Chapter Text
Lando had never thought of his soulmate as a person.
That was probably the easiest way to explain it.
Not in a cruel way. It was just practical. Almost everyone had one. Almost everyone grew up with it, the same way you grew up with your own hands or your own voice. It wasn’t strange to reach out, unfocused and half-bored, and feel the faint echo of someone else’s skin under your fingertips. It wasn’t strange to fall asleep with the absentminded habit of tracing slow patterns across a shoulder you couldn’t see, mapping a body that only existed in your head.
It was normal, comforting, even.
Lando had been using his soulmate like that for as long as he could remember. Not constantly—not in some obsessive, tragic way people liked to dramatize—but in the same casual rhythm as everything else in his life. When he was bored, he tapped his fingers in little rhythms. When he was tired, he brushed something soft and repetitive, like the vague shape of hair. When he couldn’t sleep, he let his focus sharpen just enough to imagine the outline in front of him—close enough to reach—and rested his hand somewhere steady, grounding.
Whoever they were, they never seemed to mind, at least, not in any way he could feel.
That was the thing, really; Lando had no idea what it was like on the other end.
Some people talked about it, sometimes. About receiving touches out of nowhere—annoying, distracting, too much when they were trying to focus. Others said it was comforting, like having someone there even when you were alone.
Lando didn’t have that. He had silence.
Not actual silence, obviously—he felt things when he reached out. Warmth, pressure, the soft give of skin under imagined fingertips. But it was always one-sided. Always initiated by him, controlled by him, ending the second he let his focus slip.
Nothing ever came back.
Not a brush of fingers, not a sleepy half-conscious touch, not even an accidental jolt. It was like his soulmate just… didn’t use it. Or didn’t care to.
He’d stopped thinking too hard about that a while ago.
Or, well. He tried to.
Because thinking about it too much led to questions he didn’t like. Questions like why. Like whether his soulmate just didn’t want it. Whether they found it annoying, invasive, something to ignore rather than lean into. Whether they even noticed him at all.
So he didn’t think about it. He just kept using it anyway.
It was easier like that.
Easier to treat it like a habit instead of a connection, easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything.
The season hadn’t helped.
If anything, it made everything feel more… stagnant. Slower. Not just the car—though, yeah, the car was definitely part of it—but everything around it. The rhythm was off. The results were off. The energy was… flat.
The McLaren wasn’t just struggling. It was bad. Proper bad. Not even scraping midfield most weekends, just hovering at the back, fighting cars they shouldn’t have been anywhere near.
It was frustrating. Boring, sometimes.
And boredom, for Lando, usually meant his attention started drifting.
Which meant—Well. Old habits.
It didn’t help that everything else had changed too.
New season, new lineup. New teammate.
Oscar Piastri.
Lando glanced across the room without really meaning to, gaze snagging on him for a second before drifting away again.
Oscar was… fine.
That was the best way to describe it.
Not bad. Not difficult. Not particularly anything, really. Just fine.
He was younger than Lando, technically, even if it didn’t always feel like it. A rookie, fresh into Formula 1, still settling into everything. You’d expect more nerves, maybe, or more energy, something to prove—but Oscar didn’t really have that. Or if he did, he hid it well.
He was quiet.
Not in a shy way, exactly. Just… contained. Controlled. Like everything he said had already been filtered three times before it left his mouth. Conversations with him never really flowed—they just kind of… happened. Short answers, dry remarks, the occasional bit of sarcasm that landed so flat you had to double-check if it was a joke at all.
It wasn’t bad, just different.
Lando had gotten used to something else.
Carlos had been easy. Familiar. There had been a rhythm there, something natural, something that didn’t take effort. And Daniel—Daniel had been loud, and chaotic, and impossible to ignore. You didn’t have to work to get along with him. It just happened.
Oscar didn’t happen.
You had to reach for it. And even then, it didn’t always land.
So Lando didn’t try that hard.
They got along. Well enough. Teammates, nothing more. There wasn’t any tension, no real friction—it just wasn’t… anything special.
Oscar was just… Oscar.
Quiet. A bit awkward. Slightly detached from everything around him, like he was always half a step removed.
Cool, in his own way.
But nothing Lando hadn’t seen before.
Nothing that stuck.
