Chapter Text
Oscar loved racing with Lando. Racing with him had always just worked. Everything fell into place. Everything fit. Their connection and sheer trust in each other was clear as day.
They looked out for each other; had each other’s backs. Oscar let Lando catch his slipstream to outrun the Mercedes who was within DRS range. Lando agreed to switchbacks when pit stops went awry. Out on the track, there was a silent understanding between the boys: You help me out now and I’ll help you out later. I got you.
The connection lingered off track too. Comforting hands rested heavy on lower backs after bad race results. Dinners were shared, picnic style, on hotel floors in comfortable silence. Standing on hot track asphalt, hugs were so bone crushingly tight that neither driver could take a breath. It didn’t matter, though. They were so lost in the moment that breathing was nowhere near the forefront of their minds.
That was year two.
Oscar’s rookie year was spent getting to know his new teammate, new coaches, and new trainers. Everything was so different from being in the lower racing ranks, but still so eerily similar. He had already gotten a taste of Formula 1 from Alpine, but it was still a whole new world to him.
His routines stayed vaguely the same as before: morning workouts, lunch dictated by his nutritionist’s diet plan for him, put in a few hours on the sim, and get outside for an afternoon run. But now, he had packets to get through and weekly media training sessions to attend.
No matter what bullshit meeting McLaren made him attend, he did so without complaining. He showed up early, in fact. All because he couldn’t get enough of his teammate.
In the beginning, he didn’t think much of it. Everyone has platonic friend crushes, right? Like “I want to spend all the time with you and I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met,” right? Like “I’m happiest when I’m with you,” right? You’re supposed to feel giddy and weightless around friends, right?
He wasn’t even aware of it at first, but quickly discovered he couldn’t stop his eyes from finding Lando when he walked into a room or how he agreed to anything and everything Lando said.
Whipped.
He was so down bad for his teammate by the time his rookie season came to a close. He’d performed well. Articles were written about his promising future. He didn’t care about that. It would all be for nothing if he couldn’t race with Lando every weekend. If he couldn’t see him nearly every day in the gym. If they didn’t stay up far too late into the night, talking about what weighed on their minds and falling asleep curled into each other.
This year was his third season with McLaren; with Lando. One might argue that they were the strongest pairing on the grid. People compared them to Lewis and Nico. The connection they shared was palpable. It was what made them so unstoppable. The irony of the comparison to the senior drivers wasn’t lost on the two younger drivers.
During the offseason after his second season, he spent nearly every day with Lando. Late one night, the tension finally broke.
They were sprawled out on Lando’s huge L shaped couch. A movie flickered on the flatscreen against the wall. Oscar paid it no mind. Lando dared to press their legs together. From hip to knee to ankle, he could feel the heat coming off Lando’s leg. When he didn’t pull back, Lando shifted to lie flat against the cushions, placing his socked feet into Oscar’s lap. What Lando didn’t see was the heat that crept up Oscar’s cheeks and down his neck. His eyes had widened slightly, in shock and pleasant surprise. His dark brown eyes traced Lando’s figure as he lay to his right.
He and Lando bantered back and forth constantly. They’d tease each other about everything. Oscar relished the way Lando got flustered when he’d wink at him from across a table during a race debrief. All throughout the season, they would meet eyes whenever an interviewer or fellow driver made a seemingly innocent innuendo. They would hold the other’s gaze before one of them broke and had to hide their face and blushing cheeks. That was Lando more than it was Oscar.
As Oscar sat on Lando’s couch with his feet in his lap, he silently willed his heart rate to slow after the initial contact. The movie had been long since abandoned. Oscar opted to steal glances at his teammate instead. He didn’t know Lando was clocking every single time Oscar’s eyes slid over to take in the boy stretched out next to him.
His heart rate jumped again when Lando suddenly broke the silence. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” His bottom lip was caught between his teeth. The corner of his mouth was starting to curl upwards into a sly smirk.
Oscar’s ever flushed cheeks gave him away almost immediately. He stammered out a reply. “W- What? I’m not- I’m not?”
Lando was clearly amused by Oscar’s flustered state. He sat up slightly, leaning back on his elbows. “If I was stupid, I might think you want to kiss me.” His tone, light and teasing, left the statement up for interpretation.
Oscar’s mind spun faster than it ever had before. He wanted nothing more to kiss him right now, right here. He had been in love with Lando since the start of his second season. It didn’t get any better when the two of them became inseparable over the course of the racing season.
As Oscar’s mind ran with Lando’s simple words, Lando watched the younger boy’s face. Emotions flickered in his eyes. His cheeks must be hot to the touch given how deep pink they had become.
Slowly, Lando put the pieces together. “Oh my god” Then softer, as if to not scare him off, “You do want to kiss me.” His voice faltered as he finished voicing his realization.
Oscar buried his burning face in his hands and groaned. Lando scrambled to sit next to him. He let a beat pass between the two of them before taking a deep breath. “I like you too, you fucking muppet.” Oscar could hear the smile in his voice. Cautiously, he looked up at Lando and braced for the possibility that it was all some tasteless joke.
