STYLE; lando norris

36 | miami

➶ 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 °•⁀➷ ﹏﹏ [调情] ꒦꒷

▍〔 🧺. 〕࿐ ໋₊ ˖ ▍

▅▅▅▅▅▅ 036. ◢◤◢◤◢

The early morning buzz of the paddock had faded into a slightly calmer atmosphere as the drivers gathered around the cafe, their usual seats taken as they swapped stories, joked, and fuelled up before the day's events. George had invited the grid to have breakfast together before anything. The tables were scattered with plates of fresh fruit, coffee, and pastries, but the usual camaraderie that typically filled the air was notably absent. Blake sat at the edge of the table, the corner furthest from Lando, trying her best to ignore the subtle tension that had settled between them.

Lando sat a few seats away, his focus on his phone, his body language closed off. His usual easy smile was nowhere to be seen. Blake kept her eyes down, stirring her coffee with a little more force than necessary, trying to keep the conversation around them at a comfortable distance. It wasn't working. Not with the group of drivers she shared a table with—Danny Ric, George, Max, and a few others. They were a friendly bunch, often teasing each other with casual jabs, but today, their usual banter felt laced with something more.

As the conversation around them picked up, Max, ever the instigator, glanced between Blake and Lando, noticing the strained silence between them. His eyes sparkled with mischief, a smirk tugging at his lips as he nudged Carlos.

"Oi, Max," Carlos said under his breath, nodding in their direction. "They've been giving each other the cold shoulder lately, huh?"

Max raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, his voice a little too loud for the moment. "Well, well, well. Lando, mate, looks like Blake's giving you the silent treatment today. Did you forget your anniversary or something?"

Blake's heart skipped a beat. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she kept her gaze firmly fixed on her cup. Lando didn't respond right away, his jaw tightening, but then he sighed, his tone low and defensive.