Landoscar oneshots

Chapter 21: The Cracks in the Façade

Lando could feel his hands tightening on the steering wheel as he glanced in his rear-view mirror. The sight of Oscar and Charles, laughing together in the Ferrari hospitality area, gnawed at him more than it should. It wasn't like Charles hadn't been his friend for years. And it wasn't like Oscar didn't have the right to make friends on the grid. But still, something about the way they looked so at ease together—their heads tilted close, conspiratorial smiles—made Lando's chest twist uncomfortably.

The whispers hadn't helped, of course. The F1 rumour mill was relentless, and the media had been having a field day with their "bromance." Every Instagram post of Oscar with Charles, every shared laugh caught on camera, added fuel to the fire.

It wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be.

Lando didn't like Oscar like that.

He had a girlfriend, Emma. She was sweet, supportive, and everything anyone could want. They had been together for nearly a year now, though their relationship had been kept quiet. He'd told himself it was to avoid media scrutiny, but lately, even he wasn't convinced.

The jealousy was irrational. Lando repeated that to himself like a mantra.

But it boiled over when he walked into the paddock Thursday morning, only to find Oscar draped casually over Charles' car, the pair grinning as a reporter asked them about their "close friendship."

The reporter asked Oscar if there was "more than just friendship" between him and Charles, and to Lando's utter disbelief, Oscar chuckled.

"Well, Charles is handsome," Oscar said playfully, nudging the Monegasque driver. "What can I say? We get along well."

The reporter beamed, her headline practically writing itself.

Lando froze, his throat tightening. He told himself to let it go, that this wasn't worth getting worked up over. But his legs carried him forward anyway, his voice sharper than he intended.

"Don't you have media duties, mate?"

Oscar turned, surprised, his smile faltering at Lando's tone. "Not for another ten minutes. Why?"

Lando didn't have an answer. He mumbled something about a team briefing and stormed off, ignoring the confused look Oscar threw in his direction.

Friday: Practice Day

The tension only worsened during practice. Lando's head wasn't in it, and his lap times showed it. Every time he passed Oscar on the track, he pushed harder, trying to outpace him, to prove something he couldn't quite name.

By the time they reached the debrief, everyone could feel the strain. Their engineer tried to smooth things over, but it was impossible to ignore the way Lando snapped at Oscar over minor things.

When Oscar finally confronted him in the hallway afterward, Lando didn't hold back.

"What's your problem?" Oscar asked, his usually calm demeanour cracking. "You've been on my case all day."

"My problem?" Lando repeated, incredulous. "I'm not the one flirting with Charles on live TV!"

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. "Flirting? Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious!" Lando shot back, his voice rising. "You've been glued to him all week. What am I supposed to think when the entire paddock is talking about how you're 'more than friends'?"

Oscar stared at him, his expression unreadable. "It's called having a friend, Lando. Maybe you should try it sometime."

The words stung more than they should have, and Lando watched as Oscar walked away, leaving him standing alone in the dim hallway.

Saturday: The Crash

The weather turned on Saturday, a sudden downpour during qualifying catching everyone off guard. Lando had been pushing hard, desperate to beat Oscar's time, when it happened.

He lost control in Turn 10, his car snapping sideways and slamming into the barriers with a sickening crunch.

For a moment, everything was a blur—smoke, the screech of tyres, the sickening jolt of impact. His ears rang as he tried to focus, his breathing shallow.

"Lando, are you okay? Talk to us!" His engineer's voice crackled in his ear, frantic.

"I'm—" Lando's voice broke, his chest tight. "I'm okay. I think."

The medical team arrived quickly, helping him out of the car and onto a stretcher. His head throbbed, and his ribs ached, but nothing seemed broken.

As they wheeled him toward the medical centre, he caught a glimpse of the McLaren garage. Oscar was standing at the entrance, his helmet off, his face pale.

Later That Evening

Lando was lying on the medical bed, staring at the ceiling, when the door burst open.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Oscar demanded, his voice shaking.

Lando blinked, startled. "What?"

"You were pushing too hard!" Oscar said, his eyes blazing. "You could've been seriously hurt!"

"Why do you care?" Lando shot back, his frustration bubbling over. "You've been too busy with Charles to notice anything else!"

Oscar froze, his anger giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. "Is that what this is about?"

Lando didn't answer, turning his head away.

Oscar sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Lando, Charles is my friend. That's it. He has a girlfriend, for crying out loud. Whatever the media says—it's not true."

Lando's chest tightened, a mix of relief and something else he didn't want to name.

"You didn't have to push like that," Oscar continued, his voice quieter now. "You scared me."

Lando looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the worry etched on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar nodded, sitting down beside him. "Just...don't do it again, okay?"

Lando hesitated, then said, "I wasn't just jealous of Charles."

Oscar glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"

Lando swallowed hard. "I mean, maybe I was jealous because...I don't know. I didn't want to lose you. Not to him, not to anyone."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Oscar reached out, his hand brushing Lando's.

"You're not going to lose me," Oscar said softly.

And for the first time in days, Lando let himself believe it.