Oscar talked about his soulmate.
Not constantly. Not enough for it to become a defining trait or anything—but often enough that Lando started to expect it. Little, offhand comments, slipped into conversation like they didn’t matter.
“My soulmate’s being annoying again.”
“They won’t stop fidgeting.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what their problem is today.”
Always the same tone. Flat. Mildly put-out. Like it was just another inconvenience stacked on top of everything else.
At first, Lando had just nodded along. It wasn’t weird. Plenty of people had soulmates like that—overactive, careless, sending touches at the worst possible moments. It happened. Not everyone got lucky.
And Oscar never sounded genuinely upset about it. Just irritated. Slightly distracted. Like it was something he could deal with, even if it got on his nerves.
Still. It made something in Lando’s chest tighten a little, every time.
Not in a jealous way—nothing like that. Just, sympathy, maybe. A quiet sort of understanding. Because yeah, that probably sucked. Trying to focus while someone kept poking at you, grabbing at you, pulling your attention away when you didn’t want it.
He couldn’t imagine what that felt like.
Couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not want it.
Sometimes, if he thought about it too long, it twisted into something else. Something sharper, a little uncomfortable.
Because what if…
What if he was like that, for his own soulmate?
What if all those idle touches, all those absentminded habits—what if they were landing at the worst possible times? What if he was being annoying, without realizing it?
The thought made him hesitate, occasionally. Made him pull back quicker than he normally would, cut the connection off before he could settle into it properly.
He never stopped completely. But he thought about it. Just a bit.
Still.
He got lucky. He knew that.
Because for all the uncertainty, all the one-sidedness, all the quiet.
His soulmate was good. Really good.
Lando shifted slightly in his seat, gaze unfocused as his thoughts drifted, settling somewhere soft.
They weren’t active, not like the ones people always talked about. They didn’t reach out constantly, didn’t fill every quiet moment with presence. Sometimes days passed without anything at all, the connection sitting there untouched, waiting.
But when they did...
It was perfect. Always. There was no other way to describe it.
Slow, absentminded scratches against his scalp when he was lying in bed, just on the edge of sleep. Not rushed or careless, just gentle, steady, like they knew exactly how much pressure to use, exactly where to move their fingers to make his thoughts go quiet.
A hand squeezing his, out of nowhere, just once; firm and grounding, like a reminder that he wasn’t alone.
Light traces along his back, between his shoulder blades, wandering patterns that felt almost playful. Curious. Like they were exploring, or thinking, or just passing time in the same way he sometimes did.
Never too much or overwhelming.
Just right.
Always at the right moment, too. Like they could tell when he needed it, even if he couldn’t explain how. When he was tired, or frustrated, or stuck in his own head—there it would be. Soft, careful and intentional.
It didn’t feel accidental. That was the thing that always lingered, long after the sensation itself had faded—the certainty that it had been deliberate, that somewhere, someone had chosen that exact moment, that exact touch. It settled somewhere deep in his chest, quiet but persistent, like something he couldn’t quite shake even if he tried. And maybe that was why it had stopped feeling like a habit a long time ago, why it no longer fit into that easy, thoughtless category he’d put it in as a kid.
He didn’t know who they were. Didn’t know what they looked like, what they sounded like, whether they were anything like him at all, or someone completely different living a life he couldn’t even begin to imagine. But he knew that much, at least—that whoever was on the other end of it was careful, intentional in a way that felt almost gentle. There was a softness to it that never crossed into weakness, something steady and reassuring rather than fleeting or careless.
They left the garage together, more by coincidence than intention, falling into step side by side as the noise of the paddock hummed around them. It had quieted a little since the race ended, but there was still that lingering buzz; people packing up, debriefs starting, the occasional shout cutting through the air. Lando rolled his shoulders as they walked, still feeling the aftereffects of the race sitting somewhere deep in his muscles, the kind of tired that wasn’t quite exhaustion but wasn’t nothing either.
Oscar walked beside him, hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his team kit, posture straight in that effortless, almost annoyingly composed way he always had. He didn’t look particularly different after the race—no big shift in energy, no visible excitement—but there was something there, subtle and contained, like a quiet satisfaction he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of.
Lando glanced at him, then away again before it looked like staring. “Nice job, by the way.”
