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With the hood of his black hoodie on his head and nightfall behind him, Lando stood in front of the old warehouse building or whatever it was, and looked up at the billboard that was attached to its wall with big eyes - or to be precise: Looked at himself.
An overlarge print version of himself was smiling down to him from the poster, advertising the new Quadrant collection that they had only just released.
Quadrant, his dearest project outside of racing, his big treasure, his baby.
His chance to live out this other side of him for which there wasn’t much space behind the wheel of a F1 bolid. His place where he could let his creativity spring free and bring his passion for all things video games and design and apparel to life.
But instead of joy over that now finally the time had come to share the results of said project with the world, and pride that their first collection was finally real and out there, on sale, after months of incredibly hard work - instead of that, Lando’s body was a vessel for a ton of other emotions:
Anger, mostly.
Disappointment.
The void of lost faith, the instinct to run and hide, as well as the urge to cry and scream and give voice to his frustration-
All clashing together in his insides.
Because above everything else, instead of looking at himself up there or Ria or the others, who had joined him for the photoshoot, his eyes were glued to the six words that someone had sloppily spray-painted over the whole billboard in red, dripping letters.
LANDO NORIS IS A FUCKING FAGOT!
The spelling mistakes did not soften the blow at all (…more like it, Lando didn’t even really notice them in his initial shock). Just through reading this claim, the Briton felt his body starting to shake and he reflexively clenched his hands to fists, trying to keep it together - because the last thing that he needed right now was an emotional meltdown on the open street!
But that was certainly easier said than done, cause it was a whole other story to stand right here and see it with his own eyes than only through these pictures that had been flooding his inboxes on social media since the morning.
No, even if he technically already knew it, this view here was so much more devastating than any of those pictures and tweet mentions could have ever prepared him for. Because now that he was standing right in front of the slandered billboard himself, the whole thing obtained a final, indisputable certainty.
Which was also the reason why he had come here, because he’d just had to know for sure wether this was real - and maybe also a bit in the hope that it was not and that they had all just fallen for a tasteless photoshop-edit-prank or whatever, you never knew-
However, all these possible other explanations that he had pondering back and forth in his head over the last hours were off the table now. Standing face to face with the disgrace, there was no way to deny it anymore; and the realisation that it was actually, genuinely true felt no less painful than a proper punch in the guts for Lando.
Which he could assess. Cause different to most people who used this phrase when describing something overwhelming and shocking, he had sadly received a few actual punches in the course of his school time.
Until today, he didn’t know why these fours boys in his class had been after him so much - wether it had been for that he had always been a head smaller than the others and rather fine-boned;
or because most of his classmates had already known each other from elementary school and he’d been this shy kid who struggled with approaching new people;
or because he already back then had been absent so often for karting competitions and therefore had always been a bit ‘on the sidelines’ in the class community, the outsider, the weirdo that nobody really knew-
Presumably a mixture of all.
But just as likely it could have had nothing to do with any of that and it had only been an unlucky coincidence, a decision out of boredom - as if bullies needed an actual reason for their nastinesses, after all…!
Either way, Ethan and his clique had — pretty soon after the school year had started — picked him out and had taken enormous fun of mocking and teasing him at every opportunity from then on; for everything and anything: Wether it had been his new pencil case from the video game that he’d played that they had found soooo embarrassing, or how his curls always became this wild mess like a bird’s nest when it rained (…which it, spoilers, did quite often in Britain), or his ‘ridiculous’ ambitions of becoming a professional racing driver - they’d always had something to say about and especially to him.
And sometimes, when they apparently had been really bored, they had even pushed him around or taken his stuff away, or thought of other nastinesses to ruin his day.
However, although none of that had been particularly nice, even worse — the worst — had it been when they had started teasing him about being so emotional, so sensitive, so gay.
When they had started to call him the typical names - stuff like princess. Fairy. Homo.
Faggot.
Probably they had only said these things without even knowing what they actually meant, like, just because they had newly discovered them at a certain age and had found it somewhat ‘cool’ to dare and say them, because the adults always reacted so funnily irritated and awkward over the whole topic. And the fact that Lando had never had a girlfriend in his school time had also giving this new ‘running gag’ an awfully fitting foundation - but nonetheless they probably hadn’t had a clue about how much they’d actually hit the nail on the head with that. And how little of a joke it had been for Lando, even if he himself had not been aware of it at this time either-
Or well, kind of, he had already back then known — feared — it, too, of course - he might have been a teenager, but not stupid.
