i forget you aren't mine - lando norris - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

"if you think to write me / it'll go internalized..."
lando's sat on a private jet.
he's flying somewhere he can't even remember — next race city. maybe imola. maybe barcelona. doesn't matter.
he's got his headphones in, hoodie up, feet kicked onto the seat across from him. the window's streaked with sunset light, but he doesn't bother looking out.
the race win's already fading.
not because it wasn't good — it was.
but because something about it felt unfinished.
or worse... unshared.
they always used to talk post-race.
win or lose, he'd call her before the car even cooled down.
"did you see turn four?"
"i almost took out carlos, i swear."
"you'd be proud. i didn't cry. almost, though."
he misses her voice on the other end. the softness. the way she always knew exactly what to say — when to hype him up, when to call him out, when to just listen.
now?
now it's all noise and flashbulbs and emptiness.
he replays the podium in his head.
how it looked good on camera. how the photographers captured his grin like it was gospel.
but behind his eyes?
nothing but static.
because the moment he saw that trophy in his hands, all he could think was:
she should've been here to see this.
and that thought ruined everything else.
the press was a blur too.
same questions, different faces.
"lando, your first win of the season — how does it feel?"
"do you think this changes the championship dynamic?"
"who's the first person you're calling tonight?"
he lied.
said his mum.
they laughed. called him sweet.
but inside, he thought of her.
the one he hasn't stopped imagining in the crowd.
the one he still dreams of wearing his hoodie on lazy sunday mornings.
the plane hits turbulence. he barely blinks.
his phone's still in his hand, screen glowing with their chat thread.
months of unsent drafts.
he's written to her a hundred times.
texts like:
wish you saw the race
i miss talking to you
i was wrong. about the space thing. about everything.
but he never presses send.
because she hasn't sent anything either.
and that silence?
it's humiliating. terrifying.
but mostly... deserved.
lando leans his head back against the seat.
he thinks about her hands. how they used to thread through his curls when he was spiraling.
"breathe," she'd say. "you're safe with me."
he never believed her then.
now he'd kill to hear it.
his trainer, ian, glances over.
"you good?" he asks.
lando nods without looking up.
"yeah. just tired."
but tired doesn't cover it.
it's deeper. bone-deep. heartbreak-deep.
a kind of ache he doesn't even know how to name.
he opens instagram. scrolls out of habit.
a post from the f1 account shows his winning moment. over 2 million likes already.
he reads the comments. regrets it.
lando's finally arrived.
about damn time.
wonder if he's still single 👀
one reply stands out — her best friend liked it.
no tag. no trace of her. but still.
it makes his pulse stutter.
she saw it, he thinks. she knows.
he opens her contact again.
types out the words without thinking:
today didn't feel right without you.
he stares at it for a full minute.
thumb hovering over the send button.
everything slows. the plane. his thoughts. time itself.
but he doesn't press it.
he sighs. selects it all. deletes it. again.
"breaking up is funny," he mutters under his breath.
"i forget you aren't mine."
and that's the worst of it, isn't it?
how easy it is to slip.
how natural it still feels to want to share his life with her.
how wrong it feels not to.
he closes his phone. puts it face down.
stares out the window for the first time.
the sun's almost gone.
city lights flicker below like stars trying to pretend they're something more.
just like him.
he pulls the hood tighter around his face.
closes his eyes.
whispers something he'll never say out loud:
"come back."
but the plane keeps flying.
and she stays gone.
and the message remains... almost sent.