*covered in blood* this will be our year

You think the world of your brothers, all three of them. Lorenzo has a special place in your heart because he’s the most like you: more grounded, more ‘normal’, even though your job is anything but normal most weeks. 

You grew up surrounded by cars, like your brothers. Your father gave you that passion, but you didn’t like racing— no. What you fell in love with wasn’t the fights, it wasn’t sliding off into a corner, it wasn’t  winning. It was the car. The machinery. You spent time with your father and brothers assembling and disassembling go-karts. Maintaining them. You remember the proud look on papa’s face when you figured out how an engine worked, right there, on the spot. It kills you not to remember what it was you understood that day. It kills you to have forgotten even a minute you got to spend with your papa because you thought there’d be more, infinitely more. 

You miss him. Terribly. You don’t think there’s a day that goes by where Hervé Leclerc isn’t on your family’s mind. You’re all doing it for him. Whether it’s Lorenzo, Charles, Arthur, maman, or you. All for him. 

You were still an engineer in training when he left. You remember not knowing whether your team would let you go to your father’s funeral and the tap on your shoulder from your boss telling you to go. You remember holding your maman’s hand as she sat crying, uncomfortably balanced on black heels you had never worn and never would again, and helplessly telling her that at least now he was at peace. You remember Arthur, dwarfed by a suit that was too big for him, with his red eyes and strands of hair falling on his face. You remember Lorenzo passing an arm over your mother’s shoulder and holding her firmly. But most of all, you remember watching Charles in his black suit and wondering how long he would delay his flight. Until the last minute. Until the last second. Charles is many things— an irritating younger brother, annoyingly good at everything, incapable of putting an outfit together— but anyone he cares about he fights for. To death. He showed everyone on that weekend. 

The four of you never doubted him. 

You got to F1 the same way everyone does: F3, F2, and then an opportunity in a backmarker team. You started with Haas and you’re convinced it’s partly thanks to Charles’ Ferrari links. It didn’t matter at the time: you soon proved your worth. You were ready and showed them what you were made of. 

That’s what Leclercs do. 

~

You don’t meet Lando on the paddock. You meet him in Monaco when you’re grocery shopping and he’s just out and about. He calls you the Leclerc sister and does so with that damning smile, like he’s not quite sure what he just said was nice, or appropriate, but he thinks he can get out of trouble just by smiling. 

You love his smile. 

That’s not all you love. 

You find yourselves at the same parties somehow. You smile at each other on the paddock. You get coffee once. And twice. 

You’re unsure about how fast it goes. You’re spotted together and forced to go public earlier than planned. Charles isn’t happy about it; less because it’s you and more because it’s Lando. He’s a funny guy, Charles says, I just don’t… ah, I don’t know. You never expected Charles to be happy about it, really. You’re fine with it; it’s tough when Charles is out battling your new boyfriend every week on the track. 

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t really know Lando, so he doesn’t care, as long as you’re happy. Lorenzo says you know what you’re doing and it’s your life, your choice. 

You’re not sure you do know what you’re doing. The media, the scrutiny, the looks in the paddock… you hadn’t anticipated it would cause such a fuss. You’re just dating. You’re only one of many data analysts. You don’t often arrive together. Lando starts later than you do. Some weeks, you’re at the factory and not on the paddock. Most of all, your respective hospitalities couldn’t be farther away. You’re not even in the paddock on mobut st weeks, rather at the factory.  But see, you’re Lando Norris’ girlfriend. And somehow, that’s all they care about. 

You try to have the same mindset. You’re his, he’s yours, and that’s all you should care about. 

It’s easier when it’s just the two of you; sadly it doesn’t happen often. Every time you go out, there’s a journalist, a team member, something, someone. It’s like the world doesn’t want to leave you two alone. 

So, you come to cherish the moment you both go back to an apartment— his or yours— because then it’s just Lando and you. 

Lando likes sex. He expects it and gets disappointed when it doesn’t happen. He understands, he says, but the sad puppy eyes are hard to withstand sometimes. He knows he’s gorgeous, he knows it’s hard to say no to him. You often fold. One look, one kiss, one wandering hand, and you’re already taking off his clothes. 

See? That was good.  

You like him. You’re not far from loving him, but you’re scared of doing so. There are many hurdles, many external factors that prevent you from going all out. Your brother and Lando are now going all out on the track, incidents happening every other grand prix now. They share podiums sometimes, and that’s when you’re happiest, because then you can support both of them without feeling bad about it. 

