Angst But Also Fluff?! - Blog Posts

Radio Silence | Chapter Five

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, detailed meltdown on-page, angst.

Notes — Another double update, go me! PSA: Our Amelia has a bit of a difficult time in this one. Take care of yourselves x

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2019

WhatsApp Groupchat — The 2019 F1 Grid

Charles L. I have found an iPad in Ferrari hospitality. It is engraved with the initials A.B. Any ideas?

Lewis H. Does it have a bunny sticker on it?

Charles L. Yes!

Lewis H. That’s Amelia’s, then.

Lando N. lol I’ll come get it just gimme 10 mins im in a debrief rn 

Charles L. Sure no problem Amelia is Zak Brown’s daughter, yes?

George R. Yeah mate The smart one.

Sebastian V. Haha. She is the one Binotto wants? Brown hair, pretty smile?

Lando N. Bro.

Lewis H. @Sebastian — Mattia has tried to get her to Ferrari?

Sebastian V. Yes. He’s offered her some very lucrative opportunities. She has so far turned all of them down.

Carlos S. She’s loyal to McLaren. Leave her to us, yes?

Valtteri B. But if she ever decided to go elsewhere, Mercedes would make sense.

Lewis H. Yeah obviously 👍🏻

Lando N. ????????????

Lance S. If she was offered a million dollars to fix the Racing Point car, do you think she’d take it? Not a hypothetical. My dad wants to know.

Max V. Money won’t work. You forget she’s already the child of a millionaire.

Lance S. Damn it.

Kimi R. Is this the child always in Norris’ garage?

Lando N. Don’t call her a child we are literally the same age

Kimi R. That does not change the fact

Daniel R. But seriously, why was she even in Ferrari hospitality in the first place?

Max V. Ice cream.

Lando N. Ice cream 

Lewis H. Ice cream.

Sebastian V. I can confirm she was here for ice cream. Pistachio, specifically.

Charles L. I cannot believe I’ve still never met her. Is she really so smart?

Lando N. Yes.

Pierre G. Absolutely.

Max V. Smarter than you are capable of comprehending, Charles.

Charles L. Then I suppose I will just have to charm her into accepting Mattia’s offer 😌

Lando N. I will put in the wall, Leclerc.

Charles L. Oh! You are together with her, Lando? I didn’t know!

Lando N. No, we’re not together.

Charles L. Then I am confused.

Max V. Her father has practically forbade them from dating. Total nonsense if you ask me.

Carlos S. They are dating.

Daniel R. @Carlos 😳😳😳

Lando N. @Carlos NO WE ARE NOT STOP SAYING THAT

Sergio P. Mucho defensive…

Carlos S. He wrote his race number on her shoes.

Lando N. So what? That means nothing.

Daniel R. Oh brother….

Max V. Yeah, sorry, I can’t even back you on that one Lando. That’s a lot.

Kimi R. My wife had my number stitched into her shoes. We got married six months later.

George R. So Kimi is saying you’re basically engaged, bro.

Lewis H. Let’s stop talking about this. Before Lando has a full on meltdown.

Charles L. Too late. He has arrived for the iPad with a terrible attitude. 

Lando N. I hate all of you.

— 

Subject: Workplace Conduct Reminder – Inclusivity & Respect at McLaren

From: HR Department To: All McLaren Racing Staff Date: [Sunday, post-race, 10:42 PM]

Dear Team,

As the season continues and tensions rise both on and off the track, we’d like to take a moment to remind everyone of McLaren’s core values — collaboration, respect, and inclusion.

We are incredibly proud of the diversity across our team, from engineering to strategy, operations to communications. Every person is here because they bring something exceptional to the table — and that includes our colleagues who may experience or perceive the world differently than others.

We ask that all team members remain mindful of the following:

Neurodiversity is not a barrier — it is an asset. Please be conscious of language and behaviour that may unintentionally alienate or diminish the contributions of individuals who may process things differently. This includes members of our extended team, trusted advisors, and collaborators who work closely with us — regardless of job title or official role.

“Vibes” are not a metric — Judging someone’s energy, personality, or communication style is not only unprofessional but also unfair. Everyone representing or contributing to McLaren, formally or informally, deserves respect.

