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It might have been the sunlight hitting Lando's face just right, or perhaps the afternoon glow kissing his skin, or it might even have had everything to do with the warmer weather finally rolling around. Still, Oscar Piastri could have sworn there was something awfully different in how his heart beat. There shouldn't be anything intrinsically uncommon in the situation both McLaren drivers found themselves in; it was another day of taking care of the social media aspect of their jobs, and Lando had gotten an interesting letter from a younger fan he was supposed to read soon.
Oscar's presence hadn't been mandatory - truthfully, he hadn't even been invited to it but rather had heard Lando mentioning it about a thousand times and had found himself following him there.
With each word Norris read aloud, the glimmer on his face intensified; Oscar was mesmerized by it. There had been some moments where Oscar would catch himself staring too deeply at Lando, or for too long. Thankfully, he had gotten better at noticing his weird behavior and correcting it without his teammate's knowledge, twisting his gaze elsewhere as fast as he could, hiding his endeared smile between his fingers, never allowing himself to feel too comfortable around him, at least not when he looked so gorgeous, or smelled so good, and, most importantly, never ever when Norris was freshly out of the shower.
Although, lately, it had become harder and harder to hide his reactions. Oscar couldn't explain why he had become so obsessed with his teammate. Lando was a nice enough guy, and over time, sharing space in a team that meant so much for both of them, it was only natural the two drivers would gravitate towards each other. That's what Oscar thought this was. It couldn't be anything else, certainly. They were good friends, competitive teammates, and reluctant rivals. Nothing else.
And yet, somehow, his eyes always found the other boy immediately after he entered a room.
He didn't know what it was about Lando. He had tried to find whatever made him so interesting to watch, so captivating, so spellbinding, and had come out with nothing. Oscar just couldn't, for the life of him, pinpoint what made Lando so unique.
It had been nearly comical, theatrical even, a scene straight out of a cartoon, where the small lamp lit up above his head, when Lando read the word aloud for Oscar - alright, perhaps not for him, but he was there and Lando had said it, so it wasn't that much of a stretch. ‘Kindness.’
It was a blessing to have no cameras pointing out at him, because he was sure to look like an utter moron with his mouth slightly opened in a silent gasp.
Kindness. Yeah, that fit Lando Norris rather nicely, didn't it?
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The first glimpse of memory appeared to be a sigh from another life, ages ago, where their smiles had been distorted with the lack of comfort and the new introductions. Oscar had been incredibly nervous to join the team; the first meeting with his soon-to-be teammate, Lando Norris, seemed to linger over his head like a threat.
There was no secret what a bad rivalry could do to teammates in that sport. Mark had warned him about it at least a handful of times. Plus, Lando Norris was a big deal. There were rumors, and there were whispers; Oscar wasn't immune to either. His teammate was supposed to be the next big thing, an assured future world champion, just waiting around for an opportunity to appear. And suddenly, there was Oscar Piastri, out of nowhere, bringing a scandal - stupid, stupid scandal at that - along the second he had been signed.
Oscar wasn't one to feel nervous. He would drive a car down a straight going over 300 km/h without batting an eye. He could swim in dangerous waters, he could ski mountains - although he didn't do it as often as he would like, one of the only downsides of going back home during the long winter holidays -he could do quite literally anything without his heart ever complaining much.
Only, apparently, that did not apply to meeting his new teammate.
He hated being unsure of where they would stan, and hated even more that such a thing would depend on that first meeting. Oscar was never good with first impressions. People would call him closed-off. Sometimes, they would even think it to be a sign of arrogance. Truly, Piastri couldn't care less in general.
Then why did the mere thought of Lando Norris thinking the same have him tripping down the stairs of the McLaren Headquarters? He was so embarrassed by his misstep, it took him a whole second to feel the other pair of hands holding him upright.
They were supposed to meet in one of the backrooms with big windows and enough space to allow Oscar to breathe, not there. Or, more precisely, not then.
With the memory, the since-forgotten sense of embarrassment came back in a rush, alongside the warm feeling of Lando's hands on him. But back then, Oscar wasn't worried about that yet, he was staring down at Norris, still a step above on the stairs, with a puzzled expression. Nearly waiting for the snarky comment.
‘Tricky stairs. I fall down these all the time.’ Norris said, and when Oscar could do nothing but stare blankly at him, the Brit shrugged, ‘Come on. They're waiting for us.’
Two long years ago, Oscar could still nearly touch the confusion blooming in his chest. Lando Norris wasn't what he had expected him to be in the slightest. It wasn't that he expected an asshole right at the start, but perhaps someone eager to prove himself to be the head of the team. Oscar wasn't interested in fighting that for the moment and had been more than ready to reassure the older driver of such. But as they entered the room, with Stella and Brown waiting for them, Lando reached out and grabbed his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before letting it go and smiling brightly at the team principal.
