#estebando

After his shitty race in Saudi Arabia, losing the lead of the championship and craving a comfort he knew he'd only find in one person, he decided to push that one person away.

Because he was fucking scared. Not that he would've ever admitted that to Esteban when the Frenchman left his driver’s room looking defeated, tears welled up in his eyes. And that had been four days ago.

Still, Lando hadn't been able to erase that scene out of his brain. Which was why he had jumped on the next flight to Geneva and had barely packed anything. He had spent the whole flight thinking of what he would say when he got there, but now that he was standing in front of Esteban’s door, all words left his brain, along with the courage.

Lando took a deep breath and knocked at the door, hand trembling as he lowered it back to his side. A loud meow came from inside the apartment, but not even the prospect of seeing Iris for the first time could quell the churning in his guts.

After a few minutes of complete silence, Lando let out a resigned sigh and turned around to leave, blinking back tears. Then, finally, he heard keys jingling and the slight creak of the door, his head snapping back to the source of the sound.

Esteban was standing there, looking just as bad as Lando, heavy eye bags under his eyes and shoulders slumped forward. Lando turned fully to look at him, craning his neck slightly up to meet his eyes.

They didn't talk, not even when Iris wiggled her way from behind Esteban’s legs and sauntered over to Lando, rubbing her furry head against his leg.

And then, “Is that my shirt?”

Lando froze, brain momentarily thrown off by the sound of Esteban’s voice— low, rough, blank. He looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows slightly at the shirt. Definitely not his shirt. It was dark green and long sleeved, the sleeves fully covering Lando’s hand.

“I think so. Can I…?”

“Yeah, fine,” Esteban mumbled, moving to the side to let Lando into his apartment, Iris following him with little mrrps.

Lando took off his shoes, a slight shiver going down his spine at the change of temperature. Esteban’s apartment was warm, the sound of the heater working somewhere filling Lando’s ears.

“Why are you here?” Esteban asked, coming to a stop right in front of Lando, arms crossed. “You were very clear to me back in Jeddah that we were nothing and we meant nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando whispered, running a hand through his own hair. “I think- I think I was scared. No, fuck, I know I was scared. I- fuck, Este, I think I’m in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me.”

“I fucked up in Jeddah. Badly. I wanted some comfort from you, specifically, and that made me realize- that I’m in love with you, and that just- wasn't something I expected. But I- fuck, I couldn't stop thinking about you these past few days, I could barely sleep because I felt so bad and I just- I needed you with me.”

Silence permeated the room, Esteban’s eyes burning a hole into Lando’s head as Lando looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I wasn't exactly smart about it, either,” Esteban confessed, head lowered. “I was going to talk to you when you landed in Monaco- give you a call. But I saw you playing padel with Carlos and- I kind of got jealous. I- I feel like you're mine. And I don't share.”

“I am yours,” Lando blurted out, stepping slightly closer to the other man, eyes wide as if he himself was shocked by his words. “You don't- need to feel like that. I- I’m-”

He was cut off by one of Esteban’s hands tangling in his hair, tilting his head back, the other wrapping around his waist as the French pulled him into a desperate kiss, Lando’s hands finding his shoulders.

“You’ll have to share Iris with me, though,” Lando whispered against his lips, muffling a laugh at Esteban’s pointed squeeze on his waist. “I love you.”