tinki__winki

2019

Formula One was everything to her.

From the moment she first heard the roar of an engine, felt the rumble of the track beneath her feet, she knew she was hooked. There was something indescribable about the thrill of speed, the way time seemed to slow down when a car zipped past at two hundred miles per hour. The adrenaline rush, the smell of burning rubber, the intense focus required, every part of it made her heart race.

As a little girl, she would sit in front of the television, eyes wide with wonder, watching the legends of the sport battle it out on tracks around the world. She idolized them: their skill, their courage, their relentless pursuit of victory. She dreamed of being one of them, of feeling the same exhilaration as they did, of one day earning a place on that starting grid.

Becoming a Formula One driver was more than just a dream for her; it was an obsession. She devoted every waking moment to getting there, training hard, studying the intricacies of the cars, and soaking in every bit of knowledge she could. For years, it felt like an impossible goal, a fantasy that lived in the realm of maybe someday. But she never stopped believing.

And then, finally, the dream came true.

Her determination and skills in Formula 2 had drawn the attention of many Formula One team principals, one of them being Toto Wolff, Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team’s principal, so when he came to her and offered her a seat, she naturally couldn’t refuse. So in 2019, she became Mercedes’ first and youngest female driver ever to join Formula One, being only eighteen.

On her very first day around the paddock as a Formula One driver, she was walking with her helmet in her hand, trying to fix the inside of it. Since she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, she bumped into someone’s back and stumbled a little before looking up, locking eyes with a young driver who seemed around her age.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered quickly.

“It’s fine,” the boy smiled at her. “You’re a rookie too, right?”

“Yup,” she said, smiling. “I feel like I should know your name.”

“Lando Norris.” He stretched his hand out. “McLaren.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” She shook it. “Mercedes.”

“You got that right,” he said, pointing at her suit.

She laughed a little. “I’ve got to go, but good luck for quali today, Lando Norris.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You too.”

She smiled once more before walking away.

Lando watched her leave for a second too long.

That was the first time.

Neither of them knew then that they would spend the next seven years orbiting each other like something written badly by fate—too much timing, too little courage.

2020

By 2020, Y/N had learned that Formula One was not kind.

It was glamorous from the outside, maybe. Beautiful in photographs. Elegant in interviews. But inside the paddock, it was ruthless. Every mistake was magnified. Every bad session was a headline. Every decent result from her was treated as surprising, as if she hadn’t dragged herself into this sport with blood in her teeth.

She had expected pressure.

She had not expected loneliness.

And somehow, somewhere between race weekends and media days and endless flights, Lando became the person who made all of it lighter.

It started with stupid conversations. The kind that should not matter but somehow did.

He would find her in the paddock and start talking as if they had known each other for years. He’d complain about engineers, about jet lag, about media obligations, about sandwiches, about absolutely nothing at all. She would act like he annoyed her, even while staying there longer than she meant to.

Then came the texts.

Late-night messages after races. Snarky comments during media days. A constant stream of nonsense that somehow became the part of her day she looked forward to most.

lando: survived today y/n: unfortunately lando: wow y/n: was talking about me lando: sure you were y/n: you’re clingy for someone who swears he’s cool lando: and yet you keep replying

He had a point.

She hated that he had a point.

At Spielberg, she found him sitting on the floor behind the McLaren motorhome, long legs stretched out, head tipped back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He opened one eye. “Avoiding people.”

“In the paddock?”

“I know. Terrible strategy.”

She snorted and sat beside him.

The silence between them was easy. That was the dangerous thing about Lando. Silence with most people felt awkward, like something that had to be filled. Silence with him felt natural.

“You okay?” he asked after a while.

“Tired.”

“Tired how?”

She let out a quiet laugh. “You ask way too many real questions for someone who spends most of his time being an idiot.”

“I can multitask.”

That pulled another laugh from her, but it faded quickly.

“Just tired of feeling like I have to prove I belong here,” she admitted.

He didn’t answer immediately. When she looked over, he was already looking at her.

“You don’t have to prove it to me.”

Something in her chest tightened.

“Or to anyone who actually knows what they’re talking about,” he added softly.

She swallowed. “You know you’re annoying, right?”

His lips twitched. “Why?”

“Because sometimes you’re nice when I’d rather you just be stupid.”

He grinned then, warm and bright. “Don’t worry. I’m still stupid.”

And just like that, the heaviness in her chest eased.

The rest of the season passed in a series of almosts.

Almost confessions. Almost touches. Almost moments that felt too intimate to be friendship and too undefined to be anything else.

At Monza, his hand landed on the small of her back to guide her through a crowd of journalists.

At Mugello, he stole her sunglasses and wore them for half the day just because it irritated her.

At Sochi, they sat on a low wall after sunset, watching the paddock empty around them.

“You ever think about quitting?” she asked suddenly.

He turned to her. “Bit dramatic.”

“I’m serious.”

He looked back toward the track. “No. Not really. You?”

“Never.”

That made him smile.

“Then what’s with the question?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering if everyone feels like this all the time.”

“Like what?”

She took too long to answer.

“Like if they mess up once, everyone’s just waiting to say see? told you she didn’t belong.”

His expression changed immediately. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s still there.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, softer, “You know what I think?”

“Should I be worried?”

“Always.”

She rolled her eyes, and he smiled faintly before going serious again.

“I think you’re one of the strongest people I know,” he said. “And I think most people in this paddock would crack in five minutes if they had to deal with half the shit you do.”

Compliments were easier to accept from anyone else. From him, they always went too deep.

“You say things like that and then act surprised when I tolerate your presence.”

He laughed softly. “Tolerate? That bad?”

“Worse.”

But she was smiling, and he knew it.

That was the year everything became a maybe.

Maybe the way he looked at her meant something. Maybe the way she waited for him after meetings meant something. Maybe the way they always found each other in crowded rooms meant more than friendship.

Neither of them said it.

Neither of them wanted to be the first one to ruin what they had.

So 2020 ended in almosts.

2021

If 2020 had been the year of almosts, 2021 was the year everything got too intense to ignore.

They were no longer rookies trying to find their footing. They had settled into the rhythm of Formula One, into the expectations, the pressure, the repetition of airports and garages and lights-out Sundays. And by then, Lando knew her too well.

He knew the difference between her angry silence and her tired silence. He knew when to make her laugh and when to sit beside her without speaking. He knew how she twisted the rings on her fingers when she was nervous, how she clenched her jaw at the timing screens when she wasn’t happy with herself.

And she knew him too.

She knew when his smiles were real and when they were for cameras. She knew when his jokes were a shield and when they were genuine. She knew the difference between the Lando everyone loved and the version of him he only let a handful of people near.

It was dangerous, knowing someone like that.

Because once you did, there was no going back.

That year, he started getting more attention.

Not that he had never had any. He was Lando—funny, talented, easy to like. But in 2021, something about him shifted. There was still boyishness in him, still softness, still that ridiculous streak that made her laugh when she didn’t want to. But there was confidence now too. Sharpness. More eyes on him than before.

Y/N noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She noticed every girl that lingered a little too close. Every interviewer who flirted. Every stupid fan edit someone shoved in her face as a joke.

At Silverstone, they were standing side by side in hospitality, hidden for once from the worst of the chaos.

“You’re quiet,” Lando said.

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s rare.”

She gave him a flat look. “Do you ever get tired of being annoying?”

He smiled. “No.”

His shoulder brushed hers.

“Thinking about what?”

She should have lied.

Instead she said, “Nothing important.”

“That usually means it’s very important.”

She turned her head and met his eyes.

For one suspended second, she thought maybe he would say it. Maybe this would finally be the moment one of them was brave enough to ruin everything honestly instead of safely.

Then someone called his name from across the room, and the moment shattered.

He looked away first.

She hated how much that hurt.

Still, they kept circling each other.

Monza. Russia. Turkey. Late-night paddock talks. Shared glances. Lingering touches.

Then came the first crack.

A rumor. A passing joke. A paddock whisper that Lando had been seen with a girl more than once.

Y/N laughed it off.

Because that was what she did.

She laughed. She shrugged. She pretended not to care.

But she started noticing things. His phone face-down more often. The distracted look after reading messages he didn’t show her. The way some part of him seemed to have stepped just slightly out of reach.

Their worst argument happened in Austin.

“You’ve been weird,” he said as they walked out of the paddock after media.

She laughed coldly. “Funny. I was going to say the same about you.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He stopped walking. “What’s your problem?”

She turned sharply. “Nothing.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t get to act like everything’s normal and then ask me what my problem is.”

His brows furrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means maybe I’m tired of feeling stupid.”

That was the opening.

The place where she could have said it.

For liking you. For waiting. For thinking this meant something.

But fear won.

Like it always did.

So she just shook her head. “Forget it.”

“No, don’t do that,” he said, frustrated now. “Don’t say things like that and then shut down.”

She laughed bitterly. “Maybe take your own advice.”

His jaw tensed.

For a second he looked like he wanted to say something bigger.

Instead, he just stepped back.

“Fine.”

And that one word felt worse than shouting.

By the end of 2021, he was with someone else.

She did not ask for details. Did not ask when it started. Did not ask if there had ever really been room for her in his life or if she had built an entire universe out of timing and silence and hope.

They spoke alone once before the season ended.

Abu Dhabi. Harsh artificial lights. The weight of another year pressing down on everyone.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said quietly.

She kept her eyes ahead. “I’ve been busy.”

He was silent for a moment. “Right.”

When she finally looked at him, he looked tired.

“I didn’t mean for things to get weird,” he said.

“That’s comforting.”

“Y/N...”

“No, it’s fine,” she cut in. “It’s whatever.”

He looked at her like he knew she was lying.

“I still want you in my life,” he said softly.

That hurt more than anything else.

Because it was not what she wanted.

It was not enough.

And the worst part was that she would still have taken it if he asked at the wrong moment.

So she nodded once, because she did not trust herself to say anything else.

He stepped closer, hesitant now in a way he had never been with her before.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

It was the biggest lie she told all year when she forced a smile and said, “You won’t.”

Because by the end of 2021, she already knew something between them had broken.

Not loudly. Not all at once.

But in that slow, terrible way things break when two people keep choosing silence until silence becomes the only thing left.

2022

If 2021 had broken something between them, then 2022 taught her what it felt like to keep living with the pieces.

Now there was someone else.

And this time, it was real.

A real girl. A real relationship. A real place in his life that had never belonged to her.

She found out the way everyone found out—through photos, through social media, through people trying to act casual about something that felt anything but casual.

George walked into the Mercedes garage, saw her, and immediately put his phone face-down.

Y/N looked up. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve just committed a crime.”

He sighed. “You should maybe not open Instagram for a few hours.”

Her stomach dropped before her brain had even caught up.

That night, alone in her hotel room, she made the mistake of looking anyway.

Pictures. Comments. People calling them cute. People saying they made sense. People acting like it was simple.

She stared at one photo far too long before throwing her phone onto the bed and pressing both hands over her face.

It wasn’t childish jealousy.

It was grief.

Because for two years she had carried this stupid, stubborn hope that one day he would stop hesitating. That one day all their almosts would finally become something real.

And now he had chosen real.

Just not with her.

Still, Lando seemed to think they could slide into friendship without anything breaking. He still found her after sessions. Still texted her at stupid hours.

lando: terrible media day. save me y/n: no lando: wow y/n: ask someone else lando: you’re meaner this year y/n: maybe i’m growing as a person

He sent back a laughing emoji.

She threw her phone onto the bed and hated herself a little for smiling.

Monaco was where her patience nearly snapped.

“You disappeared after dinner last night,” he said.

“I was tired.”

“You could’ve said goodbye.”

She gave him a look. “I didn’t know I had to check out with you.”

He laughed softly. “You know what I mean.”

He said things like that as if they still belonged to each other in some private way. As if she was still the person he expected at the end of his day.

“You had company,” she said before she could stop herself.

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“At dinner. You seemed occupied.”

He studied her face too carefully.

“Are you mad at me?”

Mad was far too simple.

“I’m not mad at you,” she said quietly.

That part, at least, was true.

She dated once that year. Briefly. Someone kind and straightforward and uncomplicated.

It lasted less than two months.

Because every time he touched her, some awful part of her compared the feeling to a kiss she had never even really had, to a fantasy built out of years of longing, and found reality lacking.

By the end of 2022, she and Lando were no longer close the way they had been.

Still familiar. Still capable of slipping into old rhythms for five minutes at a time before reality returned.

But no longer the first person the other one reached for.

And just when she thought maybe that distance would finally save her.

everything changed again.

2023

It started, like most bad ideas did, with hope.

By early 2023, Lando was single again.

Or that was how it looked from the outside.

The paddock was never clean, never simple. Things ended quietly, started messily, overlapped in rumor and speculation and public appearances that meant everything and nothing. But as far as she could tell, that relationship was over.

And for the first time in months, hope came back.

She hated it immediately.

Because hope, where Lando was concerned, had always made her stupid.

There was also something different about him that year.

Not just in the way he looked, though there was that too.

He had always been handsome in an effortless, boyish sort of way. But over the years, he had sharpened. Grown into himself. Less teenager, more man. More confidence. More intention. More people noticing him every time he walked into a room.

She noticed too.

He was different with her again.

Warmer. Closer. Too easy.

He texted more.

lando: guess who just got publicly bullied by his engineer y/n: you probably deserved it lando: wow. no loyalty y/n: never claimed to have any lando: liar lando: you always take my side y/n: don’t make this weird

But it was weird.

That was exactly the problem.

Because one moment he was looking at her like no one else was in the room, and the next he was distant in a way that made her feel insane for imagining anything at all.

Hot and cold.

That was the phrase she used when Alex asked her why she looked like she wanted to throw her phone into the sea.

“One day he’s all over me,” she muttered, “texting, talking, following me around the paddock like it’s 2020 again, and the next day it’s like I imagined the whole thing.”

“Have you considered,” Alex asked carefully, “that maybe you should stop letting him do that?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “What an insane thing to suggest.”

Miami was the first time she thought she might actually have a chance.

The paddock was almost empty. The sky was dark. She had been heading back toward the hotel transport when Lando caught up to her.

“Wait.”

She turned.

“I was looking for you,” he said.

“Why?”

He stopped directly in front of her.

Then, quieter, “Because I wanted to see you.”

Her pulse stuttered.

“Lando...”

“Can we not do the thing where you shut down and I joke and then we both walk away pretending none of this is weird?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

She laughed softly, without humor. “That’s rich coming from you.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I miss you.”

“You said that last year.”

“I meant it.”

“That didn’t exactly help.”

His expression faltered.

Then, as if dragged out of him against his will, he said, “I think about you all the time.”

It was the kind of sentence she had waited years to hear.

The kind of sentence that should have changed everything.

Instead she only thought, then why does it never mean anything when it should?

“Lando,” she whispered, “you can’t say things like that unless you’re going to do something about it.”

Something shuttered in his face.

He looked away first.

That told her everything.

A week later he was back to texting her at midnight. Back to private smiles. Back to reaching for her like instinct.

And then the rumors started.

Magui.

At first it sounded like paddock nonsense. The kind of speculation that attached itself to drivers because cameras were invasive and people were bored.

Y/N ignored it.

Then she saw them together.

Not enough for certainty.

Enough for understanding.

When she asked him about it—not directly, never directly, because apparently directness would have killed them both—he gave her nothing useful.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“Of course it is.”

“You act like I’m trying to mess with your head.”

She stared at him. Then said quietly, “Aren’t you?”

That shut him up.

They stood near the back stairs of hospitality while the noise of Singapore carried in waves around them.

“You don’t get to not know forever,” she said. “You can’t keep me in this weird in-between version of your life whenever it suits you.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

She laughed once, broken and disbelieving. “You keep saying that like it’s enough.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

Her voice cracked on the word.

By the end of 2023, she was exhausted in a way no race car had ever made her.

Not because she loved him.

Because she was beginning to understand that loving him might not even be the worst part.

The worst part might be that he loved her too, in some fractured, unfinished, selfish way—and that it still wasn’t enough to choose her.

2024

By 2024, she told herself she was done.

Not in the dramatic sense. Not I hate him. Not I never want to see him again.

Just quietly, deeply done.

The kind where you wake up one day and realize that if you keep hoping, it will hollow you out completely.

So she changed.

She stopped waiting for his texts. Stopped looking for him first in crowded rooms. Stopped letting herself be alone with him after race weekends just because he asked with those soft eyes and careful voice.

People noticed.

Especially him.

At Imola, he caught up to her outside the paddock gates.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m busy.”

“You’ve said that like six times this weekend.”

“Maybe I’ve been busy six times.”

“That’s not funny.”

That made her stop.

She turned to face him. “Then why are you almost smiling?”

