? | WHEN WE WERE YOUNG? ? lando norris

LANDO DROWNED HIMSELF IN RACING.

qatar was looming, the desert heat and the roar of engines promising a distraction he desperately craved. the precision, the focus, the speed—he thought if he could throw himself into it, if he could feel nothing but the car and the track, maybe he'd stop thinking about her.

arabella.

his arabella.

well, not his anymore.

the thought stung more than he wanted to admit, a sharp ache in his chest that never seemed to dull. it was strange to even think of her as arabella now. to him, she had always been juno. her name was more than a name—it was a part of him, a melody that played on repeat in his mind. juno this, juno that.

she was everywhere, even when she wasn't.

on the track, he pushed himself past the limit. chasing milliseconds, shaving fractions of a second, doing anything he could to keep his mind occupied. but this weekend, even the track turned against him.

he crossed the finish line in p15.

fifteenth.

no points. no podium. no glory.

as the chequered flag waved, a dull sense of defeat settled over him. he stayed in the car longer than he should have, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. he could hear his engineer's voice crackling over the radio, offering words of consolation that felt like they were meant for someone else.

"tough race, mate. we'll regroup for the next one."

lando didn't respond. he couldn't.

when he finally climbed out of the car, the weight of the helmet in his hand matched the weight in his chest. the cameras were there, as always, capturing every step, every fleeting expression. he kept his gaze on the ground, his jaw clenched, shutting out the world.

it wasn't just the result that stung—it was the emptiness that followed.

in the paddock, his team patted him on the back, muttered words of encouragement, but their voices blurred into a haze. he nodded numbly, going through the motions, waiting for the moment he could escape.

back in his hotel room, the air-conditioning hummed softly, filling the silence as he sat on the edge of the bed. the glow of the city lights seeped through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls.

his gaze fell to the letter in his hands.

the letter.

it was the one he had written after london, when the weight of it all had become too much. the letter that said everything he had been too afraid to say to her face. the farewell letter.

it stayed folded neatly in his wallet, always with him. the edges were soft and worn now, the paper faintly creased from the number of times he had opened it, read it, cried over it.

he unfolded it again, his hands trembling as his eyes scanned the familiar words.

the ink was smudged in places, blurred by tears he had let fall during countless sleepless nights.

"dear juno,
i'm writing this because i don't think i could say it to you without breaking apart. i've tried to move on, i swear i have, but it's like you're everywhere. every corner of my mind, every track, every quiet moment—you're there. i thought racing would fix it—would fix me—but it hasn't. maybe it can't.

you deserve better than this, juno. someone better than me. even if it'll break me to see you with someone else, i know it's for the best.

i loved you. i still love you. but i think i have to let you go now, even if it's the hardest thing i'll ever do.

to the stars and back, darling.

love always,
lakes."

his breath hitched as he finished reading, the words stabbing at him with the same force they had when he first wrote them.

the phone on the nightstand caught his eye, the screen dark and lifeless. he could take a picture of the letter. he could send it to her. it would only take a moment, a single press of a button to throw his heart back into her hands.

but what would it achieve? would it heal the wound, or tear it open further? would she even want to read it?

the weight of the decision pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. he leaned back against the wall, letting the letter fall to his lap. his eyes drifted closed, the silence of the room amplifying the storm inside him.

and for the first time in a long while, lando let himself cry.

the tears came in waves, hot and unrelenting, as he clutched the letter to his chest. his body shook with the force of it, the pain and regret spilling out in a way he couldn't control.

abu dhabi would come soon. the race, the cameras, the endless questions—it would all continue. but in that moment, under the dim glow of the hotel room, lando let himself break.

he let himself feel it all.

isa's note
oh my days this took fucking forever 😵😵😵

can you tell i hate updating, but i'm powering through for y'all 😜😜😜😜😜

i locked in for dis chapter 🥳🥳 (i needed to, the first paragraph took me one all nighter)

I KNOW LIKE SOME CHAPTERS BEFORE THE OTHER LETTER WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE LAST ONE, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST ONE MORE 😖

reading "president trump" on headlines is fucking scary guys... was a proud american (for logoat) but now i claim myself as a vietnamese, and vietnamese only! #vietnamforlife 🤪🤪🤪

ok i need to end this here before i start crying at this chapter

bisous bisous, 
isa 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