Chapter Text
Lando stares at his screen numbly. And then he stands up and walks through his room, running his hands through his hair.
He can’t believe it!
Oscar’s stress at the paddock makes so much sense. Lando can’t believe the Aussie even dared to bring him there.
Holy shit… What a mad lad!
His adrenaline level rises. The Brit can feel his heart beat frantically in his chest.
He gathers his laptop in his arms and scrolls through the numerous news stories about the Australian. Apparently, he was winning races left and right two years ago.
He spots an article showing McLaren’s interest in the driver. Lando knows what that means. Because he remembers Andrea talking about some driver called Piastri.
There’s a possibility they could have been teammates, right now.
If only Oscar hadn’t disappeared.
Lots of articles cover how Oscar left for the summer break, and that he never came back. Even his manager Mark Webber didn’t know where the guy had gone. In interviews Mark said that Oscar broke off all communication.
He has been marked as missing in the Formula world for almost two years now.
And Lando has found him.
But Lando is disgusted with himself for searching so boldly for a guy that clearly seemed terrified of being recognized.
The body language. The hunched shoulders and ducked head when police started surrounding them. The frantic behavior and the sudden retreat.
It makes so much sense.
Lando feels like a detective having a breakthrough, and at the same time he feels horrible that he now knows Oscar’s true identity. He feels sick to the stomach when he imagines the shit show that Oscar will have to deal with when the media finds out that Lando’s biker is the lost F2 driver.
He throws his laptop on the bed and grabs the closest pillow. He buries his face in it and screams.
He sits down on the bed unceremoniously, feeling out of breath. He stares at the wall, hugging the pillow to his chest weakly.
Oscar risked so much for him. Lando can’t believe it.
He doesn’t know what to do with this information.
He will be taking it to the grave, that’s for sure. Oscar deserves that, and so much more.
But he can’t contact the Australian anymore. Because what is he going to say?
‘So, yeah, I desperately looked for your contact info like a creep and then found out you are that Formula 2 driver that disappeared, and everyone is still in shock about you vanishing. That’s a bit of a silly story, innit? Wanna be friends now? You drove into Mordor for me, so I think we should hang out maybe. Haha.’
Lando groans at the insanity of it all. His brain feels fried. Like there are ten different people talking to him at the same time while he hurtles his car through the tight corners of Baku.
Against his own will he drags his laptop towards him and goes to the image tab of his Google search. He is still in disbelief. Surely, he has seen it wrong. Surely, Oscar is just a normal guy.
But when he looks through the pictures, he knows he had it right. The Oscar in the images has shorter hair, less of a swoosh to it, and lankier limbs. He looks more boyish, but it really is him. The guy in the images really is Oscar, the biker on a road trip through Europe.
He spots a familiar face amongst the photos.
One of the photos shows a Daniel Ricciardo wearing a goofy smile with his arm swung over a younger Oscar’s shoulders.
Lando’s breath hitches. He clicks on the source link. A full interview with Lando’s current teammate over his fellow Australian racer. Daniel cheerfully boasts that they will one day be on the grid together.
Daniel KNOWS Oscar.
Oscar was freaking out FOR A GOOD FUCKING REASON.
Lando rubs his temples with his fingers. Oscar is absolutely insane. Absolutely mental.
If Lando was in the Australian’s shoes, hiding from the Formula world for god knows what reason, he would never ever for his life decide to drive into the paddock. The racer he was bringing back would have to be a someone he held such a high regard for…
Lando swallows. And then blushes so hard he can feel the tips of his ears burn.
He stares at the pictures of younger Oscar.
‘I’ve been following your career for quite a while.’
‘You’re a talented driver. If you had a car that worked for you, I know you would be winning races left and right.’
Oscar looked up to him. Still looks up to him. Even after finding him under a bridge, having a bit of a meltdown. Even after Lando drank almost all his water. Even after he found out Lando hurt his foot kicking the barrier like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
Lando didn’t recognize him. Oscar recognized him immediately, and instead of shying away he kept going like nothing was going on. As if he didn’t just expose himself. He kept Lando safe and happy, even though he knew the risk of what he was doing.
Lando cannot stop himself. He reads more articles. Watches videos of younger Oscar talk.