Obviously had he also noticed when other boys his age — even his mates at the karting track, for who racing before had been everything, just like for Lando — had been more and more showing interest in girls, in a way that he himself could have just not comprehend.
Like, yes, he’d liked some of the girls that had been racing with them, or the same-aged sisters of his mates who had also been at the track every now and then and with who they had played in the breaks. And even in school, some of his female classmates had been quite nice, nicer than most of the boys, at least! - but he had still not liked one of them like that.
The deep fascination for the female body that all his age-mates had suddenly fallen for had completely passed him by.
And as if this had not been already a reason to worry for a teenager trying to fit in enough, his heart had also started beating awkwardly faster whenever he had talked to that one French boy from a karting class higher - who he had suddenly no longer only admired for his skills on the track, but also for this cool new haircut that he had and his intense eyes, and how special he made the most normal words sound in his accent so that Lando would have just loved to listen to him talk for hours.
Which had been quite clear hints actually, also already at that time, but still, the Briton had not wanted to go that way in his thoughts; too scared to cross a line from where there would be no going back anymore.
So he had just strictly ignored everything that had to do with the scary g-word in his head and had just told himself that it would go away again with time, like, that it was surely only a weird in-between-phase in his pubertal development, something that would be all vanished again one morning and that he then would also go crazy over girls just like the others - or at least had he wished for it. Not wanting to be even more of an outsider than he had already been.
The trembling inside him grew stronger while he was still staring at the billboard that, against his will, was stirring up all these memories that he had buried deep, deep down. So much threatened to come back up to the surface again; and Lando had to clench his fists and jaw even more in order to fight back the tears that were suddenly burning in his eyes - and also to keep his rumbling stomach unter control, which was — in the direct view of this anew humiliation — in agitation again just like so many mornings back then. When he had been so anxious about the upcoming day at school that he had barely been able to get anything down his throat for breakfast.
Sometimes he had even vomitted from stress, and ironically, these had been the better days - because then his parents — who he hadn’t told about his problems for far too long — had most often kept him home in worry, assuming that he was sick.
And sick he had been - sick of the treatment that had awaited him day in, day out in class. So, so sick of it.
So that those days and whenever he had been absent for karting competitions had been like much appreciated escapes for him, like little oases to catch a breather and hide away from reality for a while. But sooner or later — and he had been aware of that just like they had probably known it, too —, he’d always had to go back to school again, and expose himself to the lacking manners of Ethan and his idiotic friends.
And while Lando was still staring at the smeared billboard, unable to take his eyes off it, it was as if he could hear them again, laughing their asses off over all these rude things that they had said to him - and in the orange shimmer of the street lamp, the sprayed words looked just as scornful and evil. He knew that it was only spray paint, that it couldn’t like look at him, nor hurt him - but with the backdrop of his memories playing wildly in his head, it felt as if the graffiti was glaring down at him from the billboard with the same spitefulness just like the four boys had always treated him.
LANDO NORIS IS A FUCKING FAGOT!
FUCKING FAGOT!
FAGGOT!
And although he had heard these things often enough in all sorts of variations, Lando couldn’t help but realise that he was still far from immune against them. Even now that he actually was at peace with his identity and did no longer additionally beat himself up for it, too, this claim still didn’t fail to touch a sore point in him.
Oh, the infinite power of words.
That was ironically exactly why he, throughout last winter, had found himself thinking more and more about coming out the public. And why he had then uploaded this one selfie with the particular caption text during Pride Month some weeks ago.
Cause apart from that he had been tired of acting like someone that he just not was, and of all these rumors about girls that he — according to social media — was dating, he had wanted to be a guiding figure; a role model, kind of. Someone to look up to and orientate at for the younger members of his fanbase, who might struggle with the same issues like he had himself.
Which there surely were. Just because something is not visible, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist - neither in case of electricity, air and mobile service, nor in terms of people in the closet, who were afraid to live out who they were.
Lando himself knew that far too well.
Therefore, he had wanted to speak up and tell them that they were good the way they were, and that nobody should ever make them feel otherwise. That it was absolutely okay to be gay, or lesbian, or whatever else!
