Chapter Text
Lando is dragged out of sleep by the sound of feet.
Not careful feet. Not polite feet. Bare feet, pounding down a wooden hallway like a herd of extremely small, extremely determined elephants.
“BEACH.”
The word is yelled directly into the room, followed by the unmistakable thump of the bedroom door slamming open.
Holly launches herself at the bed with zero regard for personal space. Rossi is half a beat behind her, climbing rather than jumping, curls wild, eyes already bright.
“It’s morning!” Holly announces, as if this is brand-new information. “It’s sunny! We’re going to the beach!”
Lando groans and rolls onto his back, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “It’s… criminally early.”
Oscar, infuriatingly, is already sitting up.
He checks the time on his phone, blinks once, and swings his legs out of bed like a man who has never known exhaustion in his life.
“Eight o’clock,” Oscar says calmly. “That’s a very reasonable time.”
“You’re a traitor,” Lando mumbles.
Holly is already bouncing. Rossi sits cross-legged between them, hands pressed to the duvet, rocking slightly with contained excitement.
“Can we have breakfast now?” Rossi asks, softer than his sister but no less hopeful.
Oscar smiles – that automatic, warm thing he does with them – and leans down to kiss Lando’s forehead.
“I’ll take them through,” he says. “You stay here and wake up like a normal person.”
Lando cracks one eye open. “You’re enabling them.”
Oscar grins. “Absolutely.”
He scoops Rossi up with one arm, Holly immediately grabbing his free hand, and herds them toward the door.
“Shoes later,” Oscar says as they go. “Breakfast first. No sand in the kitchen.”
“No promises!” Holly shouts, already halfway down the hallway.
The door closes.
The house settles.
Lando lies there, staring at the ceiling, the bed still warm beside him, listening.
From the dining room comes the clink of bowls, the scrape of a chair. Oscar’s voice drifts back; low, amused, patient.
“Rossi, honey, cereal goes in the bowl.”
“I was just checking it,” Rossi says solemnly.
Holly laughs; loud, delighted. “Dad, he’s doing it wrong!”
“I am not,” Rossi protests.
Oscar chuckles. “You’re both doing great. Milk, Hols. Slowly. SLOWLY.”
Lando smiles into the pillow, eyes finally closing properly this time.
This house – modest, sun-washed, tucked just back from the beach – feels like it’s breathing with them. No alarms. No schedules. No media intrusion. No one waiting for him to be anything other than here.
He listens to Oscar talking, to his kids arguing, to the faint hum of the kettle.
And thinks, sleepily, warmly; this is the life.
Lando drifts for another five minutes – the good kind, half-asleep, half-listening –before the smell of toast and the unmistakable sound of cereal crunching against teeth pulls him properly awake.
He sits up, rubs his face, and pads down the hall.
The kitchen is chaos in miniature. Holly is standing on a chair so she can be the same height as the island bench, spoon raised like a victory flag. Cereal is discarded around her plate. Rossi is concentrating very hard on getting exactly the right amount of milk without spilling. Oscar stands between them, calm as a monk, one hip leaned against the counter.
“Morning,” Lando says.
Both kids swivel instantly.
“PAPA!” Holly shouts, launching herself off the chair. Lando just manages to catch her, arms locking around her middle as she laughs.
“Good morning, hurricane,” he says, kissing her cheek.
Rossi smiles shyly from his seat. “We’re going to the beach.”
“So I’ve been informed,” Lando says. He leans down to press a kiss into Rossi’s curls. “Very forcefully.”
Oscar hands him a mug without comment. Coffee. Strong. Exactly how Lando likes it.
“You alive now?” Oscar asks.
“Give me thirty seconds,” Lando says, taking a grateful sip. “Then I’ll be a functioning human.”
Oscar chuckles and accepts the kiss Lando leans over to give him. He smiles into it. One day he might grow tired of even the most chaste kisses from Oscar Piastri, but today is not that day.
After breakfast and clean up – Rossi helps, Holly splashes water around, which earns her one of ‘Dad’s Mean Looks’ – they migrate back down the hallway like a small parade.
Oscar handles logistics; towels, hats, the bag with snacks and spare clothes. Lando gets tasked with the kids.
Which means swimwear.
Holly insists on her pink swimsuit that was a Christmas gift from Nana Norris. Rossi insists on the matching shorts and swim top Uncle George bought him – Mercedes blue with little boats all over it. Both insist on putting them on themselves, which takes time and patience and several deep breaths.
Lando stands in the middle of the room helping where allowed and praising generously.
“You’re doing great,” he tells Rossi, who has his shirt halfway on and is very serious about it. In the end, he helps his son by holding the bottom of the shirt as Rossi navigates getting his arms through the holes.
“You might be getting a bit big for this one soon bud.” Lando says.
“No!” Rossi says. “It’s the best one.”
“Uncle George certainly thinks so.” Lando says.
“I love Uncle George!” Rossi says, with an adorable smile. Lando pulls out his phone and takes a quick photo, posting it in the Gaytet Chat. George hearts the photo and responds with a photo of his and Alex’s eldest daughter, Luisa, asleep next to one of their cats. Charles, awake shockingly early for him, also hearts it and sends a photo of his and Max’s son Jules, now ten, wearing the Koala t-shirt Oscar bought him for his birthday. Their daughter, Antoinette, is behind him pulling a stupid face. Lando grins and is then distracted by Holly emerging, triumphant, her swimsuit on backwards. “Papa, look!”