He even watches one of the F2 races Oscar has won. It’s way past midnight, nearing 2AM when he finishes that one.
The Australian is a good driver. Really good.
Why on earth did he leave? He has an exceptional talent, and many other big guys in the motorsport world were seeing it too.
Then why did he vanish out of nowhere?
Sitting in the light of the bedside lamp, Lando thinks through all the things Oscar has told him today.
One part of Oscar’s story stands out: ‘my mum got sick, and I had to change careers so I could take care of her. She was my primary focus.’
He had to leave to take care of his mum. But why? Was there no-one else available to do that? He was right at the crossroad that would change his career forever.
And why didn’t he come back? He said she got better, right?
Lando wants answers so badly. And at the same time he doesn’t want to invade Oscar’s privacy any more than he already has.
He will leave Oscar be. For both their sakes. It hurts and Lando will have to keep the secret forever. But it is the right choice to make. Getting in contact with Oscar will only make things worse.
He closes the tabs. Exits the browser. Turns off his laptop.
He grabs his pillow and lies down on his side. He feels too warm for a blanket. It is a rare feeling for him to experience.
He closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him. But he is feeling and thinking too many things at the same time. Twenty minutes later he gives up and grabs his phone, automatically going to social media to doom scroll for a bit.
Which is of course a stupid idea.
Because the first post he sees on Instagram is from the official McLaren team.
It’s the hug.
Tears spring in Lando’s eyes when he looks at it. Oscar is leaning down towards him, being pulled in by Lando. His bright blue helmet a stark contrast with Lando’s own neon-yellow one.
The hug looks soft and fierce at the same time.
But what gets to Lando the most is the absolute death grip Oscar has on his race suit.
Like he doesn’t want Lando to leave. Like Oscar doesn’t want to say goodbye. Like he cares for the Brit dearly.
Lando has to scroll on, or he never will.
Doing so doesn’t help though. Because two posts later Lando finds a picture of himself patting Oscar on the cheek helmet. And the next post is Oscar squeezing his wrist. And Oscar watching on as Lando is hugged by his teammates.
Beautiful drawings of Oscar on his motorcycle. A super cool picture of Lando and Oscar being escorted through traffic by quite a big police force. Oscar’s arm around his waist to steady him as he almost stumbles.
Fuck.
Tears are running over his face. He doesn’t wipe them away, letting them fall as he scrolls through social media.
He can still feel that hug. How their helmets bumped together. How Oscar chuckled softly.
Lando sniffs as he watches his fans praise Oscar for saving their driver.
He locks his phone, letting it fall from his hand. He rubs his face against his pillow. A stuttering sigh leaves him.
He has to contact Oscar. Their connection felt very real very fast. He can’t ignore it.
And Oscar deserves to know that Lando KNOWS.
He is terrified of Oscar’s reaction, but he knows he has to reach out to the Australian in some sort of way. Everything in him wants to.
He feels sickly nervous about it.
He thinks about it over and over. Creates scenarios in his head.
He eventually falls asleep, utterly exhausted.
---
The next day he travels back home in a daze. Exhausted and overwhelmed.
He still doesn’t whether it would be better to leave Oscar be, letting go of the idea he will ever meet the Australian again. Or to reach out to him, with the possibility that the biker will be mad at him for knowing.
If he does dare to message Oscar, he might not even get a reply at all. In that case he would be back to stage one anyway; they will never meet again.
He hates feeling so out of his element. He is usually very good at texting people. Sending messages to strangers. It’s literally part of his work to act like he knows someone after only meeting them five minutes ago. He has been interviewed more than enough times for that.
But this? For some reason, the idea of messaging Oscar on Instagram, the only way he can reach the guy, feels like a death sentence.
What if he doesn’t use his Instagram anymore? What if he does, but he hates that Lando figured out who he is?
Lando feels physically ill from how nervous he is. He might chicken out entirely.
And at the same time… He desperately wants to talk to Oscar. Wants to know what happened.
Plus the guy deserves a new motor suit. With how many photos there are of him online now, Lando doubts Oscar will have a peaceful road trip. The blue-white suit is way too recognizable.