He was met with Lando sitting closer than before and eyes blown with unspoken adoration. The look on Oscar’s face was all the confirmation Lando needed. Surging forward, he kissed Oscar with all the affection he’d bottled up for months.
Every moment after that was spent together; touching each other. They were always touching: edges of shoes pressed tightly together in public, hands sliding up thighs under dinner tables, intertwined fingers, lips locked in heated kisses, tongues dipping into mouths.
When the season started in Australia with Oscar’s home race, they let space exist again. Not quite ready to have their relationship out in the open, they went back to being friends in the public eye. Behind closed doors, they crossed lines that people who were just friends should never cross.
In Miami, they went 1-2. Under the heavy Florida sun, they each heaved their trophies in the air for the crowds to see. From the top step, Oscar soaked Lando to the bone in Moët. The older driver beamed up at him and his knees nearly gave out from under him. That gap tooth smile never failed to make him burn up in a way that would never compare to the humid Miami heat.
The roles were reversed in Monaco. Lando stood to Oscar’s left, on the top step. He had accomplished the near impossible. He dethroned the Prince of Monaco. After the national anthem played, Lando returned the favor and made a point to get champagne down the back of Oscar’s race suit. Even though his eyes burned with the sparkling alcohol, he forced them to stay open. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Lando being on top of the world.
June brought more double podiums, more 1-2 finishes. Oscar is on top in Spain. They swap in Austria. It felt like it was just the two of them on the track. Swapping steps on the podiums week to week like it was all some big tango routine.
In July, Lando won his home race. Oscar had the privilege and pleasure of sharing that podium with him. Another 1-2. They’re on top of the world, as well as the Constructor’s Championship and Driver’s Championship.
And as the saying goes: What goes up, must come back down.
Trouble began to brew in August. It was evident in their interactions both on and off track. Their race results showed it too.
It started with Lando’s DNF at the Dutch Grand Prix. Oscar’s heart almost fell through the floor of the car when the news crackled through his earpiece. “Oscar. Lando is retiring the car. Hold pace. Bring it home.” Lando was driving well and Oscar had expected both of them to be on the podium.
“What? Why? What happened?” He knew his team could see his heart rate spike, but that was the least of his worries in that moment. “The car is producing smoke. He’s coming into the garage now.” The rational side of his brain attempted to step in. If Lando drove the car all the way to the garage, then he was probably okay. If there were no yellow or red flags, then he was probably okay. Lando was probably okay. Oscar confirmed it himself after the race: Lando was okay.
It was Lando’s turn to race with a racing heart. In Baku, Oscar crashed during the first lap. Too focused on surviving his own lap, Lando didn’t know about the crash until the safety car emerged.
“Okay Lando. The safety car is for Oscar.” Cue the heart rate spike. “What?! Fuck! Is he alright?” His reeling mind was interrupted by the radio chime. “Yep. He’s out of the car by himself.” Lando didn’t respond on the radio, but he whispered into the confines of his car. “Fuck. Jesus.” He took a deep breath to steady his pulse, then attempted to put his head down and finished the race.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Oscar’s crash had messed with Lando’s head. It showed in his race performance. P7. Still in the points, but it wasn’t the same kind of racing that he had shown all season.
He felt the mental blow after the race when he sat in the silence of his driver’s room. With his ears ringing, he promised himself that he wouldn’t let Oscar ruin his race ever again. During the week off before Singapore, Lando hardened. He closed himself off the Oscar. He iced him out over text. He offered only bland responses; Sometimes none at all. No, they couldn’t get lunch. He had a workout scheduled. No, dinner wouldn’t work tonight. They didn’t see each other until media day in Singapore.
Lando and the Mclaren team had no clue about the mental turmoil Oscar put himself through in the two weeks before the Singapore GP. Lando had been effectively boxing him out of his life and Oscar was none the wiser as to the reason why.
Late one of those nights, Oscar caved and called Logan. They’d been friends for years and years. If there was anyone Oscar trusted to listen to his troubles and comfort him, and maybe provide some advice, it was Logan. When Logan picked up on the fourth ring, Oscar let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
Oscar didn’t have to fill him in on the background details. Logan was one of the first people to know when Oscar and Lando decided to be exclusive. The news had come in the form of an overly excited Oscar on Facetime.
The Australian’s demeanor was quite the opposite for this phone call. Oscar told him about the unanswered texts and cold shoulder Lando was giving him. Logan sat there listening and nodding as Oscar aired out all of his overthought word vomit out loud. When Oscar finally slowed down, his dark eyes were heavy, but the bags under his eyes were heavier.
For the first time in several minutes, Logan spoke up. “Maybe he just needs some time to himself. P7 might be a tough pill to swallow for him. Not all of us can lead the championship.” Logan’s attempt to cheer Oscar up with the joke fell short as Oscar scoffed and rolled his eyes. Logan tried again. “I know it’s hard, but I think you should give him space. There’s no way he’s going very far away. He probably just needs to clear his head and then the two of you will be back to being an HR nightmare when Singapore rolls around.” That landed better than the first. A subtle smile played on Oscar’s lips. Images of him and Lando sped through his mind. He shook his head to clear the memories and his smile faded with them.
