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The Formula One calendar was relentless. Race after race, country after country, the same blur of airports, hotel rooms, and flashing cameras. Lando loved his job. He really did. But there were days when he wished his life wasn’t quite so loud, so public, so relentlessly watched. Today was one of those days.
It had started badly, before he’d even stepped into the car. While making his way through the paddock, he’d overheard a group of fans dressed head to toe in Red Bull merch, laughing loudly as they debated the race outcome. One of them had said, without a hint of irony, that they hoped “anyone but Lando” would win. Lando had pretended not to hear, keeping his head down, the way he’d learned to do over the years. Still, the words lodged themselves somewhere uncomfortable, sticking with him longer than he wanted to admit.
Unfortunately for them, and maybe unfortunately for him too, Lando did win the race.
The roar of the crowd as he stood on the top step of the podium should have been enough. Most of the grandstands were a sea of cheers, hands raised, flags waving, his name echoing back at him in a way that usually made his chest feel too full. But he noticed everything: the pockets of silence, the folded arms, the tight mouths of the few who watched him with unmistakable displeasure. Even in his best moments, the criticism always seemed louder than the praise.
By the time the champagne had been sprayed and the interviews wrapped up, all he wanted was to disappear. Go home. Sleep. Turn his brain off for a few blessed hours.
That feeling only worsened when he caught sight of Oscar.
Oscar barely looked at him after the race. No lingering smile, no easy shoulder bump, no quiet joke exchanged while the cameras weren’t pointed at them. Just clipped answers, stiff body language, and distance that felt far wider than the few metres between them.
Lando knew why, even if neither of them said it out loud. On a different day, with a different strategy call, Oscar could have been the one standing on the top step. McLaren’s decisions had tipped the balance in Lando’s favour this time, and that knowledge sat heavy in his chest. He loved having Oscar as a teammate more than anything. Loved the way they pushed each other, the way the garage felt lighter when they were laughing, bantering like they always did when things were good. He wouldn’t trade that partnership for the world.
But days like this were suffocating.
Days when the tension pressed in on him from all sides, when the silence between them felt louder than any argument. When he wondered if Oscar was angry, hurt, disappointed, or worse, quietly resenting him.
Lando barely remembered getting back to his hotel. He moved through the evening on autopilot: a long shower that did little to wash the day off him, a half-eaten dinner, his phone left face down on the bedside table as he resisted the urge to scroll and spiral. Eventually, exhaustion won. He fell into bed and let sleep take him.
Hours later, light flooded the room.
Lando startled awake, heart slamming painfully against his ribs. At the foot of his bed stood a figure glowing softly, its form indistinct, edges shimmering like a haze. For a split second, sheer terror seized him, his body screaming intruder, danger, run, but it faded almost as quickly as it came.
There was something calming about the presence. Warm. Steady. He felt… safe.
A part of him latched onto the idea that this had to be a dream. A weird one, sure, but he’d had stranger after long race weekends.
“Lando Norris,” the being said, its voice melodic and gentle, echoing just slightly, as if spoken in a much larger space. “I felt the sadness deep inside you. I have been sent to help.”
Lando pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking hard. “What the actual hell is going on?” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.
“You fear that you are not loved.”
The words hit harder than he expected. His breath caught, his first instinct to deny it outright. The supernatural being wasn’t wrong, but he’d never said that fear out loud. Not to a teammate. Not to a friend. Not even to himself, most days. The fact that this stranger, this thing, seemed to know him so intimately was unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
“I can grant you an opportunity,” the being continued. “You may see what five people say about you when you are not around. How they truly feel. Choose wisely.”
Lando stared at it, his mind slow and foggy with sleep, logic struggling to keep up. None of this made sense. But something in him—a tired, aching part that just wanted reassurance—leaned toward the offer anyway.
“I can choose anyone?” he asked quietly, testing the boundaries.
“Yes,” the being replied.
Lando thought hard about it, though his first answer came easily. His parents. He had always cared deeply about their opinion, even now, even after everything he had achieved. Especially now. He knew they would only be saying good things about him, and right now he needed that reassurance more than anything.
“As you wish,” the being replied softly. “But be aware that counts as two of your five people.”
