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The Grand Prix at Monza, or as Lando would like to call it, a shit show. Driving past the chequered flag, he took P2; not the best but certainly not the worst.
He finished ahead of Oscar, and ever so slightly closed that championship gap that skyrocketed from ‘Shit Show: Part One’, last weekend.
He still couldn’t fathom how he had yet another mechanical difficulty, which then resulted in a second DNF of the season. He had followed his own advice in the end though; taking it on the chin and moving on.
However, he didn't anticipate Monza being almost as great of a disaster as Zandvoort.
It was at the start of the race, that had been most interesting.
Retrospectively, Verstappen never pushed him onto the grass, but he couldn’t afford to lose track position. He regretted complaining down the radio about Max, but Formula One is a high intensity sport, so, sue him.
Either way, the P1 for himself, and P4 for Oscar, was a nice sight to see for the championship, albeit temporary.
Though he knew it wouldn’t have been mentioned in their pillow talk that evening, Lando was quite happy with the result.
McLaren just wasn’t up to pace that weekend, and he just had to laugh at Max Verstappen breaking the record for the fastest lap on top of it all, because of course he did.
He knew he should’ve put money on it though when Oscar ended up with the fastest pit stop of the season, and himself with the slowest.
Almost six seconds.
He knew it should’ve been too good to be true. He wanted to avoid pitting first for a last minute safety car, so maybe he’d have a shot at top step. As a result, he let Oscar go first with the confirmation from Will there would be no undercut.
Lo and behold, he was sitting there for what felt like an eternity, blood turning ice cold and crystallising in his veins as the realisation started to set in.
Of course.
He comes out behind Oscar.
He was too in shock to say anything, and he knew better of it too, especially when his engineer apologised over the radio shortly afterwards.
When he had internally held up his white flag, accepting P3 and the championship lead extending once again, he watched with shock as Oscar slowed down, letting him through.
Lando couldn’t believe it.
Team orders? Seriously?
He didn’t know whether to take a breath of relief or sigh of frustration. He was grateful considering he had held position for most of the race, and would rather Oscar take the lead from him rather than it be given to him by team faults.
Lando knew he’d also feel the same way.
When the race had finally ended, and he passed through back to Parc Fermé, he weighed himself and congratulated Max.
He then shortly caught wind of Oscar, and he realised something was slightly off with him as they briefly shook hands.
There was a tightness to his face, like he was becoming uncomfortable.
Huh.
Oscar never reacts like that whenever they touch. He also didn’t squeeze his hand before they let go, which was something he always did.
Lando tried not to think too much of it, putting it down to the sweaty, tight, texture of their suits following the race which he could also relate to.
He took a moment, and focussed on finishing the short, post-race interview. Then, as they swapped over, he very quickly realised his eyes were unable to remove themselves from Oscar as he gave his thoughts on the race.
Lando noticed the way Oscar’s gaze kept shunting back and forth between the interviewer and the cars parked up behind them, like it was becoming increasingly difficult to look at them as he spoke.
That set off an alarm in his head, an itch to check in with Oscar starting to build under his skin. He fought against it, wary of the cameras trained on them as they eventually made their way to the cooldown room.
That was when he learned what had actually occurred on the radio, with Oscar being told to let him through, and that was when he knew he’d be in for a fun debrief.
He tried not to focus on Oscar, who seemed like he was phasing in and out between his usual self and momentarily turning blank.
No one else would’ve noticed, passing it off as usual post-race antics for the Australian racer.
Lando noticed.
He shook his head, as if to physically clear his own mind. It was time for the podium, and he had to concentrate on his facial expressions.
As Max was called to the top step, the applause was thunderous. However, as Lando came out to take his spot, he immediately noticed the crowd’s tone shift as many boo’s exceeded that of the cheers.
If he had been in the mind-space he was a week ago, he probably would’ve walked straight off the podium.
He tuned it out this time.
He knew it was because of the team's decision which would spark controversy, and most of the fans in person wouldn’t have heard the radio interactions behind it.
They probably assumed he would’ve had a whinge down the radio.
He knew that wasn’t his fault though, and there was nothing he could do. He didn’t say anything, ignoring it and keeping his face neutral.
He waved to the fans he could scout out in fluro around him and powered through it.