Lando’s a sore loser. He often makes jokes about Charles, saying he’s as aggressive as Max, that he races unfairly. He often catches himself and fumbles an explanation; he didn’t mean it like that, he just meant that he was a hard racer and sometimes on the limit… too much… You stop listening when he gets like this. Lando is competitive. He’s a sore loser, and Charles hates losin,g too. They cope with losing differently. You brush off the comments and redirect the conversation. 

In those moments, conversation is rarely what Lando wants. 

~

A few weeks into your relationship, Lando admits he liked you from the start. He’s a little tipsy and when he leans in to whisper it in your ear, you can smell his aftershave and the vodka-coke he’s just drunk. 

It was your face, he says, and the thighs helped. But he really likes your mouth too. You make sure of that when you go down on him that night, making sure to make him moan and grip onto the armchair, wishing it was your hair instead. 

Things are going great. They’re steady. You work your ass off and so does Lando. When you finally have some time for yourselves, physical attraction takes over and you don’t really get to talk about what you are, where you’re going. It works just fine for you, mostly because you’re lacking time to stop and think. 

You’re in a good place. A loving boyfriend, on your way to your dream job (if you’re honest, you’re already living a dream, working with an F1 team so young), and your family’s doing well. Arthur enjoys his job as a Ferrari development driver, and Lorenzo is talking about marrying Charlotte. 

Everything is going well. 

Except that Charles and Lando are fighting for a championship. 

It doesn’t get better than that, really. Your brother finally has a car and a team that can give him what he wants most: a championship in red. Your boyfriend has the opportunity to win his first championship and silence everyone who ever doubted him. 

The problem is that you’re caught in the crossfire. 

They squabble on and off track. Lando makes comments that make your blood boil and you have to remember it’s the adrenaline talking, but it’s hard when he’s insulting your own brother and making snide comments about him. While the media and McLaren’s PR team scramble to interpret Lando’s words, you know exactly what he means. You know him too well. 

He often gets home in the worst mood. One night, he jokes and says you look just like Charles and that’s why he can’t get into it. It makes you feel like it’s your fault. Everything. Charles is Lando’s number one enemy, and it’s your fault. 

You try to calm him down first. You try humor, and? you don’t think my brother’s attractive?, you try to reason with him, we’re two different people, you try everything. But Lando pouts and pushes you off, then half-assly apologizes, say she’s not in the mood, and leaves you. 

You feel like shit. 

You don’t want to think that’s what Lando wants. 

But maybe it is. 

Everything he does starts irritating you. When he introduces you to Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend, he calls you the engineer girlfriend of mine, your equivalent to Osc, and it takes everything in you not to give him a piece of your mind right in the middle of that restaurant. It unnerves you to be referred to as a side piece, as a function. You think it might be because Lily wants to be an engineer in F1 as well, but it’s one of Lando’s comments that can be so easily misinterpreted that you’re not sure what to think. 

Lily is a gem. You strike a friendship. She reminds you of yourself and you think you would’ve been friends if you had met at school. She’s a few years behind you in her career, but you know it’s because you got lucky. You know that in a few years, you two will be having coffee in the paddock together. 

Your friendship with Osc’s girl doesn’t make Lando happy. That’s the impression you get. It’s like he’s jealous, and you can’t exactly place why. At first, you reassure him, then you tease him, up until the point you can’t take it and simply ignore his comments. You know Lando has his moods, and you know by now it’s useless to try and take him out of those. Better to wait it out and see him come over to apologize. 

~

Lando is good at apologizing, and he’s good at making you give him second, third, and hundredth chances. He recognizes it when he acts like a dick. He says he’s sorry, that it was the adrenaline, that he was tired… And you understand. It’s not like you’re above reproach either. 

You’re both flawed; but you make it work. 

The championship fight rages on, with Charles pulling away in front. Lando’s anxious about it. He says he’s not sure he’ll catch up, then goes silent. You tell him he can, that it’s possible, but apparently it’s not what he wants to hear. 

Often, you’re confused about him. 

He didn’t use to be like that. 

The sex is the last area where you know exactly what the other wants. Or, at least, you know what Lando wants. Needs. He’s not easy to please, but when it works it’s just perfect. One day, you really want to try anal. He laughs awkwardly and looks away, saying he doesn’t think it respectable. 

You want to think it’s because he’s respectful, a British gentleman, really. But part of you wonders if he’s not losing interest in you. If he’s just… not that attracted to you anymore. 

He gets broody often. That morning is when it all goes up in dust. 

It’s the Monaco Grand Prix and Charles took pole. Lando’s starting P2. It’s Monaco, you think, they’ll be careful. 

They’re not. 