‘I see you've met.’ Stella said, tone grounded although not serious, and before Oscar could even open his mouth to say anything, Lando was already off on a tangent, smiling all the while and making a clear beeline for the coffee.
‘Yep, Oscar here saved me from a fractured neck. You know, when I tripped down those horrible stairs again. Don't look at me like that, Zak; you know they have it out for me!’ Norris sighed dramatically, and Piastri held back his surprised smile, simply accepting the mug Brown offered to him and taking a long sip out of the pitch-black coffee. Oscar didn't mind, the bitter taste had already become a part of his routine after traveling with Alpine the last year and having to accommodate so many different time differences. Lando was still at it. ‘Either way, I survived, so no need for a monologue about paying attention and looking at where I'm stepping. I didn't even hit my head this time.’ At the last sentence, Norris turned around, sipped at the black coffee, and grimaced. ‘Ew.’ Andrea laughed at his driver, entertained. ‘Who drinks that?’ When his eyes landed on Piastri, drinking quite literal gulps of it, Lando chuckled. ‘Shit. Sorry, Piastri. Didn't mean to offend you. But this is disgusting.’ He addressed Andrea at the end, twisting his gaze into an apologetic smile and directing it to Oscar at the last second.
It sounded sincere enough, so Oscar shrugged, unbothered. Lando stood quietly for a second, perhaps waiting for him to speak, although Oscar had nothing to say. His cheeks tinted, embarrassment eating at him. He wasn't good at this easy small-talk, clearly not in the way Norris was, and could never, for the life of him, talk of nothing and everything for minutes on end. Oscar had the unexplainable urge to think out every single one of his sentences whenever he didn't know the people he was speaking to. So he didn't say anything, hoping Lando would catch up to it and let it go. Hoping he wouldn't comment on it at all.
Lando nodded silently. Then, he smiled. Looking back, Oscar saw it, clear as day, that was when it had started. The thumping of his heart.
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Another fragment of the past followed that one, light distorted behind the tint of his helmet's visor. Lando Norris was jumping at him, body flexing in the most perfect way, fingers curling around Oscar's arm as he laughed right at his ear. A shiver ran down his spine at the exact second his body stumbled back a couple of steps with the unexpected weight of his teammate's body against his.
Piastri was still dizzy with the emotions of his first ever podium, a third place after a rather complicated year in McLaren. Lando was smiling, and Oscar was happy. When he stood up on that step, looking at the people surrounding them, seeing the bright colors of his team celebrating with them, Oscar had been inexplicably happy. Japan wasn't half as bad, really. And Lando Norris wasn't either.
By the time the podium rolled around, they had shared multiple moments, filming different videos for different social media platforms, and every single time, Oscar was terrified of how Lando would perceive him. His teammate seemed to dance around him, sometimes carefully crafting his words, stringing sentences together for the camera so Piastri wouldn't have to say anything unprompted.
Kindness. Kindness all around. It was surprising how well Norris read him when Piastri had fought so much throughout his life with people misinterpreting his silence. People close to him, not understanding what he had meant, or rather not meant by staying silent. Then, along came Lando Norris, talkative Lando Norris, happy Norris, funny Norris, someone who couldn't be more different from Oscar if he tried. Lando Norris, who could - and did - do anything to make sure Oscar didn't have to be talking too much. Lando Norris, never expecting more from him than a quick laugh at his jokes.
Lando Norri, spraying champagne all over his face and twisting his body to stand in front of the cameras as Oscar cursed him out. Verstappen was aiming at Lando, celebrating the championship with Horner, but his teammate was looking at him , laughing, while shielding Oscar from the prying eyes he swore he could constantly feel on his skin, the slimy conscience of being watched.
Oscar had never truly talked with Lando at that point, not beyond the stupid challenges and moments they shared with the team in general. But, looking back, he was already too encapsulated in the feeling of being known. And in those small, tiny acts of gentleness.
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Qatar was an undeniably hot country. There was a stream of sweat running down Oscar's back and it was extremely hard for him to breathe correctly, the air seemed heavy, rather nonexistent, his head was throbbing so fiercely his vision was blurring and his throat seemed to beg him for the tiniest bit of water even after he had drank up half of his bottle.
It was so hot that Oscar was nearly sure he could see the heatwaves with his bare eyes. Or perhaps that was just the dehydration getting caught up with him. Either or, really.
Piastri had just won the Qatar sprint, and the only thing he could think of was taking a long, freezing shower. He had splashed water on his face and drank copious amounts of it, and still, it was like his body was shriveling inside, and he was seconds away from death by overheating. His head was spinning, it was hard to stand up.