His mouth flattened immediately.

“What happened?” he asked.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been weird for months.”

She laughed under her breath. “That is a deeply unfair thing for you to say to me.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

For a second neither of them moved.

Then she said the thing she should have said a year ago.

“I got tired, Lando.”

He went very still.

“Tired of waiting for you to figure out what you want. Tired of pretending your mixed signals are somehow my fault for reading them wrong. Tired of feeling like I matter to you only in these very specific moments where it’s convenient.”

His face closed off the more she spoke.

“That’s not fair.”

Her jaw tightened. “No?”

“No,” he said, sharper now. “You act like I’ve been manipulating you.”

“Have you not?”

He stared at her.

And there it was again—the silence where truth should have been.

That conversation should have ended things.

Instead, it only changed the shape of the damage.

Because after that, he stopped reaching out as much. Stopped trying to find her alone. Stopped saying the kinds of things that kept her suspended between hope and common sense.

And somehow, that hurt too.

Because maybe she had wanted peace.

But she had not expected peace to feel so much like grief.

That year, she got better on track. Sharper. More consistent. More podiums. More control. The media stopped asking whether she deserved to be there and started asking whether she could become world champion.

She should have been thrilled.

Mostly, she was.

But sometimes she would catch Lando looking at her from across a briefing room with an expression she could never quite name.

Not longing.

Not regret.

Something adjacent to both.

And that was somehow worse.

2025

By 2025, Lando barely looked like the boy she had met in 2019.

He was still there, somewhere.

In rare moments when he laughed too hard and forgot himself. In the softness that slipped out by accident when no one else was watching.

But most of the time, he was someone else now.

Sharper. Colder. More careful with his image. More ruthless with his words. The years had polished him into something almost untouchable, better dressed, more controlled, more aware of exactly how many people were watching him at all times.

He had glow up written all over him.

And this was not just a good year.

This was his year.

He was in the fight for the World Championship, and everyone knew it.

Every point mattered. Every lap mattered. Every mistake mattered.

The pressure around him was suffocating.

And under that pressure, he had changed in all the worst ways.

Y/N noticed it before anyone said it out loud.

The way he stopped apologizing when he snapped. The way his interviews became cleaner and colder. The way everything about him felt optimized for survival, even if that survival came at the cost of tenderness.

Even with her, whatever softness remained had become inconsistent.

He still looked at her sometimes in that old way, like she was something familiar in a life that no longer felt human.

But he never stayed there.

And she still, pathetically, hopelessly, kept hoping the old Lando was somewhere underneath all of it.

That was her mistake.

It happened in Singapore.

A night race. Hot, brutal, claustrophobic. The kind of circuit where one mistake could destroy everything, and everybody knew it before the lights even went out.

Lando had qualified P2.

Y/N was P4.

The title fight was tightening. He could not afford a DNF. He could not afford damage. He could not afford a reckless move.

He knew that.

Which was why what happened next made it so much worse.

The race had already been tense for thirty laps, strategy windows opening and closing, tyres fading, gaps shrinking under the lights. Y/N had better pace in the second stint and was closing fast.

“Lando ahead. Gap six tenths. Better traction out of Turn 5. He’s struggling.”

She was.

And she knew him well enough to know he knew it too.

On lap thirty-seven, she got close enough to show the nose into Turn 7.

Not a divebomb.

Not desperate.

Just enough to make him defend.

He moved late.

Too late.

She backed out before contact.

“Jesus,” she muttered.

The next lap, she tried again.

This time she got the better exit, pulled alongside on the straight, and for half a second it looked clean—tight, aggressive, but clean.

Then he turned in.

Not fully. Not enough to look deliberate at first glance. Just enough to squeeze her harder than he should have, as if he believed she would disappear if he forced the space small enough.

But there was no room.

Her front wing clipped his rear tyre.

His car snapped sideways.

Hers jolted violently left.

Carbon fibre exploded across the track.

The sound over the radio was sickening.

By the time both cars slid out of the corner, the damage was done.

Lando hit the barriers first.

Y/N spun and stopped half-sideways, front wing destroyed, one tyre punctured, the steering gone heavy in her hands.

“Fuck... fuck...”

Her engineer was already talking in her ear.

“Box, box, box. Damage. Are you okay?”

She couldn’t answer for a second.

Because on the giant screen opposite, she could see Lando climbing out of the car.

The title contender.

The man everyone had pinned their season on.

Out.

Because of an accident involving her.

Her stomach dropped so hard she thought she might be sick inside the helmet.

“No,” she whispered, even as she limped the car back toward the pits. “No, no, no…”

By the time she got to the garage, her hands were shaking.

Not because she thought it had been her fault.

Because she already knew what this would become.

The first replay came up on the monitor.

Front-on. Then overhead. Then from Lando’s onboard.

She watched him move across on her.

Watched the space disappear.

Watched herself back out as much as physically possible without putting herself in the wall.

Watched the moment contact became unavoidable.

Her chest hurt.

Because it was his fault.

Not malicious. Not intentional.

But his.

A late, panicked, overaggressive defense under title pressure.

And still, dread crawled colder down her spine.

Because she knew him.

And she knew what being in a championship fight did to people.

She found out what he’d said before she even saw him.

One of the Mercedes press officers walked in looking pale and furious.

Y/N looked up. “What?”

The woman hesitated.

That was enough to make Y/N stand up.

“What did he say?”

Another pause.

Then: “He told Sky you came in too aggressively and that you should’ve known he was defending.”

For a second, the room tilted.

“No,” she said.

The woman’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s not what happened.”

“I know.”

The pity in her voice nearly made Y/N throw up.

Because one thing was the media spinning it.

One thing was pundits choosing sides.

But Lando?

Lando knew.

He knew exactly what had happened.

He had been there. He had felt it. He had made the move.

And he still blamed her.

Publicly.

“Where is he?”

She found him outside the McLaren hospitality, half-surrounded by PR people and engineers.

He looked up when he saw her.

For one tiny, awful second, she thought maybe he would look guilty.

Maybe horrified.

Maybe human.

He didn’t.

He just looked tense. Defensive. Tired.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

Her voice was so controlled it didn’t even sound like hers.

His PR manager stepped in immediately. “Now’s not a good time—”

“Yes,” Y/N said, eyes still on Lando. “It is.”

They moved far enough away that no microphones could catch them clearly.

The second they were alone, she said, “What the hell was that?”

His jaw tightened. “I told them what happened.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“From my car, you came in too late.”

She actually laughed.

A small, disbelieving, broken sound.

“Are you serious?”

“Y/N...”

“No, answer me. Are you actually serious right now?”

His face hardened. “I’m in the middle of a championship fight.”

The words hit her like a slap.

Not because they were loud.

Because they told her everything.

Everything.

“You think that makes this okay?”

“I think it means every point matters.”

“And so you throw me under the bus?”

His expression flickered : guilt, maybe, but it vanished fast.

“I didn’t throw you under the bus.”

“You blamed me for your mistake.”

His voice sharpened instantly. “It wasn’t all on me.”

She stared at him.

That was somehow worse than the interview.

Because in front of cameras, maybe he could hide inside instinct, inside PR, inside pressure.

But here, in front of her, with no one else listening, he was still doing it.

Still choosing the lie.

“You know what happened,” she said quietly.

He exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “I know it was tight.”

“Tight?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you were completely innocent.”

Her mouth actually fell open.

For a second she couldn’t speak.

Not because the accusation hurt.

Because she had never felt so suddenly, so completely foolish.

All those years. All that history. All the versions of him she had loved and defended and waited for.

And this was the man standing in front of her now.

A man so desperate to protect his title fight, his image, his season, that he would look her in the face and rewrite reality.

“You really mean this,” she whispered.

His face changed then. Just slightly. Enough for her to know some part of him heard how devastated she sounded.

But he still didn’t take it back.

And that was it.

That was the moment she lost him.

Not romantically. Not hopefully. Not tragically.

Completely.

“You know what?” she said, voice shaking now despite all her effort. “I think the worst part is that I actually came here expecting you to tell me the truth.”

“Y/N...”

“No.”

She stepped back.

“I protected you in my head for years. Even when you hurt me, I always had some excuse for you. You were confused, or scared, or under pressure, or not ready, or whatever the fuck else I needed to tell myself so I didn’t have to admit you just… didn’t choose me.”

His face went pale.

“But this?” Her eyes burned. “This is a choice.”

“I’m not doing this with you right now.”

That finished her.

Because of course.

Of course he would say that.

Like she was the unreasonable one.

Like she was asking too much by wanting him to own what he had done.

A laugh tore out of her, wet and ugly and humiliated.

“You already did it,” she said. “You did it the second you opened your mouth.”

Then she turned and walked away before he could see her cry.

The fallout was immediate.

The stewards called it a racing incident with shared responsibility.

The media did not.

The media split exactly how the paddock always split when a famous man in a title fight collided with a woman who already had to prove she belonged.

Half said it was hard racing.

Half said she had been too ambitious, too emotional, too reckless.

She heard every version.

Too aggressive. Too impatient. Should have known better. Should have backed out. Should have remembered what was at stake.

As if what was at stake belonged only to him.

As if her race, her points, her career, her right to fight for position meant less because he was the one with a championship on the line.

As if she was supposed to disappear to protect the narrative.

And the worst part—the truly unbearable part—was that a piece of her started believing it.

By Monday morning, her phone was unusable.

Mentions flooded. Headlines everywhere. Clips of the crash cut to look worse from her angle. Ex-drivers speaking confidently about what she should have done. Fans calling her every name they could think of.

And underneath all of that noise was one devastating thought she could not silence:

Lando could have stopped this.

One honest sentence.

That was all it would have taken.

He didn’t give it.

The next race weekend was the worst of her life.

Not because of the car. Not because of the track.

Because for the first time since she was a little girl, Formula One stopped feeling like the place she had fought her whole life to reach.

It felt hostile. Alien. Like a room she had accidentally walked into and still had not earned the right to stay inside.

She felt it in the garage. In the press conference. In the loaded wording of every question.

And worst of all, she felt it in herself.

Her confidence was gone.

Not all at once.

Just enough that every braking point felt uncertain. Every overtake looked riskier. Every decision suddenly came with the fear that if she got it wrong, everyone would say there, see? told you she didn’t belong here.

She stopped sleeping properly.

Started replaying the crash from angles she had never even seen.

Started wondering if maybe she should have backed out earlier, made herself smaller, safer, easier to forgive.

She hated herself for thinking like that.

And she hated him for putting those thoughts in her head.

Lewis found her alone in the Mercedes hospitality on a Thursday evening, sitting on the floor in full kit, staring at nothing.

He sat beside her without asking.

For a while, he said nothing.

Then: “This isn’t yours.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Feels like it.”

“It’s not.”

She kept staring ahead. “He said it was.”

Lewis went very still.

“He knows better.”

Her throat tightened so hard it hurt.

“That’s the problem.”

Because Lando did know better.

That was what made it unforgivable.

Not the crash. Not even the blame.

The fact that it came from someone who knew exactly how much harder this sport already was for her, and chose to make it harder anyway.

They did not speak for six weeks.

No text. No apology. No late-night message trying to soften what had happened.

Nothing.

And that silence told her more than any fight ever could.

When he finally approached her again late in the season, it was already too late.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

She looked at him for a long moment.

This time, there was no ache.

Just exhaustion.

“About what?”

“About Singapore.”

She laughed once.

He flinched at the sound.

“No,” she said.

“Y/N...”

“No. You don’t get to do this now.”

He took a step closer. “I was under pressure.”

She stared at him.

Then said, very softly, “And I was under your car.”

That shut him up.

For the first time since the accident, he looked fully ashamed.

It changed nothing.

“I spent years thinking losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” she said. “But it wasn’t losing you.”

His face tightened.

“It was finding out who you become when something matters more to you than I do.”

He looked like she had hit him.

Maybe she had.

Good.

Because she had been carrying the wreckage of him for years.

He could carry one sentence.

She stepped around him before he could answer.

This time, he did not stop her.

That was the fallout.

Not one screaming match.

A crash. A lie. A public betrayal.

And then the slow death of everything that had once made her believe he was the safest place in the paddock.

For the rest of 2025, she drove like someone trying to remember who she had been before she let a boy with soft eyes and terrible timing become the center of her emotional life.

Sometimes she managed it.

Sometimes she didn’t.

But one thing never stopped being true:

Singapore was the moment she lost more than him.

She lost the version of herself that had believed love could survive being chosen second.

And for a while, for the worst stretch of her life, she lost her place in the sport too.

2026

By February 2026, the paddock had started whispering again.

He and Magui were over.

Or maybe off again.

Or maybe just not speaking.

No one ever knew anything for certain, only enough to construct stories out of fragments.

Y/N heard about it the same way she heard everything now—secondhand, half-true, dangerously easy to build hope around.

She told herself she wouldn’t.

She really did.

But hope had never cared much about her promises.

Because if there was one thing more pathetic than loving him for years, it was the small, traitorous part of her that still believed timing had been the real villain all along.

Maybe now, she thought.

Maybe now, older and more bruised and finally forced to look at what they had become, maybe now he would be honest.

He was softer with her again that spring.

More deliberate. Less careless. As if he knew he had no right to ask for easy closeness anymore and was trying, for once, to earn it.

It worked.

Of course it worked.

At Melbourne, they sat on the steps behind hospitality at nearly midnight, sharing terrible vending machine coffee and talking about anything except the years between them.

At Jeddah, he walked her back to her car after a late debrief and lingered long enough that her pulse did embarrassing things.

At Imola, his hand brushed hers on a table between them and neither of them moved away for a full three seconds.

It was not much.

To anyone else, it was nothing.

To her, it was history repeating itself in a softer voice.

And somehow that was even more dangerous.

The breaking point came in Monaco.

Of course it did.

Monaco, where everything looked cinematic and therefore felt crueler.

She had just finished a sponsor event and escaped onto one of the quieter terraces behind the paddock building, heels in one hand, irritation buzzing beneath her skin. She needed five minutes without cameras, without people, without anyone asking if she was excited for qualifying tomorrow.

Instead, she found Lando already there.

He was leaning against the railing, sunset catching on the edge of his profile, jacket undone, looking tired in the sort of beautiful way that would have made her furious once.

Now it just made her tired too.

“Of course you’re here,” she said.

He glanced over, smiled a little. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“You.”

That actually made him laugh.

She moved to stand beside him, close enough to be familiar, not close enough to be intimate.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “I miss this.”

Her heart gave one awful thud.

“This,” she repeated carefully.

“Us. Talking without it turning into a fight.”

She stared out at the harbor lights. “That implies we ever figured out how to do the rest of it.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. “Fair.”

Silence again.

Then, quietly, “I’ve been thinking.”

She nearly told him to stop right there.

Nearly said don’t do this unless you mean it.

Instead she asked, “Dangerous.”

He turned toward her fully.

And there was that look again.

That open, searching look that had once made her believe love could survive indecision.

“I was an idiot,” he said.

She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s not exactly breaking news.”

“No, I know.” His mouth twitched briefly, then fell. “I mean with you.”

Every nerve in her body went taut.

He kept going before she could stop him.

“I think I spent years assuming you’d always be there. That no matter how badly I handled things, no matter how long I took to figure myself out, some part of you would still…” He broke off, jaw tightening. “Still care.”

She swallowed hard.

“That’s a hell of a thing to admit.”

“I know.”

He looked wrecked. Earnest. Older than she had ever seen him.

And some stupid, treacherous part of her leaned toward him anyway.

“So what are you saying?” she asked.

The question hung between them.

He looked at her like the answer was simple.

Like honesty, at last, might save them.

“I’m saying I don’t want to keep getting this wrong.”

Her chest hurt.

That was not enough.

That was not clear.

That was not I choose you.

And yet it was more than he had given her in years.

She hated how close she came to accepting crumbs.

“Lando,” she said carefully, “what do you actually want?”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Looked away.

And there it was.

Again.

Always.

That silence.

The same silence that had eaten them alive since 2020.

She stepped back before he could try to fill it with something vague and beautiful and useless.

“No.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“No,” she repeated, firmer now. “I’m not doing this version of us anymore.”

His expression hardened into confusion. “I’m trying.”

“Trying what?”

“That’s not fair.”

She laughed then, but it came out broken. “You keep saying that every time reality catches up to you.”

He took a step closer. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

The words landed like a slap.

Because yes, he was here.

Now.

After years of being almost brave, almost honest, almost hers.

And maybe once, that would have been enough to make her fall apart in relief.

Now it only made her angry.

“You don’t get credit for showing up late,” she said.

He flinched.

Good.

