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oscar winces in pain.
he brings a hand to his chin, where a faint stinging sensation quickly fades away. he wonders what kind of injury his soulmate sustained on such an inconspicuous body part; he’s not sure how it’s even possible to hurt a chin. he isn’t too worried, though, since the pain subsided so fast, it must not have been anything serious.
in a world where soulmates can feel each other’s physical pains, oscar is somewhat sorry for his other half. he always mentally apologizes when he stubs his toe, gets a paper cut on his finger, or carpet-burns his knees, although he knows his soulmate is feeling the pain to a lesser extent.
but mostly, the thought of his soulmate looms on his mind due to racing. he doesn’t get hurt often, despite the risky nature of the career, but he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he did. he doesn’t know how he’d apologize if he had a bad crash and left his soulmate all sorts of hurt and confused.
well, it’s not like they haven’t had their fair share of injuries. he remembers the worst one, in 2021, when there was an intense pain in his ribs and abdomen. he downed a few painkillers and tried to focus on anything else— he thinks qualifying for the f1 belgian grand prix was underway— but he just felt so sad . he wanted nothing more than to comfort his soulmate, to be there for them.
he doesn’t want to put them through the same thing. although, his mind drifts to crashing out at zandvoort and, yeah, it’s probably too late for that. still, he does his best not to get hurt— for his sake and his soulmates’.
in the grand scheme of things, quick and mild pains like the one in his chin just now are nothing. he questions it for a mere second before he’s whisked away by some manager or staff member and it leaves his mind.
turns out, he was called over for media. he gives a few interviews, mostly recycling the same three lines about las vegas, the new track, and hopefully being fast this weekend. he doesn’t know for how long they drag on, which, he blames on vegas for fucking up his perception of time.
but eventually, he carries himself back to the motorhome and finds solitude for a moment.
“hey oscar,” a familar british drawl disrupts his momentary peace, although he doesn’t find himself feeling too irritated about it.
“hey lando,” he says, offering a small wave and scooting on the bench he’s sitting at to offer some space.
lando notices and takes a seat next to the aussie. as he looks distantly at the bustling paddock, oscar steals a glance or two.
his dark curls, tan skin, and ocean blue eyes never fail to make oscar’s heart skip a beat. oscar knows that he’s probably spent hours just staring at lando’s face but it never seems to be enough. yet, even with a bachelor’s degree in ‘lando’s face’, it takes him a second to realize: “you shaved?”
his face is clean, any trace of a goatee or mustache completely disappeared. in staring at the clean-shaven face, oscar finds that he has a good excuse and unsuspecting way to let his gaze linger on lando. his face breaks into a cute toothy grin and — oscar thanks america for the 5th amendment and the right to remain silent.
“yeah,” lando replies, still smiling, “but i nicked myself right here.”
he points to a small circular bandage on his chin. oscar hums, sympathetic but mostly distracted by the pout on his face.
“you look good,” oscar mumbles shyly.
“ay, lando,” jon interjects, appearing in front of them. he mentally thanks him for distracting from the redness creeping onto his cheeks. “some of the guys back the garage want to talk strategy before fp3. we should head over there.”
“sure thing,” lando says, pushing himself off the bench. he glances back at oscar with a small smirk on his face. “and thanks, osc.”
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
“vegas fucking sucks,” lando mutters, kicking a pebble on the road. he and oscar walk around the paddock after their awful qualifying session (p16 for lando, p19 for oscar). they should probably be with their engineers, with andrea, to discuss how they’re going to come back from this mess, but they’ve managed to sneak past anyone important and now they’re just wandering around. thankfully, the dark cover of the night makes the two sorrowful mclaren drivers fairly hard to spot.
“we can bring it back,” oscar replies, voice monotone and robotic.
“yeah,” lando sighs, still sounding defeated, but then looks up at oscar.
the aussie raises a brow, waiting.
“we can… bring it back, i mean.”
“thought we here to sulk?” oscar says with a surprised smile, “if we wanted the motivational speech we should’ve stayed back at the garage.”
