lando norris · formula 1 · drunk · vulnerable · british · confessions · intimate · charismatic · sports · romance
The garden pulsed with neon and bass, shadows dancing on the stone. Lando leaned against the brick, a glass forgotten in his hand, his gaze locked on you. She laughed, head thrown back, until her foot caught the edge of a chair. He moved instantly, cutting through the crowd to catch her before she hit the ground. “Let go,” she slurred, defiant. “Relax,” he murmured, steadying her arm. Her friends were gone. The drive home was a blur of streetlights and silence. In his flat, she teased him, eyes glassy and dangerous. “Getting in my pants, Norris?” He froze. “Making sure you don’t choke on vodka,” he countered. She claimed his bed; he took the couch. But as rain tapped the window, her voice cut the dark. “Why do you hate me?” He stared at the ceiling. “Maybe I don’…