The Brit wants to buy him a new one. It’s his fault people might now recognize him on the road.
The Australian has risked so much for Lando, buying him a new suit is the least he can do.
---
When he’s back in his apartment he calls his parents. He gets an earful from his dad for his actions. His mum tells him she was worried sick. He has to apologize to them several times and promises to never do it again before they finally calm down.
His mum notices though that something more is going on with him. She has always been able to sniff out when he’s feeling nervous.
After his dad has removed himself from the conversation, she stops her son from hanging up.
“What’s bothering you, love?” she asks.
Lando heaves a sigh. He tries to gather his thoughts as he paces through his living room. He unconsciously bites at his cuticles.
“Is this about the biker boy?” she continues. “You seemed quite protective of him during the press conference…”
His mum probably already knows he has caught feelings for the guy. She has seen how he acts with crushes in the past.
“It’s- yes,” he starts with a stumble. “It’s a lot…”
“Is it because he ran off?” she tries kindly.
Lando wishes she wouldn’t pry. “Partly…” He takes a deep breath and tells her. “I figured out why he ran off. He doesn’t want to get recognized. I found out his true identity because I was prying…”
“Do I have to be worried?”
“Oh,” he made that sound like Oscar is some sort of criminal. “No, no, not at all. It’s just… He is famous. Or was famous. He’s hiding from the media, that I do know for sure.”
His mum hums. “Then what are you so nervous about, love?”
Lando sighs again. He fidgets with the string on his hoodie. “I really want to contact him… But if I do, then he will know that I know who he really is…” He pauses. His mum patiently waits for him to continue. “What if he hates me because of it? I basically stalked him on social media, mum. I shouldn’t have.”
“Did you know that he was famous and hiding his identity before you started searching?” his mum asks him.
Lando shakes his head, then realizes she can’t see him. “No, I didn’t. I might have not even searched for him if I knew.”
His mum huffs. The microphone picking it up as static. “You wanted to contact him. And I agree that you should. Even though you now know his true identity.”
Lando cringes at her truthful words. “Okay, fine,” he admits. “But mum, now I don’t know how to start. What if I don’t say things right, and he thinks I’m an idiot after. What if he never even replies?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” his mum tells him matter-of-factly. He can hear the smile in her voice.
He dislikes that she makes it sound so easy.
But she’s right.
If he never contacts Oscar, he will never know how the Australian will react. And if he does contact Oscar there’s still a chance the biker will react positively.
He thanks his mum.
They chat about some other trivial things after, until his mum announces she has to go soon. They say their goodbyes and hang up. Lando feels better after.
Which is why he opens a Word document on his laptop and starts typing out a message. A concept of one. The spellchecker rips him a new one by commenting on every typo and spelling mistake he makes. Dyslexia is a bitch.
But it’s good that the spellchecker is there, even though it hurts his ego. Because he wants the message to be perfect before he sends it.
Yes, Oscar has already seen him be a clumsy idiot. But there’s a lot at stake and he wants to convey what he means as well as he can.
Not everyone is as well trained as Max is in reading his misspelled-word-vomit-texts.
He keeps trying, but throws away the concept every time. Or moves it down to the rest of the ‘slightly decent’ pile of text.
He only stops when he hears his stomach growl in hunger. He closes his laptop to go make a quick dinner.
He shoves down some pasta and chicken, with pesto. He is about to reopen his laptop and keep on writing, when he remembers that he promised to play video games with Max.
He goes into the extra bedroom, which he has transformed into a game slash workout room. He starts his game PC, opens Discord, and calls Max. Who picks up within seconds.
“There you are!” Max says as a greeting.
Lando chuckles. “Sorry, I forgot the time.”
“Doesn’t matter, you’re here now.”
Lando is not in the mood for any racing games, so they play Call of Duty instead.
It's nice. It’s like coming back home, even though CoD can be one of the most unrelaxing thing to play. But he’s playing with Max, and it doesn’t matter that much if they win or not. They are just happy to play together for the first time in a while.
In between games they chat. And Lando has the time to think about his half-finished message.
Max notices him being distracted.
“What are you thinking about?” the older Brit asks him.
Lando heaves a sigh. “The biker.”
“Again?”