Oscar would be there for him later, like he always was.
Like last week.
~~~
They had just finished their burgers, sitting at the edge of the bed; the Dutch Grand Prix had taken a lot out of them both.
Neither one of them had spoken in a while, a much needed conversation awaited, and that scared them both.
With the silence being just as uneasy as the noise, Lando broke it.
“I can only make consistent eye contact with you,” he opens, rubbing his sweaty palms over his knees.
Oscar, with their legs briefly touching, put a hand over the top of Lando’s, a reassurance.
He continues, “like, with other people, it kind of feels like they’re stripping apart my soul or crawling into my skin. It just gets really uncomfortable.”
Lando gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he finishes. His gaze locks on to Oscars, and he feels at ease, the weight of the confession lifting.
“Well, you’re the only one I like touching me.” Oscar adds, and Lando wiggled his eyebrows at the man next to him.
“Not like that,” he chuckles, “It’s just…” he sighs, and Lando, noticing the shift, straightens, fully turning at the edge of the bed to face him.
“My skin… sometimes it feels like its burning when people get too close or touch me. A lot of the time I know when to expect it so I can handle that feeling, but when I get overwhelmed, I hate it.”
Lando frowns, an overwhelming guilt bubbling in his chest, “I-”
He cuts him off, “only you.”
Confusion spreads across his features, and Oscar must’ve noticed, so he continues. “You’re the only person I can tolerate prolonged contact with. It actually comes as a comfort more than anything else.”
“Oh.”
The corners of Oscar’s mouth uplifted, “yeah”. He finishes.
They had spent the better part of that evening in Lando’s room talking.
Learning all about each other’s triggers, and how to help in the event of any sort of public or private meltdown or shutdown, it granted security.
They both felt a lot better afterwards, and their relationship felt stronger because of it.
Lando’s heart was full.
~~~
He cleared the memory from the forefront of his mind, instead narrowing his focus back to Oscar. To the average person, he really did seem like he normally was post-race, iceman, as they liked to call him.
He knew Oscar better than that though.
He noticed the way his smile never reached his eyes, that his hands kept twitching, and how he attempted to dodge his engineers as they tried to clap him on the back.
Even as they made their way to the media pen, Oscar walked on the outside, pushing towards the wall and falling more quiet by the second.
Something wasn’t right, and a simple position swap was not it.
Upon reaching the media pen, Lando did his best to focus on his questions and his eye contact with the interviewer.
His gaze occasionally flickered to Oscar, who seemed to have put his shields up, none of his previous fidgeting present. He was back to ‘normal’ again for the cameras.
Lando thought no further of it.
Again, he should’ve known better.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, his media duties finally over, Lando turned to find Oscar, but he was nowhere to be found.
Thinking he was probably collecting his things back at the garage, Lando made his way back to his own driver room to recharge his social battery before getting ready for debrief.
As he walked down the hallway, he noticed a group of people crowding around Oscar’s door, opposite to his own. A large feeling of dread washed over him, his stomach twisting in knots.
Thinking better of his instincts, which proceeded to scream at him, and not wanting to arouse suspicion to any cameras or staff that weren’t yet aware off their relationship, Lando continued to his room.
He could check on Oscar later, in private.
His hand had barely grazed the door when he gave a final glance at the group of people; he spotted medics amongst them.
Fuck.
He wasted no time.
Pushing through the team members, bile clawed up his throat as he blurted out, “What happened? Why’s everyone here? Is Oscar okay?”
Andrea caught his eye.
“Er… there’s been a uh… situation,”
Lando’s nostrils flared, fuck, this is bad. He took a deep breath as he squeezed past to the door.
“Oscar was completing his media duties and suddenly stopped responding. He was uh… staring into space as such,”
Shit.
“He started shoving anyone that touched him”, he continued, and Lando’s blood ran cold. “He ran off after that and hasn’t said a word since. Mark is with him now but he it unable to get near him.”
He had heard enough. Lando shook his head, giving a brief, “excuse me” as he reached for the handle. Zak grabbed his wrist, and he pulled away from the burning touch.
“Lando, you can’t go in there, bud. None of us can, and Oscar’s in real bad shape right now.”
