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The sun is setting below the Melbourne skyline, casting an array of orange and yellow across the city. The large volume of traffic leaving Albert Park appears to have finally dispersed, returning to normal Saturday evening levels. This high up though, in his fifteenth floor hotel room he would hear little noise from the streets below anyway.
Lando is tired, drained. Mentally and physically. He’d like to blame the jetlag, but in reality so far it’s been another long-assed weekend full of misery and disappointment for many other reasons. His hotel room is the welcome sanctuary he has retreated to following the qualifying session. Closing the door feels like shutting out the world and he’s immensely grateful he can finally do so. Lando throws his bag onto the floor at the foot of the bed before flopping down onto the bed.
Yet another poor qualifying, mostly his own fault this time. He can almost feel the frustration flowing through his veins. On a good day - he believes, because he hasn’t really had one yet this season to confirm this - he should be up in the top ten on a regular basis. The McLaren is no Red Bull, but it’s got potential. But those good days are yet to come, and even when the average days appear like a light at the end of the tunnel he manages to cock it up with his own stupid mistakes. Just like rubbing salt into the wound, he then has to face the press, face the same questions over and over again, explaining why he’s not competitive, why the car is underperforming.
Crawling up the bed, Lando buries his head in a pillow and screams. He’s starting to understand how Daniel felt.
Daniel, who made an unexpected break for freedom at the end of last season. Initially Lando had thought his decision was madness, verging on insanity as the season went on and it became apparent he wouldn’t be on the grid in 2023. Lando knew he was passionate about the sport, so to effectively walk away blew his mind.
Daniel, who had been there with Lando riding the rollercoaster of the past two years, making the most of the highs and lows as their friendship developed. They had worked their asses off trying to make that car, the team successful. It had been hard - it still is - with long nights and a lot of time away from family and friends, especially when it seemed like it was all for nothing. But there were good moments too; once Lando allowed himself to let his guard down and live in the moment he found himself smiling, laughing a lot more. That was thanks to Daniel.
Daniel, who hadn’t spoken to Lando in three months. They had exchanged a few text messages over the Christmas period but Lando hadn’t heard anything since. Ok, maybe he was being a little harsh - he hadn’t exactly picked up the phone to get in touch either. Daniel had made it clear that he wanted a break from racing, wanted time to enjoy life and get his priorities in check. So Lando was giving him the time and space to do so. He probably doesn’t need or want a reminder of the disastrous stint at McLaren.
Lando screams into his pillow again. Because it feels good and nothing else seems to be helping.
When Lando feels that he has vented a suitable amount of pent up anger, he spends some time replying to messages from his parents (a quick call to his Mum to reassure her that he’s fine), his sisters (always supportive) and a few friends. He adamantly avoids all social media and news websites; he doesn’t need to succumb to temptation and see what’s being said about his performance online. He can imagine it. He doesn’t need kicked when he’s already down.
With his personal ‘admin’ done and in an effort to forget about his day Lando begins scrolling through the Australian channels on the wall mounted flat-screen television: drama, reality show, talent show, reality show, reruns of an American cop show he thinks looks vaguely familiar. None of it whets his appetite so he switches it off and searches through his case (emptying most of the contents onto the floor in the process) for the book Alex gave him to read during the last race weekend. Lando took it out of politeness, for it wasn’t really his thing, but it could come in handy now.
He manages a chapter and a half before giving up, bending the corner of the page he’s on down as a marker and throwing the book onto the bed (it’s actually not bad, but he just can’t focus on it). With nothing else to distract him, Lando decides an early night is probably best.
He’s halfway changed, shirt abandoned next to his bag on the floor when he hears the quiet knock at the door. It’s late - he checks his phone, it’s after 9pm - and he isn’t expecting anyone. Truth of the matter is that he’d like to ignore his visitor and just curl up under the covers, but there it is again, three soft raps against the wood. Sighing, Lando makes his way across the room.
Opening the door, he quickly goes from stunned to confused to relieved.
“Hey kid,” comes that familiar accent. His dark hair is tousled, he looks like he’s had almost as hectic a weekend as Lando but that smile that Lando secretly adores is there.