Her swimsuit is on – technically –# but backwards, straps twisted, one leg slightly higher than the other. She strikes a pose anyway, hands on hips, chin lifted.
Lando blinks. “Looks… great honey.”
Behind him, Oscar appears in the doorway, already halfway ready for the beach. He bites back a smile, lips twitching despite himself. “We’ll fix it.”
Lando takes a second to really look at him.
Oscar is wearing the ridiculous off-white swim shorts Lando bought him as a joke for their first ever Father’s Day five years ago; the ones with the flamingos all over them. The kids love them. Oscar claims he grabbed them by accident every single time.
He’s thrown a singlet on as well, and it does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that fatherhood has done nothing to soften him physically. If anything, it’s made him stronger. Broader. Stupidly muscular arms, solid torso, familiar and unfairly attractive.
Lando gives him an unapologetic once-over, mouth curving into something warm and teasing.
“Nice swim shorts,” he says.
Oscar rolls his eyes without looking at him. “First thing I grabbed.”
“It’s the flame-gos!” Holly yells suddenly, her voice muffled as her face gets stuck halfway inside the swimsuit. “THE FLAME-GOS!”
Oscar laughs and turns fully toward her, hands gentle as he helps untangle straps and guide fabric where it’s meant to go. “Arms up, Hols. Let Papa breathe for a second.”
Lando snorts and backs away, laughter bubbling out of him as he watches the two of them; Oscar calm and capable, Holly vibrating with excitement.
He heads down the hallway toward the bedroom to get changed himself, still smiling.
By the time they’re ready – sun screened, hatted, slightly sticky already – the sun is higher, the house brighter. Oscar locks the door while Lando shepherds the kids down the path toward the beach, Holly skipping, Rossi holding Lando’s hand tight.
Rossi looks up at him. “Papa?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Is the water cold today?”
Lando smiles, squeezing his hand. “Probably. But we’ll be brave.”
Rossi nods, satisfied.
Behind them, Oscar watches the three of them – Lando steady and soft, Holly fearless, Rossi thoughtful – and Lando feels it settle again, that quiet certainty in his chest.
Sand. Sun. Bare feet.
This is the life.
They hit the sand like a change in gravity.
Holly whoops immediately, shoes abandoned without ceremony, sprinting toward the water like it personally challenged her. Oscar jogs after her, calling her name in that half-serious, half-laughing way that means he’s absolutely going to race her.
Rossi slows.
Lando feels it through their joined hands; the way Rossi’s grip tightens, the way his steps shorten. The beach is busy today. Towels, voices, dogs, a kid shrieking with joy somewhere to the left. Too much movement. Too much noise.
“Papa,” Rossi says quietly.
Lando stops with him, drops to a crouch so they’re level. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
Rossi looks out at the water, at Holly already daring the waves, at Oscar laughing as a wave soaks his shorts. His lower lip wobbles, just a little.
“It’s loud.”
“I know honey,” Lando says gently. He kisses Rossi’s forehead and then shifts closer, shielding Rossi with his body without making a big deal of it. “Do you want to watch for a bit?”
Rossi nods.
They sit together on a towel just above the wet sand. Lando pulls Rossi into his lap, one arm solid around his middle. Rossi presses his face briefly into Lando’s chest, then peeks back out, curiosity winning over overwhelm inch by inch.
Down the beach, Oscar and Holly have turned it into a full event.
“Ready?” Oscar asks, crouched low like he’s on a grid.
Holly plants her feet, eyes blazing. “I’m faster than you.”
Oscar grins. “We’ll see.”
“GO!” Holly shrieks, taking off.
Oscar chases her down the shoreline, exaggerated strides, letting her think she’s winning for a few glorious seconds before sweeping her up under his arm. She screams with laughter, kicking uselessly.
“UNFAIR!” she yells.
Lando laughs, the sound easy, real. He feels Rossi relax against him as he watches, a small smile creeping onto his face.
“Dad runs funny,” Rossi observes.
“He does,” Lando agrees solemnly. “Very embarrassing. Not like me, I run perfectly normaly.”
Rossi giggles.
Lando feels his phone vibrate against his thigh and shifts slightly so Rossi doesn’t lose his balance on his lap. He glances down at the screen and smiles despite himself.
Daniel.
“Hey Ro, want to talk to Uncle Daniel?”
Rossi’s head snaps up immediately. He nods so hard his curls bounce. He and Holly love Uncle Daniel.
Lando grins and answers. Daniel’s cherry-red, sunburnt face fills the screen instantly, already smiling like he’s mid-laugh.
“Hey! It’s my favourite Piastri!”
Lando scoffs, loudly. Daniel ignores him completely.
Rossi giggles, shy and delighted all at once. “Hi–hi,” he says, lifting his tiny hand and pressing it flat against the screen.
“How’s it going, Rossi-Ro? You’re at the beach?”
Rossi nods. “It’s really loud.”
Daniel nods solemnly, as if this is very serious information. “It can’t be louder than me, bud. Just remember that.”
Rossi considers this carefully, then nods, clearly taking it to heart. “Is Luna there?”