Oscar turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”
“The point,” Lando said, shrugging one shoulder. “Home race and everything. That’s… kind of a big deal.”
Oscar hummed, like he was considering that, then gave a small nod. “I suppose.”
Lando snorted softly. “You suppose? Mate, you got your first point in Formula 1 at your home race. Most people would be insufferable about that.”
“I’m not most people then.”
“No,” Lando said, glancing at him again, something amused tugging at his mouth. “You’re really not.”
Oscar’s lips twitched, just barely, like he might have been holding back a smile or deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. “It’s one point,” he said instead, tone even. “Not exactly groundbreaking.”
“Still beat me,” Lando shot back lightly, bumping his shoulder against Oscar’s as they turned a corner.
Oscar barely reacted to the contact, just adjusted his step slightly to keep walking straight. “You’ll recover.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” Lando said, easy, though there was a faint edge of something competitive underneath it. “Just don’t get used to it.”
Oscar glanced at him again, this time with something a little more deliberate in his expression. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
There was a beat of silence after that, not awkward exactly, just there. It didn’t need filling, but Lando did it anyway, because he always did.
“Still,” he added, a little softer this time, less teasing. “It’s good. For you, I mean. First points, first race here in an F1 car. You should—” he gestured vaguely with one hand, searching for the word, “—enjoy it, or whatever.”
Oscar looked ahead again, gaze settling somewhere in the middle distance. “I am,” he said, simply.
Lando believed him.
They reached the meeting room door a second later, the noise from inside already bleeding through faintly. Lando pushed it open, holding it just long enough for Oscar to step through before following after him.
“Seriously, though,” Lando added as they walked in, tone slipping back into something lighter, easier. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Oscar glanced back at him, dry. “I’ll try.”
Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as they moved further into the room.
Yeah.
Nothing special.
Just Oscar.
They sat down together with the rest of the team, the post-race energy already dulled into something quieter, flatter, like the adrenaline had burned off on track and left nothing particularly interesting behind. Melbourne had been… fine. Not good, not terrible—just fine in the most underwhelming way possible. P10 for Oscar, P11 for Lando. A single point, their first of the season, and while the garage had celebrated it more than they probably should have, everyone knew what it really meant. They were still at the back. Still dragging the car around rather than fighting with it. Ninth in the constructors with a single point in total, only Sauber behind them. It wasn’t exactly the kind of result that made debriefs exciting.
Lando dropped into his chair, stretching his legs out slightly under the table as voices started up around him, engineers pulling up data, screens flickering to life with graphs and telemetry that all blurred together after a while. He glanced sideways at Oscar, who was already sitting upright, composed, listening like this was the most important thing in the world. And sure, it mattered—but there was only so much you could squeeze out of a race where nothing really happened. No big incidents, no dramatic overtakes, no strategy masterclasses. Just… circulating.
Still, Oscar had gotten his point. At his home race. First one in Formula 1.
Lando huffed quietly to himself, something between amusement and mild irritation tugging at him as he leaned back in his chair. He was happy for him, genuinely—he wasn’t a complete dick—but there was something about the way Oscar carried it that got under his skin just a little. Not even in an obvious way, not like he was bragging or going on about it, but there was a shift there, subtle and contained, like he knew it mattered and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Like finishing ahead of Lando, as a rookie, in a car that could barely fight its way out of Q1 on their best weekends, was something expected rather than surprising.
Which, okay. Fine. It was impressive.
Didn’t mean Lando had to actually enjoy it.
The debrief started properly, voices settling into that steady, technical rhythm that always made his attention drift after a few minutes. Tyre degradation, balance issues, missed opportunities—he listened, at least enough to follow along, but it didn’t take long before his focus started slipping. Normally, this was the point where he’d nudge whoever was next to him, make some quiet comment, try to get a reaction just to keep himself entertained. Carlos used to be easy for that, quick to respond, always ready to play along. Daniel had been even worse—in the best way—completely incapable of staying serious for more than five minutes if Lando decided he was bored.
Oscar, unfortunately, was neither of those things.
Lando had tried, earlier in the season. Little comments under his breath, a nudge of his elbow, something just enough to break the monotony. Oscar had either ignored it completely or responded with a flat, unimpressed look that shut it down immediately. No give, no back-and-forth, nothing to work with.