“well, i’ve decided that our sulking time is over. think about it, we’re in las vegas! we’ve got to have a good race tomorrow so we can go out, get drunk, and celebrate our podium or victory or— whatever in las fucking vegas.”
oscar laughs breathily. “i’m glad something’s motivating you, but i can’t say i’m much of a vegas guy.”
lando nods, probably recalling all the times oscar had skipped out on parties and going out this season. he was a low key guy, he mostly enjoyed his successes with a good meal, talk to his family, and a nice nap. although, lando had managed to bring him out of his shell and force him into a club on a few occasions. it wasn’t oscar’s favorite thing in the world, but he couldn’t deny enjoying the post-race atmosphere on the middle of the dance floor, with a few shots in his system and lando norris dj-ing in front of him.
and it seems like lando knows exactly that, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he contemplates his next words.
“oscar…” he drawls, accent so heavy it basically ignores the r in his name, “you wouldn’t wanna come celebrate with your good ol’ teammate if we did well? your poor, poor teammate that’s already struggling to find motivation? don’t you think it would be so motivating if he knew you would be there to celebrate with him?”
it’s weird, oscar thinks, because he’s not really sure why lando wants him there, anyway. or why he has wanted oscar at any other party. oscar doesn’t think he’s particularly entertaining, and he’s not the life of the party by any means. but lando’s invitations, as unserious as they sound sometimes, are genuine. he doesn’t know if it’s his small infatuation (read: huge crush) with the boy that convinces him so easily (okay, he does know, but that’s not the point) but he’s accepting the invite embarrassingly fast.
“fine,” he huffs out, trying to sound annoyed but desperately failing, “if it helps you do well, i suppose i can be at the celebration party.”
lando’s face lights up and any doubt oscar was having about this being a bad decision fades away. he’d do much, much crazier things to see that look on lando’s face again.
“that’s my boy!” lando exclaims, throwing an arm around oscar’s shoulder for a quick side-hug.
and fuck , oscar knows he said that with platonic-bro-teammate intentions but he’s embarrassingly affected by it. stupidly, he allows himself to imagine lando saying that to him with different intentions, in a different context, in a different tone.
he’s so caught up in this fantasy that he doesn’t notice the pebble— perhaps the one lando had kicked earlier— in front of him. if he was paying even the slightest bit of attention, he could’ve avoided it or stepped on it in a way that was disastrous. instead, his foot slides on the rock in just the right way for him to loose his balance and—
he doesn’t fall, like he thought was going to. he trips, and wobbles on his foot, and definitely hurts it, but he’s not face first onto the cement. he realizes, as he regains his footing, that it’s due to the strong, tanned arm that is gripping onto his shoulder.
“you alright, mate?” lando’s worried voice shakes oscar out of his shocked daze.
“yeah,” oscar breathes out, “thanks for that.”
“can’t let my teammate die before the race,” lando says, arm slipping away. oscar wears a thick mclaren hoodie, yet feels cold at the loss of contact.
there’s a dull throbbing pain in his right foot, nothing debilitating, but he figures he should ice it before it gets any worse. he tells lando so and the older boy suggests they go back to the garage. they only take a few steps before lando sighs.
“now that you mention it, my feet are killing me too. must’ve just gotten tired from walking.”
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
“good luck out there, remember your promise.”
lando’s hand extends in a fist bump, which oscar quickly reciprocates.
“thanks, you too. hope it keeps you motivated to have a good race,” oscar grins.
“mate, i’m already imagining my outfit and everything. yours too, you better not show up in a papaya shirt!” the elder teases.
oscar throws his head back in laughter, “i do not wear them that often! especially not to the club.”
“we’ll see about that.”
they exchange a few last words before oscar heads back into his own garage. in no time, he’s pulling on his helmet, settling into his seat, and driving onto the las vegas strip for the formation lap.
there’s not many benefits to being 19th on the grid, but as oscar takes in the sight of 18 formula 1 cars in front him, shining under the bright lights of vegas, he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. right, and they can still bring it back. (he heard this phrase countless times after yesterday’s qualifying, so he wonders why he only hears it in his head in a certain brit’s voice.)
then, the lights are blinking, oscar’s grip on his steering wheel tightens, and it’s lights out.
