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theferrarieffect · 2 months

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soy lago

masterlist

lando x carlos (carlando)

summary: since carlos left for ferrari, lando has spent the last four seasons trying to move on. but then the world learns that carlos might end up anywhere next year, and lando dares to let himself hope...and puts some of those hopes down on paper.

warnings: plenty of ✨angst✨

soy lago

Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in stubborn pieces of green and yellow crepe clinging to the sticky champagne on his race suit, Lando does his very best to stand up straight, holding his P3 trophy with stiff arms. He doesn’t smile; it’s hard enough as it is remaining upright. Then he feels an arm around him. He knows its owner is clad in red—although once upon a time, he wore papaya orange. And the feeling of that arm is what lets him scrape together the will to put on some semblance of a smile as the cameras flash, capturing Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Lando Norris in their podium photograph of the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.

Dear Carlos,

I’ve always been rubbish with words—hell, I showed a million people on Youtube that it took me three tries to spell “heights”, in English, no less. So it shouldn’t surprise you that, when they told me I needed to go on camera and speak Italian, I downloaded Duolingo and didn’t open another app for a week straight. Never mind that it was one single sentence. I could not mess this up.

Ai nostri amici della Scuderia Ferrari ed ai loro tifosi.

I could say it in my sleep.

And yet, when the camera started staring into my soul, I still managed to fuck it up. On the very first word. They asked me later, you know, if I wanted them to edit it out…but when I watched it again it seemed right somehow. Because the truth is, they could’ve asked me to say “to our friends at Scuderia Ferrari and the famous tifosi” in plain English, and it still would have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. So I figured it’d at least be honest.

When I joined F1 my rookie season, you had already raced for four. Two other teams. McLaren was not your whole past. At Melbourne, the season opener, I already knew by the way your eyes sparkled so hungrily talking to the press, that it would not be your future either. But for me, it was all I had, my precarious shot at making it in F1. I had something to prove.

So why was I so nervous when they stuck a camera in front of us to play that stupid game of ‘Would You Rather’? I can’t even rewatch that video now, because I already know I’ll cringe seeing myself slowly dismantling the sole of my shoe with my fingernails, hardly even able to make eye contact with you. You had a reputation of charming every teammate you got with—I won’t pretend like I didn’t scour the internet for every video you filmed with Max with Toro Rosso. You made Max Verstappen giggle like a little girl on video. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to me.

But at the Chinese GP, after Kvyat crashed me out, you came up to me in the paddock. “Wanna go on a walk?” you asked. As if you’d seen me crying in the garage. There was a little lake, a pond really, near the track, and I don’t know how many laps we must have taken around it. What I do know is that you pointed to the water, told me that in Spanish, it’s called “el lago”. And that you stopped me from feeling like I didn’t belong, didn’t deserve to be in F1.

I had a lot of retirements that first season. And after each one, I knew I’d hear your voice, or see a text on my phone, or once, a little paper airplane in my driver’s room. Every time, the words were the same. And every time, I wanted it more. I just didn’t want to admit to myself that at some point, it became less about debriefing the race failures and more about the person I had an excuse to see off the track. Away from the cameras. Away from everybody else.

On the flight back to London, Lando scrolls through headline after headline, all pondering the next move for the triumphant Spaniard. Red Bull, Red Bull, Mercedes, Red Bull, Kick Sauber—Lando chuckles at that one—Red Bull, McLaren, Mercedes, Red Bull…

The speculation about McLaren is clearly a joke. And yet, it makes Lando’s breath catch in his throat…fuck, if Max Verstappen can DNF on Lap 2, give Ferrari a 1-2 podium with Lando in 3rd after the team told Oscar to give it up for him…clearly, crazier things have happened in F1.

The pandemic hurt, a lot. It’s all a blur now, logging onto my computer day after day, gaming with George and Alex and Charles to pass the time, refreshing Instagram in case you posted a story from Madrid. Until one day, the first day of May, the phone rang. You told me you were in Woking, that you were going to be at the MTC but you’d explain later. And then, those five magical words.

“Wanna go on a walk?”

