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”sorry you dnfed last race,” lando says hesitantly, just to fill the awkward silence.
logan glances up quickly, noting the way lando lounges back on the stiff white post-race interview couch like he owned the place. he also notices how the backlights creates a golden halo around lando’s head, lighting up his chocolate curls. it’s a crude difference to the way logan perches, hesitatingly, like he shouldn’t be there, at the edge of his seat. the film lights across from him sear into his eyeballs. logan could never win, huh?
“…logan,” lando adds to the end of the sentence, clarifying, after a beat of silence, as if there was anyone else in the room stupid enough to ram his car straight into the barriers at impact force of 67 gs.
at this point, logan’s gotten good at ignoring the pity evident in others’ words, and ignoring the measured tone they use, as if he was an infant who could barely understand anything, much less drive a f1 car.
lando tilts his head to the left ever-so-slightly, waiting for an answer.
there’s a lot of things logan wants to say, wants to ask, wants to do:
- bluntly cuss lando out, shoot loaded words straight out of his mouth that will ultimately hurt his own image, ruin his reputation (more than it already is) more than it hurts lando.
- inquire how it feels, getting to have everything - a good car, a supportive crew, an army of fans, a team principal that actually cares about him, oscar.
- slash his way into lando’s thick skull, dig around, find what makes him a winner and logan not.
instead, he forces a smile onto his face, laughs real big, fake, laughter that causes the interviewers setting up on the chairs nearby - people that usually paid him no mind - to glance over.
”it’s alright bro,” logan shoots back, playing up his young, dumb american accent as if he didn’t grow up racing in europe just like everyone else. (they’d know if they even bothered to understand him.)
the relief on lando’s face after logan’s response is obviously visible, and logan can see lando mentally patting himself on the back - thank god he didn’t take offense to that!
logan thinks the rare conversation is over, and almost goes back to staring at his scuffed, williams-blue-and-white racing boots, when lando pipes up again, this time more confident.
”next time will be better, eh?” he offers.
”yeah, next one will be better,” logan echoes back.
they both know it’s not true.