The motorhome was quiet, the distant cheers from the Hungarian GP podium barely audible through the walls. Lando sat in the corner, still in his race suit, his second-place trophy sitting untouched on the table. His eyes stayed fixed on it, his face unreadable.

The door opened, and Oscar stepped in cautiously, holding his first-place trophy. The excitement still lingered in his expression, but it faltered when he saw Lando’s stillness.

“Hey,” Oscar began, his voice soft.

Lando glanced up briefly, offering a faint smile. “Congrats,” he said simply, his tone calm.

“Thanks,” Oscar replied, though his excitement now felt muted. He shifted awkwardly, lingering by the door before stepping closer. “You okay?”

Lando shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. Big day for you.”

Oscar hesitated, guilt creeping into his chest. “It was, but…” He trailed off, looking at the floor. “I know the team orders weren’t fair. You had the pace. You could’ve won.”

Lando didn’t look at him, his gaze dropping back to the table. “Doesn’t matter. The team made the call. 1-2 finish is what they wanted.”

“But it should’ve been you,” Oscar said, the words tumbling out. “You could’ve ignored them. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Lando let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how it works, mate. We’re a team. You don’t just ignore orders.”

Oscar sighed, the weight of Lando’s quiet disappointment settling heavily on him. “Still, I didn’t want it to happen like this. Not on my first win.”

Lando finally looked up, his expression softer but tinged with something Oscar couldn’t quite place. “You drove well. You deserved it. Don’t let anything ruin that.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said quietly, though the words did little to ease the knot in his stomach. “I just wish…”

“Don’t,” Lando cut him off gently, standing up. “It’s done. Enjoy your moment.”