“I don’t know… We’ve never been apart like this before…” His uncertainty was evident in his trailed off sentences. “Hey,” Logan’s voice interrupted Oscar’s reeling mind. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You haven’t lost him. Don’t worry yourself sick over something that hasn’t happened.”
A deep sigh escaped Oscar. His forehead rested in his palms as his shoulders dropped with the released tension. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
When he finally looked up at his phone, Logan’s smile was there waiting for him. The smile softened as he broke the comfortable silence. “It’ll be okay. You guys’ll be just fine.”
Oscar lets the words sink in. After a moment, he thanked Logan with an air of sincerity and relief that Logan might never understand fully. It’s Logan’s words that rattled and echoed through Oscar’s brain when he was up too late at night. It’s those words that soothed him to sleep after hours of tossing and turning.
By the time the five red lights illuminated and went out to start the Singapore GP, it was clear that a rift was forming between the Papaya boys. Something happened in the last two weeks and no one knew what - not even Oscar.
The boys are at each other’s throats before they even make it through turn one.
Despite his starting position in the third row, Lando gets the jump on Kimi and lunges for Oscar before either car can enter the first turn. The two Mclarens are side by side, tyre to tyre. Oscar defends his position and causes Lando to veer off the track. The cars lightly touch. In cutting the inside of the turn, Lando quickly closes in on Max’s car in front of him. As he exits turn one, Lando’s front wing clips Max’s rear wing. There’s visible damage to both cars. The Mclarens are still neck and neck through turn two and into turn three. The boys know this can’t go on for much longer; a crash would be imminent. Lando, the more experienced driver of the pair, pushes his car. He cockily knows Oscar will concede. It’s Lando’s car that slips ahead as they exit turn three.
Once he’s out of the weeds, Oscar turns on his radio. “That wasn’t very team-like, but sure… So are we cool with Lando just barging me out of the way or…? What’s the go there?” Any hope of a fair friendly race was left at turn one. His anger only rages on harder when he’s told that the replay shows Lando was avoiding Max and that’s why he pushed Oscar around and the FIA cleared the collisions.
“Mate. That’s not fair. I’m sorry. That’s not fair.” He can hear his pathetic whines, but just can’t bring himself to care that he sounds like a bratty eight year old. His anger takes control once again. “If he has to avoid another car by crashing into his teammate then that’s a pretty shit job of avoiding.”
The race’s only pit stop looms as lap 25 turns into lap 26. Oscar needs to pit now if he wants any hope of holding his position. Unfortunately for him, Lando is two seconds ahead of him on the track. He automatically gets the preferred pit stop timing.
Lando’s race engineer explains the situation and asks if he’ll let Oscar out first. A very sharp, “No” is heard across the radio. Immediately following his response, Lando hits the pit button and enters the pit lane. A small part of him hopes Oscar is hurt by his decision. It serves him right.
On the following lap, Oscar goes in for his pit stop. He comes out ahead of Charles and is relatively unscathed by Lando’s attempt at a blow to his race.
Oscar spends the rest of the race hunting down Lando. With two laps left, he has shaved seven seconds off their gap. He can finally see Lando in the straights.
Lando has spent the last 20 laps within a second of Max’s car. Despite a dozen attempts at passing the Red Bull with DRS helping him out, the four-time world champion held him off.
When the checkered flag waved, Lando was half a second behind Max and Oscar was just over two seconds behind Lando. Both boys fought hard all race long and it showed in the results. They fought so hard, they had secured the Constructor’s Championship title for their team with six races left in the season.
Up on the podium, champagne rained down on George, Max, and Lando. They basked in the sound of the crowd and the alcohol soaking into their fireproofs.
Down in his driver’s room, Oscar stripped out of his dry race suit and tugged on his regular team kit. He knew they clinched the championship, so photos would be in order.
What he didn’t know was that Zak Brown and the rest of the team were popping bottles while Oscar cracked open a water bottle. They didn’t wait for him to emerge from his garage. They celebrated without him, despite the fact that they wouldn’t even be celebrating if it weren’t for him. He was responsible for over 300 of their 650 points. But, of course, the team’s golden boy was out there already and he’s all they needed.
Oscar joined the celebration, but the damage had been done. They celebrated without him. The action told Oscar everything he needed to know. He would never be seen on the same level as Lando. The team will always choose Lando over him.
That flaming anger he had felt during the beginning of the race was back, but this time it was fueled by the clear favoritism Mclaren was showing. Quiet rage murmured in his bones as he stood next to Lando and tipped the giant champagne bottle back. The alcoholic bubbles burned his throat, but his anger burned stronger and hotter. Oscar knew he had the rest of the season to prove just how valuable he was to this team.