“That’s fine,” Lando said immediately, not even pausing to consider the cost.
The world around him shifted without warning. The walls of the hotel room dissolved into motion and light, and suddenly Lando found himself standing quietly in the corner of his parents’ kitchen. It looked just the same as he remembered it. Warm lighting. Familiar countertops. The comforting hum of a home that had always been his safe place.
“Don’t worry,” the being murmured beside him. “They cannot see you.”
Lando nodded, hardly breathing. Seeing his parents like this felt intimate in a way he had not expected. Not on a video call. Not during a race weekend. Just them, at home, when no one was watching.
“Lando has been working so hard this year,” his mum said as she dried a plate and placed it carefully in the cupboard. “I’m so proud of that boy.”
Lando felt something in his chest loosen. His mum had told him she was proud countless times before, after races, over the phone, in hurried hugs between commitments. Still, hearing it now, unprompted, when he was not there to receive it, made his eyes sting. She meant it. It was not just something she said to make him feel better.
“I know,” his dad replied from the table, glancing up from whatever he had been reading. “He always has. But I think a part of it this year is thanks to Oscar.”
Lando’s heart skipped at the sound of his teammate’s name.
His mum smiled knowingly. “I think so too. They push each other in a good way. Lando seems happier when he talks about him. More settled.”
“He does,” his dad agreed. “He is still hard on himself though. I worry he feels like he has to earn everything. Like love is something he only deserves when he wins.”
Lando swallowed hard. He had not realised how clearly they saw him.
“I wish he knew that we would love him no matter what,” his mum said quietly. “Even if he never won another race. Even if he stopped tomorrow. He is enough just as he is.”
The words hit him harder than any criticism ever could. His vision blurred, emotion rising fast and unexpected. He had spent so long chasing approval, terrified of disappointing them, of letting anyone down. Hearing this truth laid bare felt overwhelming.
“We raised a good man,” his dad said simply. “Not just a good driver.”
Lando closed his eyes, breathing through the ache in his chest. For the first time that day, maybe for the first time in a long while, he felt grounded. Seen. Loved without condition.
When he opened his eyes again, the kitchen began to fade, softening at the edges.
“That was your first choice,” the being said gently. “And now you know.”
Lando nodded, unable to speak just yet. His heart was full, heavy, and warm all at once, as the world shifted once more and prepared him for what he would choose next.
Lando already knew the next name. It had been sitting at the front of his mind ever since the being made its offer. Still, he hesitated. His boss was a different kind of risk. Praise from family felt safe. This did not.
Did he really want to know what Zak Brown thought about him when the cameras were off, and the microphones were gone.
“You are debating whether or not to say Zak Brown next,” the being said lightly, as if mind reading was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Lando let out a slow breath. “I’m scared of what I’ll hear,” he admitted. “But I want to know.”
The being did not answer. The familiar pull returned, the room tilting and blurring until the hotel disappeared entirely.
Lando found himself standing quietly just inside the doorway of Zak’s office. It was late. The lights were dimmer than usual, the room lit mostly by a desk lamp casting a warm glow over stacks of papers and a laptop screen. Zak sat behind his desk, jacket draped over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up as he rubbed at his temples.
Another voice came through the speakerphone on the desk. Someone from the strategy team.
“We need to review today,” the voice said. “The calls were always going to be controversial.”
“They were,” Zak replied evenly. “And we will. But we made the call with the information we had at the time. No favourites. No agendas.”
Lando held his breath.
“My priority is keeping it fair between Lando and Oscar,” Zak continued. “They are both incredible drivers. They both deserve the same respect and the same opportunities. If either of them thinks otherwise, then we have failed.”
There was a pause, then the voice on the other end spoke again. “You think Lando understands that?”
Zak leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting away from the desk. “I hope so. I worry sometimes that he takes too much on himself. He hates the idea of being handed anything.”
Lando felt his chest tighten.
“I have known Lando since he was a kid,” Zak said after a moment, his voice softer now. “Since before Formula One. Since before all of this pressure. He was always talented, sure, but he was also earnest. Hardworking. He cared. Still does.”
He gave a small smile to no one in particular. “I have always had a soft spot for him. That does not mean I favour him. It means I want to protect him the same way I want to protect Oscar. They are different, but they matter equally.”
