STYLE; lando norris

37 | in the garage

➶ 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 °•⁀➷  ﹏﹏ [调情] ꒦꒷

▍〔  🧺. 〕࿐ ໋₊ ˖ ▍

▅▅▅▅▅▅ 037. ◢◤◢◤◢

Qualifying and free practice flew by in a blur for the two drivers. Lando hadn't exactly secured the position he'd hoped for—P5—but it was still an improvement over Blake's performance. Her mind had been too preoccupied in recent days to truly focus on the task at hand, and it showed. Her qualifying results were disappointing once again, slipping to P11.

Blake knew that if she couldn't keep up, her time at McLaren might be cut short. Her contract was up for review, and the pressure was suffocating.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she repeated, guilt and frustration flooding her voice. "I'll do better in the race. I promise. That's on me." She apologized again and again to her race engineer, who reassured her with a calm but firm tone, urging her to keep her head in the game and focus on the upcoming race.

It was a few hours before the race, and Blake found herself still avoiding Lando. The tension between them was palpable, both drivers lost in their own worlds of frustration. Blake paced back and forth in her room, the weight of everything on her shoulders, but her thoughts were scattered—chaotic, pulled in so many directions. Her nerves were frayed, and it was affecting her performance.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, her head sinking into her hands. The knot in her stomach tightened as she tried to process everything—the pressure, the uncertainty, the mistakes. She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to relax, but it was no use.

An hour before the race, another sharp knock on her door startled her from her spiraling thoughts.

"Yeah?" she called out, her voice more clipped than she intended as she straightened up.

The door opened, revealing John, a member of the McLaren staff, with a steady gaze. "Almost time," he reminded her, tapping his watch, his tone calm but firm. "Better get to the garage."