🛏️ʀᴏᴏᴍ 713 - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ🛏️
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ + ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴀʟ ɪᴅᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴄʟɪꜰꜰ / ɴᴇᴀʀ-ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇʀʏ
ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇꜱ
ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ꜱᴀᴠɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ
The sky was a dusky canvas of grey-blue, bleeding faint streaks of orange as the sun began its slow descent behind the hills. There was a brittle kind of quiet in the air, the sort that hums inside your ears when your thoughts are too loud to ignore. Wind brushed through the tall grass in shivering waves, the hill sloping down into an expanse of wilderness that looked endless. Lando Norris stood on the edge of it all, his shoes resting dangerously close to the crumbling cliff, the breeze nudging against him like a taunt.
He didn’t know how long he had been standing there. Time had dissolved the moment he parked his car and wandered up the dirt path, led by instinct more than purpose. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, knuckles white from how tightly he clenched his fists. The air stung his eyes, or maybe that was just the lingering burn of tears he refused to let fall.
The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix had come and gone, leaving behind champagne-soaked celebrations, applause, and glittering lights. And yet, Lando could still feel the weight of the moment he knew the championship had slipped from his grasp. One race. One shot. It had been within reach—so close he could practically taste it. But fate, or misfortune, or perhaps just sheer bad luck, had other plans.
Oscar had won.
Oscar Piastri, his teammate, the rookie. The prodigy. The golden boy.
Lando was happy for him. He truly was. But happiness was not a cure for the slow suffocation of disappointment. He had given everything. Years of sacrifice, relentless discipline, pushing past the limits of body and mind. And still, it wasn't enough.
He had smiled for the cameras, clapped for Oscar, lifted his glass in toast. But inside, something had cracked. Something deep. And when the celebration ended, and the world moved on, Lando didn’t.
So here he was.
At the edge of everything.
He inched closer, heels half-dangling now. A sick sense of peace began to blanket his nerves. The stillness below looked inviting. Quiet. Final. His chest rose in a sharp inhale, his body leaning ever so slightly forward—
And then, a hand.
Strong fingers gripped his wrist. Another arm looped around his shoulders and yanked him back with startling force.
“What the actual fuck are you doing?”
Lando stumbled, breath catching in his throat, as he was pulled backwards onto stable ground. He blinked, eyes adjusting, disoriented by the sudden disruption.
A woman stood before him, her brows drawn in tight fury. Her grip on his arm didn’t loosen.
“Were you seriously about to jump? Are you completely out of your mind?”
He stared at her, too stunned to speak.
“Goshhh, do you even realize how close you were? A few more centimeters and—” She trailed off, shaking her head, eyes glistening with frustration and something else. Fear.
He managed a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I mean, I just—”
“Just what? Thought you'd lean over for a better view?” she snapped. “Jes-. You're Lando Norris, right? The Formula One driver?”
His throat tightened. He nodded.
She exhaled sharply, clearly exasperated. “You didn’t win the championship, so what? You're going to throw your entire life away because of one bad season?”
Lando flinched at the words.
“You came second, right? Or third? Do you know how many people would give their entire existence to even race in F1, let alone stand on that podium? Maybe it wasn't your year. Maybe next year is. You don't quit just because the timing isn’t on your side.”
She didn’t stop.
“You endured so much this season. You smiled through the pressure, through the cameras, through the media constantly comparing you to everyone else. You were brave enough to celebrate your teammate when your heart was breaking. That’s not weakness. That’s courage.”
Her voice softened, just a touch. “You matter, Lando. You’re more than just a championship.”
His chest heaved, and without warning, it all came undone.
He broke.
Tears spilled over, unbidden. First a few, then a storm. He cried with a rawness that startled even him, loud and ugly sobs that echoed into the hollow sky. The ache in his chest exploded into something uncontainable.
And still, she held him.
She dropped to the ground with him as his knees buckled, his head burying into her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him, solid and warm, a stranger's embrace offering the comfort he hadn't known he needed.
She whispered into his ear, a soft stream of words meant only for him.
“You’re not weak. You’re human.”
“You’re strong, even when it hurts.”
“You did good. So good.”
They sat there for what felt like hours, cradled by the earth and silence, the stars beginning to emerge in quiet twinkles above.
Eventually, he spoke, voice trembling. “Who are you?”
She leaned back slightly, giving him a small, tired smile. “( Y/n ) Hwang. I live not too far from here.”
“Why were you up here?” he asked, wiping at his face.
She chuckled softly, gesturing toward the grass. “I needed space to think. I work for a fashion house in the city, the lead designer told me to disappear for a while until I ‘get my creative brain back.’ I guess this hill felt like the right place to vanish for a bit.”
He laughed quietly, the sound still raw. “You always save people when you vanish?”
“Only the stubborn ones,” she teased.
They sat in silence again before she stood, brushing off her jeans. “Come on. There’s a bench nearby. You look like you need to sit somewhere that isn’t this dramatic.”
He let her guide him. A short walk led to a weathered wooden bench tucked beneath a small willow tree. It creaked as they sat, but the view was beautiful, overlooking the sleepy lights of the town below.
“Wait here,” she said suddenly, trotting off toward a small hatchback parked under the trees.
Lando watched her disappear, puzzled.
Minutes later she returned, triumphantly holding a tub of ice cream and a plastic bag filled with spoons.
“You keep that in your car?” he asked, a brow raised.
“Emergency therapy snack,” she said. “I came prepared.”
They passed the tub between them, trading spoonfuls, melting ice cream becoming a balm. Conversation flowed, tentatively at first, then deeper. They talked about racing, about design, about dreams and disappointments. The night air was cool, but not cold, their breath fogging faintly with every laugh and sigh.
At some point, her watch buzzed. A soft chime, not intrusive.
She looked down, smiled.
“That’s my cue. Time to go back to real life.”
Lando frowned. “You’re leaving?”
“We both should,” she said gently. “And you, especially, should go home. Rest. Don’t ever come back to that edge like that again.”
He nodded slowly. “I won’t. Not now.”
She stood, brushing her hands together, the empty tub discarded into a nearby bin. As she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder.
“It was nice meeting you, Lando Norris. Try not to break anymore hearts, including your own.”
He watched her walk back to her car, engine purring to life, taillights glowing like little red stars as she disappeared into the night.
And for the first time in a long while, Lando sat alone—not in despair, but in a quiet sort of gratitude.
The hill hadn’t taken him.
It had given him something instead.
Someone.
To be continued...🧡
🛏️ʀᴏᴏᴍ 713 - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ🛏️