Maybe we were all a little crazy during lockdown. Let’s just call it that. How else do you explain the fact that I spent twenty minutes picking a pair of jeans after spending four months in sweatpants, another twenty picking a shirt that wasn’t bright orange? What excuse do I have for dumping every beanie I owned onto my bed, cursing myself for shaving my hair off, even if it was to raise money for COVID? It was a miracle I made it to the MTC at all.

You were already outside by the time I skidded into the parking lot. The sun was low in the sky, not quite setting, turning the lake lavender, cotton candy, papaya. You faced the lake, just a dark silhouette against the colors. Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. I just knew you were going to say something…big. I wanted to tell you so many things, how I’d been counting down the days until lockdown would be over, how not a day went by that I didn’t wonder what you were doing, how you had become someone that I could never be close enough to. You made me greedy.

I knew something was wrong when you saw me and smiled. It was happy…but not the smile I knew. This smile was tainted, as if someone had poured a single drop of vinegar into a glass of milk, and you could taste it starting to curdle just a bit.

“Lando,” you said. Another red flag. Normally, you drew out the “o” in my name in a tantalizing singsong. “My muppet friend, I have something to tell you. Something exciting.”

I wished time would stop right then. I didn’t want to hear what exciting thing you had to tell me. But no amount of wishing could stop what came next.

“Ferrari. They offered me a contract. Two years in their fastest car…I cannot believe it, my muppet friend. I will race for them in 2021.”

The sun hadn’t set yet, but there were stars in your eyes. Stars that I had seen since your—our—very first race with McLaren. Carlos Sainz, destined for champions, for greatness. There would not be room for slow cars, midfield teams; there would not be room for Lando Norris. And I knew this from day one. So why, looking at the stars that filled your eyes, did mine start to fill with tears?

I smiled in the hopes you’d think I was simply overcome with happiness on your behalf. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” you asked.

I had wanted so badly to find the words that would’ve made your journey all the way from Spain to see me worth it. But even if I had them, all of those words were useless now. And in the moment, I could only think of one thing.

“Soy lago,” I said. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I am lake?” you laughed. “Your Spanish has always been terrible.”

Then I told you that my tears could fill the very lake we were looking at. Watched the realization dawn on your face. Heard you call after me as I ran back to my car, so you wouldn’t have to see any more of those tears.

In his room in the MTC, Lando sits, clicking his pen compulsively. Balls of crumpled-up paper surround him, ghosts of past attempts at penning a letter worthy of its reader. He curses his messy penmanship, curses his inability to spell anything remotely non-phonetic correctly. He resorts to writing in pencil, then painstakingly tracing each letter over with ink. By the time he’s finished, the sun has begun its descent towards the horizon. Just in time, he thinks.

Later, I texted you my congratulations, assured you how happy I was for you, how much you deserved it. I meant it. But maybe you sensed that something was up, because even when the new season started and we no longer shared a garage, you kept sending me texts after every race. Each one was the same: “Wanna go on a walk?”

I couldn’t tell you if it was an act of self-preservation, because of how badly it hurt to see you with Charles at Ferrari, or if I wanted to feel the twisted, bitter satisfaction from knowing that I got to reject you after you left me. Either way, the excuses were simple enough. Meetings with Mark. Last-minute training sessions at the gym. And my favorite—dinner with Danny Ric, my new Carlos Sainz.

Come to think of it, I never did end up getting dinner with Danny while we were teammates.

When I did show up, I’d make sure to tell you about how charismatic Danny was, how good the banter was, how hard we made each other laugh off-track. Only later did I realize that everything I was saying was what I would see in your C2 videos with Charles, which I followed with a level of manic compulsion that scared even me.

Eventually, the texts stopped coming. I thought I’d feel…relieved, or at least like I was moving on. And maybe I tried to tell myself I felt that way, but in reality, everything was just empty. I couldn’t have all of you, and I was so greedy that I chose rather to have none of you at all.

Lando searches his contacts for a name that doesn’t exist. Carlos Sainz: Not found, his phone tells him infuriatingly. With an exasperated sigh, he starts to swipe. And stops short, realizing that he had saved Carlos under Chili.