Lando’s chest softens immediately. Luna Ricciardo-Sainz — gentle, thoughtful, quietly funny. Somehow all of Daniel’s kindness without the volume, and all of Carlos’ charm without the chaos. The perfect match for his shy, observant son.
“Oh, sorry Rossi-Ro,” Daniel says, expression genuinely apologetic. “Uncle Carlos has taken the kids out.”
“Oh.” Rossi’s face falls, just a little, shoulders drooping.
“But,” Daniel adds quickly, grin returning full-force, “we might see you guys tomorrow! If your parents say yes?”
Rossi lights up like someone flipped a switch. He twists immediately toward Lando, eyes huge, hopeful, hands clutching at his shirt.
“Please, Papa?”
Lando laughs and hugs him closer. “This is why you called? To come and invade Osc and my idyllic family holiday with your family’s insanity?”
Daniel cackles. “More like provide actual fun and banter.”
Lando rolls his eyes, but gives in easily. “Tomorrow is good. Lunch?”
“Easy,” Daniel says. “Carlos will cook something. I’ll bring some wine.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you tomorrow, Rossi-Ro!” Daniel adds. “Make sure to cover your Papa in sand.”
“Absolutely not,” Lando says firmly, even as Rossi dissolves into giggles.
Daniel laughs, waves dramatically, and then the screen goes dark.
Lando slips the phone back into his pocket and presses a kiss into Rossi’s hair, breathing him in for a second longer than necessary.
“That’ll be fun, right, Ro?”
Rossi nods eagerly. “I can show Luna my new pencils.”
Lando smiles. “She’ll love that.” He glances toward the water, where Oscar and Holly are jumping over the small waves, Holly shrieking with laughter every time one catches her ankles. “You ready to head down to the waves?”
Rossi watches them for a moment. Then his hand curls tightly around Lando’s fingers.
“Okay.”
Lando stands with him, steady and slow, and together they head toward the water; exactly at Rossi’s pace.
Lando steps onto the wet sand and immediately regrets every life choice he’s ever made.
It squelches between his toes, cold and gritty and wrong, and he makes a face without even trying to hide it.
Oscar catches it instantly. Of course he does.
“Oh no,” Oscar says, delighted. “Is the sand touching you?”
“Yes,” Lando says flatly. “It’s doing it on purpose.”
Holly is already ankle-deep in the water, completely unconcerned with either of them. She jumps straight into the first wave like it personally offended her.
“Hols—!” Oscar calls, heart lurching.
“I’M FINE!” she yells back, laughing as the water splashes her knees.
Lando winces. “She’s fearless.”
“She’s five,” Oscar mutters. “That’s worse.”
Another small wave rolls in. Holly times it perfectly, hopping over it with wild confidence, arms flung out for balance. She turns back to them, beaming.
“Did you see that?!”
“Yes,” Lando says. “And it shaved three years off my life.”
Rossi stands between them at the shoreline, curls damp already from sea spray, watching the water with cautious interest. He doesn’t move forward on his own — just reaches out, small hands finding theirs.
“Together?” he asks softly.
“Together,” Oscar agrees immediately.
Lando squeezes Rossi’s hand. “Always together, sweetheart.”
They take a step closer. Another wave creeps toward them – barely more than foam, really – but Rossi watches it carefully, timing it the way he does everything.
“Now,” Oscar says.
They jump.
It’s barely a hop, but Rossi laughs anyway, the sound bright and surprised, like he didn’t expect it to feel that good. The wave rushes past their ankles and retreats again.
“Again,” Rossi says, braver now.
In front of them, Holly is attempting increasingly ambitious leaps, shrieking with joy every time she lands.
“Okay,” Oscar calls. “Stay where we can see you!”
“I AM WHERE YOU CAN SEE ME,” Holly replies, splashing directly into a slightly bigger wave.
Lando groans. “Osc.”
“I know,” Oscar says, already watching her like a hawk.
Another wave rolls in. Rossi tightens his grip, but he’s smiling now, feet planted, knees bent just a little.
“Ready?” Lando asks.
Rossi nods. “Ready.”
They jump again. And again.
Sand sticks to Lando’s calves. Water soaks his shorts. He hates both things deeply.
And yet.
He looks down at Rossi, laughing between them, looks up at Oscar – smiling, steady, right there – and out at Holly, fearless and unstoppable.
Lando sighs, shaking his head fondly. “Fine,” he mutters. “The sand can stay.”
Oscar grins at him. “High praise.”
They jump one more wave together.
Rossi watches the water for a bit longer, fingers still laced tightly with both of theirs. He times a few more waves, jumping when Oscar says now, laughing every time they land together.
Then his attention shifts.
He looks down the shoreline, eyes catching on something pale and curved near the water’s edge. Then another. And another.
“Papa?” he asks, tugging gently on Lando’s hand.
Lando looks down. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Can I go collect shells?”
Oscar follows Rossi’s gaze immediately. “You want to look over there?”
Rossi nods, already half-turning. “They’re pretty.”
Oscar looks at Lando. “I’ll go? You stay watching the maniac?”
Lando glances out to where his daughter is shrieking with laughter as the water splashes up her thighs. “She gets this from your sisters.” He says.
