6

romeo, save me, they're tryna tell me how to feel

this love is difficult, but it's real

don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

🧡

The new security measures were subtle but solid.

A discreet McLaren bodyguard trailed them at all times in the paddock. Hotel room numbers were changed last-minute. All team spaces were locked tighter, faces scanned and credentials triple-checked. Zak didn't say much more, but the look in his eyes said it all: he wasn't going to let anyone get to his boys.

Oscar and Lando stepped into Monaco lighter than they had in months.

The sun glinted off the harbour. Fans cheered from balconies. Paparazzi flooded every corner, but for once, it didn't feel suffocating.

They walked together into media day with sunglasses, smiles, and matching tan lines. Lando even made a joke about stealing Oscar's shampoo again. Oscar kicked his shin, gently, and they kept walking.

Things felt normal. Good, even.

Until Thursday night.

Oscar had offered to get dinner.

Nothing fancy - just takeaway from the tiny Chinese place down the street. Lando had been curled up on the sofa, hair still damp from his shower, a game paused on the hotel TV.

"Back in ten," Oscar had said with a soft smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

He meant it.

But five minutes later, he was backed into a quiet alley off the main street, heart pounding in his ears.

The man wasn't tall. Or particularly loud. He just stepped in front of Oscar, blocking his path with a familiarity that felt wrong. Like he knew something he shouldn't.

"You shouldn't be with him," the man said. Calm. Too calm. "Mason's not finished."

Oscar blinked. "What?"

The man shrugged, almost casual. "Lando. He's not yours. Mason says you had your chance."

Oscar's blood ran cold.

He hadn't heard that name in years. Had spent two of them trying to forget it.

Mason.

He'd buried the memories so deep they barely felt real anymore - except for when they did. The gaslighting. The manipulation. The way Mason twisted his words until Oscar couldn't tell what was truth and what was guilt. The kind of control that didn't leave bruises, but still hurt.

He could hear Mason's voice in the stranger's mouth and it made his stomach turn.

Oscar straightened. His voice, when it came, was low and steady.

"Tell Mason," he said, "he can fuck off."

The man didn't flinch.

Oscar pushed past him.

His hands shook a little as he grabbed their food, but by the time he got back to the hotel, his breathing had evened out.

He hadn't run. He hadn't crumbled.

He had Lando now.

🧡

"You're late," Lando teased, looking up from the bed as Oscar walked in. "I was about to text Zak and report a kidnapping."

Oscar dropped the bag of food on the table, slipped off his shoes, and sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.

"Someone stopped me," he said.

Lando sat up, instantly alert. "What do you mean?"

Oscar exhaled. Then he told him everything.

The alley. The man. The message. The name.

Lando listened silently, his body going still, his jaw tightening more with every word. When Oscar got to the part about Mason - about who he really was, what he'd done - Lando's eyes darkened.

"You're telling me some prick thinks he can just threaten you now? After that?"

Oscar gave a small, sad smile. "Guess he misses having power over me."

Lando stood, fists clenched. "I'll kill him."

Oscar stared at him. Then dead serious- "That's hot."

Lando blinked back, caught off-guard.

Oscar grinned. "You're angry. On my behalf. That's new."

"I mean, obviously I'm angry. I love you, dumbass."

Oscar's face flushed, just slightly. His voice dropped. "You never said that before."

Lando blinked again. Then shrugged, almost sheepish.

"Okay. Well. I do."

Oscar stared at him.

Then nodded.

"Cool," he said, biting back a smile. "I love you too."

Lando beamed.

Oscar handed him his little white box.

They ate on the bed, legs tangled together, prawn cracker packet forgotten. Lando leaned his head on Oscar's shoulder between bites.

The world was still dangerous. Still full of shadows.

But in that room, with Lando beside him and chopsticks in his hand, Oscar felt safe.

Really safe.

For the first time in years.

🧡

Saturday. After FP3.

The paddock buzzed with its usual chaos - reporters shouting, tyres rolling, engines humming in the background. But behind the McLaren motorhome, everything went quiet.

Oscar felt it before he saw it.

That prickle on the back of his neck. That cold slither down his spine.

He turned.

The man from Thursday was standing there.

Not trying to hide anymore. Just watching.

Oscar's heart thudded against his ribs. He didn't move.

Lando came up beside him, having just pulled off his balaclava. He followed Oscar's line of sight and froze.

Then another man stepped forward.

Oscar inhaled sharply.

Lando's entire body went rigid. His eyes narrowed.

Mason.

He looked exactly like the picture Oscar had shown him. Cocky, smug, wearing that stupid manipulative smirk like it was a uniform.

Lando didn't think. He didn't ask questions.

He moved.

Oscar barely registered it before Lando was halfway across the paddock - shoulders tense, eyes blazing. People turned to look. Shouts echoed around them.

Then Lando swung.

His fist connected with Mason's jaw in a sickening crunch. Mason stumbled back, hand flying to his face, blood already smearing his chin.

Chaos erupted.

Zak burst through the crowd, grabbing Lando by the shoulders, pulling him back. Security was already moving - two men in black jackets tackling Mason and the other guy to the ground. Someone shouted for the stewards. Someone else for the police.

Oscar stood frozen.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Lando was being held back, but his eyes were only on Oscar. The fury melted away in an instant as he yanked free from Zak and rushed back toward the motorhome.

Oscar didn't speak as Lando cupped his cheeks gently, brushing his thumbs over flushed skin.

"You okay?" Lando asked softly, forehead pressed to Oscar's.

Oscar nodded. Swallowed hard.

Then Lando saw the colour in his cheeks. The slightly dazed expression. The parted lips.

And he smirked.

"Told you I'd fight him, princess."

Oscar blinked. Then actually whimpered. His hands clutched at Lando's waist as he pulled him closer, hiding his burning face in the crook of Lando's neck.

"You are so-" Oscar muttered, muffled. "Ridiculous."

Lando laughed, arms wrapping tight around him. "Hot. You meant hot."

Oscar made a noise of protest that was not a denial.

🧡

Mason and his accomplice - Luke, apparently, some bitter PR intern who'd once fancied Lando and didn't take rejection well - were arrested before the hour was out.

Charged with stalking. Harassment. Attempted blackmail.

Their phones were seized. The photos. The messages. Every breadcrumb they'd left behind trying to scare Oscar into silence and isolate Lando.

It was over.

McLaren's lawyers moved fast. FIA security tripled their presence around the paddock. Zak gave Lando a long speech about emotional regulation and "maybe let us handle the punching next time," but there was a glint of approval in his eye.

Oscar watched it all unfold from Lando's side.

He hadn't flinched when Mason showed up.

He hadn't run.

And now?

Now he felt safe.

For real, this time.

Because Lando had thrown a punch for him.

Because someone had finally believed him.

Because Mason was gone - and Oscar was still standing.

Wrapped in Lando's arms, still breathless from the adrenaline, Oscar tilted his head up and whispered into the curve of Lando's neck:

"Thank you."

Lando kissed his temple.

"Always."