“You had years,” she went on, voice shaking now despite her best efforts. “Years of me standing there practically loving you in plain sight, and every single time it mattered, you hesitated. You chose someone else, or no one, or confusion, or timing, or whatever excuse made it easier than just telling me the truth.”

His face had gone pale under the terrace lights.

“I was scared.”

That nearly undid her.

Because it was probably true.

Because it was the first truly honest thing he had said in the entire conversation.

She nodded once, tears stinging hot behind her eyes. “I know.”

He looked at her then like that should fix something.

Like being understood had always been the closest thing to absolution he knew how to ask for.

It didn’t.

“And I was patient,” she said softly. “For way too long.”

He said her name like a plea.

She shook her head.

“No. Listen to me this time.”

He went quiet.

“I loved you,” she said.

The past tense shattered something visible in him.

“And maybe some part of me always will. But whatever this is now—whatever you think you’re offering me—it’s not enough. It was not enough in 2023, it wasn’t enough after Singapore, and it’s definitely not enough now.”

His eyes were glassy.

She had never seen him look so completely unguarded.

“You’re really done.”

It was not a question.

She looked at him, really looked at him.

At the boy she had met in 2019.

At the man he had become.

At all the versions of him she had loved and waited for and mourned while he was still standing right in front of her.

And then she did the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

“Yes.”

He shut his eyes briefly, like the word had physical weight.

When he opened them again, he looked wrecked.

Not dramatic. Not cinematic.

Just a man arriving too late to the life he should have chosen.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And that, more than anything, made her want to cry.

Because she believed him.

Finally, completely, uselessly believed him.

“I know,” she whispered.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then he gave a small nod, the kind people give when they understand they have lost something by their own hand.

“Okay.”

It was such a simple word.

So unbearably gentle.

She hated it.

He stepped back first this time.

Not because he wanted to.

Because he finally understood he had to.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

Her heart broke so quietly she was almost impressed by it.

“Goodbye, Lando.”

And that was it.

No grand final kiss.

No dramatic chase.

No miraculous timing.

Just two people who had loved each other for too long and never well enough at the right moment.

She saw him after that, of course.

Formula One was too small, too relentless, too incapable of mercy for anything else.

She saw him across garages and briefing rooms and podium celebrations that belonged to one of them but never both. She saw him in interviews, in the corner of photographs, in the machinery of a sport that never stopped long enough to let anyone grieve properly.

And each time, it hurt a little less.

Not because he mattered less.

Because she was finally learning how to matter to herself more.

By the end of 2026, people still asked questions sometimes.

Fans. Journalists. Paddock staff who thought they were subtle and absolutely were not.

Had something ever happened between them?

Were they ever really as close as people thought?

Did she ever think about what might have been?

She always answered with the same small smile.

“We were young,” she would say.

Which was true.

And not the whole truth.

Because the whole truth was this:

They had loved each other in the wrong tense.

Always almost.

Always eventually.

Always someday.

And someday, it turned out, was not a real place.

The end.

Y/N saw Max for the first time after everything went wrong in an airport lounge.

Her flight had been delayed twice. Her suitcase was too heavy. She had slept maybe three hours in total, and the coffee in front of her had gone cold twenty minutes ago.

She was wearing sunglasses inside because she had cried in the bathroom before boarding and had no interest in being looked at more than absolutely necessary.

So when the chair across from her scraped back, she looked up already irritated.

Then she saw Max.

He sat down like he belonged there.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then he looked at her properly and said, “You look awful.”

Y/N let out a tired laugh.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged once. “You do.”

That should have annoyed her.

Instead, she just leaned back in the chair and looked out through the glass wall at the runway.

He did not ask if he could sit there.

He did not ask if she wanted company.

He did not soften any of it.

He just stayed.

After a few seconds, he asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He did not even blink.

“Right.”

Y/N rubbed her thumb over the cardboard sleeve around her cup.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

The answer came so fast she almost smiled.

“Do you always talk to people like this?”

“Yes.”

That one got a real laugh out of her.

Small. Tired. Gone too quickly.

Max noticed anyway.

“What happened?” he asked again.

She should not have told him.

She knew that even then.

But she was too tired to lie well, and there was something about the way he was looking at her that made it feel pointless to try.

“I got fired,” she said.

Max’s expression changed immediately.

Not much.

Just enough.

“For what?”

Y/N looked down at the coffee cup in her hands.

There were clean ways to answer that question. Professional ways. HR-approved ways.

Instead she said, “For being stupid.”

Max leaned back in his seat.

“That sounds vague on purpose.”

“It is.”

He waited.

And because he waited, because he didn’t rush to fill the silence or offer her some easy version of sympathy, it started coming out.

Not elegantly.

Not in order.

She told him she got too close to someone she worked with. That he knew, at least enough. Enough to know she would say yes, stay late, fix things, cover for him. Enough to know exactly how to ask.

She told him she asked him out.

How he said yes without listening.

How he never showed up.

How he texted her afterward to move his sponsor breakfast like none of it had happened.

How he missed it anyway.

How HR told her the next day that there had been “concerns” about professionalism and “confusion” around his evening plans.

How he didn’t even need to blame her directly.

He just let them think it.

Max was quiet for a long moment.

Then he asked, “Was it Norris?”

She had not said Lando’s name once.

Still, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Max looked away for a second, jaw tight.

Then back at her.

“That’s bad.”

Y/N laughed once.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“No,” he said evenly. “I mean really bad.”

That should not have mattered as much as it did.

But it did.

It was the first time someone had looked at the whole thing and made it sound as ugly as it had actually felt.

He was quiet again.

Then he asked, “So what now?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean now.”

She almost smiled.

“I get on a plane.”

“No.” His tone stayed flat. “I mean after that.”

That shut her up.

Because she did not know.

Because her life had been tied so tightly to one team, one job, one paddock, one person, that when it broke, all of it went with it.

Finally, she said, “I’m going home.”

“For how long?”

She gave a tired little shrug. “I don’t know.”

Max leaned back.

“You should work for Red Bull.”

Y/N stared at him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She laughed because there was nothing else to do with something that absurd.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“No.”

He frowned.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not doing this again.”

“This.”

She gestured vaguely around them.

The airport. Monaco. The whole world that had just spit her out.

“Working too close to a driver. Making myself useful until that’s all anyone sees. Blurring the line until it gets used against me.”

Max looked at her for a long second.

Then he said, “You wouldn’t work for me.”

She said nothing.

He kept going.

“You’d work for the team. You do your job. I do mine.” His eyes stayed on hers. “If I make your life harder, you tell me. And I fix it.”

Something in her chest twisted at that.

Not because she believed him immediately.

Because she wanted to.

And that terrified her.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’m not him.”

That one landed.

Hard.

Max stood up.

“Think about it,” he said.

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to do, beg?”

That dragged a real laugh out of her.

His mouth twitched once.

Then he walked away.

She said no the first time he called.

He had gotten her number from Mia somehow.

The fact that he had done that should have annoyed her more than it did.

“I can’t,” she said the second she picked up.

A pause.

Then, “Okay.”

Y/N blinked.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

That was it.

No pressure. No speech.

She sat down slowly on the edge of her bed.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then that sounds like your problem, not mine.”

Despite herself, she smiled.

He heard it. She knew he did.

Still, he only said, “Offer stands if you change your mind.”

Then he hung up.

That was what made her call back two days later.

Not the offer itself.

The fact that he had left it in her hands.

When he answered, she said, “Does that offer still stand?”

A second of silence.

Then, “Yes.”

No smugness. No triumph.

Just yes.

It should not have felt as safe as it did.

Working for Red Bull did not magically fix her.

That was the first thing she learned.

It did not erase the humiliation. It did not stop her waking up some mornings with the memory of the restaurant or HR or Lando glancing at his phone while she stood there trying to tell him she had just lost everything.

The first few weeks were hard.

She overprepared for everything.

She apologized too much.

She stayed too late.

She said yes too quickly to things that were not her job because some part of her still believed that if she stopped making herself useful, she would disappear.

Max noticed.

The first time he stepped in, it was during a strategy meeting.

One of the engineers slid a stack of sponsor notes across the table toward her.

“Can you sort this too?”

Y/N reached for them automatically.

“Yeah, I can just do it after I finish the...”

“No.”

The room went still.

She looked up.

Max had not even taken his eyes off the screen in front of him.

The engineer frowned. “What?”

Now Max looked up.

“That’s not her job.”

Simple.

Flat.

Final.

No one argued.

The engineer took the notes back.

The meeting moved on.

Y/N sat there with her hand still half-extended for another second before pulling it back into her lap.

Afterward, Max glanced at her.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You look weird.”

That actually made her laugh.

“You could try being normal about things once in a while.”

He shrugged. “You could try saying no before I have to do it for you.”

It should have annoyed her.

Instead, it stayed with her all evening.

It kept happening.

Small things. Stupid things. Things that should have felt ordinary and somehow didn’t.

Someone cut her off in a debrief and Max said, “She was talking,” in that flat voice of his that made the whole table shut up immediately.

She skipped lunch on a rough Friday and found a sandwich and a coffee on her desk later. When she looked around, Max was halfway across the garage and only said, “Eat.”

She stayed late one evening trying to fix a problem no one had actually asked her to own, and he stopped by her desk on the way out and said, “Go home. You’re not being graded on suffering.”

That one nearly broke her.

Not because it was especially gentle.

Because it should have been ordinary.

Because she had spent too long around someone who found her easiest to love when she was useful.

At Red Bull, her work was seen before it was simply expected.

People asked.

People listened.

People thanked her.

Max, especially, listened.

He asked what she thought and then waited for the answer. He looked at her when she was speaking. He did not make her repeat herself. He did not use softness like a tool.

She started laughing more.

That was what he noticed first.

A real laugh.

The first time he said it out loud, they were leaning over a revised Friday sheet in Barcelona and he made some dry comment about a sponsor rep that caught her so off guard she laughed hard enough to look away.

Max looked at her.

Then said, “You should do that more.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

“That.”

“The laughing?”

“Yes.”

Her face warmed.

“That’s a weird thing to say.”

He gave the smallest shrug.

“It’s better than the apologizing.”

That shut her up.

He trusted her quickly.

That part came easy.

Y/N was very good at what she did. Better than most people realized until they had to work without her.

Max started looking for her first in the garage before he really noticed he was doing it. Started noticing if she had gone too long without eating or if she was too quiet after a tense meeting. Started caring too much about the fact that she still apologized whenever somebody else was rude.

It got bad in Monza.

He knew it got bad in Monza because she smiled at him after a strategy meeting and for half a second he forgot what anyone else in the room had been saying.

That irritated him for about ten minutes.

Then he gave up pretending it was nothing.

Lando found out she was with Red Bull before he saw her there.

Someone from media mentioned it near hospitality like it was nothing.

“You know Y/N’s with Red Bull now, right?”

He thought he had misheard.

“What?”

The guy blinked. “Since a few weeks ago, I think.”

For one second, everything around him kept moving while his stomach dropped through the floor.

The first time he saw her in Red Bull colors, she had a headset around her neck and a notebook in one hand and was talking to one of the engineers like she had always belonged there.

She looked different.

Not dramatically.

Just lighter.

Less tight around the edges.

Like she was no longer waiting to be disappointed every time someone said her name.

And the worst part was that she barely looked at him.

Not as a statement.

Because she was busy.

Because he was not the center of her world anymore.

That should not have hurt as much as it did.

He crossed the space between them before he could think too hard about it.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

For one awful second, all he could think was that she didn’t react the way she used to.

No immediate softening.

No brightening.

Just recognition.

“That’s weird,” she said.

He frowned. “What is?”

“You saying my name like you’re surprised I still have one.”

That landed harder than he expected.

He glanced down at the headset around her neck, the notebook in her hand, the Red Bull shirt.

“You’re with Red Bull.”

She gave him a flat look. “Clearly.”

He nodded once, like that had not already been obvious.

“I heard, I just...”

“You just what?”

He stopped.

Because the truth was he had imagined this moment only as far as seeing her, not surviving it.

Y/N adjusted her grip on the notebook.

“If this is where you say you’re sorry, don’t.”

His brows drew together. “Why?”

And that, more than anything, made something bitter flash across her face.

“Because you don’t get to come up to me in the paddock like nothing happened and say sorry just because seeing me somewhere else makes it feel real now.”

“That’s not fair.”

She laughed.

Not kindly.

“Fair?”

Lando looked away first.

“I know I handled it badly,” he said.

She stared at him for a second, then nodded once.

“Yeah. You did.”

Silence stretched between them.

Inside the garage, someone called her name.

This time she looked over her shoulder.

Lando heard himself say, “Can we talk?”

She looked back at him.

And for the first time since he had walked up to her, there was something in her face that looked like old hurt instead of coldness.

“You had the chance to do that when I came to you,” she said quietly. “You looked at your phone.”

He felt that one physically.

“Y/N—”

“No.” She took one step back. “You don’t get to do this now because I’m somewhere you can’t reach me easily.”

That shut him up.

She held his gaze for one second longer.

Then she said, “If you’ve got something real to say, find better timing than a paddock walkway.”

And walked away.

He stood there watching her disappear into the Red Bull garage without once looking back.

For the first time in a long time, he understood exactly what kind of mistake it would be to follow.

He started seeing the difference after that.

Not all at once.

In patterns.

The way Max looked at her when she was talking.

The way he actually listened when she answered.

The way he thanked her.

The way he stepped in once during a debrief to say, “She was talking,” in a tone that made the whole room shut up.

Lando felt that one like a bruise.

Because it was such a small thing.

And because he had never done it.

Monza broke him properly.

McLaren had a messy weekend.

Nothing catastrophic. Just enough wrong calls and bad timing and tension that by Sunday he already felt half beaten.

Red Bull looked clean.

Fast.

Controlled.

He saw Y/N in the middle of all of it, moving through the garage with that same competence she had always had, except now no one was mistaking it for something they were entitled to.

People listened when she spoke.

People thanked her.

Max looked for her after radio calls. Not in a demanding way. In a deliberate one.

As if he knew she had something worth hearing.

Max won on Sunday.

Lando finished fifth after a race that felt like death by a thousand tiny mistakes.

Standing near parc fermé, helmet off, disappointment still hot under his skin, he looked across the celebrations just in time to see Max reach for Y/N in the crowd.

Not dramatic.

Just her wrist first, to pull her out of the crush when the team surged too fast.

Then his hand at the middle of her back.

Easy. Protective. Thoughtless in the best way.

Y/N looked up at him and laughed, bright and unguarded and nothing like the girl who used to stand beside Lando waiting for scraps she could turn into hope.

That was what finally did it.

Not jealousy.

Not exactly.

Something worse.

The understanding that she had never been too much.

Never too emotional. Never too attached. Never too hard to love correctly.

She had just loved the wrong man.

It was after qualifying the following weekend when he found her again.

The paddock had gone quieter in that strange way it always did once the worst of the cameras moved on. Not empty. Never empty. Just thinner.

She was alone near the back of the garages, sitting on a flight case with a bottle of water in one hand and a folded run sheet in the other, reading like she actually trusted the world to leave her alone for five minutes.

Lando stopped a few feet away.

This time, she noticed him before he said her name.

Her face did not change.

“That better be the real timing,” she said, eyes dropping briefly to the paper in her hand. “I’m getting a little tired of you catching me in transitional spaces.”

He almost smiled.

Didn’t.

“It’s the real timing.”

Y/N looked up then.

He looked wrecked, she thought.

Not dramatically.

Not beautifully.

Just tired in a way that made him seem older than he had a month ago.

And annoyingly, some soft, stupid part of her still noticed.

He stayed where he was.

Didn’t come closer.

That, at least, was new.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “Everything’s harder without you.”

Her mouth twitched.

It was not a smile.

“That’s an insane opening line.”

“I know.”

She folded the run sheet once and set it beside her.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Nothing.”

That made her pause.

Lando swallowed.

“I’m not saying it so you feel sorry for me.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t.”

He nodded once.

“That’s fair.”

The quiet between them shifted.

Not softer.

Just heavier.

He looked down at the water bottle in her hand, then back at her face.

“I didn’t realize how much of my life you were holding together until you stopped.”

Y/N stared at him.

For one second, all she felt was exhaustion.

Not anger.

Not satisfaction.

Just exhaustion.

“That’s because you were never looking at me,” she said. “You were looking at what was still working.”

He flinched.

Good.

He deserved that.

“I know.”

“No,” she said, and her voice stayed calm enough to hurt more. “You know now.”

Lando dragged a hand over his face.

“I know enough now to understand what I did.”

Her eyes sharpened.

“Do you.”

He nodded.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

Silence.

Real silence this time.

Not awkward. Not uncertain.

Just clean and ugly.

Y/N looked away first.

Toward the garage. Toward the strip of darkening sky above the paddock. Anywhere but him.

