Chapter Text
Lando Norris never thought his life would lead him here — fluorescent-lit gymnasiums, whistle around his neck, and a line of teenagers groaning as he made them run laps around the schoolyard.
At twenty-six, he wasn’t unhappy. “Normal” had its own comfort. He liked the smell of grass after PE lessons, the grin on a kid’s face when they finally scored a goal, the casual way his colleagues waved when he came in with his coffee in the mornings. His life was small, maybe, but it was steady. No engines roaring in his ears. No flights every weekend. No cameras. No pressure.
Definitely no Oscar Piastri.
“Sir, are we really going to meet a Formula 1 driver today?” one of his students, Amelia, asked, bouncing on her toes as they trailed into the paddock behind the McLaren PR representative.
“Yes, Amelia,” Lando said, adjusting the strap of his backpack. “That’s the whole point of this trip. Now stop elbowing Jason, yeah? He’s smaller than you”
The kids giggled. Lando smiled despite himself. Trips like this were meant to inspire them — to show them what careers in sports could look like beyond just football or athletics. McLaren had agreed to host a group from his school, and the headmaster had volunteered him to supervise.
He hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, he used to watch Formula 1 — who didn’t? — but he’d kept his distance for years now. Some things were better left alone.
The rep chattered away about the garage, the cars, the engineers. Lando’s mind wandered. He let the kids press closer, peering into open doors, marveling at shiny equipment. For them, this was magic. For him, it was…dangerous.
“Right,” the rep said brightly, “and now, as a special treat, we’ll introduce you to one of our drivers. He’s just finished media duties”
The group erupted into cheers. Lando’s stomach turned.
And then — there he was.
Oscar Piastri stepped out from behind a partition, still in his fireproof undershirt, hair slightly mussed, skin flushed from the heat of the garage. Older now, sharper around the edges, but unmistakably the same.
Lando’s breath caught in his throat.
Oscar froze. Just for a second. His dark eyes flickered over the group of kids before landing squarely on him — and staying there.
“Everyone,” the rep said proudly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air, “this is Oscar Piastri, McLaren Formula 1 driver”
The kids surged forward with squeals and questions. Lando stayed rooted to the spot. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Oscar plastered on a smile, kneeling down to their level. “Hey, guys,” he said, voice calm, practiced. “What do you want to know?”
Questions flew — how fast does the car go, do you get scared, what do you eat before a race. Oscar answered each with patience, charm, the perfect PR smile.
But his eyes kept flicking up. To Lando. Always back to Lando.
Lando couldn’t breathe. Memories came like gut punches — Oscar’s laugh muffled into his neck, nights sprawled across tiny hotel beds, whispered promises of forever. And then the shouting, the slammed doors, the silence that followed.
He thought he’d buried it. But here he was, standing in a McLaren garage, watching the boy he once loved like the world depended on it, and the wound felt fresh all over again.
“Sir!” Jason tugged his sleeve. “Take a picture of us with him!”
Lando blinked, forcing himself back to reality. “Right, yeah” He fumbled with his phone, angling it so the kids were in frame with Oscar crouched behind them, smiling. He didn’t let himself look through the screen too closely. Didn’t let himself notice how Oscar’s gaze wasn’t on the kids at all.
When the photo was done, the rep herded the children along toward the hospitality suite. Lando fell into step at the back, hoping — praying — that was it. That he could escape before—
“Lando”
His name, low, urgent, unmistakable.
He stiffened. Slowly, he turned. Oscar had broken away from the group, standing a few feet behind him, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a sprint.
It had been four years since he’d heard that voice. Four years since everything went to hell.
“Oscar” His own voice was colder than he intended.
For a moment, neither spoke. Just silence, thick and suffocating, filled only by the distant buzz of engines and chatter of mechanics.
“You’re—” Oscar started, then stopped. He swallowed. “You’re a teacher”
Lando’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. What, surprised I didn’t end up chasing your tail around the world?”
Oscar flinched. “That’s not what I—”
“Don’t” Lando’s voice was sharp, bitter. Too bitter, maybe, but he couldn’t stop. “Don’t pretend you care”
The rep called out from up ahead, oblivious. “Mr. Norris, are you coming?”
Lando turned away. “I’ve got kids to look after”
And he walked, leaving Oscar standing in the middle of the garage, eyes burning holes into his back.
The rest of the tour blurred. Lando went through the motions — nodding when the rep explained things, making sure none of the kids wandered off, smiling for the occasional photo. But his chest was tight, his thoughts spinning.
Why here. Why now. Why Oscar.
At the end of the visit, the group filed out toward the buses. Lando exhaled, relief washing over him. He could put this behind him. Pretend it never happened.
“Mr. Norris?”
He turned. Oscar stood a few feet away, expression unreadable.
“Can we talk?”
Lando’s heart pounded. His students were already clambering onto the bus, laughing and shouting, safe under the other teacher’s supervision. He had a choice.
Walk away. Keep the wall up. Or stay, and risk opening every wound he’d fought to close.
“Five minutes,” Lando said finally, his voice tight.
Oscar’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath for years.
They slipped around the corner, into a quiet alcove behind the hospitality unit. The sounds of the paddock were muffled here, the air thick between them.
“You look…different” Oscar said softly.
Lando snorted. “Yeah, well, four years will do that to a person”
Oscar winced. Silence stretched.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Oscar said finally. “When I saw you, I thought—I don’t know what I thought. Just…not this”
“What did you expect?” Lando snapped. “That I’d still be waiting? That my life stopped because you drove away?”
“I never wanted—”
“You left, Oscar” The words were sharp, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. “You chose this life. The cars, the fame, all of it. And I was just…something you had to let go.”
Oscar’s face twisted, pain flashing across his features. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” Lando’s chest ached. He hated how raw he sounded.
Silence again. Just the two of them, breathing too hard, caught between past and present.
Finally, Oscar said, “I’ve missed you”
Lando’s heart stopped.
He wanted to laugh. To scream. To walk away. But all he could do was stare at the boy — the man — who had once been his everything.
And wonder if maybe, just maybe, the story wasn’t over after all.