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After they broke up during the 2023 winter break, they didn’t talk much. Carlos hoped that Lando was doing okay but secretly wished he missed him back, even if just a little.
He couldn’t help but check out Lando’s Instagram stories every once in a while. He had changed quite a bit. His posture, once boyish and dorky, had now become confident and attractive. His goatee was starting to grow, and Carlos wondered how his light stubble would feel against his own skin or if he’d miss his baby-like face over his new look.
Lando, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. He posted pictures all around the world during the break—visiting friends and family, clubbing, DJing, playing paddle. The Spaniard couldn’t help but feel replaceable. His stomach churned with both melancholy and jealousy whenever a colorful circle appeared around Lando’s Instagram profile picture.
The start of the 2024 season was something Sainz was not ready for. He thought he was, but he realized he wasn’t when he first saw Lando arrive at the paddock and completely ignore him. His cool, unbreakable façade slowly crumbled as these moments repeated themselves over time.
In Carlos’ mind, everything was a civil war. On the one hand, he wanted to give Lando the space they’d promised each other when they ended things on good terms. He also didn’t enjoy how his pride screamed at him whenever he caught himself thinking too much about the Brit. Carlos wanted to make it look like he was over him; he attempted to ignore it whenever anyone mentioned Lando’s name or brushed the topic off when family members asked about him.
On the other hand, he couldn’t live without remembering small details about him in his daily life: what he ordered from their favorite Chinese restaurant, how their height difference made their bodies match perfectly whenever they hugged, what songs they used to sing in their shared car rides (and how his eyes welled up with tears whenever he listened to them now), how he’d wake up in a mess of tangled limbs after a messy night, or the way he used to fold his clothes. It was all too much for a man who was inevitably brushed by melancholy.
He truly believed Lando had moved on and forgotten about him, as if he’d been the one to help him become a better version of himself that now everyone but him got to enjoy. And, in spite of how selfish it felt, he hated it. He felt—used? He knew Lando’s wins weren’t his losses, but they certainly felt like it.
What he didn’t know was that, beneath the surface, Lando Norris was still a walking anxious mess.
As the first few races took place, McLaren proved to be one of the strongest teams, but so did Ferrari. Not a single text from Lando came through Carlos’ phone when the news about him leaving his team went public or when he had his appendicitis surgery. Just a shy “Get well soon, mate” on the drivers' group chat that made him unrightfully furious. “Mate.” Ha.
Maybe it was the guilt in Norris’ mind that made him seek Carlos’ hip and waist with his hand when he was stepping on the first place of the podium. Carlos grinned back at the man standing on the third place, adrenaline blocking any questions or panicked thoughts about what that gesture meant.
Then, there was Miami. If Carlos started to fly from lap 33 until the end of the race, it wasn’t just because he wanted to be on the podium to spray his once-lover with champagne. He knew that’d be the only chance to celebrate his first win. They’d fantasized about many things together: their wedding, their kids, their house, their careers if they’d gone public. And Lando’s first win. Carlos used to be the one to talk his partner through his insecurities. He knew how much Lando had fought, both physically and mentally, for that damn first win. A couple of tears ran down the Spaniard's face, absorbed by the balaclava as Lando crossed the finish line. Both because he wanted to be there and kiss him senseless to celebrate his victory and because he knew none of that was going to happen. But he’d deny any of this if asked.
After much overthinking and leaving the childish “if he didn’t text me then, I won’t now” thought behind, he simply texted him, “Congrats mate, you deserve it.” He was then left on read, which made him want to rip his heart out of his chest and make Lando watch as he did so.
What Alex and George would never tell Carlos is that the winner spent half the night crying in the club when he realized he was living the moment he’d dreamt of for ages but the person he cared about the most was missing. Lando didn’t quite know why he was pushing Carlos aside when he’d love to be close to the man that cooked him pancakes every time he was feeling down. He just couldn’t help but feel defensive and act like a dick towards him, even though he knew Carlos didn’t deserve any of it.
It was hard for Carlos to hear Lando’s name in everyone’s mouths for the first whole fucking half of the season when he didn’t even have a seat for the next one. It was just unfair. It was like the whole universe was plotting a huge “fuck you” to him: his ex being hotter than ever after their breakup and having amazing results with a great car, losing his seat to someone who just wanted to join Ferrari for the experience of being a Ferrari driver, and having to deal with it all publicly.
After Miami, Lando’s eyes began to lose their sparkle. And as much as his wins pained Carlos, so did his losses. A missing champagne pop from the McLaren driver was a stab to the Spaniard’s heart. He knew he shouldn’t care, but he slowly started to realize how weak Lando’s mental health was. He wanted to be able to comfort him and reassure him at night. He feared Lando might jump back into bad coping habits and Carlos wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
He yearned to be his safe place again because, as much as Lando had hurt him, he could never hate him.
Then came the race in Austria. It was a crucial race for both drivers, especially Lando, who had been showing signs of strain despite his successes. Carlos watched from the sidelines, his heart in his throat as Lando battled fiercely for the lead against. The Brit was driving like a man possessed, desperate to prove himself.
On the penultimate lap, Lando made a daring move to overtake Max. For a moment, it seemed like he might just pull it off and take the victory. But then Max, in an aggressive defense, collided with Lando’s car. The McLaren was left in ruins, and Lando’s race ended in a devastating DNF.
Carlos felt a surge of anger and helplessness as he watched the wreckage of Lando’s car trudging away through the pitlane. He knew how much this meant to Lando, how hard he had worked for this moment. The cameras caught Lando standing on his garage, his head in his hands, the weight of another lost opportunity crushing him. He could already feel the weight of everyone's mean comments and hurtful opinions on his shoulders. He felt like a fraud.
He put on a brave face for the public, but Carlos saw through it. The light in his eyes was dimming, his podiums no longer made him smile, and when he did, they were forced. His interactions with the team and other drivers grew more erratic. He started to withdraw, spending more time alone and less time engaging with people.
Carlos couldn’t bear to see him like this. It tore him apart to witness the man he once loved spiraling downwards.
Despite the tension, Carlos tried to be there in small ways. He left a note of encouragement in Lando’s locker, hoping it might lift his spirits, but received no acknowledgment in return. He made sure to be around during media events, offering a supportive nod or a quiet word when he could.
The situation came to a head after Austria. Lando’s performance began to suffer, and the media started to speculate about his state of mind. Carlos knew it was only a matter of time before something broke.
One sunday evening, after Spa, Carlos found Lando sitting alone in the garage, staring at the floor. The usually bustling space was eerily quiet, the shadows long and dark.
“Lando,” Carlos called softly, stepping closer. “Are you okay?”
Lando looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and tired. He shook his head, unable to speak.
Carlos took a deep breath and sat down beside him. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. I’m here if you need me.”
For a moment, Lando seemed to consider it, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. He didn't deserve his help. He treated him like shit and Carlos had been as loving as always in return, always respecting his boundaries. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he leaned into Carlos, his body shaking with silent sobs. Carlos tentatively wrapped an arm around him, offering the comfort he so desperately needed.
They sat there for a long time, the silence filled with shared pain. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start.