𝐁 𝐑 𝐄 𝐀 𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 [lando norris x oc]

𝐭𝐰𝐨

"You know, we're very happy with the car today...I think the team has done a great job with the upgrades and I hope that we can keep this good luck going until practice and qualifying, and have a great race on Sunday."

"Well said, thank you Lando!" The interviewer seemed delighted with his response and turned to face the camera. "Lando Norris everyone! Tune in on Friday for practice-day coverage and up-close interview with the rest of the paddock."

Lando smiled at the man (he couldn't remember his name) and glanced towards his PR manager, Charlotte, silently begging her to get him out of this uncomfortable conversation. As soon as the red light flicked off on the camera, Lando was up and out of his chair, shaking hands quickly with the interviewer before racing out of the press room. He was very, very late. 

"Well don't sprint out of here, will you." Charlotte huffed as she caught up to him. "You know, you can at least pretend to like talking about yourself, you drivers should be pretty good at that."

"Funny gal." Lando rolled his eyes. "You know how much I hate those. Especially when they use those big arse mics and shove them in your face."

They reached a security checkpoint and Lando pulled his lanyard out to swipe, Charlotte right behind him. "Well at least I  don't have to have a mic shoved in my face. I just get to deal with your moody arse."

"Again, I don't understand why you're so sarcastic today, you're never sarcastic," Lando whined, weaving between people as he checked his watch. "Shit. Charlotte I'm really late, aren't I?"

"Yes, Mr. Norris, you are." Charlotte sped ahead of him, basically throwing herself through the double doors that led to the parking garage. "Now I don't publicly suggest that you speed but I do privately suggest that you heavily quicken your pace or else your mother will have both of our arses, sound like a deal?"

"Yes, ma'am." 

Lando was supposed to meet his mother. Not exactly his favorite activity, but not exactly his worst. She hardly ever came to races but this year she had claimed she wanted to make more of an effort with her middle son, despite her intense fear of flying. Which is why Lando being even a minute late would be quite disrespectful, even if it wasn't his fault. 

Lando took off down the road, typing his sisters contact into his phone and letting it ring. 

"Yo."

"Is that really how you answer your phone?" Lando groaned at his youngest sister. "Whatever, I don't have time to make fun of you--I need you to tell Mum that I'm going to be five minutes late."

"Are you seriously going to be late? Dude she hasn't actually sat down to eat with you in months. She was practically screaming on the plane today!"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm a terrible brother and son, blah, blah, blah, tell her it's because I'm picking up a surprise." Lando definitely ran that red light. Oh, well. 

"Sure, fine, whatever, I hate you, bye!"

The phone clicked and the line went dead. Great.

It wasn't his fault he was late, but that didn't mean he didn't feel bad about it. He hardly saw his family anymore, what with racing picking up and getting older. Everything was just too complicated at the moment, too overwhelming. Now that McLaren had been getting better results, there were new expectations for him and his new teammate Oscar. Lando hadn't gone out in months, hadn't had a rest day in what felt like forever. He could barely make it to dinner on time, for Christ's sake. Lando glanced at his GPS and pressed his foot down harder on the gas.