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me in a while.”

Lando’s throat tightened.

“I kept asking anyway,” he said.

She laughed once under her breath.

“Yeah.”

He took a step closer, then stopped himself.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N looked back at him.

And because this one deserved the truth, she gave it to him.

“That doesn’t actually help me.”

He nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Another beat passed.

Then he said, quieter now, “I saw him with you.”

That brought her full attention back.

For one terrible second she thought he was about to make it ugly. Make it territorial. Make it something he had no right to make it.

Instead he just said, “He listens to you.”

Y/N stared at him.

Then, after a second, “Yes.”

The single word landed with surgical precision.

Lando looked down.

She watched him for a moment, then said, “Do you know what the difference is?”

He said nothing.

“He asks and waits for the answer.”

That one he felt everywhere.

Y/N stood then, setting the bottle down on the flight case beside her.

For a second they were too close.

Not touching.

Just close enough to remember other versions of this that had hurt more than they should have.

Her voice was quieter when she spoke again.

“I did everything you asked like it meant something,” she said. “That’s on me. But you knew that, and you kept asking. That’s on you.”

Lando’s face changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough for her to know it had landed exactly where she meant it to.

He looked like he wanted to say ten different things and hated all of them.

In the end, all he managed was, “I know.”

She nodded once.

Then picked up the run sheet.

“Good.”

And stepped past him.

Later that night, after the podium and the team celebration beginning to spill out of the garage, Max found her near the back of the unit checking something on a tablet she did not need to be checking anymore.

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looked up. “Some of us are professionals.”

He snorted.

“You’re impossible.”

“You won. You can survive me for one night.”

He watched her for a second.

At the flush in her cheeks from the champagne. At the loose strands of hair escaping from where she’d pinned them back. At the way she looked tired, yes, but no longer hollow.

Then he said, quieter, “Come out with me tonight.”

Y/N blinked.

“With the team?”

“No.”

He held her gaze.

“With me.”

Silence.

For one second, she looked so startled he almost regretted saying it out loud.

Then he added, because by now he understood exactly why it mattered, “Only if you want to.”

That changed something in her face.

Something small.

Something almost painful.

For so long yes had meant cost.

Yes had meant bending. Waiting. Hoping. Losing.

And now here was this man standing in front of her after a race win, asking clearly and leaving the whole choice in her hands.

Y/N looked at him for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

A real one.

Not careful. Not polite. Not for anyone else’s comfort.

“Okay,” she said.

And for the first time in a very long time, yes did not feel like ruin.

It felt like the beginning of getting herself back.

tysm guys for all the comments, i really enjoyed the feedbacks and i was so happy you enjoyed the first part. I hope i didn't let you down for this second part. 💞💞

If Lando asked for the moon, Y/N would have learned how to fly.

That was the embarrassing truth of her life.

Not that she loved him. That had become almost ordinary to her, folded into the rhythm of race weekends and late nights and the humiliating little lift in her chest every time he said her name.

No, the embarrassing part was that he knew.

Maybe not every detail of it. Maybe not the nights she lay awake replaying things he hadn’t meant. Maybe not the fact that half her life had started arranging itself around his moods without her permission.

But he knew enough.

Enough to know she would stay.

Enough to know she would fix it.

Enough to know that if he smiled first and asked second, she would say yes before the question had even finished leaving his mouth.

He liked that.

That was the part Y/N hated herself for understanding.

He liked being wanted. Liked being taken care of. Liked the certainty of her, the way she was always there, always soft for him, always ready to make his life easier.

He liked the devotion.

He just didn’t care about the girl attached to it.

“Y/N.”

She looked up too fast.

Lando was leaning against the office doorway, cap in one hand, team quarter zip half undone, still sun-warm from outside. Pretty in the kind of thoughtless way that should have made a person less dangerous and somehow only made him worse.

He smiled the second he saw she was looking.

“There you are.”

Her pulse kicked.

“What do you need?”

His grin widened.

“See? That’s why you’re my favourite.”

Across the room, Mia didn’t even bother hiding her expression.

Y/N looked back down at her laptop. “You say that to get things.”

“Yeah,” Lando said easily, crossing the room. “And it works.”

He dropped into the chair beside her desk and pushed his phone into her hand.

Two schedule blocks. One sponsor appearance. One media stop. Same time.

Y/N closed her eyes for a second. “You said yes to both.”

He leaned back, stretching his legs out. “Probably.”

“Lando.”

“Definitely.”

She started fixing it while he watched her do it, perfectly relaxed now that the problem belonged to someone else.

After a second, he said, quieter, “I knew you’d sort it.”

That voice.

That exact voice.

Warm enough to feel personal. Light enough to deny later.

Y/N kept her eyes on the screen. “You always know I’ll sort it.”

“Because you always do.”

He said it like praise.

It wasn’t.

It was ownership.

She handed the phone back a minute later.

“There. You’ll have to leave the sponsor thing early.”

He looked at it, relieved. “You’re actually unreal.”

Then he looked at her.

Really looked.

And smiled in that lazy, devastating way that made it feel like he had chosen her out of every person in the room.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Before she could stop herself, she smiled back.

That seemed to satisfy him.

Of course it did.

He reached out, brushed two fingers over her shoulder, and stood.

“Love you.”

Y/N froze.

Mia looked up immediately.

Lando had already made it halfway to the door.

He glanced back when he felt the silence.

“What?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. “What did you just say?”

His mouth curved.

“Relax.” He gave her a look like she was being sensitive on purpose. “You know what I mean.”

And then he left.

Mia waited exactly two seconds.

“He’s evil.”

Y/N let out a thin laugh.

“No,” she said, still staring at the doorway. “That would require effort.”

⁜

He led her on in ways that were hard to explain to people who hadn’t seen it.

Because it was never enough to be undeniable.

That was what made it so effective.

If he had kissed her once and regretted it, she could have hated him.

If he had told her outright that he liked the attention, she could have left.

If he had been careless enough to say I know you love me and I don’t care, at least there would have been honesty in the cruelty.

Instead, he gave her moments.

Little ones.

He would find her in crowded rooms and stand too close.

He would text her past midnight with you awake? and then, after she answered immediately like an idiot, follow it with need a favour x.

He would say things like I only trust you with this and you get me better than anyone here and stay with me for a sec in a tone soft enough to make her forget she was still technically at work.

He never promised.

He never had to.

Hope did all the labor for him.

One night after a sponsor dinner in Abu Dhabi, Y/N was outside by transport trying to reorganize cars when Lando came down the hotel steps with a brunette tucked under his arm.

He saw her and smiled.

“You’re still here.”

It was almost impressive, how he could make that sound intimate when all it really meant was good, the thing I need is where I left it.

“I work here,” Y/N said.

“Right.” He stepped toward her, lowering his voice as if this were something private. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”

Her eyes flicked to the brunette waiting by the car.

Then back to him.

“Cover what?”

He gave her that look. The one that said don’t make this difficult while still smiling.

“Just say I left early. Sponsor exhaustion. Whatever sounds official.”

Y/N stared at him.

For one awful second, he looked almost amused.

Then he softened, just a little.

“Please?”

There it was.

The tilt in his voice. The sweetness. The quiet confidence that she’d fold.

Because she always did.

Y/N swallowed. “Fine.”

His smile turned pleased.

“Knew I could count on you.”

Then he turned and walked back to the brunette without another thought, leaving Y/N standing there under the lights with her phone in her hand and her dignity somewhere under his tires.

That night, she lay in bed replaying knew I could count on you until she wanted to scream.

Not because it was kind.

Because it wasn’t.

Because it was certainty.

Because he knew exactly what she was and kept using her for it.

⁜

She asked him out on a Wednesday night.

Later, when everything had already gone wrong, Y/N would keep coming back to that moment and wondering if that had been the last clear warning she ignored.

The office behind hospitality was nearly empty. Most people had gone. The overhead lights were too bright, the air-conditioning too cold, the whole room suspended in that late-night stillness where everything felt more honest than it should.

Lando was sitting across from her desk in a hoodie, elbows on his knees, watching her rebuild the next day’s schedule because he’d changed his mind about three separate things and expected the universe to rearrange itself accordingly.

He looked tired.

Tired Lando was dangerous.

Softer. Slower. More likely to say things that felt true.

“You always take care of me,” he said.

Y/N kept typing because looking at him felt unsafe. “Someone has to.”

He smiled.

“No, but you do.”

She glanced up.

Big mistake.

He was already watching her with that unreadable softness he slipped into sometimes, the one that made her feel chosen and stupid in equal measure.

He tipped his head.

“You like taking care of me.”

It wasn’t a question.

And because she was tired too, because she was so tired of living inside things he could deny, Y/N heard herself say, “What if I do?”

He blinked.

Then smiled a little, like he thought she was being bold in a way that amused him.

“Then I’m very lucky.”

Her heart started racing.

There should have been a fire alarm inside her for moments like this. Some mechanism that said: he is doing it again. He is giving you just enough to keep you standing still.

Instead, there was only that awful bright hope.

She set her laptop aside before she could lose her nerve.

“Do you want to go out with me sometime?”

He frowned slightly.

“Out where?”

Her mouth went dry.

“On a date,” she said, because if she didn’t say it plainly now, she never would.

At that exact second, his phone lit up.

He looked down instantly. Swore under his breath. Grabbed it off the desk.

“Yeah, yeah, one sec...”

He scanned whatever message had come in, half-listening, already leaving her.

Then, distracted, he nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”

Y/N stared at him.

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

He was already typing.

She should have heard it then. The vagueness. The inattention. The fact that his yes had not landed on her at all.

She didn’t.

Or maybe she did and hope just drowned it.

“Okay,” she said softly.

“Text me,” he said, still looking at the phone. “Tomorrow’s a mess.”

And somehow she still went home glowing.

That was the pathetic part.

That a half-heard yes from a man who wasn’t even looking at her still felt like being chosen.

⁜

He didn’t show up.

Of course he didn’t.

Y/N sat alone at a restaurant in Monaco for forty-six minutes, checking her phone like each time might produce a different result.

Nothing.

No text.

No call.

No apology.

At minute fifteen, she told herself he was late.

At minute twenty-eight, she told herself something urgent had come up.

At minute thirty-four, she started to understand.

At minute forty-six, she knew.

He had never heard her properly.

Or worse : he had heard enough to answer and cared too little to remember.

The waitress came over with that careful smile people wore when they knew they were witnessing something embarrassing and wanted to pretend they weren’t.

“Would you like another minute?”

Y/N swallowed. “No. Just the bill.”

Her phone buzzed when she was halfway back to the hotel.

It was him.

For one stupid second, her whole body lit up.

Then she opened it.

need you to move tomorrow’s sponsor breakfast

She stopped walking.

That was it.

No sorry. No where are you? No I forgot.

Just need.

Y/N typed back before she could talk herself out of it.

you didn’t come

The reply took less than a minute.

to what?

She stared at the screen so long it dimmed.

That hurt more than anything else could have.

Not because he said no.

Because he didn’t even know what he had failed to show up for.

She typed nothing.

Another message came in.

seriously can you move the breakfast?

Then:

please

Then:

you know i wouldn’t ask if i had another option

Y/N laughed out loud on the sidewalk, the sound sharp enough to make a couple passing by glance at her.

There it was again.

The lie they both participated in.

As if she were the last option.

As if he didn’t come to her first because he knew exactly what she’d do.

She replied:

can’t. it’s mandatory.

He didn’t answer after that.

The next morning, he missed the sponsor breakfast anyway.

By afternoon, leadership knew.

By two o’clock, HR knew.

By two-ten, Y/N learned exactly what he had told them.

⁜

The conference room was too cold.

That was all Y/N could think at first, sitting across from the woman from HR and two senior staff members while they arranged papers in front of themselves and wore expressions that already had the decision built into them.

This wasn’t a follow-up.

This was a dismissal with good posture.

“There have been concerns,” the HR woman began, “about judgment and professionalism where Driver Norris is concerned.”

Y/N frowned. “What?”

The senior PR lead folded his hands. “Yesterday evening and this morning created a situation that we can’t ignore.”

Her stomach dropped.

“The sponsor breakfast?”

“In part.”

The HR woman looked down at her notes.

“We were informed that there may have been confusion caused by you regarding his evening plans, and that this may have contributed to him failing to attend his mandatory breakfast commitment.”

Y/N went still.

Not metaphorically. Not dramatically.

Literally still.

She stopped breathing for a second.

Then said, carefully, “I’m sorry. Confusion caused by me?”

The PR lead glanced away.

No one answered immediately.

That was answer enough.

Y/N’s voice came out thinner than she wanted. “What exactly did he say?”

The HR woman’s expression stayed neutral.

“That he believed there had been a misunderstanding created by you around a personal outing, and that his schedule may not have been communicated to him clearly enough afterward.”

The room went white at the edges.

There it was.

Not just that he’d missed the breakfast.

Not just that he’d forgotten her.

He had let them pin it on her.

Maybe because it was easier. Maybe because he’d been annoyed. Maybe because he hadn’t even thought through what it would do.

That almost made it worse.

Y/N laughed once.

The sound came out awful.

The HR woman softened slightly. “I understand this is upsetting.”

“No,” Y/N said, before she could stop herself. “You don’t.”

All three of them looked at her.

And because some final piece of her had already cracked open, the truth slipped out.

“He didn’t even know it was a date.”

Silence.

Immediate and complete.

Y/N shut her eyes.

Too late.

When she opened them again, the HR woman had gone very still.

“I see.”

No, Y/N thought. No, you really don’t.

The PR lead cleared his throat. “This only confirms the blurred boundaries we’ve been concerned about.”

Blurred boundaries.

What a clean phrase for something that had ruined her so thoroughly.

By the time they said terminate your contract effective immediately, she was no longer really hearing them.

Badge revoked. Apartment linked to role. Access removed. Pack your desk.

She nodded because her body knew how to perform compliance even while the rest of her was in freefall.

At one point, the HR woman said gently, “Why would you put yourself in this position for him?”

Y/N looked at her.

There were a hundred true answers.

Because he asked. Because he knew. Because he kept asking. Because I loved him and he liked that more than he liked me.

Instead she just said, “I made a mistake.”

It was the smallest lie she had told about him.

⁜

She went to find him immediately.

Not because she thought he would fix it.

Not because she thought he would even be sorry in the right way.

Because she needed him to hear it from her.

Needed him to know that this one, at least, had landed somewhere real.

He was near hospitality, half-dressed for the next obligation, phone in hand, talking to someone from media while two sponsor reps hovered nearby.

He looked up when she said his name.

“Oh...hey.”

Hey.

Y/N almost smiled at that. The ordinariness of it. The complete mismatch between his tone and the fact that her life had just been taken apart because of him.

“I need to talk to you.”

He glanced at the people around him. “Can this wait? I’m about to...”

“No.”

That got his attention, briefly.

He stepped half away from the group, enough to suggest privacy without actually giving it.

“What happened?”

Y/N stared at him.

Then said it plainly.

“I got fired.”

His brows drew together.

“For what?”

She actually laughed.

There it was again. The confusion. The pure, undisturbed confusion of a man who had moved through his day never once imagining that another person’s world might have collapsed under the weight of his convenience.

“For you,” she said.

That made him frown. “What?”

“I got fired because you missed the sponsor breakfast. Because HR thinks I mishandled your schedule. Because apparently you told them I confused you about your evening plans.”

His expression changed.

Not enough.

Just enough to say he understood this might become inconvenient.

“Y/N, I didn’t...”

His phone buzzed.

He looked down.

Actually looked down.

At his phone.

While she was standing there trying not to come apart.

Something inside her went very quiet.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “One sec.”

He typed a reply.

One sec.

That was the line her mind would come back to later. The thing that would hurt in all the empty places long after the rest of it blurred.

Not the firing itself.

Not the date.

Not even the blame.

One sec.

As if devastation could hold.

As if she still existed in his life as something that would wait until he was finished with the important stuff.

Y/N let him finish.

Then, when he looked up again and said, “What were you saying?” with the faint impatience of someone trying to catch up to a conversation he’d half-missed, she just looked at him.

Really looked.

At the charm. At the carelessness. At the almost-boyish confusion that had gotten him forgiven by too many people for too long. At the man who knew she would bleed for him and still found ways to ask for more.

“I said,” she told him quietly, “I got fired.”

He stared.

Then glanced over her shoulder because someone from media had just called his name.

He was already leaving again.

Even now.

Even here.

Y/N felt the last of her hope die so cleanly she almost mistook it for relief.

“That’s insane,” he said absently. “I’ll talk to someone.”

“No, you won’t.”

He frowned, distracted. “Why are you doing this now?”

That almost made her laugh.

Doing this now.

As if heartbreak had scheduling etiquette.