The line went quiet. Zak reached forward and ended the call, sitting there in silence for a few seconds longer. He looked tired, but resolute.
“I just want them both to trust us,” he murmured to himself. “And to trust each other.”
Lando felt something settle in him. Not relief exactly, but understanding. Zak was not disappointed. He was not secretly resentful. He was trying to balance something delicate, something human, and he saw Lando clearly in the process.
The office began to blur, the edges softening as the vision faded.
“That was your third,” the being said gently as the world shifted again.
Lando nodded slowly. He felt steadier now, even as his thoughts drifted unavoidably toward the two names he had left.
Time to choose someone he knew, without question, cared about him. Someone who had seen him long before the paddock, before the pressure, before the noise.
“I choose Max Fewtrell as my fourth person.”
The shift was gentler this time. Less spinning, more like being eased into a memory. Lando found himself in a familiar living room, one he had spent countless hours in over the years. Game controllers lay abandoned on the coffee table, and the television played quietly in the background.
Max was sprawled on the couch, phone pressed to his ear, laughing.
“I’m telling you, he never switches off,” Max said. “Even after a win, he’s already thinking about what he could’ve done better.”
Lando smiled faintly. That sounded about right.
There was a pause as Max listened, his expression softening.
“Yeah,” he said. “But that’s just Lando. He cares. Probably too much sometimes.”
He shifted, sitting up straighter. “I worry about him, you know. People see the jokes, the streams, the smiles. They don’t see how hard he is on himself when no one’s watching.”
Lando’s chest tightened.
“He doesn’t give himself enough credit,” Max continued. “He acts like love and approval are things he has to earn. Like one bad race and it all disappears.”
Max shook his head, frowning slightly. “But he’s one of the kindest people I know. Loyal. Thoughtful. He shows up. Always has.”
Another pause. Then Max laughed softly.
“And honestly,” he added, “Oscar’s been good for him.”
Lando stilled.
“He grounds him,” Max said. “Challenges him, sure, but also understands him. I’ve seen the difference. Lando opens up around him in a way he doesn’t with many people. It’s like he finally feels matched.”
Max leaned back again, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t think Lando even realises how important Oscar is to him yet. But it’s obvious from the outside.”
Silence followed, comfortable and unguarded.
“I just want him to be happy,” Max said quietly. “He deserves that. Not because he wins races. Just because he’s him.”
Lando swallowed hard, emotion thick in his throat. This one hurt in a different way. Not sharp, but deep. Max knew him. Saw him. Loved him without conditions or expectations.
The room slowly faded, the familiar warmth lingering even as it disappeared.
“That was your fourth,” the being said softly.
Lando nodded, heart full and racing all at once. Only one left.
And he already knew who it had to be.
Lando did not answer right away.
He already knew who the last person was. He had known from the moment the being told him he only had five. He had circled around the name, danced past it, tried to prepare himself by choosing everyone else first. Family. Boss. Best friend. Safer truths.
This one felt different.
This one could change everything.
His chest felt tight as he finally spoke. “Oscar.”
The being did not tease him this time. No commentary. No warning. The moment the name left Lando’s mouth, the world shifted.
The pull was stronger than before. Not disorienting, but heavy, like being drawn somewhere that mattered more than anywhere else he had been shown. When the movement stopped, Lando realised he was standing in Oscar’s hotel room.
It was quiet. The curtains were half drawn, city lights spilling in softly. Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, still in his team kit, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly bowed. His phone lay untouched beside him.
Lando’s first instinct was guilt. This was too private. This felt like crossing a line.
“Oscar can’t see you,” the being murmured, as if sensing the thought. “But you need to see this.”
Oscar ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath.
“They messed it up today,” Oscar said quietly, voice low and controlled. He was on a call, headphones in, staring at the floor. “I know that. I know how it looks.”
There was a pause as the other person spoke.
“No,” Oscar said firmly. “I’m not angry at Lando.”
Lando’s heart stuttered.
Another pause.
“I mean it,” Oscar continued. “He drove a great race. He always does. It’s not his fault the strategy fell the way it did.”
Oscar leaned back, resting his hands flat on the bed behind him. “People want it to be personal. They want a rivalry. But that’s not how it feels from inside the car.”