It was, frankly, annoying.
So instead, as the debrief dragged on and his brain started to switch off entirely, Lando let his attention slide somewhere more familiar and he reached.
Not absentminded this time, not the lazy kind of contact he defaulted to when he was half-asleep or distracted, but something more deliberate. He let his focus sharpen, just slightly, enough to build that vague outline in his mind, close enough to touch. It came easily, like muscle memory, the sense of something just beyond reach settling into place as he leaned into it.
Slowly, he traced his fingers along the imagined sides of his soulmate’s body, light and teasing, nothing too intrusive. Just enough to pass the time. Just enough to entertain himself.
In his peripheral vision, someone shifted.
Lando barely registered it, attention already slipping back into the sensation instead. He pressed in a little sharper this time, a quick, playful prick to the side—something that would have made him jump, if it had been done to him.
A sudden crash snapped him back.
He blinked, head jerking up just in time to see Oscar half out of his chair, the thing tipping sideways as he caught himself awkwardly against the table. There was a brief moment of silence, the room collectively pausing before a few people snorted, others looking over in mild confusion.
Lando couldn’t help it—he let out a short, surprised laugh, something quick and sharp before he could stop himself. “What the hell—”
Oscar muttered something under his breath as he righted his chair, expression tightening for a split second before he smoothed it over again, sitting back down like nothing had happened. Whatever he said didn’t quite carry, lost under the low hum of the room picking back up again.
The debrief continued like it always did. Like nothing had happened at all.
Lando leaned back again, grin still tugging faintly at his mouth as his attention started to drift once more. That had been entertaining, at least. Better than staring at tyre graphs for another half hour. Without really thinking about it, he slipped back into the same headspace, reaching out again, curiosity prickling at him now.
He prodded his soulmate again. A little sharper this time. Waiting.
Hoping, maybe, for something back. A reaction, a push, anything that would break the usual one-sidedness of it.
“Off—” Oscar hissed under his breath, jerking slightly in his seat again, hand twitching against the table.
This time, people noticed.
A few laughs broke out, lighter now that it had happened twice, but there were also some looks from across the table—older engineers, less amused, clearly unimpressed with the repeated disruption. Oscar exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before glancing up briefly.
“Sorry,” he said, tone flat, controlled again despite the faint irritation underneath. “My soulmate...”
There was a ripple of understanding through the room, the tension dissolving almost instantly. A couple of knowing smiles, a few sympathetic looks, and then everyone just moved on again. It wasn’t something you could control, not really. No point dwelling on it.
Lando felt something in his chest dip, just slightly. He ignored it.
Coincidence. Obviously.
It wasn’t like Oscar was the only person in the world with an annoying soulmate. This kind of thing happened all the time—bad timing, too much focus, someone on the other end being a bit of a menace. It didn’t mean anything.
Still. The thought slipped in anyway. Uninvited.
He imagined it, briefly—his own soulmate in that position. Sitting in a room like this, trying to focus, only to be interrupted by him messing around for his own amusement. The idea of them shifting in their seat, maybe embarrassed, maybe trying to brush it off while other people noticed—
Lando had to bite back a laugh.
The image was just funny. Endearing, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
Before he could think too much about it, he reached again, this time with more intent, more curiosity threading through the motion. He pictured it clearly—fingers tangling into hair, giving a small, deliberate tug. Not enough to hurt, just enough to get a reaction.
Across the table, Oscar flinched.
It was subtle, more contained this time, but Lando saw it, saw the way his shoulders tensed, the quick wince he tried to hide as his hand came up to his head, fingers pressing briefly into his hair like he could ground himself.
“For fuck’s sake,” Oscar muttered, quieter now, more controlled, but the irritation was still there. “Unbelievable.”
Lando went completely still.
No.
That—
No, that didn’t mean—
He swallowed, pulse kicking up sharply as something cold and electric started to crawl up his spine. Slowly, carefully, like he was testing something fragile, he reached out again.
This time, lighter. More precise.
He traced along the inside of his soulmate’s elbow, fingertips dragging slowly across the sensitive skin there, a motion he’d done a hundred times before without thinking twice about it.