“Because you blamed me.”

“I didn’t blame you.”

“You let them.”

“That’s not...”

“Lando,” the media guy called again, closer now. “Now.”

He turned his head, annoyed.

Then looked back at Y/N.

And in that pause, that tiny split second where he clearly wanted this conversation to be over because he had somewhere else to be, she finally saw him as he was.

Not torn.

Not secretly in love.

Not scared of what she meant.

Just inconvenienced.

By her feelings. By her firing. By the timing of a mess he hadn’t meant to make and didn’t especially want to clean up.

He had always known she’d risk it all for him.

He’d just never thought that might become his problem.

Y/N stepped back.

He said her name, but only because she was moving away.

She smiled then.

Small. Sharp. Done.

“You should go,” she said. “You’ve got media.”

Something flickered across his face.

Guilt, maybe. Or annoyance. Or just the discomfort of being seen too clearly for the first time.

“Y/N...”

But she was already walking.

And the awful, perfect thing was that he let her.

Of course he did.

Because he always thought there would be time later.

⁜

Don't be silent readers guys, i like feedbacks 😞🤭

Hope you liked this story

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kikagomes why did he break up with you again ? ynusername soul searching or something kikagomes girl

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user1 girl you scared the shit out of us

user2 am i dreaming or is that magui in the likes ?

user3 isn't she with Lando rn ? user4 they were spotted together 2 days ago

kikagomes marry me ?

ynusername place and date ? pierregasly absolutely not ? ynusername 😘😘

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f1gossipofficial Lando Norris and Magui Corceiro spotted together

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user 1 what about y/n ?

user 2 so you like the girl's post and go out with her man ? girl make it make sense.

user 3 Magui is so pretty

user 4 Why is everyone talking about Magui when clearly, Lando is the problem... the guy has no respect whatsover.

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ynusername breaking my heart, 'tis the season i guess

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user1 he fumbled so bad idc

user4 ikr ??? and magui still in the likes ? desperate for a reaction much ?

user5 GUZS WHO CARES ABOUT LANDO ?? DAMSON IDRIS LIKED HER POST

user2 i can treat you better please give me a chance

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kikagomes Meu amor

ynusername A minha vida pierregasly am i distrurbing something ? ynusername effectivement pierre gaslyyyyyyyy

user3 am i smelling new song ?

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instagram story

ynusername

kikagomes ur hot

ynusername ur hotter kikagomes hello y/n, pierre here, please stop hitting on my girlfriend, i don't want her to leave me for you ynusername pieeerrrrreeeeee gaslyyyyyyyy

user1 don't worry girl, we're on your side

user2 marry me please

damsonidris hey

ynusername hello damsonidris heard you were single again damsonidris this is me shooting my shot

kikagomes

user1 damn who got her smiling like that

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ynusername goodbye France, hello Paris

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kikagomes love u, miss u

ynusername miss u more bebe pierregasly i thought we talked about that ynusername cry about it bitch

user1 WHO IS THIS GUY ON THE FOURTH PICTURE

user2 i also would like to know

damsonidris pretty girl

ynusername blushing user3 RUE, WHEN WAS THIS ???

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ynusername GO STREAM "CINDY LOU WHO" GUYS, OKAY LOVE YOU BYE 💞💞🤭😁

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user1 well, well, well, lando norris you have some explaining to do

user2 "The boy who I love who's now in love with you" girly i can relate to you on so many fucked up ways

kikagomes proud of you loml

ynusername u got me all blushing and pregnant with your babies pierregasly kika i know you didn't, and y/n get some help, you need it

pierregasly anyways... yeah good song or whatever

ynusername pieeeerrrrreeeeee gaslyyyyyyyyyyyy

damsonidris my pretty girl

ynusername my pretty boy user4 "MYYYYYYY" user5 dying this is so cute

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lando y/n what is that ?

lando i listened to your song

lando i'm sorry, i fucked up on so many levels y/n

lando please talk to me

lando why is fucking damson idris calling you his pretty girl

lando i'm your pretty boy...

The weeks after Lando’s confession felt surreal. (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to expect after their conversation at the café. It wasn’t as though everything could change overnight—she was still cautious, her heart too bruised to let down all its defenses. But Lando seemed to understand that. He didn’t push. Instead, he found little ways to show her he meant what he’d said.

One evening, as she sat editing footage from their latest shoot, her phone buzzed with a notification. It was Lando.

Lando: What’s the best pizza topping combo? Lando: Asking for a very important debate.

She smiled, shaking her head.

(Y/N): Margarita. Classic and unbeatable. (Y/N): Why?

His response came almost instantly.

Lando: Wrong answer. Lando: Pineapple is the GOAT. Lando: Max agrees. Lando: Ria thinks we’re all insane. Lando: Also, I just wanted to check in. Lando: How’s your night?

Her smile faltered for a moment, her chest tightening at the unexpected warmth in his words. He didn’t have to do this—reach out to her, make her feel seen. But he did.

(Y/N): Busy, but good. Thanks for asking. You?

Lando: Better now that I know you’re not buried in stress. Lando: Don’t stay up too late, yeah?

It was a small exchange, but it left her heart lighter. She didn’t want to admit it, but maybe, just maybe, Lando was trying to prove he cared in ways she hadn’t dared to hope for.

~~~

The next Quadrant shoot was a return to the ridiculous antics the team was known for—a blindfolded cooking challenge. (Y/N) arrived early, as usual, setting up her cameras and prepping the equipment. She was adjusting the lighting when Lando walked in, his hair slightly messy, a lazy grin on his face.

“Morning, chef,” he teased, stopping beside her. “Ready to document the greatest culinary disaster of our time?”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “If by ‘greatest’ you mean ‘most unappetizing,’ then absolutely.”

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know, I’m pretty sure I can bribe you for some favorable edits. Just say the word.”

“Bribe me with what? Pineapple pizza?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me. But yes, pineapple pizza. It’s the ultimate peace offering.”

Their playful banter caught the attention of the others, who immediately started teasing.

“Oi, Lando, stop flirting and get over here!” Max called out, earning a round of laughter from the crew.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, but Lando seemed unfazed, flashing her a quick wink before heading to join the chaos. She watched him go, her heart fluttering despite her best efforts to stay grounded.

Quiet Moments

The shoot was a success—messy, chaotic, and hilarious, as always. But it was the quiet moments afterward that lingered in her mind.

While the rest of the team celebrated their “culinary masterpieces” in the lounge, (Y/N) stayed behind in the studio, packing up her gear. She was stacking tripods when Lando walked in, a takeaway box in hand.

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, holding out the box. “Saved you some food. Don’t worry, no pineapple.”

She blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged, his expression casual but his tone warm. “I wanted to. You always take care of us, so… someone’s gotta look out for you too.”

Her chest tightened, and she accepted the box with a soft “thank you.” They sat together on the edge of the stage, the studio quiet around them.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said after a moment, glancing at her. “Not just today—since you came back. Is it… because of me?”

She hesitated, fiddling with the corner of the box. “It’s not you, Lando. Not exactly. I just… I’m still figuring out where I fit in all this.”

“You fit,” he said firmly, his gaze steady. “More than you know.”

The sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten. She wanted to believe him, but the lingering insecurities were hard to shake. Still, his words stayed with her long after they left the studio that night.

~~~

Weeks passed, and (Y/N) began to notice subtle changes in their dynamic. Lando seemed to go out of his way to include her, whether it was during shoots or group outings. He started inviting her to lunch with the team, pulling her into conversations, even teasing her on camera—moments that often left her flustered but secretly thrilled.

One afternoon, during a rare day off, he texted her out of the blue.

Lando: Fancy a karting rematch? Lando: I promise not to go easy on you this time.

The memory of their last impromptu race—a chaotic, laughter-filled mess where she’d somehow beaten him—brought a smile to her face.

(Y/N): Rematch? (Y/N): You’re just mad you lost to me.

Lando: Exactly. Lando: My pride is on the line. Lando: Meet me at 3?

She hesitated for a moment before typing her reply.

(Y/N): You’re on.

When she arrived at the track, he was already there, leaning casually against a kart. He greeted her with a grin, his competitive energy infectious.

The race was as ridiculous as she’d expected, filled with trash talk, near collisions, and plenty of laughter. When she crossed the finish line—barely ahead of him—she threw her arms up in victory.

“Two for two,” she teased, removing her helmet. “You’re losing your touch, Norris.”

He laughed, pulling off his own helmet. “You’ve got a lucky streak, that’s all. Next time, it’s over for you.”

But as they stood there, still catching their breath, his expression softened. “Thanks for coming out today. I needed this.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his tone catching her off guard. “Me too,” she admitted quietly.

A Confession Revisited

The real turning point came one evening after a late shoot. The team had gone out to celebrate, but (Y/N) stayed behind, finishing up some last-minute edits. She was so focused on her laptop that she didn’t notice Lando until he spoke.

“You’re always working,” he said, his voice warm.

She looked up, startled to see him standing in the doorway. “I could say the same about you.”

He grinned but didn’t respond, stepping closer until he was standing beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled with unspoken tension.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he began, his tone careful. “About why you left.”

Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Lando, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted gently. “Because I hate that I made you feel like you didn’t matter. You do, (Y/N). You always have.”

Her breath caught, and she looked away, her heart pounding.

“I know I was blind before,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent. “But I see you now. And if you’re willing to give me a chance, I’d like to prove it.”

She stared at him, her emotions a whirlwind of hope and fear. “Lando… what if this doesn’t work? What if it changes everything?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said simply, his gaze steady. “But I think it’s worth the risk. Don’t you?”

For a long moment, she said nothing, the weight of his words settling over her. But then, slowly, she nodded, a tentative smile breaking through her uncertainty.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think it is.”

The smile that spread across his face was brighter than she’d ever seen, and for the first time, (Y/N) felt like she wasn’t just behind the lens anymore. She was finally part of the story.

In the weeks that followed, their relationship grew slowly but surely, filled with small, meaningful moments—quiet conversations, shared laughter, and the steady reassurance that they were building something real. And though (Y/N) still carried traces of her old insecurities, Lando’s unwavering support made her believe that maybe, just maybe, she’d found her place—not just in the team, but in his heart.

The sharp scrape of skates against ice filled the cavernous rink, the sound bouncing off the empty seats and high ceilings. (Y/N) exhaled deeply, her breath clouding the chilly air as she steadied herself. Ethan skated toward her, his movements effortless, his presence as comforting as ever.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Ethan teased lightly, stopping in front of her.

She gave him a weak smile. “I can’t help it.”

“You don’t need to. You’ve got this.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, their fingers locking with the ease of years spent practicing together. They moved into the opening position of their routine, the soft strains of music echoing through the rink as they began.

Every spin, every lift, every glide was a testament to their hard work, their connection honed over countless hours of practice. Ethan’s hand on her back, his voice low and steady as he guided her through a lift, was nothing new to her. It was simply a part of the dance.

But to Lando, it was something else entirely.

Lando had been her biggest supporter in the beginning. When they first started dating, he’d been captivated by her passion for skating. He admired her dedication, often comparing it to his own drive for Formula 1. They bonded over their shared understanding of sacrifice and ambition, and for a while, it felt like they were unstoppable.

But as their lives grew busier, the cracks began to form.

(Y/N) had always made time for Lando, traveling to his races whenever her schedule allowed. She’d spent hours in the paddock, enduring the chaos and noise just to be there for him. She cheered the loudest when he stood on the podium, comforted him when he didn’t, and never once complained about the toll it took on her own life.

Lando, however, struggled to do the same.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did—deeply. But his jealousy over her partnership with Ethan was a wound that festered, growing more painful with each passing day. He hated the way Ethan’s name was always on her lips, the way she spent more time on the ice with him than she did at home with Lando.

He hated that Ethan got to see her in her element—the part of her life Lando could never truly understand.

The tension between them came to a head one evening when (Y/N) returned from practice later than usual. Lando was waiting for her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth.

“Practice ran over,” she replied, setting her bag down.

“With Ethan, I assume,” he added, his tone sharp.

(Y/N) sighed, already bracing herself for the argument she knew was coming. “Yes, Lando. With Ethan. Who else would it be?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he snapped, pushing off the counter. “It’s always Ethan. You spend more time with him than you do with me.”

Her jaw tightened. “Lando, we’ve been over this. He’s my skating partner. That’s all.”

“And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?” he demanded. “You don’t see how weird this is? How it looks?”

She crossed her arms, frustration bubbling to the surface. “How it looks? Lando, this is my career. I’ve been skating with Ethan for years—long before I met you. Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“Because I see the way he looks at you,” Lando shot back. “Like you’re more than just his partner.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank at the accusation, her chest tightening. “That’s not fair. Ethan and I are teammates, nothing more. You’re my boyfriend. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less pained.

She stared at him, her tears threatening to spill. “Do you even realize how much I’ve sacrificed for you? How many races I’ve been to, how many times I’ve put you first? And now, when I need your support, all you can do is accuse me of things that aren’t even true?”

His expression faltered, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

The words hit her like a slap, leaving her speechless. She turned away, unable to look at him. “If you can’t handle my life, then maybe you shouldn’t be in it.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Lando grabbed his jacket, his movements abrupt.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed in the empty apartment, leaving her standing alone, her chest heaving as silent tears streamed down her face.

—

The day of the competition arrived, but (Y/N) felt hollow. The weight of Lando’s absence pressed heavily on her chest as she laced up her skates backstage. Ethan sat beside her, his presence steady and comforting.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice calm.

She nodded, though her hands trembled as she tied the final knot. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

The arena was packed, the cheers of the crowd echoing off the high ceilings as they stepped onto the ice. She scanned the stands instinctively, half-hoping to see Lando’s familiar face. But he wasn’t there.

The music began, and she forced herself to focus, moving through the opening steps with precision. But her mind betrayed her, Lando’s words echoing in her head. “Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I’m coming second.”

Her foot slipped slightly during a turn, the mistake small but glaring to her trained eye. Ethan caught her immediately, his grip firm as he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

They continued, but the mistakes kept coming—hesitant steps, uneven spins, moments of faltering confidence. Each one felt like another crack in her resolve, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill.

By the time the routine ended, her face was damp with tears. Ethan kept her close as they bowed, his hand squeezing hers in silent reassurance.

Backstage, (Y/N) sank onto a bench, her head in her hands as the adrenaline faded. Ethan sat beside her, his voice soft as he said, “You did great.”

She shook her head, her voice breaking. “I messed up.”

“No one noticed,” he said firmly. “You were incredible.”

But his words did little to soothe the ache in her chest.

When she returned home that night, she found Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes heavy with guilt.

“I saw your routine,” he said quietly. “You looked beautiful out there.”

Her chest tightened as she dropped her bag by the door. “But you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there after the fight,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Her tears spilled over as she stepped closer. “I always want you there, Lando. Even when we fight, even when I’m angry, I need you to be there. But tonight, you weren’t. And it broke me.”

He stood, reaching for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I let my jealousy get in the way, and I should have been there. You deserved better.”

She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Do you even realize how much I’ve given for you? And the one time I needed you, you weren’t there.”

His voice was thick with emotion as he said, “I know. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She stepped back, the pain in her chest unbearable. “I don’t know if you can, Lando.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and final, as she turned away, leaving him standing alone in the quiet apartment.

⁴

(Y/N) couldn’t believe she was here—working for Quadrant, his brand. When she’d gotten the offer, she had hesitated for a moment, unsure if being this close to Lando Norris would be a good idea. She’d been a fan of his for years, following his career from his early F1 days, her admiration growing with every race and every glimpse of his playful, goofy personality online. Somewhere along the way, admiration had turned into something more—a quiet, unspoken crush she’d never dreamed of acting on.

But when the opportunity to join Quadrant as a videographer came up, she couldn’t resist. It was a chance to work with an incredible team, hone her skills, and, well, maybe get to know Lando a little better. Not that he’d notice her, she thought wryly. Lando Norris didn’t seem like the type to look twice at someone like her.

Her first day on set, she was practically buzzing with nerves. Max had introduced her to the team, and everyone had been friendly, welcoming her into the fold. But Lando? He hadn’t even glanced her way. Too busy cracking jokes with Max and Ria, his energy filling the room like a spotlight she could never step into.

Still, she stayed in the background, focusing on her work, capturing the chaos of the group with her camera. That was her job, after all—to be invisible, to let the team shine while she stayed behind the lens. She told herself it was better this way. No awkward introductions, no chance to embarrass herself. But even as she worked, she couldn’t help stealing glances at him, her heart skipping every time he laughed or flashed that signature grin.

