Chapter Text
Lando was a regular at nightclubs. It was almost a rite of passage once you became known. Everyone went—some out of obligation to be seen, others just to unwind. Lando fell into the second category.
Parties were his second favorite thing, right after the races. Win or lose, he rarely passed up a chance to have fun. Even when other drivers stayed home, he went. Sometimes he just wanted to forget who he was for a while. Other times, he wanted everyone to know he was there.
All this had earned him a reputation as a party boy—a reputation that clung to him like a second skin. And it was that very reputation that sparked his first clash with his new teammate, Oscar.
The first time Lando saw him, he didn’t know what to expect. On one hand, Oscar’s arrival marked Daniel’s permanent exit, a thought that made Lando seethe. On the other hand, he’d heard nothing but praise for the rookie. So he welcomed Oscar with mixed feelings… and those feelings stuck. For months, Lando threw himself into figuring Oscar out—both for the good of their partnership and because he had always clicked with his teammates and expected to do so. But Oscar, polite as he was, had never shown the slightest interest in getting to know him.
Lando, the older of the two, was starting to accept that maybe, for the first time, he wouldn’t be able to make his teammate a friend. And then he overheard Oscar talking to other rookies, and everything exploded. Lando heard him say he didn’t want to be associated with Lando or his reputation, that he was here to win, and that racing wasn’t a game to him. The first comment stung, but the second awakened a fury Lando didn’t even know he had. From that moment, his behavior changed. The war was on.
In the hallways, Lando passed Oscar without so much as a glance. At team meetings, he stopped sitting next to him, no longer pretending to make conversation. During challenges, he found ways to throw subtle jabs, barely disguised, and earned the media team’s scolding. Oscar didn’t fight back, but Lando’s attitude didn’t go unnoticed—and his irritation only grew.
Then Lando took the conflict to the track. Things got ugly. Their attacks were no longer fair—they were vicious, mean, filled with rage. Sometimes Lando ended up in the wall; other times, Oscar slid off into the grass. Reprimands and warnings didn’t help. If anything, Lando’s hatred for Oscar only deepened. He was convinced Oscar was behind every problem he’d faced. Everything had gone fine before Oscar arrived. He had loved racing alongside Daniel and Carlos, but every battle with Oscar felt like suffering.
That night, Lando celebrated his second-place finish (and Max’s victory) at the club, as usual. His friendship with Max didn’t erase the bitter taste of losing, but the fact that the winner wasn’t a certain Australian made it a little easier. Maybe he even quietly enjoyed Oscar’s miserable seventh-place finish… The main point was, whatever he was celebrating, he had decided to be happy—and especially visible—tonight. Max didn’t mind, happy to share the podium with a friend rather than a rival.
The bass thumped through the club, shaking them from the inside out. Lando sat at a table with a few other drivers, glasses scattered carelessly, talking and laughing about anything. Max had his arm around Charles, who was retelling, for the hundredth time, their first karting fights. Max rolled his eyes occasionally, but the smile on his lips, the soft gaze he gave Charles, left Lando daydreaming—and more than a little jealous.
Just as he was about to interrupt to tease them about their relationship, he noticed familiar faces out of the corner of his eye. The smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. Of course, Oscar and his friends had chosen this club tonight.
Max followed his gaze, and the whole table turned, crushing Lando’s last hope of a carefree evening. Max gave him an apologetic look while the others invited Oscar to join them.
- Sorry, mate. Try to put up with him for a bit. We’ll go dance afterward, I promise, Max said, squeezing Lando’s shoulder briefly.
Oscar and his two friends approached, politely greeting everyone. They were invited to sit—and, of course, Oscar took the seat directly across from Lando. If it had been the last chair, Lando wouldn’t have cared—just seeing him there was enough to get under his skin.
- What are you doing here ? Alex blurted, knowing Oscar’s reserved nature.
- We wanted to cheer him up, Logan shouted over the music.
- Ah, I saw your clash with Alonso, mate. Bad luck ! But seventh isn’t so bad—it’s still in the points, Charles chimed in.
- That’s what we keep telling him, Logan groaned, with a nod from a guy Lando didn’t know.
As the night went on, Oscar and his friends stayed with them, gradually being absorbed into the group. Even Max seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to him, despite Lando’s obvious dislike. The longer it went on, the hotter Lando’s temper burned. He hated how friendly Oscar was with everyone, when he had rejected him from the start. He hated even more that his closest friends didn’t seem to care. But worst of all was Oscar himself. He smiled, laughed occasionally, asked questions, listened carefully—and, despite finishing seventh, everyone hung on his words about cars and the championship. As if Oscar were some humble, wise, intelligent god.
