𝗖𝝝𝗟𝗗 𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗘

𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡

Lando Norris

She's cold.

Freezing.

But I wait. Let the silence ring in the air for a little longer. How long do people usually stay quiet after being told something like that. Is there an appropriate wait that needs to be passed in order to react? Am I even allowed to stand up and just, leave?

Because I've waited two whole minutes and I can visibly tell she's shaking. I don't know what the hell it is she's wearing underneath that thin sweater, but I know it won't keep her lips from turning pale, for much longer.

Dammit.

I lick my lips dry to gather the action of standing up.

She looks at me. I can see her look at me. Feel it.

Still, I avoid her side, taking in all my surroundings but her. I don't dare to say anything, no unnecessary monologue.

After what she shared, I doubt anything out of my mouth will help with easing the post convo quiet.

As stupid as it sounds, right now I don't want to add to whatever it is she's feeling.

Fuck, just let me get her that stupid blanket I keep in my trunk. For once, I don't feel like adding my side to make the bad worse.

The car unlocks and I stop when I realize how shitty this must look. Walking away after the girl I despise yet somehow enjoy to make mad, openly shared something that makes her attackable. Showed a side I haven't seen on anyone else but myself.

The past reflection of myself. Nothing but a wounded boy's face trapped inside a mirror after a bad race.

Vulnerability.

She thinks I'm leaving. One hundred percent.

Therefore, I make the effort to sprint up the hill with big steps, careful not to fall like she did.

"Here," I do my best to hold back the panting.

But she just looks at me like a deer struck at headlights.

"I can see you're cold, just take it." The overly careful thing starts to annoy me as the seconds pass. And when I feel my arm grow heavier due to her hesitation, I'm ready to snap. Fall back into old motives.

I would've thrown it into her lap, but the blanket is taken before the pattern gets the chance to make it trough the currently not working wall.

My feet carry me back to the same spot on the bench, muscle memory clearly deep engraved into my body. After the many times I've been here.

"Thank you," her lips stay parted. "Lando."

Something inside stiffens. Pushes away the glimpse of rudeness stored at the surface.

Is it because of the tone of voice when she said it, or the fact that she did, thank me.

This whole thing has become much harder than it has to be. And I feel something unwell form inside my stomach, when I think about the fallen facade between us.

Because she still doesn't know. And the fact that that dinner she had tonight, didn't go the way they hoped, means no one told her either.

They think it's her.

That she is the one sharing confidential information with my team. That's why Mercedes what's her to quit. That's why they relied on her father to do it. Knowing they'd loose a sponsor if they fired her.

But if she was the one to mention her passion for the team during a shared conversation, he'd fire her for them. Only that way he would stay, and she would leave.