Oscar laughs and shakes his head. “Oh no babe, she is all you.”
Lando scoffs. “As if!”
Rossi is tugging at Lando’s hand. “Can we go?”
Lando looks down at him. “Of course Ro. Have fun with Dad.”
Rossi releases Lando’s hand and slips his fingers into Oscar’s instead. Oscar adjusts his grip automatically, solid and sure, and they start walking slowly along the damp sand, eyes down, moving at Rossi’s careful pace.
Lando watches them go for a moment; Oscar tall and steady, Rossi small and intent beside him, already bending to inspect the first shell like it might be a treasure.
In front of him him, a wave crashes harder than the others.
“Hols!” Lando calls, turning just in time to see Holly jump straight into it, completely unfazed, water splashing up to her thighs.
“I DID IT!” she yells, laughing.
Lando jogs closer, heart in his throat. “You absolutely did. Maybe not that far next time, yeah?”
She grins at him, dripping and triumphant. “I’m gonna do it again.”
Lando plants his feet, eyes never leaving her. “Of course you are.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Oscar kneeling with Rossi, both of them holding a shell between them, heads bent close together.
They regroup back at the towels in a messy, sandy sort of orbit.
Rossi arrives first, carefully cupping his shells like they might vanish if he isn’t gentle enough. Holly barrels in a second later, already dropping to her knees and shoving her hands straight into the sand with purpose.
“We’re digging a hole,” she announces.
Rossi considers this. “A big one.”
“Obviously,” Holly says.
They set to work immediately; Holly digging with wild enthusiasm, sand flying everywhere, Rossi scooping more deliberately, pausing now and then to line shells up neatly along the edge as decorations.
Lando and Oscar settle back onto the towels, legs stretched out, shoes abandoned somewhere behind them. Lando leans into Oscar without thinking, shoulder pressed against his arm, one foot hooked lazily over Oscar’s ankle to keep him there.
Oscar’s hand comes to rest on Lando’s knee, thumb brushing back and forth in an absent, grounding motion.
They watch.
Holly is already halfway to burying herself, sand streaking her arms and legs. Rossi hums softly as he digs, utterly focused, occasionally stopping to announce, “This is going to be so big Wolly!” before placing another shell just so.
“You know,” Oscar murmurs, eyes still on the kids, “they’re going to fill that hole with water.”
Lando snorts. “One hundred percent.”
“And then someone will fall in it.”
“Also yes.”
Oscar smiles and leans down, pressing a brief kiss to Lando’s hair. “Any guesses who?”
“Holly,” Lando says immediately. Then pauses. “Or me.”
Oscar chuckles quietly. “Fair.”
A small avalanche of sand flies dangerously close to them.
“HEY,” Lando calls. “Papa would like to remind you that sand does not belong in his ears.”
Holly grins, entirely unapologetic. “It’s part of the beach!”
Rossi nods seriously. “The beach makes messes.”
Oscar squeezes Lando’s knee. “See? Science.”
Lando sighs, dramatic but fond, and shifts closer, letting his head rest briefly against Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar tilts slightly to accommodate him, arm slipping around Lando’s back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Holly shrieks with triumph as the hole gets deeper. Rossi claps sand-dusted hands together, delighted.
A while later, when the hole has become a serious architectural project and the shells have been called in to “make it pretty,” Lando shifts slightly on the towel.
“Oh hey, Daniel called,” Lando says.
Oscar turns his head toward him. “Oh?”
“They can come round tomorrow for lunch? Carlos will cook something.”
Oscar hums, pleased. “Sounds perfect. So jealous Daniel gets to benefit from Carlos’ cooking everyday.”
“You’re jealous are you?” Lando asks, nudging him with his shoulder.
Oscar keeps his eyes on the kids, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Uh huh. And Carlos’ smile isn’t too bad either.”
Lando pokes his thigh, scandalised. “Oi, that is quite enough of that thank you.”
Oscar laughs, fingers tightening briefly around Lando’s waist. He leans in, presses his lips to Lando’s hair and murmurs, “Oh, don’t worry, he’s a top so it wouldn’t work.”
Lando gives him a flat look. “Oh, that’s the only reason you’re with me, is it?”
Oscar nods without hesitation.
Lando opens his mouth to fire back, but before he can, Holly hauls herself out of the hole and plants herself directly in front of them. Hands on hips. Chin lifted. The pose is pure authority; uncannily reminiscent of Oscar’s mother and, inexplicably, George Russell.
“What’s up bug?” Lando asks.
“Can we have ice cream?”
The word travels fast.
Rossi’s curls pop up from inside the hole, eyes going wide. “Ice cream?”
“But we haven’t even had lunch yet!” Oscar says. He reaches out, hooks an arm around Holly, and pulls her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her sandy head. “We can’t have ice cream until we’ve had lunch!”
Holly giggles. “But it’s Christmas!”
Oscar and Lando both laugh at that. “And?” Oscar asks.
“Means we can do silly things!”
“Like ice cream before lunch?” Oscar prompts.
Holly nods enthusiastically – but before either adult can respond, Rossi launches himself forward, scrambling out of the hole and straight into the hug. He lands with a solid thud on top of Oscar, knocking him backward into the sand.
“Ice cream!” Rossi declares.