This was exactly what he would have wished to hear from someone back then (…seriously, if for example Valentino Rossi would have made such a statement out of the blue, it would have boosted the confidence of his teenage self through the roof!). And now that he was actually in the position to also have such a platform, he had seen it rather like his duty than a choice to stand up and use it. Because — call it naive or not — he best wanted no other child to go through what he had gone through; and if his open confession of his homosexuality would only help one poor tormented soul out in the end and give them strength, then it would have already been worth it!
…at least had he thought so.
But right now, standing in front of the abhorrently daubed billboard, the Briton suddenly asked himself why he had rushed with his plan so much and had not waited a little bit more with it - like, for until there actually was a concrete partner in his life.
His manager, Mark, had carefully suggested exactly that when Lando had told him about his plans. Had asked wether he might not want to rather wait until there was, like, a specific reason to take this big step, as nobody could foresee how this would impact his career and future in the sport.
But Lando, in his ecstatic rush of determination, had not wanted to hear any of that. He had thought that his coming-out didn’t need any other justification than his own personal one, and that there was no difference wether he was in a relationship or not.
Which Mark had respected, of course, and had not asked him again-
However, now it kind of dawned on Lando that his manager had probably not even meant it in that way, but that he had rather wanted him to wait until he had someone who would be by his side for this big step. Someone with who he could fight his way through all such bullshit together - which they had expected that would come, in whatever form.
Cause although the young racer had thought that times had changed ever since his dreadful years at school — and they partly also had, luckily —, it was still anything but easy to be gay. Even more when you were a person of public interest.
He had impressively got to learn over the last summer that there were sadly still enough people who did not think that it was okay to be homosexual. Well, the best proof was hanging at the house wall right in front of him in form of the ruined poster! And although it was only one sentence on the board, it felt worse than a hundred of nasty comments online.
Because this here was just so much more personal. Not only because it this time had also hit Quadrant, this piece of his heart and soul, basically -
But also (or probably even more), because in real life, he couldn’t just block people or let his admins delete any offensive shit talk like they did from underneath his posts. Over this here, he didn’t have any control — nobody did —; and it was exactly this what made this attack so much more invasive. So violent.
It was the old familiar feeling of helplessness and vulnerability behind it that sent Lando like back in time and made him feel as if he was that sensitive small boy again - which he wasn’t anymore, and neither was he defenseless, thanks to Jon’s training: If someone wanted to try to push him around again, should they try! Cause if there was one thing that he had sworn to himself, then it was that wouldn’t ever let himself be pushed around again without punching back!
But - there simply was no-one to punch here. No-one to hold accountant for this mess, no 08/15-user-name behind those words - there was nobody here in general far and wide.
And that was perhaps the worst about it all:
Biologically, Lando might not be a child anymore and certainly neither were his opponents, this time - but there behaviour was still anything except mature. More like massively coward.
Cause whoever they were, they had not even been brave or steadfast enough of their beliefs to do it to one of the posters in the big, lively subway stations (where they could have got caught by other passengers or the surveillance cameras), but had only dared to come to this one — in this rather unpopluar area in the outskirt of London where there was pretty much nobody outside anymore after nightfall — to spread their hateful slurs.
Wow.
Which Lando knew should actually tell him enough about these people, just like that they had not even spelled his fricking name right, although it was actually standing right there on the poster, too - but despite it all, he couldn’t deny that it just hit him hard.
So hard that, the tears were welling up a second time with more determination now, blurring the words together before his eyes and making him snivel. And he was just wiping over his eyes and nose with his sleeve, angrily driving these tears away that he didn’t even want to cry — because damn, and he not cried enough because of such assholes?! —, when there were suddenly footsteps approaching from behind.
Lando’s initial thought was that it might be some other curious spectator, a fan maybe.
Not that this here seemed like the typical location for autograph hunters; especially not to this time anymore, where it — as they were moving towards autumn with big steps and the days were becoming shorter again — was already getting dark on this September evening. Not to mention that chances were pretty low that someone might have really recognised him with his hood on and from behind. He could be literally anybody.
However, it wasn’t even necessary that someone recognised him. Cause, as Lando feared, it could still be someone from around this district who had seen the pictures on social media and had simply wanted to see the ‚big news‘ that were happening in their neighbourhood with his own eyes (just like quite many must have done, considering how often he had been forwarded photos of the graffiti over the day), and who would then make big eyes over who he met here when they were standing next to each other.
Like, hoodie and darkness or not, right next to the billboard with literally his face on, it was just about impossible to not recognise him, even if this other person was only walking by here by coincidence and actually didn’t even give a damn about F1.