Lando tries a stupid move on Charles, goes for a gap that doesn’t exist in those narrow streets, and satellites his car into the side of Charles, ending both their races. The grandstands are howling. Even from the Haas garage, you can hear the displeased growl of a people who just saw their little prince get unjustly put out of commission. For a second you’re worried about both of them, but Charles’ radio is broadcast and he’s cursing and you’re so, so happy to hear him even if he sounds angrier he’s ever been. And then Lando’s radio is broadcast and you nearly feel like throwing your headset at your screen. He left me no space.  

You can’t take it. 

It’s a red flag and you focus on the race but as soon as your job is done, you get out of the paddock and try to see either one of them. Charles because somehow you feel like you have to apologize, and Lando because you have to have a go at him. But what you find is a journalist, and you make the biggest mistake as of date. 

That was a stupid move from Lando. You don’t do that in Monaco. It could have ended up badly.  

The media goes wild. 

~

You sit in your childhood house table’s that night and you bask in that familiarity. Later, when it’s already dark outside, your brothers and you go out for a walk. You’re all wearing caps because the Leclercs are far too famous in Monaco for comfort, but with those caps, you can pretend you’re just four kids with big dreams. 

Charles breaches the subject first. Says he’s happy you support him. Asks if it’s alright with Lando. You say you haven’t spoken to him since, but McLaren’s PR team has tried contacting you, but you’ve hung up on them. You say you love them, all three of them, and that they’re your priority. Charles’s eyes get sad, and you know it’s not what he wanted to hear. 

You don’t care, because that’s what you meant. 

So, you don’t love the guy anymore? Arthur has the best questions, always does. 

Because that’s… that’s a fucking good question. 

You shrug. The summer air is nice, the breeze hitting your face, caressing it. If you loved him, you’d miss him, right? If you loved him, you’d send a text, right?

If he loved you, he’d send you one though.

But your phone is desperately silent. 

I don’t know, you say. We’ll work it out.

~

The summer break doesn’t help you talk to Lando. You only send useless texts to each other, hello how are you, what are you doing today, can we meet up, ah you’re busy, going back to the UK, visiting family, I understand. 

You spend time with your family too: your brothers, your soon-to-be sister-in-law, and it aches every time you see Lorenzo and Charlotte together, because you want that, you want that trust, you want that bond, and you know you don’t have it with Lando. You know it’s impossible to get it. Because Lando simply isn’t what you need, and you’re not what he needs either. 

Lorenzo asks you if you’re happy with him and you don’t know what to answer. You ask him if he thinks Lando’s the right guy for you, and Lorenzo’s faint smile tells you what you need to know. I can’t know it for you. You’ll feel it.  

You wonder how you feel right now. Lando still makes your heart skip a beat, but you’re not sure why, or how. You love him, you know you do. But you wonder if that’s enough. You still wonder if it’s the right thing to do. 

~

You’ve never been as eager to go back to work as you are right now. Lando finds you on the first day back and he says he’s been thinking. He apologizes, he’s so good at that, and you melt. You give in. 

No relationship is perfect, Lorenzo told you so, he, whose relationship is perfect. But you know he’s right. 

You arrive with Lando the next morning. He made an effort: woke up earlier so he could match your schedule. You hope he doesn’t expect you to do the same: you can’t be late to work like he can. 

Every day in that race week, he gets up early, every day a little more late, until Saturday where he just tells you to go without him. It’s fine, you think, he’s already made an effort since Wednesday, and he has to get his rest.

It turns out, Lando doesn’t do well in qualifying that day. He gets taken out in Q3 after making mistakes on his laps and exceeding track limits. He’s in the media pen and he looks like he’s going to cry any second. He babbles explanations, runs his hand down his face, simply says he’s out of it, that he’s tired. 

He says he didn’t sleep well.

And you take it personally. 

You think maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s just an excuse. But that night he barely breathes a word to you, and when you confront him about it, he says yeah, I fucked up quali because I got up earlier for you all week. And that just leaves you speechless. 

I didn’t ask you to 

Well, I have to do it since it can’t be the other way around! 

We can arrive separately! 

One word leads to another. Sentences are thrown. It’s the first time you openly fight, and it’s the first time you’re both so heated about it. 

Other drivers’ girlfriends stay in their place a bit more.  

The room goes silent, like a blizzard just froze the entire hotel in place. You stare at the man in front of you and you wonder why you ever loved him, or why he ever loved you.  

I’m an engineer. That’s my place. I work here. I’m not your accessory, I’m not your mother, and I’m certainly not ‘just’ your girlfriend. I’m my own person. And if you can’t understand that… 

You can’t finish your sentence, but you don’t have to. Lando immediately backtracks, says he didn’t mean it. He apologizes, because he’s good at it. 

