Formula 1 | One Shots

Slipping Down | Lando Norris

Authors Note: ⚠️ Mental health trigger warning.

Written in Lando POV.
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Another fucking win slipping right through my fingers. This was the closest I had been recently, and one stupid miscalculation cost me P1. Of course Max won. I wasn't good enough. I would never be good enough. It was always a podium, but never the top step. After my debut in 2019, I still couldn't believe I hadn't won...once. At first, I tried to brush off the losses, to convince myself that I'll get it right next time. But as the defeats piled up, they became a heavy burden weighing down on my soul. Maybe I'm not good enough. Maybe I'll never be good enough.

I parked my car in P2, trying to hide my emotions with a fake smile. Everyone always called me the 'golden retriever of F1, always so happy and energetic despite race results. It was a good facade. No one knew about the turmoil inside of me every race. 

I told myself 2024 would be my year, and every time I'm almost there, someone snatches it from under me. Getting out of my car, I saw the team at Parc Ferme cheering loudly for me, but saw Zak lurking behind them. 

I already knew how he felt, disappointed. He had become a father figure for me since I'd joined McLaren and I just wanted to make him proud. While he never directly told me anything negative about my race results, I just knew. It was always "P2/P3 is great, but you can do better Lando." He wasn't wrong. I wanted to do better, I needed to do better.

Max got out of his car at P1, and Carlos at P3. They both came over to me to give me a hug, but when it was Max's turn, I couldn't help but resent him for winning. It wasn't his fault, it was my own demons whispering in my ear that he was better than me, and I could never be like Max Verstappen. Carlos could almost sense my emotions radiating off of me, as he gave me a small smile and a pat on the back. He was always good at reading me, even when I tried my best to hide how I really felt. Standing on the P2 step of the podium, I zoned out hearing the Dutch anthem, something I've come to loathe. It was like a reminder that no one else had a shot, and it was expected for us to listen to it every Sunday.

I didn't even stick around after the champagne spray. I quickly headed for my drivers room to take a quick shower before the team debrief, which I was not looking forward to. Although we had a P2 and P4 result from Oscar and I, I knew there would still be talks about "how to improve" and I wasn't in the mood for it. 

I sat there for one hour listening to Zak tell me what I did wrong and how I could have won. I simply responded by nodding my head and throwing in the occasional 'ok'.  It wasn't his fault, he was doing his job as team principle, and I was the one failing him. Once the meeting was over,  I sprinted as fast as I could to the company car, to head back to the hotel. 

This race was particularly depressing. Not only did I not win when it was so close, my family and friends couldn't make it to this race, so it was pretty lonely. I had a whole plan to drink my night away, alone in my room. Max had texted that the boys were going to a VIP bar to celebrate the race, but it was just going to dampen my mood more, so I declined and told them I was really tired. 

Getting back to the hotel, there was a crowd outside waiting for drivers to sign and take photos with them. My fans were always something that made me happy, and motivated me to do better. I felt bad constantly disappointing them  and I wanted to win for them as much as I wanted to win for myself. 

I had a decent amount of loyal fans, but some of my fans sexualized me on Tiktok edits and only claimed to support or like me because of the way I looked. So many of my friends have sent me social media thirst traps of myself and truthfully, it made me cringe. I didn't want to be known as the driver who was remembered for how he looked. I also knew Charles got a fair share of these type of edits too. His female fanbase was wild.