“ICE CREAM!” Holly yells, louder, bouncing.
They immediately devolve into chanting, bodies piled on Oscar, who is laughing helplessly beneath them. Lando snaps a photo before dropping down beside them, leaning in close.
“I think it’s a pretty persuasive argument, Osc.”
Oscar groans, rolling his eyes as he sits up, both kids tumbling off him in a heap of laughter. “Okay. Just this once, okay?”
Everyone knows it won’t be just this once.
Holly and Rossi scream with delight.
Oscar stands, brushing sand off his shorts. “Hols, you come with me. Rossi, you keep Papa company.”
Holly scrambles up immediately, grabbing Oscar’s hand. Rossi toddles straight into Lando’s outstretched arms. Lando lifts him easily, pulling him close and pressing a firm kiss into his curls.
“Get me something plain!” Lando yells toward Oscar as he and Holly start walking away.
“Always!” Oscar calls back.
Lando settles back onto the towel with Rossi tucked against his chest, watching Oscar and Holly disappear up the beach.
The sun is warm on Lando’s shoulders, the kind of heat that makes everything slow and hazy. He’s sitting cross-legged on the towel, sunglasses on, watching Rossi crouch a few metres away. His son is completely absorbed, tongue peeking out in concentration as he arranges shells in the sand.
Carefully. Deliberately.
Rossi has always been like this; quieter than Holly, happier when he’s creating something instead of charging headfirst into it.
“What are you making, Ro?” Lando asks gently.
Rossi glances up, curls falling into his eyes. “A picture.”
“A picture of what?”
Rossi shrugs, then beams shyly. “For Daddy.”
Lando smiles, chest softening. “Daddy’s going to love it.”
Rossi nods, very serious about this responsibility, and goes back to arranging shells into what looks vaguely like a lopsided sun with lines radiating out.
Lando leans back on his hands, letting the moment settle.
It’s then that a shadow falls across the sand.
“Oh my goodness,” a woman’s voice says warmly. “He is adorable.”
Lando looks up.
She’s standing just in front of them, sunglasses perched on top of her head, a light beach dress fluttering in the breeze. She’s smiling down at Rossi; open, friendly, curious. The kind of smile that could go either way.
“Those curls,” she continues. “Just precious.”
“Thanks,” Lando says, polite but immediately alert.
He waits for it; the pause, the narrowing of the eyes, the flicker of recognition. The oh. It’s usually right there, hovering.
It doesn’t come.
She doesn’t recognise him at all.
The relief hits him instantly, sharp and unexpected. His shoulders drop before he even realises they were tense. He hadn’t known how braced he’d been until the weight slips away.
And then she says it.
“You and your wife must be so proud of him.”
Lando swallows.
It isn’t unusual for people to assume he has a wife, but it still catches him every time. When it’s men, it’s often cautious curiosity – are you one of us? When it’s women… it’s usually hope. Or disappointment.
“No wife,” he says.
He could say more. He should say more. But he’s at the beach, with his son, and he doesn’t want this to turn into something tense or awkward or explanatory.
The woman’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Single parent? That must be so hard,” she says, carefully emphasising every word.
Lando shrugs, the response automatic and ill-considered. “I guess, yeah, probably is for some people.”
He regrets it immediately.
Why didn’t he just say it? Why didn’t he say my husband? Why does it still feel complicated when it shouldn’t? His thoughts tangle uselessly and then the woman turns her attention fully to Rossi, which honestly feels like another boundary crossed, even if her tone is kind.
Rossi looks up, sensing the attention.
“What are you making, sweetheart?” the woman asks him.
Rossi hesitates, then answers quietly, pride slipping into his voice. “A picture. For my Daddy.”
She smiles at Lando. “Aw. That’s lovely. You must be very proud of him.”
Lando opens his mouth to correct her.
Rossi beats him to it.
“No,” he says, shaking his head.
The woman blinks. “No?”
Rossi lifts his arm and points, finger steady, stretching down the length of the beach.
“For Daddy,” he says again, and follows his own gesture.
Lando turns.
Oscar is walking back toward them, Holly beside him, ice creams in hand. Holly is hopping as she talks, nearly tripping over her own feet, waving her Magnum dangerously close to disaster. Oscar is laughing, head tilted toward her, sunlight catching on his shoulders, completely unguarded.
Rossi’s finger doesn’t waver.
Lando’s chest goes warm and tight all at once.
The woman follows Rossi’s gaze. The picture clicks together for her in real time.
“Oh,” she says.
She suddenly looks deeply uncomfortable. “Well, you have a lovely family,” she adds, and then leaves, quickly. Almost comically so.
Lando would have laughed more if the feeling in his chest wasn’t twisting in on itself.
He looks down at Rossi, back out at Oscar and Holly.
Why did I do that?
Why didn’t I say it?
It feels, suddenly, like he denied Oscar’s existence – even if only for a moment. Even if it wasn’t intentional.
Oscar is closer now. Holly is running ahead, already yelling about ice cream.
Lando stays where he is, sand warm beneath his legs, watching his son, trying to untangle the discomfort from the relief.
Holly basically collides with him.
“Papa! Papa! There was so many flavours!”
Lando opens his arms automatically and she crashes into him, sand and sunscreen and pure excitement. She tangles her fingers straight into his hair like she’s done since she could reach it.