The shoot that day was arcade basketball, and the Quadrant crew was in rare form—teasing, shouting, and turning everything into a competition. Lando was at the center of it all, of course, trash-talking Max one second and tossing a ball wildly off-target the next. (Y/N) stayed behind her camera, quietly capturing every moment, trying not to let her smile show too much.

It wasn’t until halfway through the shoot that Lando finally noticed her.

“Who’s that?” he asked loudly, pointing at her mid-throw. The basketball clattered off the rim as the rest of the group burst into laughter.

Max rolled his eyes. “She’s been here all day, mate. That’s (Y/N). She’s our new videographer.”

“New videographer?” Lando repeated, his brow furrowing. He walked over, tossing the ball to the side. “And no one told me?”

“I assumed you’d notice,” Max shot back with a grin.

Lando ignored him, stopping in front of her with an apologetic smile. “Hi. Sorry about that. I’m Lando. Welcome to Quadrant.”

She swallowed hard, clutching the camera like a lifeline. Up close, he was even more magnetic, his warm eyes and easy smile making her heart race. “Hi. I’m (Y/N),” she managed, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’ve been filming this whole time?” he asked, tilting his head. “Wow, I didn’t even notice. That’s impressive.”

She blushed, ducking her head. “That’s kind of the goal.”

Lando chuckled. “Fair enough. Well, glad to have you. Hope you’re ready for this lot—they’re a handful.”

“She’s already handling it better than you would,” Ria teased, earning another round of laughter.

(Y/N) smiled, relaxing slightly as the group’s banter filled the room again. But as Lando walked back to his game, she couldn’t help feeling the way her cheeks burned, her mind replaying the brief moment they’d shared.

The rest of the shoot went smoothly, but (Y/N) found it increasingly hard to concentrate with Lando in her peripheral vision. Every joke he cracked, every time he glanced her way, she felt her heart skip a beat. She knew she was being ridiculous—he was just being friendly, just doing his job. But still, she couldn’t shake the tiny flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something more.

After the shoot, as the team started packing up, Lando approached her again. “Hey, (Y/N),” he said casually, hands in his pockets. “Thanks for today. You did great.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You guys made it easy. You’re all… pretty entertaining.”

He grinned. “Entertaining, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

She laughed softly, feeling a bit bolder. “Well, I’ve seen worse basketball skills, if that helps.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow. First day and already roasting me. I like it.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she smiled back, her nerves melting under his playful energy. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room, the rest of the team fading into the background. But then Max called out, breaking the moment, and Lando gave her a quick nod before heading off, leaving her heart racing.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/N) settled into her role, quickly becoming an integral part of the team. She captured every wild moment, every inside joke, and every ridiculous stunt with precision, earning praise from everyone—including Lando. But the more time she spent around him, the harder it became to ignore her feelings.

He was just so… him. Funny, charming, effortlessly confident. She found herself drawn to him in a way she couldn’t control, her quiet admiration growing with every shared laugh and fleeting glance.

But she kept her feelings hidden, afraid of what might happen if he found out. To him, she was just the camera girl, part of the team but always on the edges. And she told herself that was enough, even as her heart ached for more.

One evening, after a long day of filming, the team had dispersed, leaving just her and Lando in the studio. She was reviewing footage on her laptop when he wandered over, leaning against the table beside her.

“Got anything good?” he asked, peering at the screen.

She smiled, tilting the laptop so he could see. “Plenty of missed shots and bad jokes. Pretty standard.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “That’s Quadrant for you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the footage play. But then Lando turned to her, his expression softer than usual. “You’ve been doing an amazing job, you know. I don’t think we’ve said that enough.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. “Thanks, Lando. That means a lot.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. “You’re really good at this, (Y/N). And… I’m glad you’re here.”

The sincerity in his voice took her by surprise, and she felt her cheeks warm under his gaze. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much his words meant, but the lump in her throat stopped her.

Instead, she smiled, her voice soft. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, the air between them thick with unspoken words. But just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and Lando leaned back, flashing her a grin. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. Don’t make me look too bad in the edits, yeah?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No promises.”

As he walked away, her heart swelled with both happiness and longing. She knew she couldn’t let herself hope for more—not yet. But for now, she was content to stay behind the lens, capturing every moment, every laugh, every smile, knowing that even if he didn’t see her the way she saw him, at least she could be a part of his world.

Weeks had passed since (Y/N) had joined Quadrant, and every day felt like a mix of joy and heartbreak. Working alongside Lando was everything she’d dreamed of—he was kind, funny, and always made her feel like a part of the team. But the more time she spent with him, the more her crush deepened, and with it, the painful realization that he didn’t see her that way.

Still, she told herself it didn’t matter. Being close to him, even as just a colleague, was enough. Or at least, that’s what she kept repeating.

The team was gearing up for another shoot, and (Y/N) was already busy setting up the cameras and mics. Lando was running late, as usual, and the rest of the group was milling around, chatting and joking. When Lando finally arrived, he wasn’t alone.

“Guys, this is Magui,” he announced, stepping into the room with a confident grin. The girl beside him was striking—beautiful, with long, wavy hair and a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room. “She’s joining us for today’s video.”

(Y/N)’s heart sank the moment she saw them. Magui was clearly close to Lando; the way he stood next to her, the ease of their laughter, the little glances they exchanged—it was painfully obvious.

Max raised an eyebrow. “New guest star, huh? Fancy.”

Magui laughed, her voice warm and melodic. “I’m just here to make sure Lando doesn’t embarrass himself too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Ria quipped, earning a round of laughter.

(Y/N) forced a smile, keeping her head down as she fiddled with her equipment. Her chest felt tight, but she told herself it was nothing. Lando was free to bring whoever he wanted into the group—it wasn’t like she had any claim on him. But as she watched them banter, the way Lando’s face lit up every time Magui said something, the ache in her heart grew.

The video shoot was a nightmare for (Y/N). Not because of technical issues—everything went smoothly on that front—but because every moment felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Lando and Magui were front and center, their chemistry undeniable as they joked and competed with the rest of the team. Magui fit in effortlessly, her charisma matching Lando’s energy in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“Magui, you’ve got to beat him at this,” Max called out during one of the challenges, handing her the controller.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Magui said, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve got this.”

Lando laughed, leaning closer to her. “You think you can beat me? Good luck.”

Watching them, (Y/N) felt like an outsider. She stayed behind the camera, filming their interactions, capturing the moments that everyone else would find entertaining—but for her, it was torture. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like if she were the one standing next to him, sharing those laughs, being the one to catch his attention.

When the shoot finally wrapped up, (Y/N) was the first to start packing up her gear. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, before anyone noticed the strain on her face.

But as she was putting away the last of her equipment, Lando approached her, his usual grin in place. “Hey, (Y/N), thanks for today. You made us all look good as always.”

She forced a smile, avoiding his gaze. “Just doing my job.”

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice clipped. “Just tired.”

Lando frowned, clearly not convinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him from across the room. “Lando! Come on, we’re heading out!”

He glanced back at (Y/N), hesitating for a moment before nodding. “Alright. See you later?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, watching as he walked away, his attention already back on Magui.

As the door closed behind them, (Y/N) sank into her chair, her hands trembling slightly. She told herself it was silly to feel this way, that she was just reading too much into things. But the truth was undeniable: she had fallen for Lando, and watching him with someone else felt like her heart was breaking in slow motion.

That night, (Y/N) sat in her small apartment, staring at the footage she’d captured earlier. She watched as Lando and Magui laughed, the way he looked at her with an ease and warmth that he’d never shown (Y/N). Her chest ached as she replayed the clips, over and over, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Lando didn’t see her. Not the way she wanted him to. To him, she was just the camera girl, the one who stayed in the background, capturing the moments that made him shine. And while she was proud of her work, proud to be a part of the team, she couldn’t help but feel invisible.

The next day, the Quadrant group chat was buzzing with messages about the next video, everyone chiming in with ideas and suggestions. Lando sent a message saying he wanted to bring Magui back for another shoot, and the rest of the team seemed thrilled.

(Y/N) stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to be happy for him, to support him the way she always had. But the thought of watching them together again, of filming moments that felt like they were cutting her open from the inside, was almost too much to bear.

Before she could overthink it, she typed out a quick message: “I’m feeling under the weather. Might need to sit this one out.”

Lando responded almost immediately. “That’s okay! Rest up. We’ll handle it.”

His words were kind, but they only made her feel worse. She wanted him to notice, to ask her what was wrong, to care. But he didn’t. And that, more than anything, told her what she needed to know.

As she set her phone down, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She’d known from the start that her crush on Lando was one-sided, but seeing it play out so clearly, so painfully, made it impossible to ignore.

For now, all she could do was step back, focus on her work, and remind herself that sometimes, even when you care deeply about someone, the best thing you can do is let them go.

~~~

(Y/N) took the next few days off, staying away from the group chat and ignoring messages from the team. She needed space—not just from Lando, but from the whole world of Quadrant that revolved around him. She threw herself into editing past footage, focusing on the technical details to distract herself from the pain still lodged in her chest.

But avoiding Lando was harder than she thought. Every video she edited, every laugh and playful insult she clipped together, reminded her of him. Of the warmth he brought into every room, of the little sparks of kindness he’d shown her when she thought, for just a moment, that he might see her as more than the girl behind the camera.

Two Weeks Later

(Y/N) was back on set, quietly filming another chaotic Quadrant shoot. Magui was there again, her presence bright and cheerful as always. She was every bit as perfect as (Y/N) had remembered—funny, confident, and effortlessly charming. And Lando? He seemed happier than ever, his energy electric whenever Magui was around.

(Y/N) did her best to stay in the background, focusing on her work and keeping her distance. But it didn’t take long for Lando to notice.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called out during a break, jogging over to her as the others grabbed drinks. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet lately.”

She forced a smile, adjusting her camera to avoid looking at him directly. “I’m fine. Just busy.”

“Busy?” he repeated, frowning slightly. “You’ve barely said a word to anyone. Did I do something wrong?”

Her heart twisted at the concern in his voice. Of course, Lando would think it was about him, but not for the reason he’d assume. She shook her head quickly. “No, you didn’t do anything. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”

Lando studied her, his brows furrowing. “Are you sure? Because if there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

The sincerity in his tone made her throat tighten. She wanted to tell him—wanted to say everything she’d been holding back. But as she looked at him, his eyes filled with concern, she knew she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers to confide in. He never had been.

“I’m fine, Lando,” she said softly. “Really.”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, Magui called out to him, waving him over. He glanced back at (Y/N), looking like he wanted to say more, but then turned and jogged toward Magui, his smile lighting up as he joined her.

(Y/N) watched them from behind the camera, the ache in her chest spreading like wildfire. She felt silly, pathetic even, for letting this affect her so much. But no matter how hard she tried to push it down, the pain refused to fade.

Later That Evening

The shoot had wrapped, and (Y/N) stayed behind to pack up her equipment while the others headed out for dinner. She’d made an excuse about needing to finish editing, though in truth, she just couldn’t bear to sit across from Lando and Magui, pretending everything was fine.

The studio was quiet, the only sound the hum of her laptop as she loaded the footage from the day. She tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting, the weight of everything she felt pressing down on her.

“Still here?”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Lando standing in the doorway, his hoodie pulled up, his hair slightly messy from the day. He looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“I thought you were going to dinner with the others,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, stepping inside. “I was, but… I wanted to check on you first.”

She swallowed hard, looking down at her laptop. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” he said, leaning against the table beside her. “But I don’t believe you.”

His words made her chest tighten, and she felt the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill. She shook her head, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s nothing, Lando. Really. I’m just… tired.”

“(Y/N),” he said softly, his tone gentle but insistent. “Talk to me. Please.”

She looked up at him then, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought of his reaction—of the awkwardness, the pity, the possibility of losing what little connection they had—stopped her.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” she said instead, her voice cracking slightly. “Just… let it go.”

He didn’t move, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, she thought he might push further. But then he nodded, stepping back. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

She watched as he left, the door closing softly behind him. And as the silence settled over her once again, the tears finally fell, her heart breaking under the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

A Week Later

The next video shoot was another big one, with the entire team involved, including Magui. (Y/N) tried to focus on her work, but it was harder than ever, especially with Lando and Magui’s playful chemistry on full display.

During a break, (Y/N) stepped outside for some air, her chest feeling tight. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Her eyes snapped open to see Lando standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, his expression serious.

“I haven’t—”

“You have,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer. “And I don’t know why, but it’s been driving me crazy.”

She looked away, her heart pounding. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You’re not fine, (Y/N). I can see it. And if it’s something I did—”

“It’s not you,” she blurted out, cutting him off.

He frowned, confused. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Instead, she shook her head, forcing a weak smile. “It’s nothing, Lando. Forget it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his frustration clear. But before he could say anything else, Max called out for him from inside, breaking the moment.

Lando sighed, glancing toward the door. “This isn’t over,” he said softly before walking away.

As she watched him go, (Y/N) felt the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her once again. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up, but one thing was clear: something had to change—whether it was her feelings for Lando or her place in his world.

And as the door closed behind him, she realized that letting go of Lando might be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

~~~

The decision didn’t come easily, but (Y/N) knew it was the right one. Every day with Quadrant had become a painful reminder of what she couldn’t have, of the unspoken feelings she carried for Lando and the unshakable knowledge that he didn’t feel the same. Watching him with Magui, seeing how naturally she fit into his world, was more than (Y/N) could handle. It was time to step back, to take care of herself before the weight of it all consumed her.

Reading his words brought tears to her eyes. She’d grown to love the team, their chaotic energy, and even the endless teasing. It wasn’t their fault she’d fallen for someone who didn’t see her the way she saw him. Still, she felt a pang of guilt as she hit send on her final reply.

~~~

She didn’t tell Lando directly. She wasn’t sure how, or if he’d even care. Max said he’d inform the team, and that felt like enough. Packing up her gear and stepping away from the studio for the last time was bittersweet. She lingered in the quiet space, memories of laughter and camaraderie playing in her mind.

As she locked the door behind her, she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when Lando found out she was gone. Would he even notice? The thought lingered as she drove home, a mixture of sadness and relief washing over her.

Two Days Later

The first message came from Ria.

Ria: “What’s this about you leaving? Are you okay? Let me know if you need to talk.”

Then Max.

Max: “Hope you’re doing alright. The studio’s not the same without you.”

She responded to each of them, assuring them she was fine, that she just needed time. But the message she was dreading never came. Lando didn’t reach out—not a text, not a call. The silence was deafening, confirming what she’d feared all along: he didn’t notice. Or worse, he didn’t care.

Weeks Passed

(Y/N) threw herself into freelance work, taking on projects that let her focus on her craft without the emotional baggage that came with Quadrant. Slowly, the ache in her chest began to fade. She stopped checking their YouTube channel obsessively, stopped scrolling through photos of Lando and Magui together. She convinced herself that she was moving on.

But one evening, as she was editing late into the night, her phone buzzed with an unexpected notification.

Lando Norris: Hey. Can we talk?

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers frozen over her keyboard. She stared at the message, a flood of emotions rushing in. She wanted to ignore it, to pretend she hadn’t seen it, but her curiosity—and the tiny flicker of hope she couldn’t extinguish—got the better of her.

(Y/N): Sure. What’s up?

The reply came almost instantly.

Lando: Are you free to meet? I’d rather do this in person.

Her stomach churned with nerves, but she agreed, setting a time and place for the next day. She spent the night replaying every possibility in her mind, trying to prepare herself for whatever he wanted to say.

~~~

They met at a quiet café, tucked away from the usual chaos of their lives. Lando was already there when she arrived, his hat pulled low, his expression uncharacteristically serious. He stood as she approached, offering her a small, hesitant smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, sitting down and folding her hands in her lap. “What’s this about, Lando?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Max told me you left.”

Her throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “I needed some time.”

“Why?” he asked, leaning forward, his gaze searching hers. “Did something happen? Was it… me?”

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. She hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It wasn’t you, Lando. Not entirely.”

His brows furrowed. “Then what? You were such a big part of the team, (Y/N). I… I miss having you around.”

Her heart ached at his words, but she forced herself to stay grounded. “It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me,” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Because I feel like I missed something, and I don’t want to keep missing it.”

She met his gaze, the weight of everything she’d held back pressing down on her. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

“I liked you, Lando,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I liked you more than I should have, and it made things… hard. Watching you with Magui, being part of the team but always on the outside—it hurt. So I left, because I couldn’t keep doing that to myself.”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. For a moment, he said nothing, and she braced herself for the rejection she knew was coming.

“I had no idea,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought you just didn’t want to get close.”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t get close, Lando. Not when you didn’t see me the way I saw you.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. And Magui… she’s just a friend. I never realized how it must have looked.”

She blinked, his words taking a moment to register. “Just a friend?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I didn’t… I don’t feel that way about her. I didn’t even know you felt this way about me.”

Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Lando reached across the table, his hand brushing hers lightly.

“Is it too late to fix this?” he asked softly.

(Y/N) looked at him, her heart torn between hope and fear. She didn’t know the answer, but for the first time in weeks, she felt the faintest spark of possibility. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to rewrite their story.

« So today, in honor of World Mental Health Day, we’re going to as you to call someone and ask them, about their day, ask them how they have been. » The woman on the other side of the camera assied Lando.

« Ugh, i hate calling people. » Lando whined, grabbing his phone, and going through his contact list.

« Come on, it’s for a good cause. » The woman smiled. « You just have to say : Hey, I was just thinking about you, just wanted to check in, and just start a conversation with the person? Is that okay with you? »

« Yeah sure. » Lando replies softly, looking at the name he chose.

« Do you know who you’re going to call already? » The woman asked.

« Yup. » Lando pressed the call button; and put the speaker on. « I just hope she’s going to replay, she doesn’t like to speak on the phone either »

After a White, a feminine voice could be heard on the other side of the phone. « Hi? »

« Hello love » Lando said softly, smiling at the phone. « I was just thinking about you, and i wanted to check on you, y’know, hear you voice. »

« That’s very nice Lan. » Y/N smiled, holding the phone against her ear. « I’ve been thinking about you too. »

« What have you been up to love ? How are you? » Lando asked again.

« I’m okay, i’ve been working, y’know how it is. » She replied softly.

« Just okay? » He frowned.

« Better if you were here. » She smiles and giggled.

« I can’t let you be just okay, love. I’ll have to come to see you. » He said, grinning down at the phone, forgeting about the people around him.

« I’m happy you called, i needed that. Thank you. » She said softly. « I’ve missed you. »

« I’ve missed you too, love. I’m happy i called too. » He replied in the same tone. He looked around remembering all the team watching him. « I have to go film, love, i’ll call you back asap. »

« It’s okay, good luck today, Lan. I love you. »

« I love you too. Let me know if you need anything, okay? » He asked.

« Mhm, i will. Take care, don’t overwork yourself » She almost whispered.

« I won’t. You know I won’t. » Lando laughed a little. « Okay then. Take care, okay? I love you. »

« I love you too » Y/N blushed, smiling.

« I’ll see you soon love, I promise. » He said in a whisper.

« I’ll be waiting for you », after a few seconds, Y/N hung up, letting Lando contemplate a black screen.

As the call ended, Lando found himself staring at the black screen, a lingering smile on his face. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away—cameras, lights, the crew around him—it was just him and the warmth of that conversation.

The woman on the other side of the camera smiled knowingly. “That sounded like more than just a casual check-in. You want to share a little more about her?”

Lando leaned back in his chair, still holding his phone loosely. “She’s... someone really special,” he said, his voice softer than usual. "You know when someone knows you inside out? Like, they get you in a way no one else does?"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like it’s more than just a friend, Lando. Why did you pick her to call?"

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because she makes me feel grounded. No matter how crazy things get, she’s always there, reminding me who I really am.”

The woman tilted her head, giving him a playful grin. “And you’re sure that’s the only reason?”

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe there’s a little more to it than that.”

The woman leaned in closer, her tone gentle. “What are you waiting for, then? You said you’ll see her soon. Is that something you want to keep as a promise?”

Lando’s smile deepened, his eyes softening as he looked at the camera. “Yeah, it’s a promise. I’ve been away for too long, and I miss her more than I can explain.”

He glanced down at his phone, his heart warming as he thought about Y/N’s laugh, the way she always made him feel at home, no matter how far away he was. "I’ll see her soon," he repeated, almost to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "And when I do, I’ll make sure she knows how much she means to me."

The woman watched him with a knowing smile, sensing that there was more to the story than Lando was willing to share on camera. "I think she already knows, Lando."

He smiled, nodding slowly. "Yeah, but I want to remind her."

The woman grinned. “Well, I think she’s waiting for you, so don’t keep her too long.”

Lando chuckled again, feeling lighter after the call. “I won’t. Promise.”

With that, the woman wrapped up the segment, but Lando’s thoughts remained on Y/N. As the cameras were turned off and the lights dimmed, his heart was already counting down the moments until they’d be together again. And this time, he wouldn’t let the distance keep them apart for so long.

The apartment was eerily quiet as I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the packed suitcase by the door. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Charles stood by the window, his back to me, his shoulders tense as if he was holding back everything he wanted to say. Or maybe everything he didn’t.

"It's over, Y/N," he finally said, his voice hollow. "This… we can't keep doing this to each other."

I knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. My heart ached as I fought to keep the tears at bay. “You’re going back to her, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond right away, but the silence was all the answer I needed. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes were filled with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, maybe. But it didn’t matter anymore.

"We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times," I whispered, the lyrics of the song that had been haunting me for days spilling out before I could stop them.

Charles took a step toward me, but I held up my hand, stopping him. "Just go," I said, my voice trembling. “Go back to her.”

And he did. Without another word, he picked up his jacket and walked out of the door, leaving me alone in the darkness. I sat there, frozen, until I heard the sound of his car driving away. Only then did I allow myself to cry, the tears falling freely as I curled up on the bed, clutching the pillow that still smelled like him.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Months passed, but the pain didn’t lessen. I moved through life like a ghost, going through the motions but never truly feeling anything. The apartment felt like a tomb, filled with memories of him, of us. I had tried to get rid of them, to pack away the photos, the little trinkets we had collected over the years. But it didn’t help. Everywhere I looked, I saw him.

"I kept my head high, and my tears dry," I whispered to myself one night, sitting on the floor of the living room with a bottle of wine in my hand. The song played softly in the background, echoing my thoughts. But the truth was, I didn’t feel strong. I felt empty, like the part of me that had loved Charles so deeply had been ripped out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

People told me to move on, to find someone else, but how could I? "You go back to her, and I go back to black," I sang softly, feeling the weight of those words more than ever. Black was all I had now—black nights, black days, a black heart.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The first time I saw Charles again after the breakup, it was like being stabbed in the chest. We were at a charity event, and I had been dreading the possibility of running into him, but there he was, across the room, looking as devastatingly handsome as ever. And she was with him. The girl he had left me for. The one he had gone back to.

My heart clenched painfully as I watched them together. They looked… happy. He looked happy. I wanted to tear my eyes away, to leave, but I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot, my mind replaying every moment we had shared, every promise he had made.

"He left no time to regret, kept his dick wet with his same old safe bet," the lyrics played in my mind, and I had to fight back the urge to scream. I knew it wasn’t fair to think of him that way, but the anger, the pain, it was all-consuming.

He noticed me then, his eyes locking onto mine from across the room. For a brief moment, everything else faded away. It was just us, just Charles and Y/N, as if nothing had changed. But then she touched his arm, and he looked away, a flicker of guilt passing over his face.

I couldn’t stay. I turned on my heel and walked out of the event, the weight of the past dragging me down with every step. I ended up back at my apartment, the only place where I could let the tears fall without judgment. But even then, the emptiness remained, like a gaping hole in my chest.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

I had tried to move on. I really had. But nothing worked. Not the late nights out with friends, not the meaningless dates, not the distractions I filled my life with. I was still in love with him, still drowning in the sea of what we used to be.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, I did something I promised myself I would never do—I called him. The phone rang once, twice, and then he answered.

“Y/N?” His voice was filled with surprise, maybe even a little concern. It was the first time we had spoken since that night, and hearing his voice again was like a punch to the gut.

"I go back to us," I whispered, not knowing what else to say. The lyrics of the song played in the background, a painful reminder of everything I was trying to escape.

“Y/N, why are you calling?” His tone was cautious, and I hated it. I hated that he felt like he had to walk on eggshells around me.

“I miss you,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I miss us, Charles. I can’t… I can’t let go.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, I let myself hope. Hope that he would say he missed me too, that he was wrong to leave, that we could try again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, but firm.

“Y/N, I’m with her now. You need to let go.”

And just like that, the hope shattered, leaving me with nothing but the cold, hard truth. He wasn’t coming back. He had moved on, and I was still stuck in the past.

“I know,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I just… I just needed to hear it.”

“Take care, Y/N,” he said softly, and then the line went dead.

I dropped the phone, my body shaking with sobs as I curled up on the couch. "We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times," I repeated, the words a bitter comfort.

Charles was gone. He had made his choice, and it wasn’t me. And now, all I had left was the darkness, the endless black that had become my life. I didn’t know how to move forward, how to find the light again. All I knew was that I was still in love with him, and that love was destroying me.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The holidays came and went, but they felt meaningless. I went through the motions, smiled when I was supposed to, but inside, I was still lost. My friends and family noticed the change in me, the way I had retreated into myself, but they didn’t know how to help. How could they, when I didn’t even know how to help myself?

Charles and Alexandra were everywhere—on social media, in the news, at events. Every time I saw a picture of them together, it was like another piece of my heart was ripped away. They were happy, and I was still drowning.

I tried to find solace in the things that used to bring me joy, but nothing worked. The world felt colorless, empty. I was stuck in a loop, going back to the memories of us, back to the pain, back to the black.

"He left no time to regret," I sang softly to myself one night, sitting by the window with a glass of wine in hand. "We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times."

And that was the truth. I had died a hundred times since Charles left, and every time I tried to pick up the pieces, they slipped through my fingers, leaving me more broken than before.

As the year came to a close, I realized that I had to find a way to move on, to let go of the love that was tearing me apart. But how could I, when every fiber of my being still belonged to him?

"I go back to black," I whispered into the darkness, the words hanging heavy in the air. I didn’t know how to move forward, but I knew one thing—I couldn’t keep going back to him. Not anymore.

So I stood up, walked to the mirror, and stared at the reflection of the woman I had become—hollow, broken, but still standing. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself. I would find a way to heal, to move on, even if it meant starting from scratch. Even if it meant walking away from the only love I had ever known.

Because I deserved more than the blackness that had consumed me. I deserved a life filled with color, with light, with love—love that wasn’t tied to the past, but to the future.

And maybe, just maybe, one day I would find that love. But until then, I would keep moving forward, one step at a time, until the black was nothing more than a distant memory.

lando's version

The paddock was buzzing with the usual pre-race excitement, but I could barely focus on the chatter around me. My heart was somewhere else, trapped in the past where Lando and I used to be. We had shared so much in such a short amount of time, and yet here I was, watching everything crumble before me.

"I just can't do this anymore, Y/N," Lando had said, his voice breaking as he looked anywhere but at me. We were in his apartment, the place that had been our haven, now suddenly feeling cold and unfamiliar. I wanted to ask him why, to beg him to stay, but I could see it in his eyes—the decision was made. There was a finality in his tone that I had never heard before.

"What do you mean? We were fine… we were happy," I stammered, desperately searching for any sign that this wasn’t really happening. But he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he stared at the floor, his hands trembling as he tried to hold himself together.

"I'm jealous of the way you’re happy without me," I whispered, echoing the lyrics of the song that had been playing in the background. It felt like the universe was mocking me, as if the words were ripped straight from my heart.

But Lando didn’t hear my whisper. He just nodded, perhaps thinking I was accepting his decision. And then he left, taking with him the future I had dreamed of. The door closed behind him with a finality that echoed in the hollow silence of the room. I stood there for what felt like hours, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened. The life we had built, the love we had shared—it was all gone in an instant.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

I hadn’t seen Lando since that day. Our teams kept us busy, and I buried myself in work, trying to forget him. But every time I saw him on TV, or heard his name in the paddock, my heart ached. The pain was a constant, dull throb that refused to go away.

When I was around others, I wore a mask—smiling, laughing, pretending that everything was fine. But inside, I was broken. The nights were the worst. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I was haunted by memories of us. His smile, his laugh, the way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the world.

We met again at the FIA Awards Gala. I was there to celebrate my first season as a Formula 1 driver, but all I could think about was him. I spotted him across the room, laughing with our mutual friends, looking as happy as ever. My chest tightened.

"I'm jealous of the nights that I don't spend with you," I thought to myself, the lyrics looping in my mind. I wanted to be the one making him laugh, the one he looked at with those bright eyes.

I tried to focus on the celebration, on the people congratulating me, but my eyes kept drifting back to him. He looked so carefree, so at ease, like he had moved on without a second thought. And when our eyes finally met, it was like time stopped. I forced a smile, but he quickly looked away, turning his attention back to the group around him. It was like I didn’t exist.

The rest of the night was a blur. I mingled with the crowd, nodded at the right moments, and even laughed when expected, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t shake the image of him smiling, the way he seemed so happy without me. It tore me apart.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The final race of the season, and I was more focused than ever. Racing was my escape, my way of channeling all the pain. But as fate would have it, Lando and I were once again side by side on the grid.

As the lights went out, I pushed all thoughts of him aside and focused on the track. But even as I raced, weaving through the turns, I couldn’t help but think of him.

"I'm jealous of the love that wasn't here," I sang softly in my helmet during a quiet moment on the straight. Our relationship had been perfect, or so I thought. But now, all that was left was this hollow feeling, the lingering question of what went wrong.

We had started out as friends, both young and eager, navigating the pressures of Formula 1 together. Over time, that friendship had blossomed into something more. I had fallen for him so hard, so fast. And I thought he had fallen for me too. We had shared everything—our hopes, our dreams, our fears. But now, as I raced, all I could think about was how it had all been an illusion.

We both finished the race in the points, and as I pulled into the pit lane, I saw him a few cars down. He was smiling, celebrating with his team. I wanted to walk over, to congratulate him, to tell him how proud I was, but I stopped myself. What was the point? He didn’t need me. He didn’t want me. Instead, I pulled off my helmet and looked away, pretending to be caught up in my own debrief.

But as the adrenaline of the race faded, the reality of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Lando was happy. He was thriving, and I was just a distant memory. The pain was unbearable, but I swallowed it down, plastering a fake smile on my face as I went through the motions.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The end-of-season break came, and with it, the unexpected. We were both attending a charity event, and this time, there was no avoiding him. The tension between us had been growing, but neither of us had made the first move to talk about it. Until now.

He approached me when I was alone, sitting by the garden at the back of the event. The night was cool, the air crisp with the promise of winter. I had been staring at the stars, lost in thought, when I heard his voice.

"Y/N," he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Lando," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral, even though my heart was racing. I didn’t want to show him how much I was still hurting, how much I still cared.

He sat down next to me, leaving a small gap between us. "I’ve been thinking about us," he admitted after a long silence. "I didn’t handle things well."

"I’m jealous of the way you’re moving on," I found myself saying, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I hadn’t planned on being so vulnerable, but there it was. The truth.

He looked at me, his eyes full of something I hadn’t expected—indifference. "Y/N… I need to tell you something."

My heart sank as I watched him struggle to find the right words. "What is it?"

"I’ve met someone," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her name is Magui."

The world around me seemed to tilt, and for a moment, I thought I might be sick. "Magui?" I repeated, as if saying her name would make this nightmare real.

He nodded, unable to meet my eyes. "She’s… we’re together now."

"I'm jealous of the way you're happier," I thought, the lyrics stabbing through my heart like a knife. I had held on to hope, believing that we could somehow find our way back to each other. But that hope was gone now, shattered into a million pieces.

I forced myself to nod, to keep my composure. "I see. Well… I hope you’re happy, Lando."

He finally looked at me, and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to heal the wound he had just inflicted. "I am," he said, and those two words broke me in a way I never thought possible.

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to take it all back. But I knew it wouldn’t change anything. He had moved on. And I had to live with that.

"I’m glad you found someone," I managed to say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay strong. "I really am."

"Y/N, I—" he started, but I cut him off.

"Please, don’t," I said, standing up and taking a step back. "I need to go."

He didn’t try to stop me, and that hurt even more. As I walked away, I felt the tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision. I had lost him. Truly lost him. And there was nothing I could do to change that.

As the year came to a close, I couldn’t help but think of the lyrics that had been my constant companion throughout this rollercoaster of emotions. "I'm jealous of the way you're happy without me," I had whispered months ago, and now, here we were, with him completely moving on, leaving me behind.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I let the tears fall freely. I cried for what we had lost, for the pain I had caused myself by holding on to hope, and for the love that would never be again. I cried until there were no more tears left, only an emptiness that I knew would take a long time to fill.

Lando had moved on, and now I had to find a way to do the same. But deep down, I knew that a part of me would always be jealous of the life he was living—one that didn’t include me.

And as I drifted off to sleep, the lyrics played in my mind one last time, a haunting reminder of what could never be: "I'm jealous of the way you're happier without me."

