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The days after Miami could only be described as incredible.
And it hasn’t even been Oscar that won.
Oscar truly hadn’t seen anything like it, at least from Mclaren. Don’t get him wrong—the team was plenty passionate—but Oscar had always wondered what it was like to be part of something greater.
He saw how the Tifosi adored Charles. How the Dutch painted the grandstands orange for Max. How Silverstone worshipped Lewis.
Oscar never really cared for the public’s attention, but God did he long for the day he’d be seen. Just like them.
They’d been hopeful before Miami. Hopeful enough that a podium was practically expected from at least one of them.
And it had almost been reality for Oscar before a near shunt and a pitstop—fucking Carlos—had Oscar stuck in P19.
He’d begrudgingly accepted P13 and the fastest lap. Because Lando had won. He’d won. Trumped Max Verstappen, or whatever Crofty had said, as Lando took the flag.
And it had been glorious, every single second of it.
God, Lando was born to stand on the top of the podium. He was born to look down and see his team, cheering so loudly that they’d surely be hoarse tomorrow.
As the British anthem was played—just for Lando—Oscar could see every single emotion Lando felt.
The way he tipped his head back, soaking it all in.
How he rubbed at his eyes, happy tears threatening to escape.
Max and Charles, perfectly in sync, practically drowned him in champagne.
Green eyes so incredibly bright that it made Oscar feel like sobbing.
Because Lando was born to win. And he’d finally done it.
Oscar finally found Lando after interviews, much later than he’d liked.
He’d scrunched up his nose and grinned so hard that it looked like it hurt. Only this time, he was looking at Oscar.
Oh god. He was gonna lose it.
The force with which Lando slammed into him sent him stumbling backward. Oscar immediately gripped his waist, his other hand carding through Lando’s damp hair.
God, he was practically vibrating.
He tried to speak, but only managed a rather pathetic whimper.
‘Lando.’
He went still against Oscar’s chest, sniffling a little.
‘Lando. Lando, you did it.’ Oscar panted.
He pulled back, frantically looking Lando up and down.
‘Osc.’ His voice cracked. ‘I did it.’
And Oscar was helpless to do anything but kiss him.
Hysterical giggles and tears of pure joy followed, and Lando could not stop smiling.
It made Oscar want to set himself on fire.
God, he loved him so much.
They’d barely had five minutes for themselves when Lando got dragged away again, probably for some obscure winners duties.
Oscar didn’t mind; Lando was his all other days of the week.
So he went back to their hotel, showering and getting into bed.
He’d giggled at Lando’s texts, the Brit begging him to go out.
Unfortunately for him, Oscar was not in the mood to get wasted in a club full of sweaty Americans.
Oscar didn’t feel too bad about it; Lando had Max after all.
He’d been dead asleep when they startled him awake. Who knew Formula One drivers could be so fucking loud?
He’d dealt with drunk Max enough to send him away immediately.
‘Oscar. I don’t feel good anymore.’ Lando whispered.
Oscar sighed.
‘This is why you don’t drink, sweetheart. C’mon, let’s go to bed.’
And that had been that. Lando was a race winner. He’d bested Max, if only for one race.
Suffering through Lando’s hangover and his constant whining because of it was a small price to pay.
Because Lando still hadn’t stopped smiling.
It took everything in Oscar not to kiss his stupid smile off his stupid face.
Because that would be inappropriate. Naturally.
On the plane home, Lando had slept on his shoulder, and Oscar had fed him saltines.
It was perfect.
Then came Imola, and with it, Ferrari upgrades.
Charles took Imola after a close fight with Max. Checo had made up P3, with Lando in P4.
Oscar’s race ended on Lap 32. As had Carlos’.
Monaco was kinder to him, finally giving him his first podium of the year. Unfortunately for them, Charles’ emerged victorious yet again.
Max snatched P2 from right under him, scaring the fuck out of him in the process after a rather vicious overtake on the penultimate lap.
They were disgustingly cute on the podium.
Oscar couldn’t wait for his and Lando’s turn.