He nodded, “I know. I can help.” He said, determined.
Zak’s brow furrowed, expression grim. “We can’t let you go in alone. Oscar has already lashed out and we can’t afford for our other driver to be injured too.”
Anger flared in Lando’s face, something really rubbed him the wrong way with how they spoke of his boyfriend.
He breathed in, holding it for a moment before releasing a shaky exhale. He knew Oscar wouldn’t want more prying eyes, but he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.
He turns the handle, and goes into the room.
He ignores the shouts after him.
~~~
Oscar was fine, really.
Short pit stops were a part of racing, that was well known. Lando’s had meant he had gained track position from a team mistake, but then he lost it to a direct order.
That, was not part of racing, which meant it was wrong.
Thinking back, he knew he was stressed.
Since gaining a thirty-four point lead on his teammate, the pressure was on; he couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Outwardly, he kept his cool, moved on, raced hard.
He fought against Charles for P3, and won. He gained P2 from Lando, he was fine.
Then, the crackle of the radio and Tom’s voice came through. His heart sank to his stomach.
“Oscar, this is a bit like Hungary last year. We pitted in this order for team reasons, please let Lando pass and then you’re free to race.”
He did it.
Team reasons, right.
It hurt.
But he did it.
He couldn’t remember much more after that, his post race routine taking over as his mind slowly turned hazier.
Everything was going fine, and he vaguely recalled Lando’s worried face as they congratulated each other.
At media, he noticed an itch at the back of his throat, and it was getting increasingly difficult to concentrate on the journalist in front of him.
He tried to push past the sense of dread that was building in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was, but it was becoming harder to form the words and everything was getting too much.
Then it happened.
He had just finished with the first journalist, when all of a sudden, it was as if a tightrope he had been internally walking, snapped.
He opened his mouth to answer something his press officer said to him, but no sound came out.
He tried again.
Nothing.
No.
His tongue was like lead, and his body felt as if it was drifting away.
No, no, no.
Just then, something touched his shoulder, setting his skin on fire. He ripped away from its clutches, shuddering as sweat gathered at the base of his back.
Not now.
He took a deep breath, arms crossing to clutch at the skin of his forearms. He dug his nails in, desperate to bring himself back to the present.
Someone else touched him then, and as if it was a knee jerk reaction, he shoved them away. His eyes started glistening with discomfort, blurring his vision as panic loomed like a shadow.
Oscar just barely whispered a “sorry” in the direction of who he assumed was his press officer, before pushing past the crowd of people and rushing back to his driver room.
~~~
Lando didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Just as his eyes scanned to the furthest corner of the room, he sees Oscar standing there, back pressed to the wall. His hands were clutched together, knuckles white and a blank expression on his sickly pale face as he stared ahead.
He was too focused on his boyfriend that he missed seeing Mark putting his hand on Oscar’s shoulder. He rushed forward, calling Mark’s name, who turned his head to Lando, but it was too late.
Oscar wildly thrashed away, smashing his fist outwards, connecting with Mark’s nose. A crunch resounded throughout the room as he throws his hands to his face, grunting as he stumbles backwards.
Lando’s throat constricted, watching with horror as the realisation dawned on him that Oscar had just accidentally punched his manager in the face.
The sound of panting shifts Lando’s focus back to Oscar. He was trembling, staring ahead, a vacant expression haunting his features.
Lando was lost for words, and he held the edge of his shirt between his fingers for comfort as he slowly approached Oscar, who seemed to have not even recognised his presence.
Before he could even attempt to process how to proceed, a loud bang suddenly ricocheted between the walls.
Both him and Oscar flinch as footsteps thunder towards them. Lando watches as security and medics brush past him, harshly grabbing at Oscar’s arms.
Mark, confused and taken aback by Oscar’s change in behaviour, still protested, “be gentle with him!” His fingers were dripping with blood as an assistant medic hovered around him to check him over.
Lando stood frozen for a moment. He was torn between Oscar, Mark and the two Team Principals that he had just noticed had pushed into the room.
The decision was made for him as Oscar started making pained noises, half between a grunt and a whimper, and Lando’s hands shook with unease. What scared him the most, was that Oscar still never said a word, despite hating being touched in any form by anyone that wasn’t him.