Support one another — Whether someone wears McLaren orange full-time or contributes behind the scenes, everyone here plays a part in our collective success.

Rumours are not culture — Let’s keep paddock gossip out of professional spaces. If you have concerns, we encourage you to speak directly to your manager or HR.

This message is not in response to any one incident but rather a gentle pit stop reminder: our team functions best when everyone feels seen, heard, and safe.

If you have any questions or want to speak to someone in confidence, please feel free to reach out to HR directly. We’re here to help.

Kind regards, The McLaren Racing HR Team [hr@mclarenracing.co.uk]

— 

iMessage — 11:40pm

Lando Yo, did you see the email?

Carlos Sí.

Lando Kinda hardcore. Glad Zak did something 

Carlos Somebody was… how you say… discriminate to Amelia?

Lando Yeah someone in PR idk I feel like I should know more about her stuff I feel stupid tho. Like I don’t know anything. Just that she’s Amelia yano 

Carlos I did some reading. Come to my hotel room. We eat pizza. I teach you what I know and we google the rest.

Lando Legend. Thanks, mate.

— 

The course he took her to wasn’t flashy — quiet, tucked away, the kind of place her dad’s friends would never be caught dead in. That was intentional. They weren’t exactly hiding their… friendship, but they weren’t trying to advertise it either.

Amelia stared down at the club he’d handed her like it was a piece of martian debris.

“This is very stupid,” she muttered. “Pointless, really.”

“It is,” Lando agreed, his lips twitching. “Just hit the ball.”

She squinted at the tiny white ball he’d settled on the grass in front of her. “Is it supposed to just… go?”

“Yes.”

“Like in a line?” she clarified, glancing at him.

He shrugged. “In theory.”

She swung. Missed.

Lando clapped anyway. “Incredible form. I’ve never seen such calculated failure.”

“It was bad,” she said seriously. “I didn’t hit the ball. I made a hole in the grass, Lando.” She stared down at the muddy crater with quiet horror.

He just gave her an encouraging nod, gesturing for her to try again.

She sighed, feeling the beginning of a stress rash creep along her neck. But she tried again. And that time, she hit it — not far, just a lazy roll across the grass — but enough to surprise herself. Lando caught the way her eyes widened, saw the exact moment the thrill overtook her frustration.

He didn’t say anything. Just handed her another ball.

They kept going like that for a while — her slowly getting the hang of it, him slipping in dumb jokes and patient explanations between swings. She never asked for help, but he noticed how closely she watched every move he made. Her eyes, always sharp, always calculating.

Eventually, she dropped to the grass with a dramatic sigh and said, “Why do people think this is relaxing? I’m hot and my legs are tired.”

Lando chuckled and sat beside her, kicking his legs out long. “I think it’s relaxing. Your dad likes it.”

“I don’t want to talk about my dad. It makes me stressed.”

“Yeah?” He asked.

She pulled at a blade of grass, rolled it between her fingers. “He told me again that it would be better if I stayed away from you. He said it would make things easier. For me. For you. For the team.” She continued. 

Lando let the silence sit for a moment before asking, his voice quiet and slightly unsure. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I want him to not worry. I want him to trust me. I want…” She hesitated, frowning at the grass. “I want to feel like I can make my own choices without feeling like I might wreck everything.” 

“You’re not wrecking anything,” Lando said. He tapped the ground next to her leg and she glanced at him, blinking. “I like hanging out with you.” He told her. 

She didn’t say anything, just flicked the blade of grass from her fingers and looked at the trees that surrounded the course. “I don’t know what I feel yet,” she said finally. “Toward you, I mean. But I know that I have liked this. Today. Not the golf. Being with you.”

Lando grinned — couldn’t help himself. Probably looked like a right knob, but he didn’t care. “Want to keep playing?” He asked. 

She gave him a look. “I might get fined for ruining so much of their grass.”

He handed her another ball. Shrugged. Smirked. “It’s fine. I make a lot of money.” 

She rolled her eyes.

— 

Amelia shut her bedroom door with more force than she meant to and leaned against it, breath caught high in her chest like she’d just ran a marathon. Her bag hit the floor. Her hands were shaking.

She didn’t know why. Except; she did.

