Thanks to Norris

part 66- friends?

As Practice Two was underway, I decided to take a walk through the paddock, needing a moment away from the buzz of the garage and the lingering tension that clung to the air. The cool morning breeze brushed against my face as I navigated through the maze of team trucks, hospitality units, and busy engineers. My fingers curled tightly around a warm cup of coffee — a small comfort amid the chaos.

Eventually, I found a quiet corner near one of the large screens broadcasting the session live. I leaned against the railing, eyes glued to the TV as I sipped my coffee, trying to focus on the lap times and sector splits, hoping to distract myself from the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.

Then my heart skipped a beat. Lando's name was nowhere on the timing screen. Instead, the name flashing across was Oscar Piastri. My mind reeled for a second—Oscar was in Lando's car. That meant Lando wasn't driving today.

Confused and a little unsettled, I took another sip of my coffee—and in that moment, I heard footsteps approaching behind me, quick and purposeful. Startled, I turned sharply, and in my surprise, I spilled some of the coffee over the side.

Lando stood there, grinning, clearly amused at my clumsiness. "Whoa, careful there," he chuckled as he sank down onto the bench beside me. "Didn't expect to scare you."

I gave him a pointed look, trying to hide the small smile breaking through my irritation. "You did," I said, brushing the spill off my leg.

There was a brief silence as we both looked back up at the screen. The timing board flickered with Oscar's lap times, and the car roared out on track, its shape unmistakably ours but driven by someone else.

Lando exhaled softly. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Sitting out and watching someone else do your job."

I nodded slowly, swirling the coffee in my cup. "Yeah. Like someone else is driving our chance this weekend."

We exchanged a look that carried more than just words—the frustration of not being behind the wheel, the unspoken worry that if Oscar or Kimi screwed up, it would affect both of us.

"Honestly," Lando said, half-smiling, "I'm scared they're gonna crash the cars."

I laughed quietly, the tension easing a little. "Same here. I don't want to think about that."

For a few minutes, we sat there in silence, watching Oscar lap through the corners with growing confidence. It was a rare moment where the usual barriers between us seemed to soften, replaced by a shared anxiety about the weekend ahead.

Finally, Lando broke the quiet. "Guess we just have to trust them."

I glanced at him, seeing something honest in his eyes. "Yeah. No choice, really."

We sat side by side, both lost in thought but somehow together in that uncertainty, letting the sounds of the track and the hum of the paddock fade into the background.

As we sat there quietly watching Oscar on the screen, I noticed a few photographers discreetly snapping pictures of us — rare moments where Lando and I were actually in the same place, seemingly at ease. The flashes caught us off guard, but neither of us moved away.

Then, before I could say anything, a reporter approached, her notepad ready and a curious glint in her eyes.

"So, what are you two doing here together?" she asked, clearly fishing for a story.

Lando and I exchanged a quick glance. We both knew the game — the media wanted drama, tension, secrets. But we needed to show them something different, something professional.

"We're just watching the practice like everyone else," I said, keeping my voice steady.

Lando nodded. "Yeah, focusing on the weekend. It's about the team and the cars, not just us."

The reporter smiled, not entirely convinced but sensing she wouldn't get much more from us. She moved on to other drivers, leaving us to our moment.

After she left, we shared a brief, awkward laugh — trying to be friends, trying to be professional, even when everything else between us was so complicated.

Practice ended with Kimi placing P8 and Oscar P9 — not bad at all. As we headed back to our garage, Lando nudged me with a grin. "Not bad for the old and the new, huh?"

I laughed, still a little nervous about Kimi behind the wheel but proud of how he handled it. "Yeah, I was half-expecting him to crash, but he pulled through."

We joked around a bit, the tension easing between us just enough.

Once inside the garage, I made sure to congratulate Kimi warmly. We snapped a quick picture together—me smiling with genuine pride, even if a little relief was mixed in.

Later, I posted it on social media with a caption: "Proud of our reserve—handled that seat like a pro. Even if I was a bit scared for him!"

Not long after, I noticed Lando had shared his own post—a sharp shot of Oscar in the cockpit, focused and ready.

It was a small moment, but somehow it felt like we were inching back toward some kind of understanding.

Scrolling through my phone in the quiet of my hotel room, I stumbled across a flood of fan edits—photos of Lando and me, some candid, some clearly staged, all pieced together with captions and hashtags about "rivalry turned friendship" or "F1's most complicated duo."

I couldn't help but smile at the creativity—and the obsession.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Charles.

He sent me one of the edits, the one where Lando and I were photoshopped side by side, looking like we were sharing a laugh.

I chuckled and texted back, "This looks so fake it's almost believable."

Charles replied instantly: "Right? But maybe... it's not that fake after all."

We both laughed, knowing how messy and unpredictable everything between Lando and me really was. Maybe the fans were onto something. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Either way, it was the perfect distraction from the race weekend stress.

Saturday arrived with the usual buzz in the paddock, the tension thick as we geared up for Free Practice 3. The track at Zandvoort was alive with the sound of engines roaring and tires gripping the asphalt.

Max was on fire, pushing hard and claiming P1 early on—his home crowd feeding his fire, every lap sharper than the last. You could almost feel the energy pulsing through the grandstands.

Meanwhile, Lando and I were locked in our own quiet battle for P5. We were neck and neck for most of the session, matching each other's pace lap after lap. No words—just the subtle nods and glances that spoke volumes.

Every time I looked over, Lando's focus was intense but there was something else in his eyes—maybe respect, maybe frustration. The pace was tight, but neither of us willing to give an inch.

At the end of the session, I crossed the line just ahead of him. P5 for me, P6 for Lando. Close, but I had the edge today.

The tension hung there—competitive but not hostile. Just two drivers pushing each other, trying to prove something, maybe to the world... but definitely to each other.