“Hey.” Lando smiles, properly, possibly for the first time all weekend.
“Just thought I’d check…” Lando wraps his arms around Daniel, pulling his former team-mate into a hug that surprises them both. The thought briefly goes through his mind that he should make it less like he’s clinging onto the taller man, but there’s always been something about having Daniel close.
It wasn’t always that way. Sure, before they worked together they had a good rapport, shared a few jokes and silly moments. The thing is, Lando isn’t one of those “touchy feely” people, who always has to have a hand on someone’s arm or an arm around their shoulder. It’s not that he particularly minds people (he knows) in his personal space, it’s just that usually he can take it or leave it. Then Daniel was propelled into almost every day of his life and things changed.
Maybe he should feel awkward about not letting go straight away, about the comfort that seeps through him: starting where Daniel’s warm fingers are against his skin, it moves throughout his body like a gentle, calming wave. Daniel doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere, but once Lando feels like he can’t justify the contact any longer he reluctantly pries himself back.
“It’s good to see you, how’s things down the paddock with the big guns?” he says, standing aside so Daniel can get past him into the room. He’s kitted out in a baggy hoodie and his favourite black jeans with the ripped knees that Lando doesn’t really get, but thinks suit him very well. Lando, suddenly feeling a little self conscious standing in only his shorts considers collecting his t-shirt from the floor but decides against it. Because that would make his self consciousness blatantly obvious.
“Yeah, all good. Nice to be back with the old family.” The single chair sitting by the window is covered in yesterday’s clothes and the debris from his earlier book hunt, so Daniel sits on the end of the bed. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” Lando lies, standing in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with his hands or where to set himself. “Working hard, driving as hard as I can, I guess. Looking forward to a break though, blessing in disguise having China cancelled. Got a few games of golf in with Carlos during the week - still kicking my ass, though I don’t know how. I’m sure he cheated at least twice.” He’s rambling, he knows it.
“Lando - sit.” Daniel pats the space on the bed next to him and Lando joins him.
“So cut the bullshit,” Daniel continues, turning slightly so Lando can’t avoid his gaze. “How are you doing, really?”
“I’m fi…”
“I swear if you give me any more of that ‘I’m fine’ crap I’ll kick your ass myself.”
Lando twists his fingers, shifting under Daniel’s scrutiny. Resigned to his fate and the direction the conversation is headed, he sighs.
“Shit. I feel like shit.” Daniel doesn’t react - he probably knows the truth anyway, why else would he be here. He waits patiently for Lando to elaborate, giving him the opportunity to do so, or not. “Maybe I had unrealistic expectations but I always thought when I got to Formula 1 there’d be podiums and wins and fastest laps and lots of positivity and energy and right now it’s all just a pile of shit. This season it’s all just…. Yeah, I know we’re only three races in, but it feels like there’s this massive weight of the car’s unreliability, its underperformance and my own stupid mistakes sitting on my shoulders. And as for being the ‘lead driver’ of the team…”
Daniel moves closer as Lando talks, sitting next to the younger man, pressed gently against his side. It’s comforting, Daniel next to him.
“I’m meant to be the experienced one, the knowledgeable driver. But it doesn’t matter what I bring to the table, nothing seems to be helping.”
“It can’t always be like Monza.”
Monza 2021. Their glory day. Because let’s face it, that race was by far and away the highlight of their two years together. Even if Lando had felt a bit cheated by not being allowed to race at the end. The jubilation of the whole team that day had been infectious. He had ridden the high of podium celebrations and countless pitlane and garage photographs. Let the adrenalin carry him through the evening, several drinks and an unexpected but surprisingly enjoyable couple of hours in Daniel’s hotel room involving several kisses, fumbles and a whole new side of life Lando hadn’t considered. They hadn't discussed that night afterwards but it left its mark on Lando. A smile crept onto his face at the memories and Daniel curled an arm around Lando’s shoulder.
“I’m starting to really understand why you left.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Daniel replies, close enough for Lando to feel Daniel’s breath warm on his neck. Lando bites his lip, considering whether or not to divulge his current worries. Leaning in to Daniel he blurts it out before he can stop himself: “I don’t want another three years of this.”