Her body was full of something too big. Too much. A knot of heat and noise and confusion that had no exit. It felt like all the inside parts of her were pressing outward, like she might split open if she didn't stay still.

She pressed her palms hard into her eyes like she could push it all back in. But it was already too late. The thoughts were everywhere; spilled oil, tangled cords, static static static. Her brain wouldn’t quiet down. Wouldn’t give her space to think.

She’d had a good day. That was the worst part. 

Lando had been good.

He never looked at her like she was difficult. He didn’t act like she was hard work. When she didn’t catch onto something the first time, he just explained again. No sighing. No staring. No pretending. Things weren’t easy with him, not exactly, but they were lighter. Easier.

She sat hard on her bed and the tears came without warning; fast, silent, relentless.

She didn’t cry often. Usually she just shut down. Usually the wall slammed down before anything could spill out. But this time everything had slipped past it, and now she was sobbing, but it didn’t even feel like crying. It felt like her whole nervous system had shattered.

A knock at the door.

“Amelia?” her mum’s voice, soft. “We just got back. Can I come in?”

She didn’t answer. Just turned her face away and wiped at it, even though the tears kept falling. Her skin was already stinging. Her chest was tight.

The door creaked open.

“I’m not upset,” Amelia said fast, panicked. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know why I feel like this. No. I do. I do. I just don’t know what to do with it. And I don’t want to talk about it—except I do. I do, I just—” She broke off, swallowing hard.

Her mum sat on the edge of the bed, calm. Grounding.

“I went out with Lando today,” Amelia said, too fast. “To play golf. His idea. He said we should do something fun. So I did. And it was fun. I didn’t freak out or embarrass myself. I didn’t ruin it. I didn’t ruin it.”

She dug her nails into her palms. Her face was blotchy and sore.

“He makes me feel normal,” she whispered. “Not small. Not like a problem. Just… me. And now I don’t know what I feel. I think I want him to be my friend. Or maybe something else. I don’t know. And I don’t want to know, because it doesn’t matter.”

“Why doesn’t it matter?” Her mum asked calmly.

Amelia blinked at her, and then, like someone flicked a switch, the anger surged. Hot and fast, like a fever.

“Because of Dad,” she spat. “Because he thinks that it would be a distraction. Because he thinks I’ll screw everything up just by being around. Like I’m some walking disease that’s gonna infect Lando’s entire career. I know that’s what he’s worried about the most.”

She was breathing too fast. Her limbs were twitching now, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I don’t have friends,” she said. “You know that. I’ve never had friends. Not ones that stay. I get too intense. Too blunt. Too weird. Too tired. And people always stop trying.”Her voice cracked. Her throat burned. “But Lando didn’t stop. He hasn’t stopped. And it’s still not enough. I still don’t get to have this one good thing without it turning into a problem.”

The sobs came back, messy and loud this time. She stood up too fast, swaying. Her hands started moving uncontrollably at her sides; jerky, uncoordinated. A warning sign. The meltdown was building and she couldn’t stop it, could never stop it. 

Her mum stood too, moving slow, blocking her path without touching her.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to think about any of that right now.” Her mom’s attempts to comfort her were useless against the onslaught of emotions she was feeling. 

“I’m so angry,” Amelia choked out. “I finally feel calm, I finally feel seen, and it’s not allowed. I’m not allowed to want something or feel something if it’s inconvenient for anyone else!”

She was trembling now. Her skin felt wrong. Her body wasn’t hers anymore. She wanted to rip it off. She wanted to scream and break things. Instead, she clenched her fists and shook and shook and shook.

“Do you want me to get your things?” her mum asked, voice calm, anchoring.

Amelia nodded hard. “Yes. My weighted blanket. And the golf ball. It’s in my bag. Lando bought it for me and I want to hold it. It’s yellow.”

“I’ll get everything,” her mum said gently.

“I’m not doing this on purpose,” Amelia shouted, the volume jarring even to herself. “I’m trying so hard. All the time. I’m always trying.”

“I know,” her mum said. “And I’m proud of you. Every day.”

Amelia slid to the floor. Her body folded in on itself, hands clawed into her sleeves, breathing uneven.

The noise in her head kept rising.

Usually, this was when she wanted her dad. Wanted him to sit next to her. Watch a race in silence. Be there without asking anything of her.

