Against You

Sao Paulo

Lando POV

The next few races are weird. The US Grand Prix goes by in a haze of confusion and paranoia. I avoid Grace like the plague, but I avoid Oscar too. It's not the same as it was before. The blind hatred has been replaced by nerves and a slight curiosity. I'm sure Oscar feels it too.

For starters, he holds the door for me to come through after him. Whereas before it used to slam in my face, now it's held open with a slight smile before looking away at the ground. He also grabs my lunch before qualifying and puts it on my table wordlessly on his way to the cabin. I don't think anyone else has noticed the change, but... I like it.

Mexico is busy. We have a media day scheduled in and I spend a while worrying about how it'll go, only for it to be cancelled at the last minute due to some mistake or other. Oscar beats me in free practice three to top the leaderboard and I find myself smiling despite coming second. I'm shocked when he pulls me aside before qualifying, into a dark corner of the garage where no cameras can possibly reach, to whisper some tips on how to improve my time. I thank him, and our qualifying laps are separated by five hundredths of a second. I'm on top.

Now we're in Brazil. It's one of my favourite races of the season and one which holds a lot of good memories for me, including when Carlos won his first podium back in 2019. The media session with Grace doesn't get rescheduled, thankfully, so we have Thursday evening off to explore the area.

I decide to take a walk around the old town, setting off alone and hoping to avoid the paparazzi. The buildings are low and painted with beautiful colours. Sun tanned sellers peer out of their windows, advertising drums, traditional clothes and locally made souvenirs. I observe it all in plain clothes with my cap low over my face, but I'm still recognised by a lot of people wanting photos.

"Hey, sir, will you take a photo with me please?"

"Sure!"

"And me! Do you have time for one more!"

"Of course."

"Can you sign my shirt?"

"Do you have a pen?"

I work my way through half of the population of Sao Paulo and just when I think I'm done, a different voice comes through the crowd, sounding out of breath.

"Hey, can I get a photo too?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I turn, but when I see him I yelp in surprise.

Oscar Piastri.

"What are you doing here?" I laugh.

"I followed you. Lucky you got stopped by that crowd or I would've never caught up. Where are you going so fast, anyway?"

I shrug. "I'm just exploring. I didn't realise I was walking fast."

"Like a horse at the races."

I laugh again, but then squint at him. "Why were you following me?"

Now it's Oscar's turn to shrug. "Wanted company. I thought it's high time we discussed this Grace thing. We don't hate each other anymore, and I know it's a bit weird at the track, but we still need to sort this out."

"Let's walk."

We speed-walk through the old town and end up in an expensive shopping district. Here people aren't so interested in us, they're probably other rich and well-known faces who are too self-obsessed to be wooed by minor celebrities like us. It's bliss.

Then the camera flashes.

"Paparazzi!" Oscar hisses and pulls me sideways into the doorway of a restaurant. We peer out and simultaneously comes another flash. "Hold your middle finger in front of your face! That way they can't sell the photos."