- "you're not saying you're
in love with me,
but you're going to."
or, the one where the music industry's it girl meets F1's it boy and the media just *has* to make a scene about it
[ lando norris | social media + irl ]
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"DON'T talk to me like we're friends," Lando spits, and he almost forgets that they're in a public club with multiple spectators, easily capable of being attentive to their words and movements. Though, he's lucky since only a small handful of people have started paying them mind, but even then, it's still unfortunate because of the bright lights emitting from those people in question.
Cameras, of course.
"Why can't we be though?" Jackson asks, getting closer to the driver. "I think we'd get along just fine, especially after Bianca drops your ass in a year's time."
This fucking guy.
He's heard this story before, from Bianca's own lips. The way that Jackson loves to lie about Bianca's intentions with people and how she's some California Devil.
"You have no idea what you're talking about," he bites. "So, you better leave her alone or I swear to fuck—"
Jackson raises his hands almost mockingly, head tilted like Lando was some sort of prey of his. "Woah, woah, let's relax. You're getting pretty worked up and we don't want Formula 1's favorite youngster to catch a controversy, right?"
Lando's eyes dart around the crowd, seeing the phones pointing in their faces. If he had the ability to, he would smash every single one into little tiny pieces, and let them fall like raindrops on the dance floor.
He tightens his jaw and regains eye-contact with the guitarist. When he looks at him, all he can feel is the urge to scratch out the other's eyes. "Worry about yourself first."
"Don't have to, you know, with the fact that Bia kind of fucked up my reputation and all," Jackson shrugs, too nonchalant for Lando's liking. Every word that left his lips almost seemed planned, calculated, especially that usage of 'Bia' instead of Bianca. It made Lando's blood boil to think that Jackson believes he still had a right to refer to her in such a way. "Did you ever notice that?" He begins. "She always writes songs about people being the victims of something, like she can do no wrong, sitting there writing her stupid little breakup songs," he rattles off. "So much for being a 'hopeful person,' right? She's just a little fraud."
"You—"
"No, no," Jackson steps forward in front of Lando, absolutely no regard for his personal space. Regardless, he doesn't give up his ground, and lets the action occur. "Let me hand you some advice, my friend; leave her, as soon as you can, because if you mess up even once, you'll be the subject of the next song she writes or the next interview she takes up," he hisses, face so close Lando can see the sweat glistening on his forehead. "Why do you think she got to stay at the top while I got all the heat? No one listened to my side of the story. So, look, man to man, yeah? Drop her, and if you don't, at least do yourself a favor and watch your back."