All of it disappeared in one second when crouched in front of him. Eyes locked, Oscar tried to smile and failed completely. He was too tired, running too hot, and the adrenaline crash was coming sooner rather than later.
But Lando didn't seem to mind. As usual, he had that understanding glaze in his eyes, a softness in his features he would only have around Oscar - or at least it's what he would like to think. The more soft-spoken Lando he got, the more he craved, and it would soon be a problem. ‘Congrats, Osc.’ He whispered.
He chuckled despite himself, even when it made his vision black out for a moment, and he had to grab onto Norris not to fall forward. ‘Osc.’ He repeated back, as he always did.
Oscar didn't take his hand away from Lando's arm, and Lando didn't step back. It was still hard to breathe, although now Oscar could tell exactly why. It had nothing to do with the suffocating heat but rather with the blazing smile he couldn't get enough of. Back then, he was blissfully unaware of the storm such a sight would soon rage inside of him.
Piastri was just glad for the cold water he was offered a second later and the godlike sensation of it running down his back.
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Oscar quite literally tripped out of his car, stumbling, taking off his helmet, and running towards his teammate. Lando was laughing so hard, Oscar was nearly sure he was crying as well.
He had been captivated by all the small moments of Lando Norris. By the small smiles and the quick jokes. By the way, he paid attention to the people surrounding him and was always trying to be as polite as he could. By the twists and turns of his curls, that never seemed to agree between themselves on which direction they wanted to be pointed at. By the nicknames and the furtive touches down, Oscar's back whenever he could.
Oscar Piastri adored all these small details of Lando Norris. And yet, there was nothing that would ever compare to the brightness of his smile in Miami right then. There was nothing in the world in that second that was prettier than Lando Norris’s smile, and Oscar knew it with such an intensity, it robbed him of his breath.
Maiden Wins were famous for being mesmerizing, unique always, and yet none would ever compare to this one.
As Lando smiled down at the team, up in that podium, Oscar could've sworn they met eyes. He could've sworn his heart had skipped a beat. But it would still take him months to realize what it meant.
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And even when all the world believed them to hate each other, Lando Norris had kindness in him. Oscar knew what pressure felt like, too familiar with the feeling to take Lando's distant gaze as nothing but his own mental hell taking over.
It shouldn't be on either of them to apologize for what had been McLaren's mistake. It wasn't that Lando had tainted Oscar's first win; it was simply that it should've been dealt with differently.
Somehow, he didn't expect Lando to go looking for him. Piastri wouldn't be personally happy with the situation if it was the other way around either, and Norris had all the right in the world to deal with it the way that he could. Oscar knew he would.
But, of course, Lando was expecting him, hair dripping champagne on the floor, a pained expression on his face.
‘I should've let you through earlier.’ He said, and Oscar could have denied it. It wouldn't help, either way, the knife Norris was using to cut his wounds open was the same one Piastri had in his drawers.
‘It's already forgotten.’ Oscar promised.
Lando visibly deflated. ‘Osc, no. Really. I’m sorry.’
‘It's fine, mate. I promise.’ He felt the need to add when Lando didn't move.
‘You have the right to be mad. I'm mad. Not at you. But, you know. I'm mad.’
He could understand that. But Oscar just wasn't one to get mad. He could get upset. He could even get angry at himself. Yet, somehow, he could never muster enough energy to get mad at other people's actions, not when he had no power over any of it.
‘That's okay.’ Lando wasn't having any of it.
‘Yeah, it is. You can be mad as well. It's not gonna kill you, man.’
‘I'm just not. I'm happy.’
Lando was smiling then, and if he hadn't meant it before, he surely did then. It was already forgotten. How could he think of anything else when Lando Norris was smiling at him? He couldn't.
Although Oscar had started to realize he might just have to learn how to. It was becoming more of a recurring problem, one he had to quickly find a solution for. It wasn't normal, nor okay for that matter, to gape at your teammate like that.
He simply didn't know how to stop.
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It had been in Qatar, during last year's sprint race, that Oscar Piastri had started to acknowledge his problem might be a bit more serious than he had first thought it to be. Because when Lando let him through, it never crossed his mind that it was a sprint race, that it hardly meant any difference in points, because Piastri could not give less of a shit about points right then.
He cared about kindness, and he cared about Lando. So much, so fucking much , it was all he saw when he thought of him. Someone who deserved all the good things in his life. Someone who had fought for them and won it fair and square. Someone worthy.
And someone, Oscar was starting to lose his mind around. Every single moment he had free, he would be running around looking for Norris. The videos they had once been all but forced to film were up there in his favorite moments of each GP.
