Thanks to Norris

part 86- p2

Drivers' Parade

The engine of the classic car rumbled under your feet as the parade began to loop around the Yas Marina Circuit. The air was thick with sun and tension, but your face stayed calm, waving to the packed grandstands, sunglasses hiding your eyes.

Cheers echoed like a storm across the track. Fans waving flags, signs with your name, others for Lando — both of you were everywhere. This was it. The last lap before the race even started.

As the car crawled along, every driver had something to say.

Mick leaned over from the next car, giving you a small, quiet thumbs-up. "You've got this. You always did."

George smirked and shouted over the wind, "Don't forget to breathe. I want a champagne shower later!"

Lewis gave you a nod with that knowing look — not loud, not dramatic. Just understood. "It's already yours. Just finish it."

Charles, standing beside you in the same car, bumped your shoulder gently. "Whatever happens, you've made it here. That already says everything."

Others smiled too — Alex, Esteban, Yuki, Pierre — all of them wished you luck. Some winked, some waved. But they made sure to say the same to Lando too. Everyone knew how close this was. You were friends, yes, but you were threats too.

When the parade ended, you stepped off the platform and walked with Charles and Lewis back toward the paddock, your boots heavy on the asphalt. Everyone slowly peeled off toward their own garages. You lingered behind for a moment, catching your breath.

And that's when you saw him.

Lando.

Alone for once, helmet in hand, no cameras, no engineers. Just him in the shade behind the hospitality building, leaning against the wall.

You looked around — no one. Just the two of you.

He looked up, and for a second neither of you moved.

Then you walked over.

No words. Not right away.

You just stood there, barely a foot between you, the thrum of the circuit distant behind you, the whole world about to watch you go to war for the biggest title of your lives.

"I didn't sleep," you whispered.

Lando gave a breath of a laugh. "I had a dream you beat me by two tenths and I cried on the podium."

You smiled, small and real. "You might."

He tilted his head. "Or you might. I don't know anymore."

There was a pause — a long, gentle silence. No accusations. No tension. Just two people standing at the edge of something they couldn't undo.

"I hate that one of us is going to get hurt," you admitted.

Lando nodded, slowly. "I know. But if it's gonna be anyone... I'd rather lose to you than anyone else."

You swallowed hard, looking at his hands — the same ones that had pulled you close in quiet hotel rooms, the ones that had caught yours in the dark.

You reached out, just for a second, and touched his wrist.

"Let's just... make it worth it," you said.

His voice was soft. "It already is."

Then, without another word, you both turned and walked away — toward the garages, toward your teams, toward the noise and history and heartbreak.