Tears were silently rushing down Oscar’s face as he tried to shrug off the two men holding him either side, his tremble becoming even more prominent.
Just then, a medic walked in front of him to shine a light in Oscar’s eyes. He momentarily scrunched his face, before resorting to an entirely vacant expression, as if he wasn’t there.
Lando clocked it then.
Shutdown.
Not quite a meltdown, and certainly different to his own moments.
Oscar had explained to him the previous weekend what they entailed, but seeing them was a whole different level.
He suddenly felt bad, having Oscar witness his own meltdown in Zandvoort, and getting him through that episode completely on a whim… Lando dreaded to think what he’d do if he didn’t have that talk the last week to prepare.
However, his guilt was soon replaced with rapidly expanding anger.
Nobody seemed to have acknowledged Oscar’s clear discomfort being exacerbated by the hold security had on either side of him.
As a result, they were pulling Oscar’s hands apart so he couldn’t self-soothe by rubbing his hands together. Equally, his face was starting to turn red from the strain of trying to get away from them.
Noticing the rapid decline, Lando surged forward, reaching for the upper arms of one of the men.
“Get off of him!” he tried not to yell, knowing Oscar wouldn’t react well.
At the same time, he feels someone clutch at his shoulder, “Lando,” Zak voice breaks through. “We can’t let you near him at the moment, you could get hurt.”
Lando grabs the hand, pushing it off as he turns around, meeting his Team Principal’s eyes.
“It’s making him worse trying to crowd him.” Lando says, exasperated.
Zak opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by another voice.
“If he’s not willing to communicate then he will be deemed as violent and unpredictable, in which he needs to be detained.” One of the security guards says, his name tag reading ‘Fabio’.
Oscar’s chest rattles, becoming visibly more upset as he fights, small whimpers breaking from his throat.
”Hold on now, I don’t think that’s necessary-”
Lando’s vision clouded, blinding anger vibrating within his tone as Zak is once again interrupted.
“He’s not dangerous for fucks sake, you’re clearly making it worse!”
He’d have their jobs for that, and by Zak’s reaction, he knew he wasn’t the only person thinking it. He couldn’t believe how pliant the rest of the team were being, particularly the other Team Principal, who had not said a word since before Lando entered the room.
Oscar was always preferred by Andrea, that was well known within McLaren and by fans. So, knowing how out of character his behaviour was, treating Oscar like he was completely off his nut… it really irked him.
Fabio didn’t acknowledge either of them, instead he gritted his teeth as he reached round and put his arm across Oscar’s chest, restricting him further.
Lando watched helplessly, and he hadn’t felt more useless at that moment.
Oscar suddenly went rigid, eyes going wide, before going completely slack; he had reached his limit. The two men groaned with effort as they struggled to hold him up, shifting their hold to wrap around his wait instead.
The medic who was doing her observations from the short distance, let out a soft gasp, her eyes still, focusing on a particular spot.
Lando followed her gaze, his face hardening.
There was prominent hand prints etched into Oscar’s skin from how hard they were holding his arms.
Lando waited to see if she’d mention it. He was sure a medical background would have far more of a sway on the situation than the patient’s teammate.
She said nothing.
He had enough.
He hated himself for what he was about to do, but Oscar looked so lost. No one else was standing up for him, knowing how wrong this was, and he couldn’t stand to see him like that anymore.
He turned again, scanning the room.
The assistant medic had escorted Mark from the room, presumably taking him to the medical tent. Andrea was murmuring to some of the other staff, some of which were press officers, others with the pit wall, who began filtering out the room.
Zak was still standing next to Lando, a crease etched deep into his forehead, as though he was conflicted.
He faced his Team Principal, desperate as he hears Oscar’s breathing turn laborious. His expression and movements were still completely slack.
“You need to let him go, Zak.” He said, his tone sharp.
“Lando, we can’t-”
Then, carefully. “He’s autistic.”
The room freezes.
A beat.
“What?” Andrea’s voice carries across the room.
Before he could respond, a pained sound breaks their focus.
Lando looks back to Oscar, who began violently flinching, trying to recoil from the sound, touch, everything probably. Unexpecting such a harsh reaction, Oscar manages to slip from Fabio and the other security member’s grasp.
