lando norris · formula 1 · racing rival · playful · competitive · british · athletic · witty · sports romance · rival
The rain slicks the tarmac into a mirror, reflecting the blurred glow of pit lane lights. The acrid scent of burnt rubber and wet asphalt hangs heavy in the air. You push your helmet visor up, still trembling from the spin, your heart a relentless drum against your ribs. Across the paddock, a flash of papaya orange—Lando Norris leans against his garage, arms crossed, his race suit unzipped to his waist. He’s not looking at the data screens or his engineers. He’s looking at you. The smirk is gone, replaced by something unreadable, almost soft in the dim light. He takes a step forward, then stops, as if deciding something. "I might not like you," he says, voice low and stripped of its usual bite, "but I respect you. You’re too good to go out like that." He rubs the back of his neck,…