His thumb hovers uncertainly over the keyboard. He presses send.

Me Wanna go on a walk?

Time, teammates, and races passed, and as you got used to seeing yourself in red, I got used to being a Formula 1 driver, then a team leader as Oscar came in. I buried us deeper and deeper with each passing season and perfected the art of a casual hug on the podium, a cheerful clap on the back if we happened to pass each other on the paddock. I had only just come to terms with the realization that we would likely never be the same again when I woke up on the first day of February, 2024, to the news that Lewis would be taking your seat at Ferrari next year. Leaving the question of what color you would wear, if not red, open to every shade of the rainbow.

Then the dreams started.

When you came off a surgery hardly two weeks ago and snatched P1 at Melbourne, I dreamt that I walked into the motorhome, saw someone wearing a papaya cap with his back turned to me. And I knew it wasn’t Oscar, because those broad shoulders, the shock of hair that even a cap couldn’t contain, could only belong to a certain Spanish driver I knew so well, once upon a time.

You turned around, just like I knew you would. Smiled in a way I haven’t seen in four years. “Landooo…my muppet friend,” you crooned, drawing out the “o” the way you always used to do. You wrapped your arms around me…you always did have such strong arms.

“Chili. I should have done this long ago,” I told you, before the kiss…

A little gray bubble appears on the screen. Three dots, pulsing to the time of Lando’s pounding heart. Then:

Chili Can’t today 😞 dinner with Charles!! Celebrating that Ferrari podium 🥳🇮🇹

He stares at the messages. A minute passes, then two. He gently folds up the note, tucking it into his pocket as he stands and walks out of the MTC.

Lando looks out over the manmade lake in front of the building. The sunset reflected in it has uniformly turned it the exact shade of his hoodie. There will be no lavender, no cotton candy pink tonight.

He tugs the letter out of his pocket, unfolds it, and reads it one last time. A weary sigh. Carefully refolds it. A little airplane takes shape in Lando’s hands.

Four years of pushing you, thoughts of you, my feelings for you away, all gone with one headline. I hated myself for falling again so easily, but nobody can deny how addictive the feeling of hope is. Carlos, Chili, I had so many regrets, and maybe this is a sign that I should stop living with them from now on.

And if there’s one thing I regretted the most through all this, it’s not that I didn’t ask you to stay that evening at the MTC. It’s that I didn’t give you enough reason not to leave in the first place. Didn’t tell you what you meant to me when I could, didn’t try to make you see that there could be something here…something bigger maybe even than racing itself.

I don’t know if you’ll be wearing papaya, or navy, or (god forbid) highlighter green next year, but it doesn’t matter. I should have done this long ago, but that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is that you know how important you are, and have always been, to me. Know how the best podium celebrations and the fizziest champagne paled in comparison to the little blue bubbles of texts from you on my phone. Know that my trophies sit on a shelf collecting dust, but the paper airplane you made me never leaves my sight.

You are the stars in my eyes. In my wildest dreams, you’ll give me the chance to convince you that I can be that for you too. Teammates or not.

But until then…

In one fluid motion, he sends the plane sailing into the air, watches it catch the breeze until, robbed of its lift, it skims the surface of the lake, sending ripples emanating from where it first made contact with the water.

The plane bobs gently in the lake until it soaks up too much water to stay afloat. Lando watches it list gradually to the side, slowly disappearing from view as the paper disintegrates.

He turns and walks away from the lake.

Soy lago.

—Lando

part 2 here!

notes: saw carlos explain lando’s comment on carlos’ mclaren → ferrari announcement post back in 2020 and have been unwell since also, yes, the mclaren building (mtc) does have a lake and boy the sunset does do it a lot of favors… easter eggs: lando not being able to spell, the damned ferrari video (where lando actually did have to start over and it RUINED ME), Would You Rather

more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)

#the one where parker delivers on her promise to do a soft lando fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #lando norris #carlos sainz #ln4 x cs55 #cs55 #ln4 #ln4 imagine #cs55 imagine #ferrari #mclaren #formula 1 #carlando

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