But not now.

Now, all she wanted was for him to stay far, far away.

— 

It was almost midnight.

Her room was quiet now; weighted blanket pulled up to her chest, lights off, only the soft blue glow of her phone screen lighting her face. The golf ball sat in her right hand, warm from where she’d been holding it for hours. She kept rolling it between her fingers, feeling the small ridges, the smoothness. Grounding.

She had stopped shaking, but her body was aching like one big bruised muscle. 

She stared at the message thread with Lando, her thumb hovering, retreating, hovering again.

She didn’t know what to say.

Everything in her head still felt too big. Too messy. But the quiet between them was worse. Not bad, not uncomfortable, just... unfamiliar. She wanted to talk to him. 

Finally, she started typing. 

— 

iMessage — 10:11pm

Amelia I didn’t enjoy golf very much. But I liked being with you. Thank you for inviting me.

Lando Norris I’m glad you came anyway We had fun though, right? I had fun :)

Amelia Yes, I had fun. It was confusing. But in a good way. I liked learning something new.

Lando Norris I liked today too You were kind of great We should do more new things together. Just us

Amelia Maybe. I feel strange tonight. My head is a bit loud.

Lando Norris That’s alright

Amelia Do you think if I asked you questions about your Formula Three races… you would answer them?

Lando Norris Absolutely I’d love that Haven’t talked about F3 in ages Might be nice to remember

Amelia Okay. What did it feel like the first time you won?

Lando Norris Like my hands knew before I did Like the whole world stopped for one second so I could catch up It felt… right. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be ya know 

Amelia Oh

Lando Norris: You okay?

Amelia: I forgot all the questions I had for you. Sorry.

Lando Norris That’s okay. Don’t worry. Your brain’s probably sleepy. It’s late Are you tired?

Amelia Yes. I got upset earlier for no reason and it’s made me tired I’ll go to sleep now. Thank you for texting me back. Goodnight.

Lando Norris You don’t have to thank me for that I like talking to you Feel better soon, yeah? Goodnight x

— 

The house was still, the kind of stillness that only came after a storm.

Tracy sat on the couch in the dark, legs curled beneath her, a half-cold mug of tea resting in her hands. She hadn’t moved since she’d come downstairs after leaving Amelia. The couch blanket was draped over her shoulders, but she still shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the heavy weight of witnessing her daughter’s pain. 

Zak entered quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood in the doorway, tie loose, shoulders slumped, guilt etched deep into the lines around his eyes. After a long moment, he crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Tracy didn’t look at him. Just murmured, “She’s asleep now. I checked a minute ago.”

Zak nodded slowly. “She didn’t ask for me.”

“She didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want help. Just needed space.” Tracy’s voice cracked, but she kept it steady. “She was barely holding on, Zak. I haven’t seen her like that in a long time.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse,” he said too quickly. “I just… I thought I was protecting her.”

“I know you did,” Tracy replied gently.

Zak stared at the floor. “I didn’t think it would hurt her like this. I thought—” He faltered. “I thought keeping her away from Lando would keep things simple. Keep her safe. From getting hurt. Or confused. Or from people talking. From getting her hopes up.”

“You didn’t trust her,” Tracy said. Not accusing, just honest.

Zak exhaled hard. “No. I didn’t trust him.”

Tracy finally turned to look at him. “But he’s been good to her. You’ve seen that, surely.” 

“I have,” Zak admitted, tersely. 

“But it wasn’t on your terms,” Tracy said. “So you didn’t like it.”

Zak didn’t argue.

“She’s not a problem to solve, Zak. She’s our daughter. And she’s doing something incredibly brave. She’s opening up. She’s connecting. That’s huge for her.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “God, I know. I just…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. “Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been someone safer?”

“Because love isn’t safe,” Tracy said. “And friendship isn’t simple. And if you’re lucky enough to find someone who makes you feel okay in your skin, even just for a little while, that’s not a risk for someone like her. That’s a lifeline.”

Zak leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looked hollowed out. “I feel like I’ve completely blown it.”

“You haven’t,” Tracy said gently. “But you will if you keep pushing like this. If you keep trying to prevent something that is starting to seem pretty much inevitable.” 