Lando and Y/N had been together for almost a year now. From the moment they met, it was as if the universe had aligned just for them. They spent nearly every moment they could together, whether at his apartment or hers. Y/N never missed a race, always there in the stands or watching anxiously from the paddock, her heart swelling with pride. She was his biggest supporter, not just on the track but in every aspect of his life.

For Y/N, Lando was everything she had ever dreamed of in a partner. She was convinced that he was her soulmate, the one she was meant to spend her life with. Nothing and no one could make her believe otherwise. Lando wasn’t shy about showing his love for her either. He spoke about her with a tenderness that made everyone around him smile. Whenever he had the chance to mention her, he did, his eyes lighting up with every word. He defended her fiercely whenever someone had something negative to say about her or their relationship. Y/N was deeply in love with him, and every day, she hoped that he felt the same way.

When Y/N received an invitation to join Lando for an interview, she was genuinely surprised. She wasn’t accustomed to the spotlight; her world had always been more private. Although she had social media, most of her followers were there because of Lando.

And so, she found herself seated in a chair across from him, a gentle hum of anticipation in the air. Someone adjusted the mic on her shirt, making sure her voice would be captured clearly. As she sat there, waiting for the cameras to start rolling, she stole a glance at Lando. He looked at her with that familiar warmth, the kind that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

"Hey everyone, I’m Lando, and this is my girlfriend Y/N. We’re here with GQ, ready to answer some questions about our relationship," Lando began, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“So, first question: how did we meet?” Y/N read aloud from a card she had been given before the interview. She looked at Lando, a playful glint in her eye. “Do you want to answer that?”

“Yeah.” Lando smiled softly at her, his gaze full of affection. “For those who don’t know, Y/N here is McLaren’s official Social Media Manager. She started working with the team about a year and a half ago, and yeah, I met her during her very first meeting with us, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

“That’s correct, Mister Norris,” Y/N said, her tone light but filled with pride. Lando raised his hand for a high five, and she gladly met it.

“Okay, my turn. What was our first date, and what was our last? And which one did you enjoy the most?” he asked, tossing the flashcard behind him with a playful grin.

“Our first date was when you took me out to an Italian restaurant. You dressed all fancy,” she laughed, her eyes sparkling at the memory. “And the last one was two days ago; we went to your yacht and just sat there, watching the sunset.” Her voice softened, a smile tugging at her lips. “I can’t pick which one I preferred; honestly, every moment with you feels like a blessing.”

Lando’s smile grew tender. “That’s really sweet, baby.”

“Okay, next question!” Y/N announced with a playful energy that made Lando chuckle. “What are three things you love and hate about each other?”

“Well, that one’s easy,” Lando replied instantly. “I love your smile, your eyes, and your laugh. They light up my world. As for the three things I hate… I’d have to say your impatience, how easily you get mad, and the fact that you hold grudges.”

“That was quick,” Y/N said, raising an amused eyebrow. “I guess it’s my turn. So, I love your determination—how you never give up on what you do, even when it seems impossible. I love that you have a big heart and wear it on your sleeve. And your eyes… you have the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen, and I could get lost in them forever. Now, for the things I hate: you tend to take things too personally, you can be just a tad too flirty, and… your sense of humor.”

“My sense of humor? What’s wrong with it?” he asked, feigning shock.

“You’re just not that funny, baby,” Y/N teased, shrugging playfully, her eyes twinkling with affection.

Lando laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I’ll work on my jokes.”

Y/N picked up the next flashcard. “Here’s a good one: What’s something surprising you’ve learned about me since we started dating?”

Lando paused for a moment, thinking. “Honestly, I think the most surprising thing I’ve learned is just how incredibly strong you are. I mean, I always knew you were tough, but seeing how you handle everything—whether it’s work stress, being in the public eye, or supporting me through all the ups and downs—has been amazing. You never let anything break you, and that’s something I admire so much.”

Y/N felt her heart swell with emotion. “Thank you, Lando. That means a lot coming from you.”

She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady as she read the next question. “What’s your favorite memory of us together?”

“That’s a tough one,” Lando said, smiling as he reminisced. “But I think it would have to be that weekend we spent in the countryside, just the two of us. No cameras, no phones, no distractions—just us. We went hiking, had a picnic by the lake, and at night, we watched the stars. It was simple, but it was perfect. It was one of those moments where I just felt… complete.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes misty with tears. “I remember that weekend. It was beautiful.”

Lando reached out, taking her hand in his. “We should do that more often—just escape from everything and be together.”

“Definitely,” Y/N agreed, squeezing his hand. “Okay, here’s the next question: What’s something you wish we could do together in the future?”

Lando thought for a moment before answering. “I’d love for us to travel more, see the world together. There are so many places I want to explore with you, and I think it would be amazing to share those experiences. But more than that, I just want us to keep building a life together, no matter where we go.”

Y/N smiled softly. “That sounds perfect.”

“Alright, last question,” Lando said, his tone growing more serious. “And this one’s just for you, Y/N: how do you see this relationship evolving?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart beating a little faster as she thought about the future. “Oh, that’s a hard one. How do I see this relationship evolving? Well, first of all, I’d like for us to stay together, to grow old… without sounding like a complete psycho,” she began, her voice wavering slightly with emotion.

“You’re fine; go on,” he encouraged her, his eyes never leaving hers, filled with a deep, unwavering love.

“If one day we end up on different paths—and I really hope that never happens, because seriously, you’re everything to me—I know I won’t want anyone else,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “But if life does pull us apart, I don’t want us to hate each other or lose all the good memories we made. I want you to remember me with a smile, and I’ll always wish you the best, because I’d never want anything bad for you. You’re my first real love, Lando, and what we have is something I know I’ll never feel with anyone else.”

She paused for a moment, her heart racing as she took a deep breath. “So, with that said,” she added with a little laugh, “let’s just agree to never break up, okay? Because honestly, that would be super awkward and totally heartbreaking for both of us.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with the raw, honest emotion of young love, and Lando couldn’t help but smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, even though he knew how deeply she meant every word.

He was quiet for a moment, letting her words sink in. He looked at Y/N, his eyes filled with love and something deeper—determination.

“GQ, I think we’re done here,” Lando finally said, his voice steady but with a clear edge of emotion. “Because what I have to say now, I want her to know it’s real.”

He turned to Y/N, taking her hands in his as if grounding himself in the moment. “You’ve always been the one for me, Y/N. From the very beginning, I knew there was something about you that I couldn’t let go of, and that hasn’t changed. Hearing you talk about different paths… it scares me, because I don’t want to imagine my life without you in it.”

He paused, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. “But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m not just in love with you; I’m committed to us. I’m committed to making sure that we keep growing together, facing whatever life throws our way. I can’t promise that everything will be perfect, but I can promise that I’ll always fight for us.”

Lando’s voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers. “You’re my first love, Y/N, and I want you to be my last. I want to share every moment, every milestone, and every challenge with you. I want us to look back one day, gray and wrinkled, and say, ‘We did this together.’ Because you’re it for me. You always have been, and you always will be.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, letting the moment linger. When he pulled back, there was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a promise unspoken but deeply felt.

“So let’s stop worrying about different paths,” he whispered, “and focus on the one we’re on, together. Because I’m not letting go, not now, not ever.”

the end

Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were both drivers for the McLaren racing team. They met when Y/N joined the team. While Lando didn’t know her at all, she had known who he was from a very young age, having already raced against him and other current F1 drivers when they were children in karting. From their first meeting, there was an undeniable spark between them, but their journeys had been very different.

Y/N was the only current female driver, which made it easy for her to catch the eyes of people around her. Not only due to her exceptional skills but also because of her beauty, which left many speechless, including Lando Norris. He remembered his first impressions of her: her confidence, determination, and captivating smile. Y/N carried herself with a grace and strength that commanded respect on and off the track.

When she met Lando, Y/N fell for him almost immediately. If you asked her, she would tell you it was love at first sight. For Lando, it took a bit more time to open up to her. Since she joined right after Carlos, he felt like she took his friend's spot, but as time passed by, he realized she deserved her place in McLaren. He recalled the moments they shared, talking about their past karting races, sharing jokes, and laughter that brought them closer each day.

The two grew closer each day, and finally, they both decided to let that chemistry become romance and started a relationship. Everything was perfect in Y/N's eyes, especially in the beginning. She wanted the whole world to see how in love with him she was. For her, they were endgame. But whenever the conversation about announcing their relationship came up, Lando simply brushed it off. He was always polite about it, saying it wasn’t the right time or that it could complicate things with the media and the team.

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A month passed, then two months, six months, and still nothing. Y/N started to notice how Lando would distance himself from her, drawing an invisible line between them. The kisses became less frequent, he would come to her apartment less often, and Y/N had stopped asking about announcing their relationship a long time ago. She missed the early days when everything seemed possible, and their love felt like a secret treasure.

Professionally, Lando kept his distance at work, being careful not to be seen with her by other drivers or staff members. When they had media duties, Y/N saw through his act. Over time, she learned when Lando was pretending. It broke her heart a little each time she tried to reach out to him, and he didn't give her the time of day. She remembered the countless nights she spent alone, wondering what went wrong, replaying their conversations, and hoping for a sign that things would change.

When Lando won his first ever GP in Miami, Y/N was ecstatic, smiling ear to ear, proud of the man she called her boyfriend. She couldn't hide her excitement and immediately jumped into his arms as soon as she got out of her car, telling him how proud she was and how she knew he could do it. He, for once, reciprocated her hug, only squeezing her a little, thanking her quickly before running away to celebrate his victory with the team. At the club after the race, Lando barely acknowledged her as he partied with his friends, other drivers, and some other girls. She watched from a distance, feeling like a stranger in a place where she should have felt at home.

A few weeks later, it was Y/N's turn to succeed, winning her first ever GP in Canada. Getting out of her car, she expected the same treatment as Lando when he won. She was jumping up and down, hugging a few team members, but she felt a certain coldness. Lando, being P2, not far from Y/N, got out of his car. Y/N walked towards him, a smile on her face, waiting for him to do anything really. He just passed by her, patting her shoulder. On the podium were herself, Lando, and Max. She was the only one not being sprayed with champagne. That night, Y/N found herself all alone in her hotel room, silent tears streaming down her face as she read the message from Zak Brown: "It was supposed to be Lando's win today. We expect you to help him win the races, not steal them from him. Be careful next time, or this win will be the last of your career." She felt a deep sense of betrayal and loneliness, wondering how things had gone so wrong.

Two weeks went by, and Y/N and Lando didn't talk much. She tried reaching out, but his replies were short and dry, so she didn't insist much, still hurt by the events in Canada. Their once vibrant connection felt like it was fading into a mere shadow of what it used to be.

Spain's GP came quicker than expected for the young female driver. She didn't want to go, feeling her spark for driving leaving her slowly. She was in her driver's room, sitting on her small bed, getting lectured by Zak, who was reminding her of what she was supposed to do. Lando, who was coming in, heard a bit of the conversation. Zak left, and Lando entered the room.

"How are you feeling about today's race?" Lando asked, looking at his girlfriend, trying to sound casual.

"Don't worry, I won't overtake you. You don't need to pretend you care how I feel," she said, getting up from her spot and adjusting her outfit, her voice tinged with sadness.

"What are you even talking about? Of course, I care," Lando said, raising his voice slightly, frustration creeping in.

"You don't care, Lando. I was so stupid thinking you loved me," she raised her voice too, tears ready to fall.

"I care," Lando argued, trying to bridge the growing gap between them.

"Yeah, like you cared when I won in Canada, or like you cared when I was all alone in my room during MY special night? You don't hug me anymore, you don't kiss me, you don't talk to me. Are we even together anymore?" Her voice broke with the weight of her emotions.

"You're so selfish, Y/N. Not everything is about you," he said, his own pain and confusion coming to the surface.

"How can I be selfish when all I do is try to please you?" Y/N exclaimed, hurt and bewildered.

"I wish I never met you. You're such a waste of time," Lando screamed, not thinking, letting his anger take over.

"You don't mean that," Y/N whispered, crying, her heart shattering.

"I mean every single word. I should have never given you a chance. I always knew I could do better than you anyway. Why do you think I never go out with you? I'm ashamed. Who would want to be seen with you?" Lando continued, his words like daggers.

Y/N didn't let any other word get out of her mouth, getting out of the room, tears streaming down her face, having a full-on panic attack. She sat down, trying to calm her breathing. After what felt like an eternity, she wiped the tears and went straight to the garage. Once she entered, Lando's eyes immediately went to her, guilt written all over his face. She quickly put her helmet on, trying to block the cameras from seeing her puffy red eyes.

When all the cars were parked in the right places on the starting grid, the lights went green, and the Spain race started.

It was on her tenth lap that Y/N started to feel something was wrong with the car.

"Something is wrong with the car," she said loud and clear, so the engineer could hear her through the radio.

"What do you mean?" The engineer said, his voice laced with worry.

"I can't slow down. I don't know what to do," she started panicking, her mind racing.

"It's going to be okay. Try to bring back the car," the engineer said in her ears, trying to keep her calm.

It was a matter of seconds before Y/N's car ended up rolling all the way toward a wall. The public went silent as the accident happened. The car behind her, which was George's, stopped, and the man came running to her. A red flag was quickly drawn, making all the other cars retire to the pit. The scene was chaotic, with everyone fearing the worst.

Lando arrived and got out of his car, looking around, not understanding what was happening. He went to Carlos, who was standing just in front of him.

"What's happening?" he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

"Accident. We don't know who it is," the Spaniard said, looking at the big screen, trying to get a better view of what was happening.

Lando was looking around, trying to find Y/N. When he didn't see her car anywhere, he looked back at the screen. He recognized George's car and saw what looked like an orange car, upside down, stuck between the wall and the tires. He ran to the McLaren facility, his heart pounding.

"Y/N? Are you conscious?" Lando heard Zak say, his voice tense.

He picked up headphones and listened carefully. He heard weak breathing.

"Y/N? It's Lando. Please reply to me, baby," Lando said, earning looks from the team.

"It hurts," Y/N struggled to say, her breathing uneven.

"Where does it hurt, baby?" Lando asked, trying to keep her awake, his voice trembling.

"Everywhere. Please get me out of here. I can't move," Y/N was crying, fear in her voice. "Lando?"

"I'm here, love. They're trying to get you out," he said, his heart breaking.

"I don't want to die, Lan," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're not dying, baby," Lando murmured, tears streaming down his face.

The safety team got Y/N out after several minutes of struggling. Once she was finally out, George helped her stand. Everyone let out a breath, thinking it was finally over. Lando was looking at his lover, trying to control his own breathing, not to break down right there and then.

But everything came crashing down again when Y/N stopped walking, her orange suit becoming more and more stained with red around her abdomen. She collapsed, her body giving out.

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"I'm not asking you to apologize, I'm asking you to explain to me how the fuck did you let this happen?" Lando was screaming on the phone. "Zak, she almost died. There's no good excuse for that." He hung up after that, returning to his sitting position next to Y/N's bed, who was still unconscious.

He looked at her, his hand reaching for her hair before grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers. He felt an overwhelming sense of regret and sorrow.

"You have to wake up, baby, I can't live without you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently, his voice breaking.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N remained unconscious. The doctors were doing everything they could, but the prognosis was uncertain. Lando stayed by her side every single day, his heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. He whispered to her about the future they would have, the places they would go, and the love they would share, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

One quiet evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Y/N’s fingers twitched slightly. Lando’s heart leapt with hope. "Y/N? Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation and love.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on Lando. "Lando," she whispered, her voice weak but clear.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he said, tears streaming down his face.

"What happened?" she asked, confusion and pain evident in her eyes.

"You had an accident, but you're safe now. You're in the hospital," Lando explained, his voice shaking with relief.

"I was so scared," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know, baby. I was scared too. But you're going to be okay," Lando reassured her, holding her hand tightly.

As the days passed, Y/N slowly started to recover. Her physical wounds began to heal, but the emotional scars were deeper. She couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal and abandonment she had felt from Lando before the accident.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit hospital room, Y/N finally broke the silence. "Lando, we need to talk," she said, her voice firm despite her frailty.

"I know," he replied, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I've been a terrible boyfriend. I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It’s not just about the accident, Lando. It's about everything that led up to it. The way you distanced yourself, the way you made me feel like I didn't matter," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I was wrong. I was selfish and stupid. But I love you, Y/N. I want to make things right," Lando pleaded, his voice breaking.

"I love you too, Lando, but I need time. I need time to heal, not just physically but emotionally. I need to figure out if I can truly trust you again," Y/N said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'll wait for you, Y/N. No matter how long it takes. I just want you to be happy, even if that means letting you go."

She looked at him, her heart aching. "I appreciate that, Lando. But you need to understand, it's not going to be easy. You hurt me deeply, and it's going to take time for me to process everything and decide if I can move past it."