You go to sleep. He cuddles you.

You make love that night. It’s sweet and full of apologies. 

None of you say a word afterwards. 

Part of you wonders if he means his apologies. Part of you wonders if he’s still into you, if he still loves you. Part of you wonders if he’s staying with you for the sex. 

But deep down, you feel like you know the answer. He’s doing it so he’s not the only one out of twenty drivers to arrive at the track without a beautiful girlfriend at his arm. 

~

You two fall apart and you learn you’ve broken up when Lando answers a question about you and says you’re not together anymore. 

You feel like there would have been better ways to learn about it. 

You run to Lorenzo crying that night. Arthur is there too. By the time Charles arrives, all three of you are already quite tipsy. You get hugs and smiles. So much laughter. You get teased once you’re all too drunk to care. 

For the first time in months, you feel like you belong.

The next morning is tough. You wake up on Lorenzo’s couch with your foot pushing into Arthur’s cheek and a splendid view on Charles vomiting in the bathroom. There are better ways to wake up, but you can’t think of one at the moment. 

You’re not too hungover; you might be the Leclerc with the best alcohol tolerance since Pascale. Your brothers? They’re jealous. It doesn’t matter. Lorenzo and Charlotte are talking in the kitchen, hushed voices, and by the time you get there for a glass of water, you can see Lorenzo’s hand caressing Charlotte’s cheek, and the fond smile on his lips. 

It hits you suddenly that you’re not with Lando anymore. 

It hits you suddenly that you’re single. 

It hits you unapologetically. 

And you smile.

Because that’s what you can pursue and get now. What you couldn’t have had with Lando Norris. 

~

It’s a few years later, and you’re now an engineer at Scuderia Ferrari. You’ve moved to Maranello, and the Italian team has since won two divers championships and three constructors. The regulation change was tough, and you got recruited into the team mostly to support the technical department and try to find solutions so the car can challenge for podiums and wins again. 

Charles is still at Ferrari; you don’t think he’ll ever leave; and when you arrive every morning, you understand why. 

Today, you’re going back to Monaco for your niece’s birthday. Lorenzo and Charlotte’s daughter is your absolute pride and joy, and you’re… a dotting aunt. The little girl is spoiled rotten, and Lorenzo berates Arthur, Charles, and you on multiple occasions because of that. It’s true that her uncles are as bad as you are; possibly worse at times. 

You get out of the car and realize you forgot the bottle you had promised to bring. You swing by a supermarket, and fate has something in store for you. 

Lando. 

He’s there, like he was when you first met him. He’s as gorgeous as always, his hair still curling nicely and his eyes blue as ever. You say hi. He says hi. You exchange niceties, boring small talk. 

You pick a bottle and checks out. 

When you find yourself outside, he’s still here. He waited for you. 

Lando wants to talk. 

You have some time until the party, so you accept. 

You walk around the blocks. Your hand isn’t in his, and neither of you are saying anything. You know he’s dating someone else— a model, a singer, you’re not too sure and it changes often. It doesn’t sting. In fact, you prefer it. 

But then he stops. He turns and he look at you. It’s the look you know too well, it’s the sad puppy look, and you know what’s coming. 

Apologies. He’s so good at those. 

He says he was young. He acted like a dick. He’s changed now. He’s sorry. But isn’t he dating someone at the moment? 

He looks embarrassed and shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. He says he’s different. He’s a man now. He tries a joke that he realizes halfway through isn’t funny. You don’t budge. Your arms are crossed and you’re trying to still your heart. 

You don’t love this man. You don’t. But there’s still something. Something that’s never going to leave. What you had with him was intense. Special. It was the first time you felt so many emotions— as exhausting as it was. But you know it was bad. You know you don’t want that. You know you crave the quiet simplicity of a calm marriage. 

This isn’t Lando. 

He’s complex, he’s a wreck. He has issues, he’s insecure. He lashes out and immediately regrets it. He apologizes. He does that so well. But you can’t take it anymore.

You tell him you’ve moved on (you haven’t). You tell him it’s impossible (it could be). You tell him you’re not good for him, and he’s not good for you (that is true). 

He nods and accepts it. He understands and makes his puppy eyes. He tells you to have fun at the party, and it feels like an attack. 

It takes everything in you not to fall into his game, not to feel bad for him, sad for him. But you’re done prioritizing his needs. You’re done letting him manipulate you into forgetting everything that you are for him. 

You’re done with him. 

So when he leaves, expecting you to stop him, give him another chance, or feel sorry for him, you feel at peace instead.