Ouchie.

I almost sneezed, screamed out loud, jumped out of my seat when something poked into my nose, made me unable to breathe.

Slowly gaining my conscious, I figure out I must have felt asleep somewhere above the Mediterranean Sea. Just another time of us flying from this place to another, preparing for the very first race of this season. Me and Oscar usually don't share the jet but due to multiple reasons, we are sitting next to each other this time.

Oscar's head is still on my chest as he's peacefully dozed off in his sleep. I may start regretting coming with him if he decides to wake me up by his hair the entire flight.

His curls poke at the tip of my nose every time the jet moves a bit. His cheek is warm against my shirt and I wonder if he could hear how my heart is beating like crazy under that thin layer of fabric. His hands loosely holding onto the hem of my shirt, unwilling to let go.

I whisper "Mate..." into his ears, shake him gently but nothing works. Oscar doesn't even stir or mumbles, still sleeps like the world outside doesn't matter. Bet he won't be woken up even if there was a turbulence right now.

I need to remind myself how to breathe, although it's getting harder when the air is filled with Oscar's smell. I swear he still smells like chocolate but somehow he keeps denying that fact. I don't touch him, don't move, don't even dare to make a sound to disturb his sleep. I just sit there for what feels like hours, looking at his chest rising and falling like the calmest tides.

All the fears, insecurities about racing are long gone. I hate to admit the effects Oscar might have on me, and I'm sure to despite it even more when it can turn me into such a childish and lover boy.

But for now, everything I need to be perfect at is being Oscar Piastri's personal pillow.

***

I can't sleep.

My team chose a new hotel this year, closer to the track, if you don't want to say right next to it. I can even smell the rubber coming out of the track when I open the window. That's how close is it. The hotel is nice, as always, secured and ready for any of my request. Still, sleep seems to avoiding me tonight though it's already 1 in the morning.

Maybe going for a walk might help. The idea flashes through my mind and immediately I stand up, put on my shoes and head out of the door.

I open the door quietly, only to see from the other side of the hall, Piastri opens his at the same time. We freeze.

"Look who I found? How come you are still awake at this hour" – Oscar askes, there's a hint of humor in his voice besides the tiredness.

"Couldn't sleep, not sure why" – I admit truthfully – "Wanna go for a walk?"

Oscar says yes to the question and leads the way. I thought we were going downstairs, walked around a bit, maybe found something to eat but Oscar had an entirely different idea.

***

I look up at him hesitantly, a debate is going on in my head of whether should I follow him.

Oscar never takes his hand back, still tries to convince me to take his hand. What we are doing right now is technically trespassing, him sitting on top of the fence, going to jump inside the paddock in a few minutes. When Oscar claimed he knew something fun, I should have known this is his definition of "fun".

He's still smiling and goddamn it's attractive as hell. "I got lured into doing that" – right, that's what I'll tell my team if we ever got caught.

Once we are inside the paddock, my hand is still in Oscar's. I don't plan of taking it out and perhaps Oscar just forgot about that. He holds my hand like it's the most natural thing in the world, showing me the way to the track.

The paddock is quiet, almost sacred. Without the heat, without people, this place feels like freedom to me. Who would have thought one day the World Champion is no longer comfortable with flash light? The wind carries sand across the field, whispers under our feet.

Oscar has been really quiet after we set foot here. He's tracing every corner with his eyes, studying every angle as if he's trying to memorized a long story full of chaos. I walk silently besides him, doing my best not to stare at him and at our joined hands.

At turn 10, he stops, drops my hands, eyes glued on the corner. "I slow down a little here, just 1/10 of the second then speed up 20%" – Oscar casually talks to me as if he's not revealing one of the most private strategies.

So only to be fair, I tell him "I have no special strategy on this corner. And be honest most of the time I can't remember numbers, just rely on my muscle memory".

Obviously, that doesn't make him relax enough, a faint line created between his eyebrows is visible enough for me to see. Oscar continues, "But our statistics on this corner is the same Lando. I don't have anything against you, I just don't know why it works that way".

I shrug, no longer pay attention to those weird numbers. "It's the last concern I have in my mind right now. If our rhythm keep matching, then I guess we can only do our very best to secure our win."

An idea pops up in my head and before I carefully think about it, my mouth works first "Osc, do you fancy listening to my fabulous idea for this season?"

The Australian guy raises an eyebrow, his eyes full of curiosity, locking with mine "Alright, Mister Norris, you got my full attention now. Whatever are being discussed next will be kept confidential. Please proceed". He almost couldn't keep his laugh at those last lines.

"The world knows about Papaya rule, but what about Landoscar rule. Made by us and for us only"

There's a part of me scares that Oscar will laugh at my face then leave when I say that stupid idea. I didn't think carefully, as I always do, but I say it anyway.

"Until we find out the reason why we match so perfectly, we try our best to secure the spot for both of us. The outcome won't be we have the same time lap, same result, same pole position. We get matching driving style but the result depends on a lot of other factors. If I'm not taking the trophy home again this year, I want it to be yours Osc. I know how amazing of a driver you are and I'm not letting anyone on the grid take that trophy off your hand"

There's a desperation in my voice and I know it. My eyes look down at that brunette's, preparing myself for the worst. How can I let Oscar know that I truly think he is the most talented driver I get to work with and I meant what I just said. My image for show is a playboy, who does everything for some laugh but little does everyone know I don't lie.

"So hyper-focus and protective mode until it's me and you huh?"

There's a hint of smile in Oscar's voice and I know for sure I didn't just make it up in my mind. Quickly answering that younger boy before he changes his mind, I repeat myself firmer this time, "You and me, until the end of this season".

"Max, Max, Max, Max. Lando. Oscar". His laugh brightens up my inner child, makes me involuntarily smile with him, my hand reaching out to his for a fist bump.

"Or maybe Lando again"