Summer break from the Formula 1 season had always been sacred to Lando and Oscar. The part of the calendar they both looked forward to, where the noise of the paddock faded into the background and the world finally slowed down enough for them to just be together, to be just Boyfriends. No relentless travel, no endless sponsor appearances, no stolen hours in hotel rooms between practice sessions. Just the two of them, with enough time to remember that they were more than just teammates in identical overalls.

But this summer, things felt different.

In the weeks leading up to the break, Lando had been swallowed whole by media commitments — filming for McLaren sponsors, promotional campaigns for his brand, Quadrant, and a slew of interviews that seemed to pop up every time he thought he had a moment to breathe. Oscar, on the other hand, had flown straight to Australia almost the second the chequered flag fell at the last race. His collaboration with a burger restaurant had sounded fun and lighthearted when he first mentioned it, but Lando had quickly learned that “fun” still meant long days in front of cameras, scripted ads, endless photo ops, and smiling until his cheeks ached.

Even from the other side of the world, Lando had noticed it. The small, telling cracks in Oscar’s voice during their late-night calls. The way his laugh seemed just a fraction quieter, his silences stretching longer than they used to. It wasn’t the kind of distance that made Lando’s stomach twist in fear — he knew Oscar still loved him, that much had never been in question, but it was the kind of distance that made his chest ache, knowing Oscar was carrying something heavy and refusing to set it down.

He’d noticed it before Oscar left, too. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on nothing in particular. The way he’d sigh when he thought no one was listening. It wasn’t like him, and it had been gnawing at Lando ever since.

So when the rare miracle of five free days landed in his lap, Lando didn’t waste a second. His calendar could be rearranged, meetings pushed because nothing was more important than this. He’d opened the flight search almost on autopilot, Melbourne lighting up the screen like it was the only place in the world worth being.

Before he booked, though, he’d made a call. Not to Oscar, as it would ruin the surprise, but to someone else entirely. Oscar’s mum had always been warm with him, the kind of person who made him feel at home even thousands of miles from his own. He’d spent more than a few afternoons in her kitchen over the past off-season, listening to her stories while she cooked, occasionally stealing a biscuit off the cooling rack when she wasn’t looking.

She’d picked up the phone almost instantly, and the moment Lando told her what he was thinking, she was in. They’d coordinated everything down to the minute: when Oscar would get home, what time Lando’s taxi would pull up, even where Lando could stash his bags so the surprise wouldn’t be spoiled the second Oscar saw them. She’d promised to keep him in the dark, and Lando trusted her completely.

By the time the plane landed, Lando was running on pure adrenaline. The drive from the airport to the Piastri home felt both painfully slow and far too quick. Oscar’s mum met him at the door, pulling him into a warm hug before ushering him inside. They’d agreed he would wait in the living room — the spot Oscar would walk past first when he came through the door.

The minutes stretched, Lando shifting in his seat, heart hammering in anticipation. Then came the sound of the front door unlocking, the familiar creak of the hinge, and footsteps on the hardwood floor.

Oscar stepped inside, head down as he kicked off his shoes — and then his gaze lifted.

“Surprise,” Lando grinned, standing up from the couch, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket like he hadn’t just flown halfway around the world to be here.