Flight Attendant - Lando norris fanfic

35 - World Champions

The Yas Marina Circuit shimmered under the relentless Abu Dhabi sun, the stands overflowing with fans dressed in team colors, waving flags and roaring with excitement. The heat was suffocating, but my nerves were worse. I could feel the thumping of my heartbeat in my throat as I stood in the paddock, surrounded by the deafening hum of engines and the whirlwind energy that only a championship-deciding race could bring.

Lando's car, the papaya orange McLaren that I'd come to think of as an extension of him, sat on the grid, gleaming under the bright light. Mechanics swarmed around it, making final adjustments. From my spot behind the barriers, I could just make out Lando sitting in the cockpit, his helmet already on, visor reflecting the sky. I knew, even from this distance, that he was in the zone. Focused. Determined. But I wished more than anything that I could be close enough to squeeze his hand, to feel his pulse racing with mine.

I held my breath as the cars rolled out for the formation lap. Everything we had been through—the highs, the lows, the love and the heartbreak—led to this moment. I closed my eyes, and flashes of memories flooded me.

The first time I had ever seen him race, when I was still an attendant on McLaren's private flights, watching him on a TV screen at some airport lounge, marveling at his courage and talent. Back then, he'd been a distant figure, a name in the world of motorsport. Now, he was the man I loved, someone whose triumphs and failures I felt as deeply as my own.

I remembered the laughter, the stolen moments between races, the quiet nights when he held me close and whispered about his dreams. And I remembered the fear—fear of losing him, fear of the chaos that came with being by his side in such a public, high-pressure world. But this was where we belonged, intertwined in each other's lives, strong and steadfast, no matter what.

The cars lined up, and the lights above the starting grid flickered red, one by one. The tension was unbearable, and I clutched the pass hanging around my neck, my knuckles turning white. I mouthed a silent prayer. For Lando. For all of it.

The lights went out, and the race roared to life.

It was chaos from the start. Lando's main championship rival, Verstappen, launched off the line like a rocket, and the two of them went wheel-to-wheel through the first corner. My hands were trembling as I watched, each overtake and defensive move making my heart stop.

"Come on, Lando," I whispered, willing him forward.

The laps unfolded in a blur of speed and adrenaline. Lando fought with a level of skill and aggression that had the entire McLaren garage holding its collective breath. I could hear the radio chatter coming through the speakers, the voices of his engineer, the pit crew, strategists rattling off tire information and time gaps. My own pulse echoed in my ears.

"Cordelia," Juniper's voice snapped me out of my trance. She stood beside me, her own expression tense but hopeful. "You okay?"

I nodded, though my body felt like a live wire, buzzing with anticipation. "Barely breathing," I admitted, and she gave me a tight, understanding smile.

The race ebbed and flowed with moments of high drama. A safety car was deployed after a collision between two midfield cars, bunching up the pack and erasing Lando's hard-earned lead. I could see his frustration, the way he gestured in the cockpit, but when the race restarted, he came back even stronger, pushing the car to its absolute limit.

With just five laps to go, the championship was still on the line. Max was right behind Lando, hounding him through every corner, trying to force a mistake. The commentators' voices crackled through the speakers, analyzing every move, every tire lock-up and slipstream battle.

"Lando Norris leads," one of them said, his voice vibrating with excitement, "but can he hold off Verstappen until the end?"

I held my breath, my hands clasped together so tightly that my nails bit into my palms. I wanted to close my eyes, to hide from the tension, but I couldn't. I had to see it, every second of it.

Three laps to go. Lando defended like his life depended on it, blocking every advance Max made. The McLaren garage was a wall of silent anticipation, everyone leaning forward, barely breathing. I couldn't take it. I had to move, so I paced back and forth, my eyes glued to the screen, a mixture of hope and fear bubbling in my chest.

Two laps. The cars screamed down the straights, the gap between Lando and Max fluctuating with every corner, every push of the accelerator. I couldn't even think; I could only feel—the thunderous heartbeat, the raw anxiety in my chest.

Final lap. The entire world seemed to hold its breath as Lando took the first few corners perfectly, Verstappen right on his gearbox, desperate for any opportunity. But Lando was relentless, driving with a precision and fire that made tears well up in my eyes. He had come so far, and he was so close.

The final turn came, and the redbull tried one last move, but Lando held firm, crossing the finish line just ahead, the checkered flag waving in the sun.

He did it.

He won.

The McLaren garage erupted into pandemonium, screams and cheers filling the air. I felt my knees buckle, and Juniper caught me, both of us sobbing and laughing at the same time. Tears streamed down my face, and I pressed a hand over my mouth, disbelief and joy crashing into me like a tidal wave.

"He did it," I choked out, my voice cracking.

Lando's car slowed on the cooldown lap, and his voice came through the speakers, trembling with emotion. "Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you, everyone. Thank you."

I ran. My feet barely touched the ground as I bolted through the crowd, past journalists and fans, weaving through the throng of people until I reached the parc fermé, where the drivers parked their cars. Lando climbed out, pulling off his helmet, his hair wild and eyes glistening with tears. He looked around, searching, and when our eyes met, he broke into a run.

"Cordelia!" he called, his voice breaking.

I crashed into him, and he lifted me off the ground, both of us laughing and crying, holding on like we'd never let go. His body trembled with the sheer force of emotion, his arms crushing me to his chest.

"You did it," I whispered, my voice drowned out by the cheers around us. "I'm so proud of you."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes wet and overflowing. "I couldn't have done it without you," he said, his voice raw, his hands cradling my face. "I love you."

"I love you," I replied, and we kissed, the world spinning around us, the noise and chaos fading into something beautiful and pure.

Lando Norris was the World Champion. And we had won, together.