from that moment, it’s full focus for oscar. turn 1, overtaking, sector 2, defending, lap 2. he’s managed to push his way to the middle of the grid, pleasantly surprised with the pace of the car compared to yesterday.
he knows better than to get his hopes up at the start of a race, but he as he closes in on the third lap, he glad to know that they at least have the pace to fight for this race. the thought of pushing from the back of the grid to the front only grew his desire to win.
he’s barely ahead of lando now, although it’s not a concern to him. nothing concerns him when he’s in the cockpit beside his own race.
as they approach turn 16, oscar is trying to catch up to a haas. he knows he can’t pass it now, but if he could just nail this corner and cut off just a few tenths of a second…
he’s entering the corner, preparing to hit the apex, and— he hears something. it’s faint over the roar of his engine, but behind him is the unmistakable screech of tires losing control. a blur of fiery orange sparks in his peripheral vision confirm his suspicions that something has gone terribly wrong for someone.
he heard it, he saw it, what he doesn’t expect is to feel it.
suddenly, pain is coursing through his body. he’s shocked and fucking confused, but even as the pain threatens to take over, he remains in control of the car. his knuckles are white and his hands numb as he holds onto the steering wheel for his life. exiting the corner, he finally finds time to breathe.
but breathing fucking hurts . his ribs, back, and abdomen all ache badly. the heavy pain weighs intensely on his now-tender feeling body. his arms cramp too, although it’s hardly noticeable in comparison the more pressing issue of his abdomen. as his head throbs mildly, he’s not sure if it’s a headache from the sudden pain or another physical injury.
his heart and brain race almost as fast as his car to catch his body and mind up to speed. his first thought is that this must be his soulmate’s pain, as he is— for better or for worse— still in the middle of a high speed formula 1 race. then he’s wondering, if that’s the case, then the pain could not have been caused by whatever car crashed back there, right?
except, the aching in his body feels like an f1 crash. he’s been fortunate to have only a few crashes during his entire racing career, but when they did happen, crashes stuck with him. it’s impossible to forget the feeling of barreling into a wall uncontrollably at 300 kph.
so he was feeling the pain of the driver of that car— his soulmate. wait, his soulmate is a driver? it must’ve been the driver behind him, for him to see and hear it so well. but the driver behind him was—
“oscar, lando has crashed out at turn 16 and is into the barriers.”
the radio is muffled and fuzzy but the message is clear. except, he didn’t need it at all. he already feels it.
and if this awful pain is just what he feels, how badly is lando really hurting right now?
“is he alright?” oscar chokes out, a panicked and worried tone in his voice. it’s completely unlike the aussie to get so worked up on the track but fuck, he’s feeling too much right now. his body fights to stay in control, his mind battles a storm of negative thoughts and emotions, and all the while, he’s zipping down the streets of las vegas.
“he’s okay, but they’re sending an ambulance.”
on one hand, oscar is scared what the implications of that are. an ambulance— especially in the land of unfree healthcare— means it’s really bad, right? but he pushes those thoughts away and finds that he’s more relieved that lando is getting the care he needs, and fast.
“keep me posted,” he huffs out, still painfully aware of the ache in his ribs and chest.
as if that wasn’t enough, his heart seems to ache as well. not physically (thankfully, because he doesn’t know what he would do if he had a heart attack in the middle of a race), but it aches for lando. in his mind, he pictures the boy’s bright smile and crinkled eyes as he rambled on about the amazing party they’d have after their very successful race. oscar knows the guilt and the sorrow that follow a crash or any dnf and he feels so sad thinking about how lando must feel.
reminding himself that he’s still on the road, he reaches the end of the straight, turning at the last corner and completing another lap. his brain struggles to focus between what matters, nailing turn 1, and what really matters, the fact that lando norris is his fucking soulmate.
it’s weird how that was almost an afterthought. he always imagined having a big ta-da reveal moment when he found out who his soulmate is. however, his mind was so preoccupied thinking of lando’s physical and emotional health, his own physical condition, and the race that the soulmate thing kind of got lost in his priorities.
honestly, he still doesn’t want to think about it. he knows all the evidence points to it being true. he thinks back to just yesterday, with him hurting his foot and lando complaining about his own just moments later. or the day before, with lando saying he hurt his chin and oscar having felt a sting earlier that day. shit, something in him knew as soon as the car had crashed that whoever that driver was had to be his soulmate.