And if there was something that the Briton definitely was not keen on to add to this horrible day, then it taking spontaneous selfies and giving autographs in front of this disgraceful backdrop, nor on any stuttered nonsense phrases of encouragement and comfort, no matter how well-meant they were intended.
Alone the imagination brought his stomach to rumble again, because just like back then, he didn’t want anybody to see this. Of course therefore it was already too late, the photos of the billboard were all over the internet, unstoppably spreading, even if he had spontaneously ripped it all off now. But, like - he didn’t want anybody to see what this did to him, emotionally.
It was already bad enough that he most likely wouldn’t be able to avoid this topic at the next racing weekend, and he certainly did not want to start sooner with it than he had to!
No, no. It was high time to get the hell away from here!
So he once more quickly wiped over his face, to get rid of the few treacherous tears beneath his eyes that he didn’t want anybody to notice, and was already out and about to make a quick exit-
But he didn’t get very far, cause just when he turned around, he abruptly froze in place again before he could have even made one step, when he saw who was coming closer there:
Not a fan. And neither someone from around this district, who was just taking an evening walk.
Even despite the advanced progression of dusk and the hood of his zip-jacket that he had pulled over his stunning head of hair, Lando would have recognised that face everywhere - how could he not? He used to see it multiple days per week for two years, and it still was one of the faces that he saw most throughout the year, even more often than his own family!
However, he had still not expected to see it here; and it was such a shock that he almost thought that he was maybe only dreaming this or hallucinating or whatever - but he wasn’t: The familiar voice that cut through the silentness of the evening in the next blink unmistakably told him that it was really, actually Carlos.
“Hey”, the Spaniard greeted him as he — with his hands buried in the kangaroo pockets of his black hoodie and a just as dark backpack over his shoulder — was walking up to him; casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if they had totally planned to meet here!
…okay, maybe there was a little glimpse of surprise over that Lando was here in his face, too, when he came closer - but nonetheless, this glimpse didn’t even come close to the state of surprise that had struck the younger one, who was just standing there totally staggered, unable to think straight.
“H-hey…?”, he only stutteringly returned the greeting. “What- what are you doing here?”
Naturally, Lando was aware that his now Italy-based ex-teammate had kept his flat here and was in town every now and then, but he had not known that he was in the country right now.
Carlos answered with an indefinite shrug. “I was just in the near…” - and his voice still sounded so normal when he said it — so casual as if they were just having a normal conversation by the race track — that you would have almost bought him that.
However, from the way how his mien turned almost apologetic in the orange light of the streetlamp and how his gaze flickered over to the billboard, it was clear that he had not just been strolling around the nightly streets of London for nothing - well, of course had he not!
Even if the Spaniard didn’t say it, there was a silent, yet at the same time so loud “Wanted to take a look at this” resonating with his words, like the famous pink elephant in the room; and because he didn’t know how to react to that, Lando just found himself mechanically nodding in response. “Mhm.”
Whereas at the same time, he felt his cheeks warm up with embarrassment - on the one hand over his utterly dumb question, but even more because Carlos knew about this.
That he had somehow stumbled across it on social media, too, or that maybe someone, like Caco or Rupert, had told him; and that he now was actually here. That he had felt the need to come here and look at it with his own eyes, too, because he had sensed that this could be important to his muppet friend - and well, their unplanned meet-up here was the ultimate proof that he had been right with that.
Which again shamed Lando to the bones - that the older one knew him so well, that he had got such insight into his innermost. And especially that he got to see him in such a situation that was beyond his control.
He knew that it was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.
Just like the suspected fan from the district, he just didn’t want Carlos to see him so vulnerable and incapable - particularly not Carlos!
Cause his older friend always seemed like a real grown-up to him, in like how he knew what he wanted from life and how he could not be deterred by whatever the universe might throw at him, but how he would just find solutions for his problems with his typical calmness. Especially back in their days at McLaren, when Lando had still been an overly anxious teenager, he had seen a role model in his teammate and now more than ever, he wanted to be perceived just like Carlos was. So calm, mature and just in control of his own life-
Which this mess was the complete opposite of.
However, while Lando was still feverishly searching his head for a subtle way out of this situation, it was Carlos who broke the silence first, clearing his throat.
