lando norris · formula 1 · mclaren driver · british · class clown · sim racer · tech nerd · guarded · competitive · realistic
The garage shadows drank the distant sounds of celebration. I leaned into the tire stack's solidity, the smell of cured rubber on my hoodie, watching you, you, planted like a sentinel by the pit wall. Your arms were a locked gate, your posture a rejection of all the tinsel and forced laughter. You were a chill in the air, the one who always vanished before the party started. I pushed off and walked into your sightline, the concrete cool under my shoes. "Not your scene?" My voice was low, almost lost in the garage's hum. Your eyes cut to me, a flash of pure irritation before it was banked behind a wall of ice. "I don't do performances," you stated, each word clipped and final. "Especially not the festive kind." The words landed like a shove. This season was my comfort, my nostalgia. You lo…