“So many flavours, huh?” he asks, smiling properly this time.
“Yea, but Daddy only let me get one!” she says, deeply affronted by this injustice.
Behind her, Oscar grins, rolling his eyes. “You can get another flavour tomorrow Holly.”
Holly sighs dramatically. “But I wanted all the flavours now!”
“Well, sometimes we don’t get what we want, sweetheart,” Lando says, fighting back a grin. Sometimes she reminds him of himself so clearly it’s almost embarrassing.
Holly huffs, but allows him to kiss her forehead before he gently turns her toward Oscar. “Do you want your ice cream?”
Oscar is already holding it out. Rossi has taken his and is back on the towel, licking it slowly and methodically, like it’s a scientific experiment.
Holly nods and grabs hers, immediately sitting beside her brother.
Oscar drops down next to Lando and hands him his. “Boring, just as you asked.”
Lando smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach the centre of him.
His mind is still back with the woman. With the pause. With what he didn’t say.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
They sit for a moment, the waves moving steadily behind them, their kids content and sticky and happy.
Then Rossi speaks, voice small but determined.
“Daddy, I made you something.”
Oscar’s cheeks flush instantly. “You did?”
Rossi nods and stands up, handing his empty wrapper to Lando without breaking eye contact with Oscar. Lando takes it, tucks it into the bag, and watches as Rossi steps closer.
One tiny hand settles carefully on Oscar’s knee.
“Can I show you?”
Oscar’s expression softens completely. “Of course, darling.” He rises and Rossi slips his hand into Oscar’s without hesitation.
“Show me also!” Holly demands, scrambling up and abandoning her rubbish on the towel. Lando leans over to grab it before the wind does.
Holly takes Oscar’s other hand and they head toward the little collection of shells Rossi had been arranging so carefully earlier.
Lando stays where he is for a moment, watching.
Oscar crouches down beside Rossi, listening with full attention as their son explains, pointing at the circle in the sand with radiating lines made from shells.
“It’s the sun,” Rossi says.
Oscar nods like he’s looking at something extraordinary. “It’s beautiful.”
He pulls Rossi into a tight hug.
Oscar is so good with them. So steady. So present. So completely unthreatened by their softness or their loudness or their need.
Lando has always been proud to call him his husband.
Always.
So why didn’t he say it?
The answer sits heavy in his chest because he knows it.
Judgement.
The old, recurring fear — that someone will look at him and decide he chose wrong. That walking away from racing, from more championships, from more headlines, somehow made him less. That wanting this — kids and sand and chocolate ice creams and shell suns — was indulgent.
That it could be taken away.
“Holly suddenly calls his name, “Papa! Come look!”
Lando jolts slightly, pushing himself to his feet and walking over. Holly grabs his hand and drags him closer to the shell arrangement.
Rossi stands beside Oscar, shoulders squared, hopeful but quiet.
“It’s good, right?” Oscar says. His voice sounds a little wet with emotion.
Lando nods, reaching out to ruffle his fingers gently through Rossi’s curls. “It’s wonderful, honey.”
Rossi smiles — shy, pleased, glowing in that quiet way he does.
Lando looks at Oscar.
Really looks at him.
And decides, firmly, that he has to tell him later. About the woman. About what he didn’t say.
Oscar deserves the truth.
He always has.
The smell of salt vinegar and fried batter fills the kitchen, a scent that, for Oscar, has become the official fragrance of "off-season."
He sets the massive, butcher-paper-wrapped parcel in the middle of the table. It’s a glorious, steaming heap of golden chips and flakey fish. He doesn't even bother with plates; it feels more authentic this way, and frankly, he’s seen enough dishes today to last a lifetime.
"FISH!" Holly bellows, her chair scraping loudly against the floorboards as she climbs up. "I want the one with the tail!"
"There are no tails, Hols," Oscar says mildly, tearing open the paper. "Just deliciousness. Sit down, please."
Rossi climbs into his seat with significantly more grace, his eyes wide as he surveys the mountain of food. He waits until Oscar places a small pile of chips in front of him before he starts his ritual. He picks up a single chip, inspects it for structural integrity, and takes a precise, tiny bite.
"Dad?" Rossi asks, his mouth half-full.
"Yeah, Ro?"
"How many fish live in the sea? Like, a hundred?"
Holly scoffs, her mouth already smeared with a preemptive layer of tomato sauce she’s managed to scavenge from a side pot. "More than a hundred, Rossi! Like... a thousand million."
"A thousand million?" Rossi’s eyes go round. "Do they all have names?"
"The big ones do," Holly says authoritatively. "The little ones just go by 'hey you.'"
Oscar chuckles, reaching over to squeeze a lemon wedge over a piece of fish. He glances across the table at Lando. Usually, Lando would be right in the middle of this, spinning a tall tale about a fish named Steve who wears a top hat, but he’s quiet. He’s leaning back, a single chip held between his fingers, his gaze drifting toward the window where the sky is turning a bruised, beautiful purple.
He looks... distant. Not sad, exactly, but like he’s replaying a video in his head and can't find the pause button.
"Daddy, look!" Holly shouts.
Oscar turns just in time to see a glob of tomato sauce slide off Holly’s chip and land—with the precision of a heat-seeking missile—directly on the white collar of her shirt.
