Team orders- autistic Oscar Piastri, ADHD Lando Norris

3: hiding in the bathroom

TW- vomit, throwing up

Oscar's POV:

I was too busy to talk to Lando in the club. I saw him, mostly at the bar or just drinking whilst talking to people. I kind of didn't blame him for avoiding me. I'd probably want to avoid me too. But like I said, I had no time. Everyone wanted to talk to F1's newest Grand Prix winner and an hour slowly turned into two as I found myself moved from conversation to conversation with all different kinds of people.

It was so hard to hear people with the music so loud. It's like race weekends when Lando decides to put his speaker on. My trainer and I can barely hear each other and at points, rely on a language entirely of gestures and lip reading. I felt glad for all the practice now as a person with a strong Italian accent began asking how it felt to win. That horrible floaty feeling hit me very suddenly and through a mumbling of words mostly hidden behind a beat drop, I excused myself to the bathroom.

Someone was in the third stall, furthest from the door and as I splashed some cold water on my face to try and get myself the fuck out of this freaky headspace, I heard them throw up. Whoever it was sounded like they were having a rough night, they sounded how I felt.

I went into one of the other stalls to grab some tissue and decided to just lock myself in there when someone else came in and started to use the urinal. There was no way of getting out of here without everyone seeing me and I hated it.

Lando's POV:

There was absolutely no easy way of getting out of this toilet and all the way home without throwing up or being recognised and having the media run a story about me trying to kill myself after Oscar's first win. They are really that bat shit crazy sometimes.

I sniffled, spat some bile from my mouth into the toilet bowl and stood up slowly, leaning up against the door. I was such an idiot. Getting drunk mid season was never a good idea; getting this drunk at all was never a good idea. Why had I been so intent on ruining my evening? Why couldn't I cope with Oscar winning? I was being such a bad friend, and a bad team mate. It's no wonder everyone hates me right now.

Feeling there was nothing left for me to throw up and that I couldn't stay here all night, I wiped my mouth with some tissue, spit once more and flushed my post race meal down the toilet. After washing my hands, I managed to book an Uber with shaky hands and left the toilet, finding Jon still in the club and briefly explaining that I thought I was ill.

"Are you sure it's not just the alcohol?"

"Huh?"

"You did have a lot?"

"Let's not mention that, I've not been my best today."

"Well talk about it more tomorrow in the meeting anyway. See you then." I nodded, remembering I was not getting the team plane back again and slipped out before anyone else had a chance to talk to me.

I was outside, waiting in the cold for about 10 minutes before a car pulled up and took me to the hotel. I spent the whole car ride fiddling with my rings and checking my phone obsessively. Tomorrow was going to be just as shit as today.

A/n Hey! Looking forward to the grand prix tomorrow, shaping up to be an interesting one! Thanks for all the support on this story so far, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I know it's short but there are some longer ones coming soon!