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Summary
George and Max start dating, but Lando’s a little slow on the uptake.
or, a 5+1 about freshly dating russtappen through the eyes of resident british dumbass lando norris
The whole exchange lasts maybe five seconds, but it’s baffling enough that Lando forgets to move at all. It’s only when someone grabs him by the shoulder that he jolts back to himself.
“Mate, anthem’s starting.” Alex peers at him, brow creasing. “You good?”
“Aren’t George and Max still fighting?” Lando blurts.
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Bookmark Notes:
Lando norris oblivious of their new relationship.
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Oscar studies him for a long moment. Then he smiles, small and knowing, and Lando feels like he’d just missed the punchline to a very obvious joke.
“Don’t lose your brain cells over it,” Oscar says finally, plucking the phone back once Lando loosens his grip. “You’ve not got many to spare.”
Lando lets out a tired laugh. “Long night, mate. I just want a hot soak before I hit the pillows.” He glances between the two men. “You guys going for round two?”
George exhales a breathy laugh, glancing sideways at Max. “You could say that.”
It sounds like it should mean something—but Lando, for the life of him, couldn't quite put his finger on what.