Lando rubs at his face. “Yeah, again.”
“Did you find him yet?”
“Yes, I’ve found his account on Instagram. But it’s brought a whole lot of confusion,” Lando explains.
“Oh?”
“Yeah… I was right, he ran off because he was trying to hide his identity,” he tells his friend. “He is famous. Was famous. I accidentally figured it who he is, and now I’m afraid he will hate me for it.”
“What sort of famous are we talking about?”
For a second Lando thinks he should tell Max. They are best friends. They share almost everything. They know how to keep each other’s secrets.
But then he thinks of the years Max competed in Formula 3. In 2020 Oscar was F3 champion. Max was in the same competition. They have raced each other. Max KNOWS Oscar.
He freezes. Unable to reply.
He could say anything, but he would be lying to Max. He never lies to his best friend. But telling Max could mean a lot of trouble for Oscar.
“Lando?”
He shakes himself. “Uhm. I don’t know if I should tell you.”
Max makes a questioning noise on the other side of the call. “What? Why not?”
Lando fidgets with his mousepad, picking at the lifted corner.
“You would connect the dots way too quickly. I don’t know if he would agree to you knowing. I don’t even know if he agrees to me knowing,” he tries.
Max grumbles. “Is he a model or something?”
Lando huffs a laugh. “No, but he is pretty enough to be one.” The last part is mumbled, but Max catches it anyway.
“You’re simping,”
“Hey!” he yelps. Good, Max is distracted.
He grabs his water bottle and opens it. “He’s nice to look at… He’s not a model though.” He puts the bottle to his mouth and drinks.
“Is he a pornstar?”
Lando chokes. Water blocking his airway. Max laughs loudly at the couching fit that follows.
“What the hell Max!” the McLaren driver says when he gets enough air to talk.
“Is that a yes?” the smirk on Max’ face can be heard in his voice.
“NO!” Lando shouts.
Max laughs even more at Lando’s predicament. The McLaren driver rolls his eyes fondly, and eventually snorts when Max chokes on his own spit. Their Discord voice chat fills with giggles.
It takes them a bit to calm down.
Max breaks the comfortable silence that follows. “You really won’t be telling me?”
Lando sighs. “Not yet… I would like to ask for his permission first,” he tells his best friend.
Max hums.
Lando keeps talking. “If I dare to message him anyway. I’ve been staring at a Word document blindly this afternoon.”
“You made a Word document?” Max asks with a giggle.
“I- Max, I don’t know. I feel like I only have one chance to do this right. That if I send him a badly written message, or say the wrong thing, he will never reply,” Lando explains.
“I doubt he would be bothered by a grammar mistake. He seems like a nice guy from what you’ve told me. You’re worrying too much,” Max says.
Lando might have to agree with him.
“Just send the message. You’re overthinking it,” his best friend keeps going. “He probably loves hearing from you.”
“Maybe…” Lando mumbles.
“At least try. Stop rewriting the message. Send it. It’s impossible for it to be perfect.”
Lando hums. Max is right. It still terrifies him though. “Alright, I will,” he tells his friend. “But first, let’s play some more rounds.”
Max agrees and starts the queue for the next game.
They play many more rounds after that conversation. Max stays away from the topic and Lando is able to forget about it for a bit. Until they both start yawning, and decide it’s time to stop.
They say goodbye to each other, and Max agrees on more video games next week, when Lando is back home from the Dutch GP.
Lando moves to the living room, grabbing his laptop again. The Word document greets him when he opens it.
The Brit grimaces at the wording. It sounds so constipated. Too business-y. But it’s the sixth rewrite. And it will never be perfect.
He adds some last parts, changes a couple of sentences to make it flow a bit better.
And then he copies it. With shaking hands he opens the tab with Oscar’s Instagram page. He clicks the ‘Message button” and a new page opens up.
It's a new conversation. A clean slate.
He takes a deep breath, puts his cursor in the message box and pastes the text.
He reads it one last time:
‘Hi Oscar,
I hope you are doing well, and that your road trip is still as peaceful as it was before yesterday.
Sorry… I accidentally figured out who you are.
I was looking for a way to contact you and then stumbled upon your account.
