I got escorted back to the paddock after all medical exams are finished. Instead of walking through the usual corridors, someone guides me toward a quieter wing, muttering the race is over.

I open the door to see Oscar has already stood there. His back faces me, hands down to his side, shoulders heaving once, twice,... His race suit is half unzipped, the fireproof shirt clings to his body, darkened with sweat. There is a kind of tremor can be sensed from him, which scared me. I have never seen anything quite close to this, not even when the worst drama explodes on track.

Something holds me from speaking, but Oscar turns to the moment he hears my breathing behind. His eyes snap to me, scanning everywhere – my arm, my head, my face, my body. I've never good at reading expressions, but I don't need to. Too many emotions pass through him at once to miss.

Fear. Relief. Anger. Then relief again.

"Lando" – The younger driver calls me. My name leaves his pretty lips as something holy being passed on.

He crosses the space between us in three quick steps, grabs my arms, then my shoulders, then into the cradle of my neck. As if he's confirming I'm still alive and thriving.

"You..." – his voice breaks, fully breaks – "You scared me. I saw your face when you climbed out of your car, it was horrible"

I reach for humor, instinctive as breathing – "Yeah, I scared myself a bit too".

"No, Lando. You scared me in a way I didn't know was possible"

Oscar's words tremble. His forehead drops against mine, fingers still grab tightly to my neck. Something fragile inside me cracks open.

"Oscar....." – I whisper, barely anything at all, not sure what to say.

He pulls back just enough to look at me – truly look at me in the eyes – and whatever he sees in my face must undo the last nerve, last thread of restraint he has been holding onto.

Because he leans in, lips on mine.

Oscar Piastri is kissing me.

It crashes into me like a surge of instinct, like a dam breaking under unbearable pressure it was never meant to hold. There's nothing careful or practice about it – the kiss is raw, shaking, full of yearning. His lips crash into mine with a kind of desperate that steals every breath I thought I still had. 

I react before my mind can intervene – hands clutching his shoulders, pulling him closer. Needs consume me, fills up with every space left between us. The room narrows, sound fades, time bends. Nothing matters than the rapid thrum of his pulse where my fingers touch him, than the way he exhales shakily against me as if the kiss itself is oxygen after drowning.

His nose brushes mine, his thumb traces my jaw as if memorizing proof.

When he kisses me again, it's slower this time, deeper, almost tender – the one carries meaning rather than panic. My heart stumbles violently, realizes what this is, what this could be, what I have been denying since forever, for the past seasons.

We break apart. His lips still hang from mine, like the Gardens of Babylon. Oscar's hazel eyes search for mine, my own reflection stares back at me with curiosity and unmet needs.

"I am sorry" – he whispers, though I am not sure if he means it.

"For what?" – I am confused, fully confused. If this kiss means I finally get to tell him I have been thinking of him for the past few years, that I've wanted to try this, then I guess I will just spill it all now.

But before I can stop him, before I can say anything, he's taking steps back, widen the space between us, heading out the door and leaving me with "Take it easy tonight. Take some rest"

***

My phone explodes with endless notification post-race chaos. No doubt my pictures are everywhere by now but I choose to ignore them for today. Curiosity gets a lead of me as I click on a video titled "Oscar Piastri's post-race interview – LIVE"

Oscar stands there, helmet under one arm, jaw tight, eyes losing focus, saying nothing. He is answering about his car I guess, since the answer is filled with polite and appropriate words as a PR rehearsal.

A report shouts from behind, asking about my crash and what Oscar thinks about it. Something shifts inside his eyes, too fast for other people to catch but please, I am the guy he kissed 15 minutes ago.

"He really scares me today" – the Australian driver starts talking quietly – "I thought he was badly injured from the look of his face. Racing alone without him is definitely not something that I like. He is my only teammate"

Then suddenly a cheeky smile flashes right on his face before he speaks again – "Make sure to check out Lando Norris's epic fall. It's out on McLaren's official social media sites now"

I knew that bastard had to bring it up after scrambling my head and wrecking my heart. I just knew it.