Sometimes, Oscar would follow the sound of Lando's laugh around until he found him, until he was laughing with Oscar. He would catch himself more and more often staring openly at Lando. Then he would feel his face burn, his cheeks turn into a very obvious shade of pink.
Once, a couple of weeks ago, he had run into Lando when he was looking for his shirt, and Oscar had nearly had a heart attack. Then, he had freaked out for the rest of the day, avoiding Lando desperately until the sight had disappeared from behind Piastri's lids.
It would be so much easier to avoid all of it if Norris was the asshole the media was making him to be. Except, meanwhile, Lando was baking pancakes with Oscar, decorating cakes, laughing so hard tears ran down his face. He was calling Oscar cute nicknames, speaking of him in every single opportunity he was given, and fucking smiling at him.
Oscar had nearly called Webber at one point. He surely knew some things about weird behavior from his teammate. And what that was causing. Then, he had thought better of it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with liking your teammate. Most drivers didn't have the privilege of doing so, and so what is Oscar liked being Lando's friend a little bit too much? Who could blame him?
It was nothing much! Come on, this was normal. Alright, perhaps not normal, but it certainly wasn't the dramatic situation he was making out of it.
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He hadn't fully admitted he was completely and utterly fucked until the last Grand Prix of 2024 came around. When Lando secured the win of the race and the championship for them. Oscar's first - and favorite - thought was that they would both go down in history, and they would do it together. It warmed his chest in a way he hadn't expected.
It wasn't only happiness for what he had achieved, but rather it came from the knowledge that, down the line, when people talked of Lando Norris, they would also mention Oscar Piastri.
There was so much champagne, and Lando was sticking so close to him; Oscar was living in paradise. Every time their bodies brushed for even a second, Piastri gasped. His eyes were following Lando shamelessly around. He had the excuse of the alcohol and the victory; he had every and each excuse he could find, and surely he would need them. Because there was no way he could convince himself to drag his gaze away.
Lando was shining bright, and Oscar was one of those people circling around him, mesmerized by the glow, desperate to have it pointed at him, to share the warm feeling of being under Lando's scrutiny.
He was spellbound. He had no way out. Oscar wanted Lando to smile at him, he wanted Lando to talk to him, and he wanted Lando to allow Oscar to keep him.
But he was drunk and happy, so he brushed it off. Whatever this was, it would be gone by the time they met again after the winter break.
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It didn't. Unfortunately, winter break had been long and boring and some weird type of torture where Oscar missed Lando and then tried to pretend he wasn't missing Lando, back and forth and back and forth until he was ready to throw himself in front of a moving car.
Back in the present, Lando was smiling at his letter, Oscar was staring, and the lingering memories were screaming at him.
The truth was there, the different lightness of those moments in his head didn't lie, the twist in his chest, the way his eyes watched Lando constantly, the weight of Lando's hand on Oscar's shoulder - the way he had memorized it to perfection -, the shoulders brush, the small gasps, the broken perspective of what perfection looked like - because Oscar was not supposed to say his teammate when asked that -, the adrenaline not even winning a Grand Prix brought him.
Oscar was obsessed with everything about Lando, and yet, it had taken a child to write to Norris for him to understand what it was, in its essence, that turned Lando into someone Oscar would never get over: kindness. Pure and simple. In every one of his actions towards Oscar. In the way he would talk to the camera before him because he had noticed Oscar felt less nervous when Lando had taken the small talk part of the video out of the way. Or when Lando would make a joke and wait quietly for Oscar's reaction before moving on to whatever else he wanted to say. How unserious Lando could be without ever undermining Oscar's way of being.
And the laughter. Oh, it stuck in his mind, echoing around until it was all he could hear - and Oscar couldn't be happier about it. Piastri had had an interesting life until he got into Formula One. Happy moments, great friends, a lot of compromises, but a good life in general. But then, he met Lando. And the absence of that laughter was so potent, all those old memories felt emptier without it. Meaningless.
Formula One wasn't an easy place to be. It was adrenaline and victories, but also terrifying crashes and insane pressure. Sometimes, it ate a bit at Oscar's edges, and he would feel himself blurring into the background. Until Lando would drag him right out of it, talking to him and asking him stupid questions.
There was so much bad shit happening all the time, and Oscar was good at blocking it out. Except he couldn't separate the good and the bad when he did so. Lando was always there to make sure a little bit of the good was close enough for Oscar to reach for it when he was ready.
There was truly nothing like being known, being understood. Oscar wasn't sure he could live without it, without him.
‘I like your so kindness too.’ He heard himself saying.
Lando smiled at him, and Oscar's heart skipped two beats at once. Yeah, alright. He admitted it. Oscar was in deep. And he wasn't even sure he wanted to ever get out.