Instead of running, he pushes himself back to the wall again, sliding down it. He tucked his knees to his chest, appearing as small as possible.
At the same time, his hands clasped each other in a tight fist, thumbs rubbing against each other in an attempt to self-soothe.
Instantly, security reaches for him again, and Lando, exasperated, puts himself between them and Oscar.
“Mate, seriously, you need to give him space. Just let me handle it,” he looks beyond the two Italians, his eyes locking with Zak’s, whose own widened with understanding.
“Please.” He adds.
Zak, finally, nods. “Be careful.” He says and makes quick work of ushering as many people as he can out of the room.
Only Fabio, a medic, and the two Team Principals remain.
Lando bites his lip, crouching down in front of his boyfriend.
He leans forward to try and catch Oscar’s eyes, but he doesn’t show any sign of recognition. He sighs, holding out his hand, palm up.
He waits.
Moments pass.
Then, agonisingly slowly, he watches as Oscar’s eyes slowly travelled from the wall to the limb in front of him.
Then, shaking, he lifts his own hand and taps Lando’s.
It was their own communication signal, one of which they had only established the week prior. There was no time like the present to test it, he supposed.
Lando took the one tap as the go ahead, and he slowly brought one hand to hold Oscar’s face, thumb ghosting across his cheek.
”Uh-” Andrea starts, but Lando holds up his other hand, shushing him at the same time, before bringing it to Oscar’s other cheek.
He didn’t hear anything further from the others, his focus maintained on the man in front of him.
A beat.
Then, Oscar finally met his gaze.
Lando was hopeful, but noticed the vacant look in his eyes.
Instantly, his heart shattered.
Briefly, Oscar’s pupils widened, but it was like he wasn’t really there.
He had never seen him so far away before.
Taking the lack of aggression as a positive, Lando reached to stroke Oscar’s hair, watching him slightly shiver as he tucked a small piece behind his ear.
“Hi, baby. You okay?” Lando murmured, ensuring his voice was low as he continued his light movements. “You ready to come back to me?”
Minutes passed and Lando had forgotten the others were in the room, until Andrea gave an awkward cough behind him. Lando turned his head, shooting him a glare, before softening his features to look back at his boyfriend.
Oscar hadn’t taken his eyes off of him, just studying his face with his mouth in a thin line.
“You’re doing so well, love. Just take your time.”
He continued whispering small praises, shifting to a more comfortable position. Lando’s hands eventually moved from his face, to his forearms, tracing small circles.
Oscar began blinking more rapidly, and where he was holding his hands together, the knuckles returned to their normal colour as his grip loosened.
Lando looked down, nerves tensing as he noticed the finger-shaped marks from the security team were becoming even more prominent, stark against his pale skin.
It wasn’t long before Oscar’s breath suddenly hitched.
Lando’s head shot up to his boyfriend’s face, noticing his eyes were glassy and his bottom lip was clamped hard between his teeth.
Then, a soft, stifled gasp that was unmistakably a sob that was being held back. He quickly reached to hold Oscar’s face with both hands, bringing their foreheads together.
There was a sharp, ragged inhale, by the man in front of him, followed by a shaky, wet exhale.
The tears started then. Properly.
Oscar never said a word.
~~~
All he could remember was hands grabbing him.
It was burning touches that sent shocks throughout his spine, and sucked the breath from his lungs.
He needed to get away, needed to breathe.
One moment he was in the media pen, and the next Lando was in front of him, stroking his face and anchoring him to his body.
It had just become too much, too quickly; he never could have anticipated something as small as team orders tipping him towards the edge. Or, maybe it was the promise of the discussion at debrief, having to sit there and let them justify it to Oscar like he didn’t already know, but was just bitter about it.
It was similar, but different to Hungary last year, he knew that. Before it was for top step, this time it was for second place.
He knew vague radio messages were a part of protecting their strategies from the rest of the pit wall, but being told, “we will go through it later” by his engineer had always rubbed him the wrong way.
Maybe it was his autism, but he hated unanswered questions. Even if it could be briefly summarised, at least he had an answer.
He wasn’t sure exactly what triggered this episode, maybe all of the above combined, but he was glad to be brought back to the present.