Oscar’s fingers twitched against the table, then lifted, scratching lightly at the inside of his own elbow like he could get rid of the sensation. His jaw tightened, expression flickering with something sharper, more agitated now.
Lando’s heart dropped. Hard.
The room blurred slightly at the edges, the steady drone of voices fading into something distant and muffled as his focus locked completely, entirely, on Oscar. On every tiny reaction, every movement that suddenly felt too connected, too specific to ignore.
His pulse was loud in his ears now, a rushing sound that drowned out everything else.
No.
It couldn’t be.
It couldn’t—
“Lando.”
The sound cut through sharply, pulling him back just enough to realize the room had gone quiet again.
He blinked, head snapping up, only to find Andrea Stella looking directly at him from across the table, expression tight in that polite, controlled way that meant he’d been speaking for longer than Lando had been listening.
“Lando,” Stella repeated, a little firmer this time. “Stop staring at Oscar and focus, please. We’re almost done.”
A few people glanced between them, mild amusement flickering across their faces.
Lando sank back in his chair immediately, forcing his gaze forward, away, anywhere but Oscar. “Yeah—sorry.”
The meeting carried on. Voices picked back up. Nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
Because Lando couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop replaying it in his head, every reaction lining up in a way that made his stomach twist.
It had to be coincidence. It had to be.
The meeting dissolved slowly after that, people lingering just long enough to exchange a few last comments before chairs scraped back and laptops snapped shut, the room emptying in uneven waves. Lando stayed seated a second longer than necessary, barely registering what anyone was saying around him, his thoughts still stuck in that same looping, impossible place they’d been since halfway through the debrief.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.
Except—
He pushed himself up abruptly, the movement a little too quick, a little too sharp, and grabbed his things without really looking at them. Across the room, Oscar was already heading out, calm as ever, like nothing had happened. Like his entire world hadn’t just potentially flipped on its axis.
Lando followed him. Not in a subtle way, not really. He was following close enough that it was obvious, even if he tried to pretend it wasn’t.
Oscar glanced back once as they stepped out into the corridor, something faintly questioning in his expression, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept walking. Lando took that as permission.
They made their way back toward the drivers’ rooms in relative silence, the noise of the paddock duller now, more distant. Lando’s mind was racing so fast he barely noticed the path they took, barely registered anything except the fact that Oscar was still in front of him, still real, still—
Oscar pushed his door open and stepped inside, and Lando followed without thinking twice.
That, apparently, was where Oscar drew the line.
He turned, one eyebrow lifting slightly, though not annoyed. “D’you need something, mate?”
Lando stopped short.
Right. Words. He was supposed to have those.
“I—” he started, then immediately stalled, his brain blanking in the worst possible way. Because what was he supposed to say? Hey, I think I’ve been unknowingly touching you for years and also I might be in love with you already, can you confirm? Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to work.
Oscar was still looking at him. Waiting.
Lando swallowed, the truth slipping out before he could stop it. “I just—don’twannabealone.”
The second it left his mouth, heat crawled up his neck, embarrassment hitting hard and fast. That was—God, that was not what he’d meant to say. Or maybe it was, but saying it out loud made it sound pathetic, somehow. Too honest. Too much.
Oscar’s expression shifted almost immediately. Softened.
Not in a big, dramatic way, just a small change—his shoulders easing slightly, the line of his mouth relaxing into something gentler, almost a smile.
“You could’ve just said you wanted company,” he said, tone light, easy, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Lando huffed out something that might have been a laugh, ducking his head slightly as he moved further into the room, perching on the edge of one of the chairs while Oscar went back to what he’d been planning on doing.
Packing.
It was mundane, almost painfully normal—zipping up a bag, folding things away, moving around the room with that same quiet efficiency he seemed to apply to everything. Lando watched him, gaze following the movement without really meaning to, thoughts still spinning, trying to line everything up, make sense of it in a way that didn’t make him feel like he was losing his mind.
He should test it again. He needed to test it again.
The thought had barely formed when Oscar turned around suddenly, catching him mid-stare, eyebrow lifting again in that same quiet question.
Lando cleared his throat quickly, looking away like he hadn’t just been staring at him for a solid minute. “So—uh.”
Smooth. Really smooth.
Oscar waited again.