And it would come sooner rather than later. Because in Canada, Oscar got pole.
Partly because Carlos spun in a rainy Q2 and took Charles out with him. That, and a bit of luck, ended up with a Mclaren front row.
It wasn’t often he let himself hope, but this time something felt different.
Lando could feel it too; Oscar knew it. He’d been shaking a little, when he pulled him into a hug after quali.
He lingered too long. He knew.
They both did, and on Sunday morning, Lando’s nerves were through the roof. He’d been stress-cleaning for the past hour.
Oscar wasn’t nervous.
Oscar believed. In them. In the car. Canada would be his.
Lights out may have been like any other race start, but taking the flag would be the most special moment of his career.
After 70 laps, a total of six DNFs, and one botched Ferrari pitstop, Oscar would stand victorious.
As he went down the final straight, Lando trailing a few seconds behind him, everything clicked into place.
He was panting into his helmet, his chest heaving with it. For a moment, everything was silent.
And then Tom was speaking, barely audible over the cheers from the garage.
‘You’ve done it, mate. That is P1. Absolutely brilliant.’
And Oscar laughed. He laughed, because it was the only thing he could do except cry.
‘Holy fuck. Guys. Oh my god!’ Another burst of laughter followed. ‘Our first 1-2, huh?’
And he was so proud, it hurt.
‘First of many. Thank you, Oscar. You deserve this.’ Zak said.
And, look. It was nothing like the borderline hysteria that followed Lando’s win, but it was so Oscar and he wanted to sob.
He looked to his left, and he really shouldn’t have, because there he was.
His Lando.
He was waving, or giving him a thumbs up, or something else, but Oscar could barely see due to the tears blurring his vision, because, oh my god, he loved him so much . He waved back, surely shaking with adrenaline.
Oscar pulled into Parc Ferme and parked in front of P1. Because he’d won. He’d won a Grand Prix in his second season of Formula One.
As he stood on his car and raised his hands into the air, Oscar felt at home again.
This is where he belonged.
And he wasn’t gonna cry. He really wasn’t.
But Lando was looking at him, and he could never really control himself when Lando looked at him, could he?
He got off his car, nearly falling on his ass in the process. Oscar stumbled into Lando’s waiting arms, and at that, he lost it.
‘Lando.’
It came out muffled and wet, and Oscar could only laugh as Lando kept talking because there was no way for him to understand any of it.
He pulled back the tiniest bit, Lando’s hands immediately finding his waist, and pulled off Lando’s helmet, then his own.
Lando’s eyes were wild, bright green and red rimmed, and fuck, he looked good.
‘Oscar. Oh my God. Oscar. Holy fuck, Oscar. You did it. I’m so proud of you, oh my God. Oscar. We’re 1-2!’ And then Lando was laughing, clear and bright.
Oscar tucked himself back into Lando and sobbed.
Lando was sniffling as he pressed a kiss into Oscar’s damp hair.
‘I am so proud of you, baby. You’ve got no idea.’
Max, who’d been waiting for them to finish, finally ran up to them, breaking them out of their little bubble.
Max pulled them both to his sides, much like how they’d pose for the pictures if he’d won.
But Max hadn’t won. Oscar had.
‘Jesus, Mate. I knew you could do it, but not this soon.’ Max laughed.
Lando grinned. Oscar blushed.
Charles was next, pulling him in for a half-hug. ‘Mate! What a fucking drive! I’m so happy for you both; enjoy the podium.’
And he was off, squeezing Max’s hip before he disappeared into the crowd.
Oscar hadn’t let go of Lando yet. People were staring.
Lando pushed him towards the team, patiently waiting for their turn with the race winner.
Oscar exhaled, taking a moment to process it all. Then he ran, and he ran into his team's waiting arms.
He’s pretty sure someone grabbed his ass on purpose as they congratulated him.
To win your first race with your teammate right alongside you must be one of the greatest moments in the world.
The Australian anthem was played, and Oscar had to remind himself to breathe.
The British anthem was played, and he found himself looking down at Lando.
Maybe it was written in the stars.