“So… work of a misunderstood artist, hu?“, he asked with a nod towards the billboard, whereupon Lando let out a sarcastic laugh. „Yeah…!“ - cause that was also one way to put it! Oh yes, what a poor, poor misunderstood little soul it must have been indeed, who had created this! Truly an expression of a tortured artist mind.
And although he knew that Carlos definitely had not meant it like that, it still reminded him of what the teachers had said the two times when he had tried to get help from them. That Ethan and the others were such nice boys and that they surely didn’t mean it that way. That they certainly were only jokingly teasing him and that they actually wanted to be friends with him. That he should give them a chance and be nice to them.
Just thinking back to how Mrs. Sheers, his normally favourite teacher at that time, had told him all these hollow phrases, caused a ball of anger to swell in his stomach. Oh yeah. All four of Ethan’s clique had only been little angels with the nicest intentions, and he had been the one who had misunderstood everything. Sure.
For a second or two, Lando got so lost behind his own eyes that he didn’t really realise anymore where he was, that Carlos and him were still standing there and looking at the billboard in silence - until Carlos suddenly sighed an “Alright” and took the backpack off his shoulders.
“Let’s give it an upgrade, shall we?”, he asked Lando, who — so abruptly torn out of the vortex of his memories — couldn’t immediately follow on what he meant -
But when the older one opened the zipper of his bag, the Briton’s eyes became wide when his gaze fell onto what his friend had been carrying around in there: Cans. A good handful of spray paint cans in various colours, shimmering auspiciously metallic.
“Carlos…!”, Lando gasped out and his look back shoot up to the said full of shock. This didn’t need any explanation or context, it was obvious what Carlos had brought the cans for - which took Lando so heavily off-guard though that he, for a moment, was lost for words.
Which was ironic, because there was actually so much going through his mind that he wanted to say: Why do you have these, where did you get them from, no we can’t do this, how did you know, why are you doing that for me, are you serious, did someone send you the photos too, it’s okay actually I don’t mind, we don’t have to do this, really, it’s okay, they’re not worth it, oh God are you serious, this is too dangerous-
But because all those words wanted to get out all at the same time, it was as if they got stuck on the way, so that the Briton could only stand there and stare at Carlos’ face in speechless overwhelm - unable to wrap his head around the fact that apparently Carlos Sainz Jr, the F1-driver, his ex-teammate and Ferrari-hero! - …that exactly this Carlos had really come here tonight, with the obvious intention to take care of the mean paintwork himself.
And to be honest, Lando didn’t know how to feel about that, cause it was a just as surreal and flattering as it was stupid, to be fair - cause if they got caught doing that, they would be in so, so much trouble…!
However, Carlos — who probably read everything that the younger one wanted to, but couldn’t say off his face — wasn’t having any of that. He just gifted him a reassuring smile, and the gaze from his warm eyes that accompanied it said, even in these bad lighting conditions, unmistakably: I know. And I’m gladly taking that risk. Because it cannot stay that way. I don’t want it to stay that way.
And before Lando could have found his voice back and issued any protest, Carlos curtly threw a control look over his shoulder and had then already grabbed the first can. In a frighteningly professional manner, he took the cap off and shook it a few times - but instead of starting to spray with it himself, he then held it out to Lando. Like an unspoken question though, not an order. An offer to draw the first line himself.
But although Lando didn’t doubt that his friend would have gone through with it alone also, if he said no now - there nonetheless was only one possible answer on the Briton’s mind anyway. Because on the one hand, he surely wouldn’t just stand here and let Carlos take this risk alone, especially since this wasn’t even directly the Spaniard’s business -
But also because on the other hand, because fuck yeah, he wanted to do it. He wanted to get active and do something and fight back for once.
He was so tired of always running away and just purely enduring such things, scared of making it worse if he took a stand against it.
Even when he had eventually quit school, it had had this bitter side-taste of making an escape. He had always told himself that it was for the benefit of his racing career, because he just hadn’t been able to follow class anymore anyway at some point with his fuller and fuller schedules, and that he didn’t even need a graduation, as promising as his career track-wise had looked - but obviously, the unpleasant circumstances in school had not not affected the decision to leave, too.
Making this another occasion where he had been running, just like he had ever since elementary school: From his bullies and their daily nastinesses, from the words they’d said and the names they called him, from the truth whenever his parents had eyed him with these worried looks as if they were suspecting something, from himself and his true identity - always on the run.
