Story cover for Orange, Always by Leaaa20032002
Orange, Always
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 7,781
  • WpVote
    Votos 320
  • WpPart
    Partes 32
  • WpHistory
    Hora 2h 5m
  • WpView
    LECTURAS 7,781
  • WpVote
    Votos 320
  • WpPart
    Partes 32
  • WpHistory
    Hora 2h 5m
Concluida, Has publicado dic 16, 2025
They share the same garage.
The same color.
The same pressure.

In the relentless world of Formula 1, everything is measured in tenths of a second - except what grows slowly, quietly, between two teammates.

Oscar Piastri thrives on control, precision, and silence. Lando Norris lives through instinct, emotion, and noise. Side by side at McLaren they learn to trust each other on track long before they dare to understand what happens off it.

Between Friday practices, tense Saturday qualifying sessions, and unforgiving Sunday races, something unspoken settles in the spaces between them. Shared routines. Lingering glances. Almost-touches that mean too much to be accidental and not enough to be named.

As the season unfolds - through victories, failures, pressure from the paddock, and eyes that start to notice - Oscar falls first without realizing it. Lando falls harder while trying not to fall at all.

What happens when two people are always next to each other - and nowhere feels safe enough to tell the truth.

A slow-burn Formula 1 romance.
Hidden. Intimate. Inevitable.
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Lando Norris isn't dying. That's what he keeps telling himself. He's just-tired. Too tired. The kind of tired that makes your hands tremble when you paint, that makes your world fade to white under fluorescent light. When he collapses in the middle of the street, it should've just been another headline: Campus art boy passes out, again. But that day, someone caught him-literally. A photography major with shaking hands and a camera still strapped to his neck. Oscar Piastri didn't mean to care. But he did. They meet again, the sunlight from the tall panes framed him in soft gold-Lando slumped over a desk, heartbeat uneven, breath too shallow. Oscar's voice cuts through the silence. "Sleep well." And somehow, Lando listens. He shouldn't feel anything. Not this warmth blooming in his chest. Not this quiet safety whenever Oscar looks at him like he's not fragile. "Why do you keep helping me?" Lando asks one day, voice cracking between guilt and hope. Oscar shrugs, eyes soft. "Because you keep falling." Then there's George-best friend, chaos incarnate-who would fight the whole hospital if he could. Feeling Max's quiet stare on him, George yanks Lando up to use him as a shield. "What?! You wanna fight, huh?!" His little fists tremble inside his cardigan sleeves. Max doesn't even blink. "Try me," the doctor deadpans, flipping a chart. Between sleepless nights, half-drunk cups of coffee, and the hum of a heart that beats too fast for its own good, Lando begins to draw again. And maybe-just maybe-he's learning how to live again, too. Because this time, when Oscar offers his hand, Lando doesn't pull away. a slow heartbeat turning into melody. a story about falling, again and again, and choosing to stay.
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