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Oscar first saw Lando in person at the circuit.
His professor had pulled some strings to get a few promising engineering students passes for the weekend, calling it “field experience,” though Oscar suspected it was just an excuse to let the class live out a fantasy. Oscar didn’t complain. He stood at the back of the garage, too afraid to breathe too loudly, and watched the whirlwind that was a Formula 1 weekend unfold. Amid all the chaos, the cameras, the heat, and the shouting, there was Lando.
Lando Norris.
His name was almost fantasy in Oscar’s world. Not just a driver, but the driver—the one with charm stitched into his smile and confidence hanging from his shoulders like armor. He moved through the paddock like he belonged in a world Oscar could only dream about.
And yet, on Saturday afternoon, Lando found him.
"Hey," Lando said, startling Oscar where he was crouched beside a tire stack, scribbling notes. "You're not one of the regular engineers, are you?"
Oscar looked up, too stunned to answer for a moment. "Uh—no. I'm just a student. Here for the weekend."
Lando squinted. "You looked like you were solving the mysteries of the universe down there."
Oscar flushed. “Just trying to understand tyre degradation patterns.”
Lando laughed, something easy and warm and real. “Tell me if you crack the code. Maybe then I’ll actually get on the podium this week.”
Then and there, Oscar knew that he’s fucked.
They didn’t fall fast. Not like in the movies. There were no whirlwind kisses in the rain, no dramatic declarations. But they built. Slowly. Like scaffolding around two growing hearts. But they were always on borrowed time.
Oscar wasn’t stupid. He knew their worlds didn’t match. He was knee-deep in textbooks and cracked laptop screens, juggling part-time shifts to make rent while Lando jetted off to fashion launches and team debriefs in glass-walled high-rises. Oscar knew that one of them was always flying, always moving, and the other was just trying to keep up.
Yet Lando would call him after late races, voice hoarse, adrenaline still humming through the line.
Oscar would listen. And sometimes talk about the projects he was working on, the exams he was failing, the ramen he was cooking for dinner. Lando always said he loved those calls best, the ones that reminded him of what life looked like without thousands of people screaming his name.
Where Lando would send pictures of sunsets from places Oscar had never been, Oscar would reply with sketches of circuits, physics notes in the margins, and songs he loved. “I love the way you see things,” Lando told him once, when Oscar had explained the way light bent through a glass window at twilight. “Like you’re watching the world through your fingers.”
Oscar had only smiled, heart stuttering painfully. Because Lando belonged to the world, and Oscar belonged to small rooms and borrowed books and weekend shifts.
They spent a summer together. Lando invited Oscar to his place in the countryside for a week. No cameras. No races. Just them.
They drove out of town one night. Just... drove. The windows rolled down, screaming into the wind, waving at nothing.
“To keep us awake,” Lando had laughed when Oscar asked why.
They ended up in some field that smelled like damp grass and petrol. They lay on the hood of Lando’s car, watching the stars.
Lando pointed up. “That one’s Regulus, one of the brightest star in the night sky.”
Oscar turned to him. “Do you actually know that?”
Lando shrugged. “I might’ve googled it earlier. Wanted to impress you.”
Oscar laughed and closed his eyes. “You didn’t have to.”
And they’d gotten caught in a storm that night. Yet they ran into it like children, soaked through in seconds. They’d kissed there, in the middle of a random field, wet and breathless and alive.
In that moment, Oscar wanted to believe this could last forever. That this would be enough.
Maybe not forever. But enough to build something on.
He’d been wrong.
Of course he'd be wrong. The truth is always quieter. More gradual. Like a sunrise you don’t realize is happening until the room is lit differently.
Lando changed. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just revealed. The more Oscar stayed, the more he saw how little space he truly had in Lando’s life
He was always too far away, always on to the next thing. A media event in Singapore. A gala in London. A photoshoot in LA. There were always people around him—beautiful, magnetic people who didn’t fumble over words or wear clearance-rack jackets. People who spoke the same language of fame and fast living. Lando would send pictures, jokes, updates. Oscar responded with enthusiasm he didn’t always feel.