Embarrassment flushed his cheeks as tears and harsh breaths were punched out of him. Lando was holding his face. His touch minimal, yet grounding.
He vaguely registered the room slowly emptying, relieved at the lessening prying eyes. Guilt flooded his senses as he remembered his lashing out in the media pen, and-
Fuck. Mark.
He could feel himself getting more worked up.
It wasn’t long before he felt Lando’s arm slip behind his head, pulling him forward until he was resting his head on his chest. Instantly, his hands curled into Lando’s fireproofs, and he feels fingers stroking behind his ear.
The tension drained from his shoulders.
It was grounding.
Lando Norris was not one to believe in space when it came to Oscar.
If they weren’t together at the garage, or during debrief, or at the hotel room, it was at Monaco. If it wasn’t during media, he knew Lando was nearby, ready to catch him if he fell apart.
One thing Oscar had noticed more since their relationship was made official, was that Lando always had his hands on him in some way.
Whether it was a hand on his back in photos, an arm always across his shoulders, a tug on his sleeve… or his favourite, a lingering hand shake with a squeeze before they separated.
He had soon realised it was Lando’s own way of regulating himself, as well as an attempt at comfort for Oscar.
At the start, it had been constant, and that almost drove Oscar insane when he had faced more overwhelming moments. However, as their relationship progressed, he found himself becoming more and more comfortable.
Until it was just Lando.
Before him, Oscar was used to impersonal constants: short handshakes, a quick side hug, a clap on the back in celebration. But now, even as he sat against the wall of his driver room, nose buried in the warmth of his teammate, he realised something.
In all forms, it was Lando.
It was deep, intimate, loving.
No one else could touch him like this.
In public of course, it was always simple. No slip ups for cameras, just kind smiles and good teammates. Then, when the doors closed for the night, Oscar found the overwhelming stimulation for the day shed from his skin as Lando grants him a bone crushing hug at the end of it all.
It was easy, now, being with Lando.
There was no rush, no push, just them.
Sometimes, it was conversations on opposite ends of the couch as they discussed a film in the background whilst eating a takeaway. Other times, it was heated debates which always ended in fits of laughter as they dove way too deep into who was right about their take on a theory.
He also loved it when Lando would lay his head in his lap, chatting away as Oscar played with his curls, twisting his fingers in the strands.
Then, he would hear Lando trail off, until the only sound was the characters from the TV, and soft breaths.
Oscar would always huff, and ask, “did you just fall asleep?” Almost immediately, Lando would jolt and bite back, “‘course not, you muppet. Just resting my eyes a sec.”
He never said anything back, always letting Lando take the win.
As, five minutes later, every time, without fail, Oscar would hear small snores coming from his lap.
He would then proceed to give it an hour before carrying Lando to bed, making sure his sleep was deep enough where it wouldn’t be disturbed.
Deep down he knew it was just an excuse, Lando could sleep through an earthquake if he was tired enough.
It was purely because during that time, he would always spend it studying Lando’s face. He loved to trace the moles, scars, and blemishes, with his eyes or a brush of his fingertips.
Beautiful.
That was always his last lingering thought before he started to drift off himself, signalling it was time to go up to bed.
His utmost treasured thing though, no matter where they were, was Lando’s hand brushing his own whenever they walked past each other.
It was a secret touch; a reaffirmation of the quiet comforts to come at the end of the day.
It was theirs.
Even now, he knew Lando would be there.
He’d wait until the stars fell from the sky if it meant Oscar would come back to himself. He doesn’t think he could love anyone as much as he loves Lando.
The weight lifted.
He opened his mouth, choking out his boyfriend’s name.
“Lan?”
~~~
Lando’s heart broke as he watched the tears sliding down Oscar’s cheeks. His blank expression slowly began to fracture, his brow creasing as a pained frown crossed his features.
He pulled his head away from Oscar, instead moving to hold his face again. Lando winced seeing as his lips trembled, bitten sore.
He knew his presence and the safety of it was slowly cracking the mental shield that Oscar’s shut down had brought. He also knew the feeling too well; as within Oscar’s head, he was numb, but protected.
Now, it was cracking.
There was a broken sound that escaped from Oscar, almost like a mix between a half-gasp, half-sob. It was small but deafening within the room’s stillness.
