Team orders- autistic Oscar Piastri, ADHD Lando Norris

1: tensions rise

Oscar's POV:

"Yea just umm, can I like have 5 minutes? Just need to," I paused, the words getting caught in my throat. Now was not the time to let this all fall down.

"We really do need to get you to media as soon as possible." She smiled sadly, my stomach twisted.

"I just really need the loo," I lied, putting on a fake embarrassed face that was returned with a smile.

She laughed a little and rolled her eyes, "quickly and then media, okay?" I held a quick thumbs up in reply and went to the nearest toilet, sitting in the cubicle, knees jutting up and down, sweat dripping down my chest. I took off my cap, running my hands through my hair and pulling on it lightly to try and get some focus. Anything to get me out of my head.

I had just won my first F1 Grand Prix but it had been a mess all things considered. So now, here I was, about half an hour after the ear-defeaning experience that is an F1 podium, feeling quite overwhelmed. But I am calm and I'm always calm, I just needed a moment to settle myself then I'd be fine and ready to play diplomatic games with the media.

I took some deep breaths, cracked my knuckles and put my cap back on, readjusting it until it sat in a way that didn't feel weird. And feeling more collected, I flushed the toilet, washed my hands and made my way to media. Everything was fine.

Lando's POV:

This race was shit. If I lose to Max in the championship by 7 points, it's going to be a shit show, on all sides. There's too much energy in my arms and body and I can feel it boiling me alive. I'm so done, I want to go home.

I finish all the media bullshit, keeping it pushed down inside me the whole time and head back to my drivers room to change. The whole team is being nice, but awkward. This is going to be too fucking awkward for me to bother with. But after smiling at the right moments and doing my best to keep track of everything everyone is saying, I finally found some peace in my drivers room. I put my music on loud (too loud, I know, but it needs to be) and got out my team polo. My mind was running at ten billion miles an hour and that energy from earlier was getting worse and worse and worse.

I weirdly found myself shadow boxing a hanger on my clothing rail and when it realised it had made me feel better I kept doing it. Making all the fake punching sounds and getting rid of every last part of that stupid feeling inside of me about how shit this whole situation was.

Someone knocked, "we're going to do the team photo soon," they said through the closed door and I opened it to follow them out to the front of the garage. All I had to do was not lose my shit too badly: I'd already done that and I was already in trouble for it. And I had to make sure I actually looked happy for Oscar even if I didn't quite feel it right now.

A/n Hey! This is the first chapter of this fic, it is the longer one (already at about 20 pre-written chapters and not done) that the short story from the other say is based off. It will be posted on Ao3 under an account of the same name as this one. 

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!