Because it was getting harder.
Lando didn’t do it on purpose and Oscar knew that. He never lied, never cheated, never made promises he couldn’t keep. But slowly, the messages came slower. The calls shorter. The silences heavier.
Yet Oscar still wrote messages Lando never had time to read. Sometimes they were long and quiet, sent at 3 a.m. when Oscar couldn’t sleep. He’d still talk about his days, the strange professor who still used chalkboards, or how his flatmate kept leaving spoons in the sink. Mundane things. Earthbound things.
Lando would respond when he could, voice notes mostly, short and bright and punctuated by laughter.
“I wish you could’ve seen the stars here tonight. Unreal, mate.”
Oscar always imagined Lando standing somewhere too high for him to reach. A hotel balcony, a team compound rooftop, a sky that had always seemed meant for someone else.
“Hey man upon the hill,” Oscar had whispered once into the phone, his voice small. He didn’t know why he said it. Lando had laughed like he thought it was a joke.
And Oscar realized he was always the one waiting.
Waiting for Lando to find time. Waiting to be remembered.
They knew the end is near.
So they had one last night.
It wasn’t planned. Lando had a few days off, rare and golden, and he showed up unannounced at Oscar’s place. No cameras. No entourage. Just him, a hoodie too big for him and eyes that looked tired in a way even fame couldn’t fix.
They didn’t say much. They didn’t need to.
They danced or something like it, in Oscar's tiny room. Their arms tangled around each other. There was no music. Just the soft thuds from their foot and the whisper of rain against the window. It was awkward. Clumsy. But it felt real.
Oscar wanted to stop time.
Instead, he stopped moving.
“You will find a new home,” he said, his voice steady, though his heart cracked in his chest.
Lando looked at him, really looked, and his mouth opened like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t.
Because it was true.
“I care about you. I really do—” Lando gasped.
“But not enough to choose this. I get it.”
For Oscar, Lando seemed devastated. Maybe he was actually devastated. But devastation doesn’t change reality.
Oscar stood. “You’ll find someone who fits into your life better.”
“I wanted that to be you.”
“I wanted that too.”
Lando stared at him, with eyes that went from devastated to utterly destroyed, yet the tears never came. Only brimming.
“I don’t want you to let go.” Lando said with hoarse voice.
Oscar’s smile trembled. “But I already am.”
The harsh reality is that, Lando belonged to the world. But Oscar belonged to himself.
It ultimately was their decision to end it.
Not because they stopped to love each other. If anything, love had never felt more vast, more achingly real. But love wasn’t enough. Not when Oscar was left on read more than replied to. Not when conversations felt like a disconnection and replies felt like a task for Lando. And Oscar understood.
Oscar wanted to be mature. He wanted to be strong. He told himself this was growth, accepting that this were not meant to last.
So Oscar danced, alone, in the room they used to share space. Played songs they’d once slow-danced to, barefoot and ridiculous. He remembered Lando’s arms around him, remembered how big they felt, like a constellation that could hold him together.
The music faded. He stood still.
He whispered, “And I should be happy.”
They met again, two years later, in Melbourne.
Oscar already finished school. Got a job. Sometimes he’d catch glimpses of Lando on the news. Winning races. Smiling that perfect smile. Standing next to a woman with a laugh like champagne. And Oscar smiled too. A little sad. A little proud. He could almost forget what it felt like to sit in silence together, tangled under covers, whispering about constellations and sharing mundane stories. Almost.
Yet in Melbourne, in such a sickening twist of fate, they met again. Oscar wasn’t even supposed to be there. He was covering for a friend who’d fallen sick, his first time back in the paddock since that summer.
Lando spotted him across the garage.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
And Lando smiled.
Oscar smiled back.
Lando hesitated, “I still look at the stars and think of you.”
“And I hope they make you feel less alone.” Oscar replied softly.
They stood in silence, surrounded by the roar of machines.
“I have to go,” Lando said, finally.
“Of course.”