"Oh, Hols," Oscar sighs, reaching for the paper towels.
"It’s a heart!" she proclaims, pointing at the red smear. "I made a heart for the fish!"
"It's a stain, hurricane," Lando says, finally snapping back to the present. He offers a small, tight smile, but it doesn't reach the crinkles of his eyes. He reaches out and wipes a bit of sauce off Holly's chin, his touch lingering for a second.
Oscar watches him closely. He knows Lando’s silences; he knows the difference between a "tired Lando" and a "thinking too hard Lando." This is definitely the latter.
"Rossi," Oscar says, trying to keep the mood light. "Tell Papa about the shell you found. The one with the 'secret' inside."
Rossi lights up, his chip-at-a-time method momentarily forgotten. "It was a house, Papa! A tiny crab lived there, but he went to the shops, so I took the house."
Lando laughs, and this time it sounds a bit more like him. "He went to the shops, did he? Hope he remembered his wallet."
"Crabs don't have wallets," Rossi says with a giggle. "They have pockets in their legs."
The chaos continues—Holly eventually manages to get sauce on her forehead, and Rossi meticulously counts out exactly twelve chips to be his "finalists"—but Oscar’s focus keeps drifting back to Lando. He notices the way Lando’s thumb is nervously rubbing the edge of the table.
Whatever is spinning in Lando’s head, it’s big enough to keep him from the chips. And in this house, that’s saying something.
Oscar catches Lando’s eye and tilts his head just a fraction. You okay?
Lando just nods, a quick, jerky movement, and takes a bite of his fish. He’s not ready to talk yet.
"Right," Oscar says, standing up as the kids finish. "Sauce-monsters to the bathroom. If we’re fast, we can see the stars from the deck before bed."
"STARS!" Holly screams, already halfway down the hall.
Rossi follows at a steady trot, calling out, "I'm gonna find the star that looks like a fish!"
Oscar lingers at the table, picking up the discarded paper. He feels Lando’s presence behind him, but the air still feels heavy with unspoken words.
The house has finally gone quiet in that soft, exhausted way it only ever does after a full day in the sun.
“Papa,” Holly says, her little face stretching wide with a yawn as she burrows further under the covers, “that was the best day ever.”
Rossi, tucked into his single bed beside hers, nods solemnly, curls flattened against the pillow. “Best day,” he agrees, already half-asleep.
Lando smiles, warmth blooming low in his chest, and reaches out to smooth Holly’s hair back from her face. “It really was,” he says gently. “You were so brave today, Hols. Going right into the waves like that.”
“I know,” Holly says proudly, eyelids fluttering. She turns her head toward Rossi. “Rossi, you come in tomorrow.”
Rossi nods, even though his big hazel eyes flicker with something closer to terror than confidence. “Okay,” he says anyway.
Holly beams.
Lando stands, carefully easing the book from Holly’s arms. “Alright, kiddos. Sleep time now. Big beach day again tomorrow.”
“Yay!” Holly cheers, somehow still finding the energy for it.
Lando laughs quietly, a little awed by his daughter’s seemingly endless enthusiasm. He leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Night, Holly.”
“Night, Papa. Night, Dad!” she adds loudly, voice echoing off the walls.
Lando smiles to himself. Oscar is outside on the deck, doing yoga in the fading evening light — something he picked up from Lando — and definitely can’t hear them.
“Dad says night,” Lando tells her.
“Can he come kiss us?” Rossi asks softly. His face is so open, so hopeful, that Lando feels something in him go soft all at once.
“Of course, honey,” he says, bending to kiss the top of Rossi’s curls. Then he slips out of the room and heads down the hallway, through the living space and onto the deck.
Oscar is there in downward dog, muscles stretched and steady, the sunset painting the horizon in impossible oranges and pinks. For a moment, Lando just watches — appreciates — the strong line of Oscar’s thighs, the curve of his back. One of the many perks of Oscar still being in F1, he thinks fondly.
“Baby,” Lando says eventually, smiling, “the kids want you to come kiss them goodnight.”
Oscar turns his head. “Yeah? Sweet. Okay.”
He straightens, a little light-headed, takes a long swig of water, then follows Lando back inside and down the hall to the kids’ bedroom.
Holly immediately looks up — she’s clearly retrieved the book from the shelf the second Lando left. Rossi is still tucked in properly, koala clutched tight to his chest. He beams at Oscar.
“Daddy!” Holly exclaims.
Oscar laughs and sits on the edge of her bed. “Hey, Holly-wolly. You’re meant to be asleep.”
“I can’t,” she says seriously. “Too excited.”
Lando settles on the edge of Rossi’s bed.
Oscar gently confiscates the book again and slides it onto the high shelf, well out of reach. “If you don’t sleep,” he says gently, “tomorrow won’t be as fun.”
Rossi nods immediately. “Let’s sleep then.”
Holly considers this carefully, head tilting, straight brown hair falling into her eyes. “Okay,” she decides.
“Goodnight, my darling, I love you.” Oscar murmurs, leaning down to kiss Holly’s forehead. She smiles, yawns, and curls her fingers around her honey badger stuffed toy.
Oscar crosses the small space to Rossi’s bed. “Goodnight, Rossi. I love you”
He kisses their son’s head softly.