And it was only just now in this moment, at the backalley of this warehouse with this ugly graffiti right before his eyes, that Lando realised how much he hated it, and that he didn’t want to live like that anymore.
That he couldn’t go on like that only one more day.
And so, he gulped down all second thoughts — like, what his mother would think of this, or Mark, or the consequences if they got caught and that a conflict with law would certainly mean worse for his career than his coming-out…! — and took the spray can. His pulse shot up into adrenalinous heights when he enclosed his fingers around the cylindric body and felt its weight in his hand, the metal cold against his skin - but it was not a reaction of fear.
More like it, he was shuddering with excitement, with unbelief over that they were really, actually, genuinely gonna do this here.
And they were, cause when Lando looked up to Carlos, also his companion in crime (…literally!) had equipped himself with a spray tin and had put the backpack with the others down between them, so that they’d have them all within reach. Another wave of adrenaline gushed through his body at their view and the imagination of what they could do with them, and automatically, Lando let his gaze wander across their surroundings once more, checking for wether there was still nobody around who could catch them in the act - but there was no-one to stop them.
The back-alley was still totally lonesome.
So that when his gaze next met Carlos’ face and the two of them exchanged a quick look, like a last reassurance, a silent ‘Ready?’ hanging in the air, he nodded in agreement. Ready.
And then, before anything could change their mind, they started spraying.
The first fizzing from the cans felt loud as a gunshot to Lando’s ears in the silence, and brought his heartbeat to race in his chest like a galloping horse. The smell from the paint was sharp and almost instantly biting in their airways, even after they both pulled their collars up over their noses - but Lando barely paid attention to it, and neither did it stop him from pressing down the button of the can with all the power that he had in his thumb. Nor did he waste one more thought about wether this here was a good idea.
He was far too much driven by some higher force, this mixture of determination and excitement like he had barely ever experienced it - not even at the start of a race had his heart ever hammered this fast in his chest and did he feel so glowing with adrenaline. No, the thrill of that he, for the first time in his life, was putting up a resistance to other people’s meanness, exceeded everything that he had known until then.
Plus also, did he — with his hood over his head and the constant looks over his shoulder — feel like a criminal on a secret mission - which they technically also were, cause even if it was (…at least in their eyes) for a better cause, graffiti was still considered vandalism and certainly punished quite harshly in the UK if they catch you.
Therefore they sadly couldn’t stay long to admire their work once they were done, but whoever the idiots had been who had ruined his poster, Lando had to admit that they had picked the place well: Really nobody came by for the whole time, and even when they were finished, only a dog could be heard barking somewhere in the distance - so that Lando quickly fiddled out his phone and, with from the adrenaline still slightly shaking hands, dared to snap a picture of the freshly re-decorated billboard. Knowing that he would probably be looking at it for the entire night, and the next days and weeks and forever.
Not only because of the words that were, among several colourful flowers and hearts and little stars, now flaunting on the poster motives: LANDO NORRIS IS FUCKING AWESOME - but even more because this photo was the ultimate reminder that he, different to the hell time of his school days, was really not defenseless, not helpless anymore. That he had taken action for once. And especially that he did not have to deal with such things alone any longer.
Cause this billboard told him like nothing else that — even if there was no significant other at the moment — he still had someone in his life who’d have his back in the darker moments, someone who’d stand by his side no matter what, and who would go through this with him together - or in short: A friend.
He had a true friend in Carlos; one of the kind that most people could only wish for.
Probably, he could never express it in words to the Spaniard how glad he was for having him in his life (…not only because of today, but in general), and especially not right in this moment, where he was still far too pumped to be able to speak anyway-
But still did Lando feel like as if Carlos understood everything that he wanted to say when he simply smiled at him gratefully, because the older one replied in the same manner and just smiled back. A silent, yet so perfectly sufficient conversation as it only was possible between two friends.
And the smile stayed there even when they quickly packed the rest of their things together and checked wether they had not forgotten anything suspicious, and then hurried to leave before they could be seen. Cause, as Lando realised, it was really that: Leaving this place, and with it this certain part of his past, behind.
Of course he knew it wasn’t once and for all, cause such things just don’t exist in life.
There would always be occasions when he’d get confronted with these unpleasant memories again, just like he also knew that had not seen this billboard for the last time tonight.
But it would be different from now on, that was for sure; and when he threw one last glance back over his shoulder while running, the smile on his face grew even bigger. Because dang it, he couldn’t wait for this version to be posted online!