yet, he can’t help but doubt himself. he refuses to get his hopes up, only to have them crash down on him as yet another pain to deal with. so lando norris might be his soulmate, but he still has a race to finish.
it’s not easy, but eventually the pain dulls. it’s still there, constant and throbbing, not letting him forget. but he pushes through, tries to find peace in the fact that lando is being taken care of at the hospital, and keeps driving.
he’s up to p4. lando must’ve been given some serious painkiller because oscar feels mostly numb by now. maybe he really can bring it back. if not with lando, then for him.
that’s what he thinks until he’s dropping positions; behind the ferrari, behind the mercedes, behind the alpine. he pushes, he fights, he wants so badly for something good to come out of this race. but in the end, he sees the checkered flag with p10 and a tiredness settling over his already overwhelmed body.
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
stepping out of the cockpit, oscar’s body feels like it’s made of porcelain, heavy and fragile. the mental toll of the race seems to have manifested in a mild headache, an unwelcome addition to a growing list of pains.
from there, he’s on autopilot. his mind feels distant, far away from his body. he figures it’s his body’s way of focusing on anything but the exhaustion overcoming it. he’s sure he looks dazed during all the media and interviews, but at least it feels like it goes by quickly.
before he knows it, he’s sitting down for the debrief. and what finally snaps him back to reality is the sight of the boy taking a seat next to him.
lando’s curls are tousled, face paler than usual, and eyes evidently tired. it’s sad to see the normally bubbly boy look so… deflated. although, oscar’s mind unhelpfully adds that he doesn’t look any less attractive than usual.
lando has caught onto oscar’s gaze, sending the latter a weak smile. “that bad, huh?”
“no! the opposite, you look ridiculously good. especially after what happened…” oscar trails off, not sure if lando wanted to hear any more about the crash. he’s surprisingly confident in calling lando good-looking, though, and part of him wonders if it’s because he’s half-convinced that the boy is his soulmate.
“thanks, but i know i look tired. it’s because i am.”
“i know,” oscar mumbles, “but you just have to get through this, hm?” he offers a small, reassuring smile and is glad to see lando mirror it.
oscar is impatient. he needs to talk about the soulmate situation, he needs to confirm or deny his suspicions. but as zak and andrea walk through the door, he knows they don’t nearly enough time to have a serious conversation. he wants to ask lando if they can talk later, but decides against it. he doesn’t want to make the already exhausted man any more stressed with ominous messages.
so he sits quietly and listens as the debrief begins.
unsurprisingly, there’s a lot to say about turn 16 on lap 3. what shocks oscar the most, however, is how close lando’s car was to taking out his own after he lost control. the elder frowns, muttering, “i’m really sorry, osc, i almost ruined your race.”
“it’s not your fault, lando.”
“oscar, you seemed to lose some grip right when lando crashed,” andrea points out, playing a slow motion video in which oscar’s mclaren wobbles slightly out of the turn, “what caused that? did you know that was happening behind you?”
oscar watches the video again, recalling the exact moment in which he was hit with a world of pain. honestly, he’s impressed with himself for not losing control and staying on track amid that and his subsequent mental breakdown.
he doesn’t want to reveal the true reasoning behind his error, though. he knew from the moment it happened that it had to stay a secret, at least until he talked to his soulmate about it. so answers in a half-truth.
“i heard it, yeah, and saw some sparks. i was caught off guard.”
from the corner of his eye, oscar notices lando’s expression: guilty, disappointed, apologetic. he wishes he could wipe those emotions from the brit’s face, or do anything to make him feel better.
“okay, moving on now…”
but it was going to be a long night.
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
oscar catches lando as he exits his driver’s room.
“wanna head back to the hotel together?” the aussie asks, receiving a nod.
as they head out the paddock side by side, lando speaks up, “you look tired, no offense… it was hard race for you. i was watching you on the way to the hospital.”
“you were watching?” oscar frowns.