Lando finished his beer in one gulp and stood abruptly, drawing everyone’s attention—including Oscar’s.
- I’m going to dance, he said sharply.
He turned on his heels, ignoring Max’s protests, face set, stride determined. Lando was done with the black cloud that had followed him for two damn years—the annoying fly that kept buzzing around him. He was so furious he didn’t even bother apologizing for bumping into other dancers. Only when he was far enough from the table to not see it did he start to relax and dance. Within minutes, the music took over, eyes closed, worries drowned out by the bass.
Then a hand slid onto his hip. He jumped, irritation snapping back instantly. Normally, he might have indulged in a one-night fling—but tonight, that was the last thing he wanted. He pushed the young man away gently, making it clear he wasn’t interested—but the guy didn’t seem pleased.
- Come on… I know you want it, he whispered in Lando’s ear.
Lando grimaced and shoved him away forcefully. Tension spiked. Lando didn’t know who would strike first—but maybe that would finally let him release what he felt. He clenched his fist, ready to strike—but Oscar suddenly appeared, intercepting him, eyes icy and fixed on Lando.
- What the hell are you doing ? he shouted over the music.
- Mind your business, Lando growled, pulling his fist away.
- Who are you ? His boyfriend ? You better keep him on a leash, the guy spat, surprisingly bold, considering Oscar’s size.
Lando stepped forward, ready to attack—but didn’t need to. Oscar grabbed his arm and advanced. Lando was stunned by the raw fury of his teammate.
- He made himself clear, I think, Oscar said, eyes narrowed. Fuck off.
For a moment, Lando thought the guy would fight, spit, or argue—but he didn’t. After one final glare, he turned and left, leaving the two of them tense in the middle of the dance floor.
- What the hell were you thinking ? Were you really going to start a fight with him here ?
The little respect Oscar had earned for defending him had already vanished, swallowed up by his usual jerk attitude. Lando rolled his eyes, freed himself, and pushed through the crowd. He needed air.
Oscar didn’t seem to agree. He followed Lando to the restroom, his anger radiating in waves. Lando ran his hands under the water to splash his face, but Oscar didn’t give him a chance—he grabbed his wrist again and spun him around. His eyes were black with fury, his features drawn, his breathing faster than it should have been.
- Let go, Lando muttered, but his movements were useless against the taller man’s grip.
- What’s your problem ?
Lando froze, eyes wide, staring at Oscar like he’d just discovered a new species.
- My problem ? My problem ? Are you kidding me, Piastri ? he shouted, furious. You followed me here, so if you don’t like it—get lost !
- If I hadn’t stepped in-
- I could handle it myself ! I didn’t need you ! Lando yelled, exasperated.
- And what would you have done ? Fought him ? Is that really the image you want to give ? Oscar snapped, body taut as a bow.
- What does it matter to you, the image I give ? Lando shot back, equally frustrated.
- We’re on the same team, remember ? If you ruin your image, you ruin mine.
Lando felt a pang in his chest, realizing Oscar didn’t care about him at all—that only his own reputation mattered. Memories of a conversation from two years ago, overheard by accident, flashed in his mind—the one where Oscar had openly rejected him in front of the other rookies. That sting slowly twisted into pain in his chest, but his anger refused to die down.
- I see. Everything’s about image for you, isn’t it ? Friends, appearances, enemies… Must be hard to maintain that perfect-guy image when you know the crap lurking underneath.
Before Lando could react, Oscar slammed him against the wall. For a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far—but no, it was Oscar.
- Repeat what you just said, he threatened.
With defiance, Lando leaned closer, locking eyes with his rival.
- You heard me loud and clear, Oscar. You make everyone believe you’re the perfect little driver, some kind of saint sent to save McLaren, but you’re nothing more than an arrogant jerk who thinks that because he has a better reputation and landed in a good team, he deserves the championship and glory. But it’s not true, Oscar, and they’ll see that.
Lando pulled away, ready to leave, finally having emptied his chest.
- That’s rich coming from someone who hasn’t managed to win more than one race in six years because he was too busy partying. You spend your time in clubs even when you lose, like racing is just a game. Your time is limited, and you know it, Norris, that’s why I irritate you so much. Because I’m everything you never managed to become.
Lando felt Oscar moving closer.
