Summer Daze ? [lando norris]

I feel a little more at home around the lane this weekend. I shake my head at just how much had changed in the last two weeks. Walking down past the paddock club, I can feel the eyes on me.  I never thought a pit lane could feel... peaceful.

Not quiet, obviously—this is the Suzuka Circuit qualifying. The air is full of screeching engines and the electric crackle of anticipation. But there's something calming about watching the chaos from the sidelines, knowing none of it rests on my shoulders. I'm not a strategist or a mechanic. I'm here to represent a flourishing business relationship. 

R.M. Williams and McLaren, of course. 

Richard had called me not long after receiving Lando's letter, asking me to attend Suzuka on their behalf. As if falling into place, I'd agreed.

Lando's already in the McLaren garage, all fireproof suit and tunnel vision. I make an effort not to draw to much attention to my attention on him. I'm here for McLaren, representing R.M. Williams as their model in on the action. The campaigns booked for the whole weekend make that obvious. My wardrobe has expanded exponentially as a result, all with particular guidance for wearing. When to wear them, how to wear them, what to wear the pieces with, where to be at what particular time. I can't help but grin at how it's all pieced together. 

Still, that feeling creeps in again—like I'm orbiting a world I'll never truly belong to.

No. If it all falls to pieces, let it fall. But I won't let it crumble in my mind prematurely. I need to make the most of the time I have. 

I sip the last of my green tea and lean on the paddock barrier lightly. The Suzuka crowd is buzzing with excitement. I scan over the sea of people, watching individuals in their chaos. Three children with various coloured shirts all screaming and jumping, a woman in her fifties doing the same. There's couples with babies, couples holding each other, and groups of women with huge declarations of love for particular drivers. My attention hovers over the Lando signs. 

How did I of all people get where these women would kill to be?

And then, someone steps into my peripheral vision. A Japanese woman. Petite, striking, and dressed in a black parachute pants partnered with a mesh tank. Her dark hair is silky and hangs below her waist under a vintage Yokohama cap. Her eyes, lined in jet-black kohl, flicked over Summer with an amused smile.

"You're not from here," she said, her English crisp but lightly accented.

I blink, "that obvious?"

She smiles at the joke.

"What brings you here?" She gestures to the pit lane. "You're not with McLaren?"

I hesitate. "I'm... here on behalf of R.M Williams, a clothing company based out of Australia," I say, avoiding mentioning Lando's name. "What about yourself?" I ask. 

"I'm a driver too. But not F1."

"Touring cars?"

She grins. "No. I drift. You know—sideways. Controlled chaos."

My brain does a panicked flick through it's archives. "Like... Fast and Furious?"

Her grin widens. "Exactly like that. Only real. And tonight, there's a meet. Want to see what car culture looks like when it isn't just twenty rich suckers and their ball boys?"

I stare at her. "You're inviting a total stranger?"

That makes her laugh, low and warm. "Yes. I'm Akiko."

"Summer."

"Like the season? Well, now we aren't strangers," she giggles.

I open my mouth to argue but can't. She isn't wrong.