They reached for each other yet never quite touched because of similar dreadful history. They were a pair of abandoned apricots. Leftovers, spares, uneaten, untouched, unwanted. Not enough.
Too scared of abandonment, so instead, they made agreements...
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note
Hey, this is something I have wanted to do for a bit now. A chapter from Lando's perspective. Hope you will enjoy this one.
Loads of love and happiness, Anna <3
• 🤍 •
"I don't know, Max," Lando muttered into the phone, sprawled out on his hotel bed in Singapore. The room felt too quiet, too empty, and he couldn't shake the urge to talk to someone. Instead of calling Nea—again—he'd ended up dialling Max because he didn't want to seem desperate. "Isn't it a bit too much?"
Max's laugh echoed through the line. "Mate, trust me. Girls love flowers. And you're sending them as a thank you, so it's not going to seem like a big deal. You can totally play it off. Just say it's a gesture of appreciation, nothing more. That it's not like you're catching feelings or anything."
Lando sighed, staring up at the ceiling. It's not like you're catching feelings or anything, yeah, right. Totally not.
The McLaren driver sighed again, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I don't know, mate. I don't want to make things weird between us. What if she thinks I'm coming on too strong?"
Max's voice was calm, almost amused. "Lando, relax. You've made it clear that things are casual. If she's not into it, you just play it off as a thank-you gesture, like I said. No harm, no foul."
The younger Brit stared at the ceiling, trying to reassure himself. "Yeah, I guess, but what if she really wants us to be only casual? What do I do then?"
"Enjoy it?" Max said in a questioning tone, but in a way that sounded like isn't it obvious? Lando liked Max; he grew up with him, but he wasn't a big fan of his tactics when it came to girls.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but it's like my mind won't let me," Lando muttered, feeling the frustration bubble up. "If it's too casual, it feels off, and if it's too serious, I start freaking out."
Max chuckled lightly. "You're overthinking it. Just let it be what it is. Just send the flowers, have fun, and if it turns into something more later, then deal with it. You're only going to drive yourself crazy trying to control everything."
The Briton sighed, running a hand through his hair. Max made it sound so simple, but Lando knew better—he wasn't the type to just "let things be." That wasn't who he was. He had always needed control. He was a bit of a control freak. It was why he'd become an F1 driver in the first place—the sport was all about precision, about controlling every tiny variable to get the best performance out of both machine and driver.
"I don't think you get it, Max," Lando said, his voice more frustrated now.
Max chuckled softly. "Mate, I know you're a bit of a control freak. That's why you're one of the best drivers out there. But relationships aren't like racing."