There’s an awful dread forming in the pit of his stomach as he considers being stuck in the same place, the same neverending monotony of only scoring a point or two here and there. He hates himself for thinking it, but it was easier when Daniel was at McLaren. The car was better than it is now, but - and he’s sure he’s going to hell for thinking it - Lando regularly outperformed Daniel. It was Daniel who was meant to be the star of the show. Daniel who should’ve brought in the wins. Daniel who was in the spotlight, under constant pressure to get the job done. Without him, Lando was the target now and it is tough.
“I - we - have nothing to show from the first two races. My driving’s off. The car’s difficult. And every weekend I have to get in front of the press and try to find some positives,” Lando says animatedly, hands gesturing and voice raising; “when I know that they’re judging me and writing pieces about what I’m doing wrong and how I’m not fulfilling my potential or doing my job properly.”
Eyes damp, heart rate elevated Lando pauses in his reflective tirade, a flurry of thoughts and emotions that he hasn’t wanted to admit to or discuss openly and honestly with anyone yet. He’s in the best job in the world, he should be grateful but he wants more. Maybe that’s the kid in him. Or the idealist. As he prepares to set off on another self-deprecating speech, he realises Daniel has taken his hands held firmly between his own. Lando meets his gaze square on.
“First of all, you’re a damn good driver. Nobody’s perfect, everyone has shit days at the office, but you’re still fucking awesome. Secondly, we both know that car isn’t up to scratch. We know there’s problems going on behind the scenes that most people aren’t aware of. “
“I kinda wish they were, maybe they’d be a little kinder when writing about…”
“Thirdly,” Daniel interrupts firmly, “stop reading what people are saying. I don’t care if we’re talking press, or fans or whatever, just stop. For every sympathetic or complementary comment you’ll find another that makes you reconsider all your life choices. So just stop.”
Lando wonders if Daniel realises he’s squeezing Lando’s hands a little harder.
“This might be a day job to us but for most people watching it’s entertainment. They’re looking for entertainment and let’s face it, they like a bit of drama and controversy. It’s this weird big goldfish bowl, with millions of people peering in. You’re in the middle of it, you know more about it than they do. You do your best, but remember that it’s just a job. You need something to go home to, to escape to. That’s more important.”
To Lando, it feels like the Daniel sitting next to him, reassuring him, listening to him without taking pity or being patronising is a much wiser version than the Daniel he left behind in Abu Dhabi.
“Do you miss it?”
Daniel releases his grip a little, looking away from Lando. “Bits of it, yeah. I miss the races, the rush of sitting on the grid waiting for the lights to go out. I miss all the fun stuff we did. Remember that thing we did before Texas, driving the car round the track and swapping seats? That shit was good.” They share a brief smile.
Those were Lando’s highlights too, if he was honest. Developing a friendship with Daniel had brought Lando out of his shell. Daniel threw himself into all the weird and wonderful activities they were contracted to do for publicity and made them as entertaining and fun as possible to the extent that it didn’t feel like work. At first Lando had resisted; he wasn’t sure how to take Daniel, and wanted to maintain a level of dignity and respect. Turns out, dancing a two-step on stage and making crepes (while having chocolate sauce poured into your mouth) is much more fun than taking a serious approach to life.
Lando finds himself tracing the tattoos on Daniel's hand with his thumb, not sure when he started doing that but also not inclined to stop.
“I miss you.”
He didn’t plan, or mean to say it, but there it is, out in the silence of the hotel room.
“I know.”
“I mean it. I miss you.”
Daniel lets his fingers slide between Lando’s, interlocking. “I know.”
Sunrise over Melbourne is equally as beautiful as its sunset. Near-clear skies and a delicate rainbow of colours wait to welcome its inhabitants and tourists from their slumber. Being a Sunday, there’s little activity outside just yet. In the fifteenth floor suite Lando reaches across to the bedside table, hitting the snooze button on his alarm. Behind him, Daniel makes a vague grumbling noise, adjusting the leg hooked over Lando’s to emphasise his protest. Lando, feeling as comfortable and content as he has done in a long time, settles back, pulling Daniel’s arm tighter around him. Five more minutes.