Thanks to Norris

part 47- loosing

The sun cracked through thick clouds as you lined up on the grid.
P3, behind Lewis and Lando.
The front row buzzed with legacy and potential — two generations of British talent, flanked by you.

Your home race, too. Just not labeled as such.

Josi was in the garage. Max Fewtrell nearby. Lando's family a few meters away, watching both you and him. You caught his mother's eye again before you put your helmet on. She gave you a small nod — not of pressure, just... trust.

The kind that lingered, even when relationships didn't.

The Start

Lights out — and it was chaos.

Lewis launched cleanly. Lando right beside him, biting. You slipped into P3 but kept close, weaving through the curves of Silverstone like they were burned into your bones.

By Lap 12, you were P2 — Lewis locked in a defensive battle with Lando, and you took the opening when both ran slightly wide out of Copse.

Then it was you and Lando.

Just like it used to be in karting. Just like it never got to be in F1 — until now.

Lap 26 – Wheel to Wheel

Every lap, you two danced with fate. Through Maggotts, Becketts, Hangar Straight — DRS open, hearts slamming into rib cages. Your teams were losing their minds on the radios, begging for composure, but neither of you lifted.

There was a point where your tires touched — not enough for damage, but enough to jolt everything. You caught his eyes for half a second in your mirrors.

Determined. Sharp. Focused.

You remembered when that look used to be directed at others.

Lap 44 of 52

Rain teased the track but never committed. You were still leading, but your tires were fading — so were his. The crowd was on their feet, screaming for a home hero, not knowing they were getting two.

And still — you fought.

Each corner, a test. Each exit, a statement.

Final Lap – Sector 2

You knew it was coming.

You'd held Lando off for twenty laps. But now, his battery was primed. He was closer than he'd ever been. Right on your gearbox heading into Stowe.

You looked in the mirror.

And you thought about everything.

The tension.

The words unsaid.

The way his family still loved you.
The way he didn't hate you — just stopped trusting you.

And you thought:

"Let him have it."

Not because he deserved it more.

But because you needed to do something selfless. Something clean. Something quiet.

So you braked just a little too late — just enough to run a bit wide on purpose. Just enough to make it look like a mistake.

The crowd exploded as Lando shot past.

He didn't celebrate.

He didn't lift a fist or scream into the radio.