I had a hard time deciding whether or not I should reach out to you. I didn’t want to disrupt your peaceful road trip any more than I already have, and at the same time you deserve to know that I know.
I hope you can forgive me. Your identity is safe with me. I realize that you’ve risked a lot by bringing me back, and I’m forever thankful. I hope I can make up for it in some way.
By buying you a new motor suit for example! I bet a lot of people will recognize your blue-white suit now that you’re all over the internet…
I now understand why you drove off so quickly yesterday. I was freaking out quite a bit when it happened. We weren’t able to properly say goodbye to each other, and I wanted to ask for your phone number before you left. But you were gone before I knew it.
I completely understand though.
But I feel like I never got to tell you how grateful I am that you found me, and that you helped me out. I’m not sure how to put into words how much your actions meant to me yesterday. I almost forgot about the DNF… Which is saying something.
So, thanks again, Oscar.
You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to. I get it if you never want to contact me now that I know who you are. But I couldn’t let go of the feeling that I had to talk to you again.
Best wishes, and stay safe on that motorcycle of yours.’
He quickly presses the send button before he changes his mind.
He immediately shuts down his laptop. Closing it as well.
He has done it.
His heart is in his throat.
The waiting game is on now. He knows that if he stays where he is he will be waiting for a reply, unable to leave his post.
So he distracts himself. He takes a bath to calm himself down and to soothe his tired muscles, like he always does on Mondays after a race.
He allows himself to check his messages once before going to bed.
No reply yet.
He shuts off his phone as well, and crawls into bed. Staying up for too long last night has its benefits. He is so tired; he falls asleep almost instantly.
---
The next morning the first thing he does is check his Instagram messages.
No reply yet.
He tries to go on with his day like he isn’t waiting for a sign of life from Oscar. He can’t help but check his phone more often than usual.
Jon mentions it when he stops by to check on his foot. Lando confesses that he has found Oscar online and sent him a message last night, but that the biker hasn’t replied yet.
Jon awkwardly pats his foot. “Maybe he is nervous and doesn’t know what to say yet? Give him some time.”
Lando doesn’t know why everyone is confident that Oscar will want to talk to him… The assurance is nice though, so the Brit doesn’t complain.
But the longer he has to wait, the more restless he becomes. He is starting to believe that Oscar is in fact mad at him. That he read their connection wrong and the Australian wants nothing to do with Lando.
Luckily, he worries for no reason, as Oscar replies to him on Wednesday evening. Right when Lando gets to his motorhome at the Zandvoort circuit after a short flight.
The second he realizes what the notification he received means, he immediately drops his duffle bag and scrambles to the couch.
With shaking hands he opens Instagram and is met with a notification from Oscar Piastri. He takes a deep breath and opens it.
His shoulders sag in relief at the first sentences. Oscar isn’t mad at him, quite the opposite.
‘Hey Lando,
I am so incredibly sorry for my late reply. I don’t use this account much anymore. It was only today I figured out that if you even tried to look for me, Instagram would be a way to find me.
Please don’t feel bad for finding out about my identity. It was unavoidable, I think. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner, as we have met each other before. I’m doubting you remember though. It was for like two seconds?
I’m glad you reached out, and I’m sorry for leaving so quickly. I would have loved to exchange phone numbers as well. I had given up on contacting you through social media, given that you probably have many fans sending you messages daily.
I’m happy you’ve found a way to contact me instead.
My road trip is still peaceful, thanks for asking. I’m in the east of France at the moment. There are a lot of amazing drives here. Beautiful scenery. Want to see some pictures?
I had a lot of fun last Monday. Please know you weren’t a burden. It was nice to drive around together, and I hope you will one day want to go on a drive again.
As for the motor suit, thank you very much, but you don’t have to. It’s not as bad as you imagine. I only had one curious teenager walk up to me yesterday. I can handle it.
I’m glad I was able to make your day better. It makes me happy to hear that. Especially because I really enjoyed our little detour as well.
So thank you too for making my road trip even better, and for reaching out to me.
It's really nice to hear from you. Good luck with your media duties tomorrow!
Before I forget, here is my phone number: 61 X 081 XXX XX. It will be easier to contact me by WhatsApp :) as I have turned off my Instagram notifications.’