The room is quiet.

Lando sits on the massage bed, elbows resting on his knees, clutching his phone tightly.

He’s staring at the screen, but he looks distant..like his mind is somewhere far away.

You can see how he’s clenching his jaw.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, stepping in front of him.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he turns the phone toward you. It’s McLaren’s Instagram post from yesterday.

Lando Norris. Pole Position.

A picture of him, a wide smile on his face.

Beneath it are comments no one deserves.

User1 : That was just luck! User2 : Norris doesn’t deserve to start from pole. User3 : Hope the same thing happens to him as it did to Jules. User4 : Norris and pole? He’s got no talent.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to drive today with this stuff in my head...sometimes I don’t even know why I’m doing this." He says quietly.

You step closer, until you’re standing between his legs.

Then you gently take the phone from his hand, close the app and set it beside him.

“You’re doing this because you love it, Lando. You belong in a Formula 1 car. And none of those people out there have a clue how much you sacrifice for it!" You say softly.

He looks up at you, his eyes full of doubt and exhaustion.

“But…what if I mess it up?” He whispers.

You shake your head and take his face in your hands.

“You won’t. Do you hear me? You’re good. The car is good. And I believe in you!" You whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

For a moment, he says nothing.

Then he takes a deep breath in and out, before looking back at you.

“Thank you. For this..and just..being here. It really means a lot to me." He says, pulling you closer to him.