Lando grasped for something—anything—that would get him closer to an answer without immediately blowing everything up. “Your—uh. Your soulmate,” he managed, words coming out a little too fast. “Do they… act up like that a lot?”
There. Casual. Normal. Totally not loaded at all.
Oscar blinked once, then reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a small sigh slipping out as he nodded. “Yeah. Fair bit.”
Lando’s stomach flipped.
“Do you—” he hesitated, then pushed through it anyway, voice coming out quieter than he intended. “D'you not like them?”
Oscar paused.
Not long, just enough that it felt like he was actually thinking about it, his expression shifting into something a little more complicated than before. “I don’t… not like them,” he said finally, slow, careful. “They just have terrible timing. Or they do the wrong thing, usually.”
Lando leaned forward slightly despite himself. “Like what?”
Oscar huffed out a small breath, something almost awkward flickering across his face now, like he wasn’t entirely sure how much he wanted to get into it. But he answered anyway.
“They’re not very subtle,” he said. “It’s always—poking, grabbing, random stuff. Nothing measured, I guess. Just kind of happens.”
Lando’s heart was racing now, loud and insistent, his thoughts tripping over themselves as he tried to keep his expression neutral, tried not to react too strongly.
“That sounds—” he swallowed. “Annoying.”
Oscar gave a small shrug. “It can be.”
“What do you do?” Lando asked, too quickly, then forced himself to slow down. “Like—on your end.”
Oscar shifted his weight slightly, glancing away for a second before answering. “Not much,” he admitted. “I don’t really… use it that often. Sometimes I will, but—it’s usually just small things. A hand squeeze, or… tracing, or something. Not a lot. Just enough that I don’t come across like an arsehole soulmate.”
Lando’s breath caught.
A hand squeeze. Tracing.
His mind latched onto it instantly, pulling up every moment he’d ever felt something like that—rare, careful, perfectly timed. The exact thing he loved so much about his own soulmate. His soulmate who might really also be his teammate.
“You don’t receive anything else? Other than the poking?” Lando asked, unable to stop himself. “Like—anything… nicer? Before bed, or—something like that?”
The question hung there, heavier than he meant it to be.
Oscar’s shoulders lifted in another small shrug, but this time there was a faint flush creeping up his neck, just barely visible. “Not really,” he said. “No.”
Lando couldn’t tell if that was true.
Couldn’t tell if Oscar was downplaying it, brushing it off the same way he did everything else, or if he genuinely didn’t get anything more than that. And that was the problem, really—because Lando did.
The slow, careful head scratches when he was lying in bed, half-asleep, his thoughts soft around the edges as he thought of comforting his soulmate. The occasional, absentminded massages, steady pressure that felt grounding in a way nothing else did.
Those were the things he gave, too, when he reached out late at night without thinking, when the world had finally gone quiet enough for him to focus properly.
He liked to be original. A memorable soulmate. Sue him.
That was what he was trying to figure out. Whether Oscar felt that.
But he couldn’t exactly ask it like that, couldn’t just come out and say it without giving too much away, without making it obvious how much it mattered. And even if he did—Oscar might not tell him. It was personal, after all. Intimate in a way people didn’t usually just share, especially not with a teammate you barely knew yet. So maybe he was brushing it off on purpose, keeping it to himself.
Or maybe, maybe he really didn’t get that at all.
Which was exactly why he couldn’t tell if Oscar was lying.
His thoughts were spiraling now, every possibility colliding with the next, none of them settling long enough to make sense.
There was only one way to know.
Before he could second-guess himself, before he could talk himself out of it, Lando reached out. Sharp, focused, everything narrowing down to that one single point of contact.
He imagined it clearly. A hand in his. Fingers tightening. A squeeze.
Across the room, Oscar’s hand twitched. Then, almost immediately, his fingers curled in on themselves, tightening into his palm like a reflex he couldn’t stop.
Lando’s breath hitched. There it—there was no way—
Oscar stilled, looking down at his own hand for a second like he was trying to process it, then flexed his fingers slowly, something unreadable flickering across his face.
Lando didn’t move or breathe. Couldn’t.
His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might actually burst out of his chest, every thought crashing together into one loud, overwhelming realization he couldn’t ignore anymore.
This wasn’t coincidence anymore. It couldn’t be.