“don’t be worried, the painkillers kicked in by then. and i needed something to distract me from the all the wires they put in me.”
the aussie nods in understanding. “it was a hard race,” he confirms, “and i still couldn’t manage to ‘bring it back’.”
“don’t say that, p19 to p10 is a great effort.”
oscar hums, although he can’t bring himself to really agree. he’s still hung up on losing p4, but it feels juvenile to complain about it to someone who dnfed, so he doesn’t. instead, he asks, “are you feeling better now?”
“hm? yeah, just a little sore,” lando replies.
“not like that. i mean…” mentally is the word he doesn’t say, it feels taboo for some reason. lando understands.
“oh. i’m… i’m okay. kind of shaken up, but i’ll recover.”
oscar is scared. he knows a crash like that fucks with your mind and drains you. so he’s scared to talk about it further, but he’s also scared to move on too quickly.
surprisingly, lando seems to sense this conflict. he calmly explains, “if you’re wondering if i want to talk about it, the answer is not really. not because i’m tired or traumatized or anything, i just don’t have a lot to say about it. yes, it was fucking scary. yes, i’m disappointed. yes, i feel guilty. but that’s it, so i’d like to move on.”
it’s a valid response, similar to what oscar has felt after crashes. it either haunts him for weeks, or he’s just over it by the end of the day.. although, since lando’s crash seemed especially bad, oscar wonders if he’s truly over it. he figures there’s not much he can do if the elder doesn’t want to talk about it, so he moves on too.
“i understand,” oscar expresses genuinely.
“you know what i am sad about, though?” lando sighs, “our celebration party! i can’t go out in this state and you don’t seem like you will either.”
the aussie nods, “definitely not going out, especially without you… but who says we can’t still celebrate?”
“and what do you suppose we celebrate, mr. piastri? me not dying? you getting one point?”
oscar breaks into laughter for what feels like the first time in ages. “why not? we both need a little pick-me-up.”
lando smiles warmly and fuck , oscar is filled with so much adoration that he’s suddenly reminded that could be his soulmate standing right there. he needs to get that off his chest, but not right now.
“how about fifa and pizza in my room? after we shower, of course,” oscar offers.
“i’d love that, piastri.”
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
it’s 2:00 am by the time lando shows up at his hotel room door.
well, oscar hasn’t let him in yet, but it’s evident by the impatient and increasingly loud knocking. the aussie, having just gotten out of the shower, throws on some shorts and ruffles his wet hair with a towel before rushing to stop the assault on his door.
“finally! i thought you were dead—“ lando cuts himself off, voice cracking on the last word. oscar’s a little too distracted to be concerned, however. he’s busy trying not to stare at the attractive brit, with damp curls and glowing skin. he’s glad to see the elder look a little more rejuvenated.
he must’ve zoned out for only a second because lando is still speechless and… staring at him? warmth creeps up oscar’s body as he realizes that, in a hurry, he had forgotten to pull on a shirt. it’s not like lando hasn’t seen him shirtless before, but he supposes the unexpectedness of this time has him a little surprised. ( or he’s your soulmate and he thinks your attractive , a small voice in his head hopes. no, he’s not going to get carried away.)
“s-sorry,” lando stammers, “just surprised.”
his eyes are very obviously trying to look at anything but oscar. the aussie shrugs it off and jokes, “you wouldn’t be if you had given me two seconds to wear a shirt.”
a blush creeps onto lando’s face as he steps into the hotel room. “well you can put one on now so… y’know ,” he mumbles, gesturing vaguely with his hands.
“alright, you can order room service while i ‘ y’know ’.”
lando turns away, still red, and heads to the phone. oscar busies himself by digging through his suitcase for a clean shirt. he easily finds one, black with a bright orange mclaren logo and text. but then, lando’s words from earlier that day ring in his head: “… you better not show up in a papaya shirt!”
he knows this is no party or club, but this is their celebration, after all, and he promised not to wear mclaren merch to it. it would probably be best, anyway, for them both to forget about racing for a bit. so he pulls on a plain ralph lauren shirt instead.
“i ordered pizza and sundaes!” lando informs excitedly.
oscar hums contentedly. it sounds delicious but it’s definitely against their diet plans, so he asks, “jon and kim will never hear of this, correct?”
