando mumbled, nose half buried in the tissue.
Oscar chuckled. “You wanna stay here all morning or grab breakfast?”
“Here,” Lando said immediately, then blinked. “Wait—unless you want—”
“Nope.” Oscar flopped back into the pillows. “I want you. And maybe room service. And possibly a rematch of our Mario Kart tournament before we take the plane tonight.”
Lando smiled, for real this time. “Even though I wiped the floor with you in China?”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Delusions in the morning. Dangerous.”
Lando crawled over and dropped onto Oscar’s chest again. “I love you.”
Oscar’s arms curled around him. “I love you more.”
They stayed wrapped together in the soft light, the world and its noise far away for just a little longer.
Lando let out a soft hum against Oscar’s chest, fingers lazily tracing patterns over the fabric of his sleep shirt. The quiet between them was warm now, no longer heavy with the weight of spiraling thoughts. Just soft breathing, the faint rustle of sheets, and the occasional beep of a car horn outside their hotel window.
“We go home tonight,” Lando murmured, voice thick with sleep and something gentler, something hopeful.
Oscar looked down at him, threading his fingers through Lando’s curls. “Yeah,” he said. “A whole week off.”
“Not enough,” Lando grumbled, burrowing in like a cat reclaiming its safe place. “Need a month. Maybe two.”
Oscar smiled, pressing a kiss into Lando’s hair. “You’d get bored.”
“I’d get Luna,” Lando corrected.
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, fair. Luna would keep you very busy.”
“She’s probably forgotten about us,” Lando added dramatically.
“As if she could forget you when you video call her everyday.”
“Still.”
Oscar chuckled, the kind of soft, affectionate laugh he reserved only for Lando. “She’s probably curled up on the couch with your mum, being spoiled rotten.”
“Hope she didn’t destroy the living room again,” Lando muttered, shifting slightly. “Remember the pillow massacre. The scene of the crime.”
“She’s got taste,” Oscar said. “Only the expensive ones.”
Lando grinned against his chest. “That’s your fault. You spoil her.”
“You said yes to her.”
“You fell in love with her. With my Christmas gift.”
“Exactly like you,” Oscar teased gently, hand sliding up and down Lando’s back.
Lando pretended to grumble, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Still gonna tackle her when we get home.”
“Mm, she’ll probably tackle you first.”
“She always goes for my shoelaces.”
“Because you never tie them properly.”
“I do,” Lando said, indignant. “They’re just, loose. For comfort.”
Oscar snorted. “Sure. Let’s say that.”
They let the silence stretch again, this time not out of sadness, but something warm and content. Lando’s hand settled on Oscar’s chest, steady with each breath. For once, the future didn’t feel overwhelming. Just… soft edges and familiar arms. Coming home didn’t mean failure, it meant safety. Recharging. Luna’s wagging tail. The way Oscar always tucked his cold toes under Lando’s legs on the couch.
“We’ll sleep in,” Lando mumbled, already drifting again. “Walk Luna. No social media. Just you and me.”
Oscar kissed the top of his head. “Sounds perfect.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Lando sighed, the kind that sounded like letting go. Of pressure. Of fear. Of every headline that wasn’t written by someone who actually knew him for a little while. Then, quieter:
“Thanks for being my home too.”
Oscar held him a little tighter, heart full. “Always.”