He exhaled, eyes closing briefly. “If anything, it hurts more because I’m proud of him.”
Lando felt dizzy.
“He deserves his wins,” Oscar went on. “And I hate that I couldn’t just be happy for him on the podium today. He probably noticed.”
Oscar gave a small, humourless laugh. “He always notices.”
Silence filled the room for a moment.
“I just don’t want him thinking I resent him,” Oscar said. “Because I don’t. I respect him more than anyone I’ve ever raced alongside.”
Lando’s chest ached.
The voice on the other end of the call said something that made Oscar go still.
“…Yeah,” Oscar replied after a beat. “I know.”
He swallowed.
“That’s the problem.”
The call ended shortly after. Oscar set his phone down and stared at it for a long time, as if considering whether to pick it back up. Eventually, he stood and paced the room, restless.
“He’s so hard on himself,” Oscar said aloud, even though no one was listening. “Like he’s constantly waiting for the moment people decide he’s not worth it anymore.”
Lando’s breath caught.
Oscar stopped by the window, looking out over the city. “I wish he could see himself the way everyone else does.”
He rested his forehead briefly against the glass.
“I wish he knew how much I care about him.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and unguarded.
Oscar straightened, shaking his head as if trying to physically dislodge the thought. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. “He’s your teammate.”
But his voice lacked conviction.
“He makes everything lighter,” Oscar continued quietly. “Even on the worst days. Even when I’m frustrated or disappointed. He’ll crack a joke or smile at me like nothing’s wrong, and I forget how heavy it all felt five seconds earlier.”
Oscar sat back down on the bed, shoulders slumping. “I don’t think I’ve ever trusted someone this much. Not like this.”
Lando felt tears slip down his cheeks before he even realised they were there.
“I don’t want to lose that,” Oscar said. “I don’t want to lose him.”
He covered his face with his hands for a moment, breathing in slowly, then dropped them again.
“I think I’m in love with him,” Oscar admitted, barely above a whisper.
Lando’s knees nearly gave out.
The world seemed to hold its breath with him. Every insecurity he had carried, every fear of being tolerated rather than chosen, cracked open all at once.
Oscar laughed softly, a sad sound. “And he probably has no idea.”
The room began to fade, but Lando barely noticed. His heart was pounding too loudly, his thoughts too tangled.
When the light finally dissolved and he found himself back in his hotel room, he was shaking.
“That was your fifth,” the being said gently. “Now you know the truth you were most afraid to hear.”
Lando pressed a hand to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. “He loves me,” he whispered, as if saying it too loudly might make it unreal.
“Yes,” the being replied. “And now the choice of what to do with that knowledge is yours.”
The glow softened, dimming.
“You were never unloved, Lando Norris,” the being said. “You were simply afraid to believe it.”
Lando sat in the quiet room, heart racing, mind spinning, one truth echoing louder than anything else.
Oscar loved him.
And suddenly, tomorrow felt very different.
The light faded slowly.
Lando sat frozen on the edge of the bed, heart still racing, as the glow softened until the room returned to darkness. The being watched him for a moment longer, expression unreadable yet kind.
“You have what you needed,” it said gently. “The rest is yours to choose.”
Lando swallowed. “Will I see you again?”
The being smiled, something warm and knowing in the curve of it. “You never needed me to stay.”
And then it was gone.
The room was silent. No hum. No glow. Just Lando, alone with a truth that felt too big for the space it occupied. He lay back and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally claimed him, the weight in his chest no longer unbearable, but something fragile and hopeful.
The next morning felt quiet. The weekend was over. No race. No briefings. Just a city waking up slowly beyond his hotel window.
Lando showered, dressed, and stood by the door for a long moment, hand hovering over the handle. This was different. There was no helmet to hide behind. No lap time to speak for him. Just words he had to say himself.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he left.
Oscar’s hotel was only a short walk away. The streets were calm, the air cool, and with every step Lando’s nerves grew louder. By the time he reached the entrance, his heart was pounding hard enough that he briefly considered turning around.
He didn’t.
Oscar answered the door looking surprised, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie pulled on hastily like he had not expected company.