“i won’t tell if you don’t,” lando grins mischievously.
the two settle down and get comfortable sitting on the foot of the bed. oscar is busy setting up fifa when he notices lando squirming.
“does it hurt?” he asks because he knows. he has felt a faint soreness in his body since the race, meaning lando has probably been feeling a worse version even after checking out of the hospital. he’s also felt how the pain stings just a little more when he moves or bends a certain way, which is why, he assumes, lando is struggling.
the brit nods, mumbling, “a little.”
god, oscar wants to tell him. let him know that he’s not alone in this, emotionally or physically. but fear creeps into his mind. he’s not scared that lando might not be his soulmate this time— no, he’s been mostly convinced of that for hours. what he’s scared of is the thought that lando might not want to be his soulmate.
he knows it sounds stupid, but it makes perfect sense in his mind. whatever unworldly connection they have doesn’t guarantee that lando really views him that way. it’s completely possible for him to see oscar as his fully platonic teammate-turned-friend.
and even if he did somehow like oscar, there’s no guarantee saying it’ll work out. they could be in madly in love, but the cruel reality is that the world that brought them together will try to keep them apart. it would be difficult, but not impossible. and maybe oscar’s just lovestruck and unrealistic but “not impossible” sounds like hope.
he has hope this will work out.
“lando?”
the older boy meets his eyes, gaze delicate yet hiding a flurry of emotions underneath. oscar chokes on his words, he hadn’t thought this far.
i think your my soulmate.
can i test out a theory?
i have something to tell you.
how would you feel if we were soulmates?
no, nothing sounds right. now he’s going to have to awkwardly brush off what has now become a strangely tense moment and lando’s going to think—
“room service!”
he’s never been more grateful for an ice cream sundae.
“um, i’ll get that,” the aussie mutters, quickly slipping off the bed and running to the door. he’s hyper aware of the lando’s heavy gaze on him as he brings a tray of food inside.
he sets it down on a coffee table near some loveseats. he glances up at lando, but seeing the boy still stare at him, he flicks his eyes back down.
“let’s eat first, so the pizza stays hot and the ice cream stays cold,” oscar suggests.
lando doesn’t respond, but oscar’s peripheral vision watches as his blurry figure approaches closer.
“ah, i forgot to lock the door,” oscar realizes aloud. he’s in a rush to go back there, mostly because he’s delaying having to confront the millions of questions written on lando’s face.
but in his haste, the aussie only makes things worse for himself.
“ ow !” oscar yelps and winces at the throbbing pain in toe, stubbed against the leg of the table.
his immediate reaction— well, besides “ow”— is to check on lando. his heart drops at the grimace on the boy’s face and, mindlessly, oscar blurts out, “shit, i’m sorry, lando.”
the brit looks up, brows furrowed in confusion and face contorted in thought. oscar can see the gears turning in lando’s head as he looks between his own foot and oscar’s.
finally, he meets oscar’s eyes with an expression of disbelief. his lips are parted, mouth slightly open in shock, eyes riddled with curiosity, and eyebrows raised in incredulity. before oscar can get a word in, lando whispers.
“sorry? osc, you have nothing to be sorry for…” he says, sounding distressed, “ i’m sorry. i… what did i put you through during the race? are- are you okay?”
lando’s face is riddled with worry and anguish as he approaches the other driver. oscar, still frozen in his stupor, allows lando’s warm hands to caress his own.
the brit’s eyes well with tears as he breaks down. “i’m so, so sorry oscar. you were dealing with my crash in the middle of a fucking race and you didn’t even let it show.”
oscar shakes his head, wanting to dismiss the boy’s worries but not having the words. he slips his hands from lando’s grasp to caress his cheeks and wipe at the tears rolling down them.
lando breathes erratically, every so often inhaling like he’s about to speak, but coming short of words. oscar’s breath is steady, an attempt at keeping calm. finally, he speaks.
“lando, don’t be sorry. i don’t blame you for that pain or any other i’ve had. i’m sure you’ve felt it before, but when your soulmate gets hurt,” he had said it now, he had acknowledged the unspoken truth, “all you can think about is them. my pain was and is just a fraction of what you’ve gone through, so please don’t worry about me.”
lando’s breathing calms, although he is still very clearly distressed. “oscar… my pain could’ve caused you to lose control and crash even worse than me. i… i don’t know what i’d do if i did that to you.”