His voice, soft, gentle, familiar. He whispered, “I’m here.”
It was all he said, and that was the anchor to the storm that was fast approaching.
He watched Oscar’s eyes, which were still staring blankly ahead at nothing. Then, slowly, painfully, they slid shut. All of a sudden, there was a full body shudder which violently wracked his frame.
Now.
Lando wasted no time, reaching round and pulling Oscar to his chest.
The dam broke.
It wasn’t loud, but it was devastating.
His breathing became ragged, and he was hiccuping sobs into Lando’s shirt. He feels Oscar’s hands reach for the material in front of him, clutching with desperate strength.
Absentmindedly, Lando rubbed gentle circles into his boyfriends back and nape of his neck.
He let him cry; let him fall apart.
He didn’t tell him things would be okay, or try to shush him. Lando’s vision went blurry as Oscar shook in his arms.
The noise, though painful as it was coming from his boyfriend, was a relief for him to hear.
He hated silence.
It was a sign that Oscar was coming back.
Lando placed soft kisses onto the top of his head, a quiet comfort. Eventually, the gut-wrenching sobs subsided to shaky breaths. The tension filtered out of his body as he fell limp against Lando.
He guessed that the weeks of pressure from the championship, dealing with people, media… it needed a release. Exhaustion came with every breath from Oscar’s body, evening to a deep and slow rhythm.
Then, finally. “Lan?” His voice was weak, cracking on the syllable of his name.
Lando sighed, relieved. “Oscar,”
Oscar pulled back. His nose was bright red, tear tracks seemingly burned into his skin. He opened his mouth to speak but Lando held up his hand.
“No. You need a nap. We can talk about everything later.”
He opened his mouth, but closed it again. Instead he just nodded in response, and Lando gave a sad smile.
As he went to help Oscar up, a voice cut in from behind him.
“Lando, we need to go in for the team debrief. The team are ready and waiting.” Andrea was leaning by the door, the only other person aside from the medic and themselves left in the room.
Lando bit the inside of his cheek, a newfound anger tensing in his stomach.
“I’ll go. Oscar isn’t. You can see he isn’t well enough to attend right now.” He said, sharper than he intended.
As Lando had his back to the door, still focusing on the man in front of him, he didn’t see Andrea’s face. No reply came, but he took the clicking of the door as an answer.
Just then, another voice came through, feminine and with a thick Italian accent this time. “Do you require any medical assistance?”
As they stood, Oscar lent his weight against Lando, and they turned around.
“No, thank you. I’ll deal with him.” Lando said, and the medic nodded, picking up her bag and reaching for the door handle to leave as well.
Lando narrowed his focus back to Oscar, who was completely exhausted as he was guided towards the small bed within the room.
After crossing the short distance, and with great difficulty, Lando managed to pull back the covers. He used his other hand to nudge his teammate towards the bed.
Oscar then pretty much collapsed onto the sheets, and Lando’s heart sank.
He knew how much Oscar hated wearing his ‘outside’ clothes on top of the bed; let alone in bed.
That told him that Oscar really was completely drained, in all aspects.
He mentally made a note of drawing him a long bath with a massage, as well as fresh sheets for when they got back home. Lando waited until Oscar got himself comfortable by curling onto his side, before covering him with the sheets.
He then sat on the edge beside him, a hand finding its way to Oscar’s curls, brushing them from his face. He watched as he sleepily blinked up at him, his chest rising and falling peacefully.
Lando then gave him a warm smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He rested his head there for a moment, before gently rubbing their noses together.
Oscar sighed, closing his eyes and going completely boneless.
“I’ll stay until you fall asleep, then I’ll go for debrief and we’ll go straight back to Monaco, okay?” He whispered, moving to kiss the tip of his nose.
Oscar hummed, and Lando knew they’d be okay.
When his breath finally completely evened out, and he started making his small facial twinges, Lando knew he was asleep.
He stayed for a moment longer, watching Oscar’s lips part, his breaths coming out in short puffs.
Lando smiled, and kissed Oscar’s cheek before forcing himself to stand. He quickly retreated to the door before cursing it all by climbing right into bed next to him.
He gives Oscar one final look before leaving the room.
He needed to have a very difficult conversation with the team.