“Lando?” he said. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Lando replied, suddenly acutely aware of how close they were. “Sorry, I know it’s early. I just… can we talk?”
Oscar studied him for a second, then stepped aside. “Yeah. Come in.”
The room was neat, understated. Oscar’s helmet bag rested against the wall, ready to be packed away, the weekend officially done. Oscar gestured toward the small seating area, but neither of them sat.
“What’s up?” Oscar asked softly.
Lando took a breath. “I didn’t sleep much.”
Oscar gave a faint smile. “Same.”
That made Lando laugh quietly, nerves easing just a fraction.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Lando said. “About yesterday. About us. About how things have felt for a while now.”
Oscar’s expression shifted, something guarded but hopeful flickering across his face. “Okay.”
“I know the strategy was messy,” Lando continued. “And I know it hurt. I hate that it came between us even for a moment. But that’s not really why I’m here.”
Oscar waited, patient, giving him space.
“I care about you,” Lando said. “More than just as a teammate. More than just as a friend. And I think I’ve known that for longer than I wanted to admit.”
Oscar let out a breath he had clearly been holding. “Lando…”
“I didn’t want to risk what we already had,” Lando added quietly. “But I realised that not saying anything was starting to hurt more than the risk ever could.”
Oscar stepped closer, closing the distance until they were standing face to face.
“I’m really glad you came,” Oscar said. His voice was steady, but his eyes gave him away. “Because I feel the same. I’ve been trying to convince myself it was just respect, or competition, or proximity. But it’s not.”
Lando’s chest tightened, this time in the best way.
“So,” Lando said softly, a small smile breaking through, “what do we do now?”
Oscar's gaze softened, his hand reaching out to gently hold Lando's cheek. The touch was tentative at first, like he was testing the waters of this new reality between them. Lando leaned into it instinctively, his own hand coming up to rest over Oscar's, holding it there.
"We start here," Oscar murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over Lando's skin as he closed the remaining space between them.
Lando's heart raced, but it was a warm, steady beat now, free from the anxiety that had gripped him earlier. He tilted his head up, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his lips to Oscar's in a soft, exploratory kiss.
Oscar responded immediately, his free hand settling at the small of Lando's back, pulling him closer without demand. The kiss deepened naturally, tongues brushing in a way that sent shivers down Lando's spine. It wasn't rushed or heated; it was a release of all the words they'd held back for so long.
They broke apart only when the need for air became insistent, but neither pulled away far. Oscar's nose nudged against Lando's, and he smiled against his mouth. "I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, voice rough with emotion.
"Me too," Lando replied, his fingers threading through Oscar's damp hair, careful not to tug too hard. He guided them both toward the small seating area, the tension in his body melting into something softer as they sank onto the couch together.
Oscar tugged Lando down with him, arranging them so Lando was half in his lap, legs tangled comfortably. Lando nestled against Oscar's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under the thin fabric of the hoodie. Oscar's arms wrapped around him securely, one hand stroking slow patterns along Lando's arm while the other rested at the back of his neck.
They kissed again, lazy, and affectionate, lips meeting in a series of soft pecks that grew into longer presses. Lando sighed into it, his body relaxing fully as Oscar's fingers massaged gentle circles into his scalp. The world outside faded into irrelevance. Here, it was just them, wrapped in each other's warmth.
"Stay like this for a bit?" Lando asked after a while, his voice muffled against Oscar's shoulder.
"As long as you want," Oscar said, pressing a kiss to the top of Lando's head. He shifted slightly, pulling a throw blanket from the arm of the couch to drape over them both, cocooning them in a private bubble.
Lando hummed contentedly, his hand slipping under Oscar's hoodie to trace idle patterns on the warm skin of his stomach. It was intimate but not overtly sexual. Just a need to feel closer, to map out this new territory with touch. Oscar's breath hitched softly at the contact, but he only held Lando tighter, his own hand sliding down to rest on Lando's hip, thumb dipping just under the hem of his shirt.
They stayed like that, trading soft kisses and murmured words. Lando felt Oscar's lips brush his temple, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Each one felt like a promise, a reassurance that this was the beginning of something good. For the first time in his life, Lando didn’t feel insecure in the slightest. Instead, he just felt loved.