“but you didn’t do that to me. and i didn’t lose control. this… this is in our job description, lando. it is assumed every time we step in the car that this is just one of many risks we’re taking to do what we love.”
and it’s true. every driver has thought of the consequences of this job. they’ve thought of the pain they might inflict on themselves, and therefore, their soulmates. as well as the pain their soulmates may inflict on them, and how that could impact them on track. and they’re all still here.
but oscar does realize what lando’s hinting at. them being soulmates puts them both at a much greater risk. most drivers don’t have to worry that their soulmates will crash at 300 kph at the same time they’re trying not to crash at 300 kph.
however— and he can see the look on lando’s face as he realizes this too— it’s a risk they’ve been taking unknowingly. not just from the beginning of the year, but since their time in karts.
“it’s scary,” lando acknowledges in a whisper, “but… we can do this.”
his voice is unsure but the classic lando optimism shines through. it’s like sunshine, creeping into oscar’s heart and enveloping any doubts of his own.
“we can,” oscar confirms.
there’s a beat of silence and as oscar’s hands slip away from lando’s face, he finally feels the heavy tension in the room. there’s still something they haven’t properly discussed.
“lando,” oscar starts in a breathy voice, willing himself to look into the brit’s curious eyes, “i don’t want this to be it. we’re in this together—physically, we always have been— but… i want more. i want to experience the pain with you, but i also want the joy and the happiness and the love. i want… you. i have since before i knew we were…”
“soulmates?” lando finishes with a small smile. oscar’s heart races impossibly fast at the simple word.
“oscar, you never had to ask. of course i want this, too— want you , too. i can’t say i want to experience the pain, but i know it’ll be okay with you by my side.”
it’s a little surreal hearing those words from lando. they’re more than a confession, they’re a reminder that this is okay. it’s okay to want lando. it’s okay to stare at him like he hung the stars in the sky. it’s okay to care for him like he’s the last person on earth. it’s okay to love him like oscar has loved no other.
and maybe, one day, oscar will sit down and tell lando all the poetic nonsense his brain has subconsciously crafted in attempt to convey his feelings. but right now, he finds three words, much simpler and shorter, that do the job.
“i love you.”
and the look on lando’s face is so fond as he echoes, “i love you too, soulmate.”
“ now ,” the brit grins. there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes as he throws his arms around oscar’s neck and takes the younger by surprise. “i’m feeling awfully pained tonight, and i’d really appreciate if you could kiss it better.”
his words are hot breaths on the corner of oscar’s lips, teasing and building a pit of desire in the younger’s stomach.
“it would be my pleasure.”
he leans in, tilting his head to meet lando’s lips. it’s a delicate and warm kiss, laced with the passion and desire they’ve been holding in.
oscar’s body feels hot as he melts into lando’s touch, but he’s not surprised that that’s what happens when you kiss the sun. he welcomes this sensation, in fact, he can’t get enough of it. his arms are snaked around lando’s waist, desperately clenching the fabric of his shirt. the elder seems to feel the same as his hands bury themselves in oscar’s dark hair.
when he pulls away from lando’s lips, it’s only because he can’t breathe any longer. he knows his face is flushed as lungs struggle to catch up. and god, his hair is probably a mess. however, it gives him a sense of satisfaction to see lando similar state; he almost feels prideful knowing that he’s the cause of the man’s red face, dilated pupils, and wrinkled shirt.
after sucking each other’s faces off, oscar can’t help but feel like the minuscule distance between them is now too much. he buries his face in between the elder’s neck and shoulder, hugging him tightly.
“i’m not going anywhere,” lando whispers close to his ear. it’s said in a half joking manner, although the seriousness of the words are not lost.
he’s right. as much as oscar wants to never let go of the boy, he’s content in doing so because he knows this won’t be the last time he’ll hold him like this. and it’s quite possibly the greatest feeling oscar’s ever had.