- You know you’re worthless, everyone tells you that every day, yet you persist like a child throwing a tantrum. You don’t have the mentality, the material of a champion. If McLaren keeps you, it’s only out of spite. Nobody would seriously want a driver like you.
Lando’s heart tore. Every dark thought, every doubt he had spent hours burying surged back, swallowing him whole. Tears welled in his eyes, but there was no way he’d let Oscar see him cry. He had already shown enough weakness. Instead, he lifted his head, body trembling, and defended himself one last time.
- It’s not because you can’t get past your prejudice against me that everyone else can’t either, Lando’s voice cracked. I’ve always done my best for this team. I’ve given them everything I had, let them cut my salary, built these cars with them; I’ve literally given them my soul. So yes, I go out and party, because it’s all I have left, Oscar. The whole world hates me, my team is slowly letting me down, and my own teammate never wanted to be associated with me. So tell me, Oscar, what more can I do ?
He didn’t give Oscar a chance to respond. Lando spun on his heel and stormed out just as the first tears fell. Passing his friends, he heard them calling after him, Max’s voice especially worried, but he didn’t slow down. He wanted to be far from Oscar, far from a world that kept walking over him, even though he had done nothing to deserve it.
The ride back to the hotel felt endless. Lando had to force himself not to break down in tears in front of the taxi driver. As soon as he closed the door to his suite, he collapsed, sliding down the wall, crying, the pain in his chest making it almost impossible to breathe. That night, Lando spent hours trying to sleep, tears unceasing, the ache never fading.
At dawn, after only an hour or two of sleep, Lando packed his things. In less than thirty minutes, everything was ready. Max had agreed to take him on his jet to the next track, and while Lando had no desire to answer his questions, he wanted even less to see Oscar.
- Come on, spill it. I know you want to ask me what happened, Lando finally said, exasperated after twenty minutes of Max's furtive glances.
- You’re really going to tell me ?
- Absolutely not, but at least now you’re not looking at me like I’ll disappear if you look away.
- Look, mate, I don’t want to push you, but twenty minutes after you went dancing, I saw you come back crying and leave without a word. And less than five minutes later, Oscar showed up looking more miserable than I’ve ever seen. So yeah, I’m asking questions, he concluded, arms crossed.
Lando ignored the part about Oscar. He didn’t want to know what Oscar had said, thought, done, or felt. He had hurt him, and that was all that mattered.
- Lando, Max said more gently this time, tell me what happened.
The almost paternal tone of his friend brought tears to Lando’s eyes once again. No matter how much he pretended, the wound Oscar had opened ran deeper than he wanted to admit. Defeated, Lando told Max everything, only pausing for his own sobs. Once the bag was empty, he felt a little lighter, as if sharing the burden made it less heavy.
- Lando, nobody deserves this championship more than you, Max said, conviction so strong Lando almost believed him.
- I’m just tired, Max. Tired of fighting my own team, tired of fighting the media, tired of fighting people in general. None of it gets me anywhere. It’s clear Oscar is better than me, which makes me the number two, the support, the backup, but I didn’t come this far for that ! I just want a chance to prove myself, but people don’t even know me before they’ve already put me in a box. I built this car, Max, so why won’t it obey me ? he finished in a sob, letting his friend’s arms wrap around him.
Max didn’t respond right away. He adored Lando, but comforting people had never been his strong suit. Lando wasn’t in the state to process anything anyway. Perhaps supporting him was the best thing he could do this time.
The plane landed late in the afternoon. Lando thanked Max for his support and said goodbye, heading to his hotel. He didn’t bother unpacking and collapsed on the bed immediately. A nap would have been welcome, and if he managed to sleep until morning, he wouldn’t have minded. Of course, that didn’t happen. After thirty minutes, despite heavy eyelids, he couldn’t stop thinking.
Sighing, he pulled his phone from under the pillow and checked notifications. A message from Max saying he’d been waiting at the plane, which Lando hadn’t replied to; one from his mother asking when he’d come see them; two from Charles asking how he was and if he wanted to talk. Nothing from Oscar. Of course. Why would he send a message ?
Bitterness spread through Lando’s throat like poison. He didn’t understand what the problem was with Oscar. What had he done to deserve such treatment ? He had only ever tried to be his friend, nothing that justified such hatred. And those words: “you’re worthless,” “a child throwing a tantrum,” “not the material of a champion," “Nobody would seriously want a driver like you.”...
- Shut up, Lando murmured into the silence of his room. Shut up.