“Daddy?” Rossi asks sleepily.
“Yes, honey?”
“Will the beach still be there tomorrow?”
Oscar glances at Lando and chuckles. “Of course it will be, darling.”
Rossi visibly relaxes at that, nestling deeper beneath the covers.
Lando kisses Holly’s forehead — she’s already drifting — then Rossi’s, and moves toward the door. He watches as Oscar carefully tucks the blankets around both children, adding one more kiss here, another there, before joining Lando at the doorway.
They stand together for a moment, quiet and still, watching their children fall asleep. Lando leans into Oscar without thinking; Oscar’s arm slides easily around his shoulders, lips brushing the side of Lando’s head.
It’s in moments like this — small, ordinary, precious — that gratitude hits Lando hardest. Not loud or overwhelming. Just deep. Steady.
“Come on,” Oscar whispers.
He holds out his hand. Lando takes it, fingers lacing together, and they walk down the corridor toward the kitchen, hands clasped tight, leaving the soft rhythm of sleeping children behind them.
Oscar steers Lando gently toward the couch before moving off toward the kitchen. He pulls two wine glasses from the cupboard, pours them both a generous amount, and returns, settling in close beside him.
“Cheers,” he says, lifting his glass. “To a successful first beach day with the twins.”
“And without either of our mothers,” Lando adds, clinking his glass against Oscar’s.
Oscar laughs. “Hattie didn’t think we’d last, on our own.”
Lando’s eyebrow shoots up. “She didn’t think we could manage our own children on our own at the beach?”
Oscar grins, taking a sip before setting his glass on the coffee table. “Nope. Neither did George and Alex.”
“Traitors,” Lando says. He places his own glass down and leans back into Oscar without hesitation. Oscar’s arm comes around him, fingers slipping into his curls. “George wouldn’t survive without Alex.”
Oscar hums his agreement. They sit like that for a quiet minute — Oscar absently combing his fingers through Lando’s hair, Lando tangling his own fingers with Oscar’s free hand — the room still warm from the day.
However, he can feel the confession sitting at the back of his throat, heavy and jagged and he sights up and removes his hand, wringing them together and gripping the edge of the couch.
Oscar immediatly notices. “What’s up?” He asks.
Lando swallows thickly.
“A woman came up to me today. While you and Hols were getting ice cream.”
Oscar goes still, looking at him. “Yeah? Someone we know?”
“No. Just a stranger. She thought Rossi was cute.” Lando swallows, staring out ahead, not at his husband. “She assumed I had a wife. She called me a single parent.”
The silence that follows isn’t cold, but it’s heavy. Oscar doesn't move, waiting for the rest of it.
“And I didn’t correct her,” Lando says, the words coming out in a rush. “I just... I let it hang there. I didn’t say I had a husband. I didn't say I had you. Rossi had to be the one to point you out.”
He finally looks at Oscar, expecting to see hurt, or perhaps that defensive stiffness Oscar gets when he’s protecting his family. Instead, Oscar just looks thoughtful.
“Why do you think you did that?” Oscar asks quietly. No judgment, just a genuine question.
“I don’t know. I think... I think I just wanted to be a 'normal' person at the beach for five minutes. Not Lando Norris, the guy who left F1. Not a 'gay dad.' Just a guy.” Lando’s voice cracks slightly. “But then I felt like I was erasing you. Like I was ashamed, or something. And I’m not. I’m so far from ashamed, Osc.”
Oscar reaches out for Lando’s hands. He pries Lando’s fingers loose and interlaces them with his own.
“Lando, look at me.”
Lando looks.
“You’ve spent your whole life being watched,” Oscar says, his voice steady as a rock. “Every move, every word, every relationship analyzed by millions of people. It’s okay to want to be invisible sometimes. It’s okay to not want to explain your entire life story to some lady on the beach.”
“But I felt like I failed Rossi. He was so proud to show you his sun.”
“You didn’t fail anyone,” Oscar insists. He pulls Lando back against him, into the circle of his arms. “Rossi knows who his dads are. I know who my husband is. We don’t need a stranger on a beach to validate that.”
Lando lets out a long, shaky breath, burying his face in the crook of Oscar’s neck. The tension that had been coiling in his chest all afternoon finally begins to unspool.
“I'm sorry,” Lando whispers into his skin.
“Don’t be,” Oscar says, kissing his temple. “But for the record? If you ever do want to replace me with a wife, she’s going to have a very hard time beating my flamingo shorts collection.”
Lando lets out a genuine, wet bark of a laugh, pushing back to look at Oscar’s grinning face. “Impossible. No one has taste that bad.”
“Exactly.” Oscar says, grinning. He kisses the top of Lando’s head. “I love you.” He murmurs.
Lando sits up a bit, so they are face to face. “I love you so much Osc.” He says, his voice breaking a little. He hopes what he feels, what he has always felt, can be seen on his face.
It must, because Oscars’ eyes go a little watery and smiles a small, warm smile he only ever gives Lando. “I know.” He says and he leans in to kiss him.
Lando melts into it how he knows he always will.
He thinks of the shells on the beach, the sand on the carpet, and the man holding him in his arms.
He didn't need to say it to the woman. He lives it every day.
This is the life.