“also,” lando adds as the aussie pulls away from his neck and loosens his grip, “should we order new sundaes?”
oscar’s eyes widen, looking down at the table beside them to find two almost-fully-melted bowls of ice cream.
“then again, i quite like a good, white cream—“
“lando, you can’t just say that!”
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
when oscar slowly comes to consciousness, it’s because of there’s something moving against him. add that to the fact that he also feels unusually warm and now he’s really confused. however, all questions are quickly answered when he remembers he’s sleeping with lando.
he’s overcome with butterflies that make him want to kick his feet and giggle like a teenage girl. he’s cuddled up with lando, with his soulmate. the two are basically hugging, both on their sides facing each other with their arms loosely wrapped around each other’s torsos.
however, he can’t relish in the feeling for long because he’s quickly reminded of what woke him up in the first place; lando’s body squirms in his arms, legs shifting and kicking gently around. oscar wills himself to open his heavy eyes to try and see what’s going on.
in the dark blur his eyesight provides, oscar notices the distressed look on his soulmate’s face. his eyes are shut tightly, but his eyebrows are knit with worry and mouth in a frown. he lets out a small, sad whimper.
he seems to be having a nightmare.
oscar hates to wake him up, but he can’t stand seeing the boy suffer any longer. he brings his hands to lando’s shoulder, tapping gently as he whispers, “lando?”
it takes a few “lando”’s before the boy awakens. he lets out a low hum, blinking his eyes open before letting them fall shut again.
“bad dream,” he mumbles almost incoherently.
“wanna talk about it?” oscar offers, rubbing soft circles on his back.
lando heaves a sigh, still sounding scattered as he whispers, “i crashed… and i wasn’t okay. you weren’t okay.”
oscar’s heart tightens. despite lando’s reassurances from earlier, saying that he moved on from the crash, oscar had expected something like this. he knows too well how those crashes weigh on your mind. he had hoped that maybe lando really was okay; after all, he had been through this before. but he doesn’t blame him for not being okay.
“it’s okay, you’re safe right now. i am too,” oscar soothes.
“i just wish you didn’t have to feel what i felt. i don’t want to put you through—“
“lando. you aren’t ‘putting me through’ anything. anytime i feel your pain i only think about you. and all this time i have felt awful because i could feel what you were going through but i could never really be there for you.
but now i can. so i need you to know that i don’t blame you for anything and i never will. and i am more than happy to share your pain because it lets me know if you’re okay, if you’re safe.
and honestly, i have felt guilty about the pain i have caused you on so many occasions, so i feel like a hypocrite saying all this. but now that we’re together, maybe it’s something we can work on?”
there’s a beat of silence, then arms tightening their hold around him. lando’s eyes flutter open now, meeting oscar’s in a soft gaze.
“yeah. i’d love that,” he breathes out before pressing a tender kiss to oscar’s lips, “and thank you. for being there… now and in the past. i’m always here for you too, love. always will be.”
the promise of always finds a welcome home in oscar’s heart.
₊˚ʚ♡ɞ˚₊
“mate, these stroopwafels are mint!” lando grins, leaning back in his plane seat and pulling another one of out the package, “do you want one?”
“no, all this turbulence has made me sick. i’ll stick to some water,” oscar replies, reaching for his bottle. as if on cue, the plane shakes a little harder.
“we can’t even catch a break as we’re leaving vegas. that city is fucking cursed! i bet the ghost of george washington is conspiring to keep us here forever,” the brit says with a pout.
oscar laughs and watches amusedly as his boyfriend takes another bite of the waffle. but just then, the plane wavers more violently. and oscar doesn’t really understand why there’s a sharp stinging sensation in his tongue until he catches sight of lando’s face, contorted in pain and downright suffering.
“bit your tongue?” oscar asks, voice strained and face cringing at the feeling in his own mouth.
lando nods silently, lips pressed together in a tight line. finally, he mutters, “like i said, can’t catch a break.”
the aussie laughs breathily, bringing a gentle hand to lando’s jaw. the latter allows him to turn his face ever so slightly so that they lock eyes.
“need me to kiss it better?” oscar asks, innocent voice contrasting the dark look in his eyes.
lando can’t hide his surprise, especially with the furious blush on his face.
“please do.”