Zak was quiet.

“She loves you,” Tracy added. “But she can’t keep fighting you on this. Not when she’s also fighting herself. That kind of pressure… it’ll break her.”

That landed like a stone. He blinked against the sting in his eyes and nodded, slow and tired. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

Tracy leaned into him and kissed the rough edge of his jaw. “You’re a good father, Zak. She knows that. She’ll forgive you.”

Zak didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the dark hallway.

“She didn’t ask for me,” he said again, softer this time. Raw. Frayed.

Tracy sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I know, honey.”

— 

The flat was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional thump of bass through the wall from the upstairs neighbours. Lando sat cross-legged on the sofa, eyes unfocused on the muted Rally Car stream playing on the TV. Max was in the kitchen, one sock on, microwaving some disastrous smelling leftover curry.

“You ever liked someone,” Lando said suddenly, not looking up, “so much that even the idea of them ruining your life doesn’t sound that bad?”

Max made a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Christ, mate. What brought that on?”

Lando shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve just been thinking.”

“About Amelia?” Max asked, already knowing. He padded over and dropped into the armchair opposite, bowl in his lap.

Lando exhaled slowly. “I really fucking like her. It doesn’t make sense. She’s, I mean— Jesus, I don’t know. Feels like I can breathe right around her, you know?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Just stirred the curry and watched the screen for a second. Then, gently: “Yeah. I get that. But... Come on, mate. You sure this isn’t a bit too much, too fast?”

Lando looked over. Frowned. “What do you mean?”

Max shifted, trying to find words. “It’s not just about liking someone. It’s about who she is. Like, she’s your boss’s daughter. That’s... not insignificant here.”

“I know that.” Lando bit back. 

“Okay. But do you really know what it means? If something goes wrong, if it ends, and ends messy, it’s not like you can just walk away. There’s no possibility of a clean break with her.” 

Lando was quiet, but his jaw tightened.

“I’m not trying to scare you off,” Max added quickly. “I just... I know how much you’ve worked for this. Since you were, what, six? Your whole life’s been about driving. Being the best. And now you’re closer than ever.”

“I’m not giving up racing,” Lando snapped, defensive before Max even finished.

“I didn’t say you were,” Max snapped right back at him. “I just don’t want you to stop being Lando Norris: F1 driver and become Lando Norris: the guy who fucked around with his boss’ daughter, you know?”

Lando stared down at his hands. He felt like a piece of shit as he said, “Zak’s basically said the same thing. So has my dad.”

Max nodded. “‘Cause we’re all thinking the same thing, mate.” 

Lando rubbed his hands over his face and pulled his hood up. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. “Maybe this isn’t... good timing.”

Max didn’t say anything. He just went back to eating, quiet again.

And Lando hated that suddenly it felt like all of their reasons made sense.

— 

The air was different now. Cooler. Thinner. The sun still came through her window in the morning, but it didn’t cling to the walls the same way. The trees had started to shift, just barely, into that pre-autumn colour. And Amelia felt like she was holding her breath all the time. For something. For nothing.

She hadn’t spoken to Lando for days. Not since she'd sent him a photo of the coffee shop in town that had spelled her name wrong again, and all she got back was a laughing emoji. No reply. No question. Just that.

It felt like a door closing very slowly. 

She was sitting in the bay window of her bedroom, blanket around her shoulders, golf ball in one hand and her phone in the other. It was the fourth time she'd opened their chat and closed it again. The most recent messages sat there like ghosts. 

—

iMessage — 9:04am

Amelia Hope you’re not too tired from training. 

—

Read. Two days ago. No response.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure what to write that wouldn’t sound… needy. Or hurt. Or desperate. God, she hated the idea of being too much. It made her skin itch. She didn’t want to become exactly what people were always assuming that she’d be.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to steady her breathing, her thoughts, her everything. But it hurt in a way she didn’t understand; this slow, quiet loss. It hurt in a way she didn’t have a name for. It felt a lot like emptiness.

“Don’t spiral,” she whispered to herself, rocking gently, rhythmically. “Don’t spiral. Don’t spiral.”

But it felt like she already was.

— 

Both McLaren cars DNF’d in Belgium; the first race back after the Summer break.

She’d written it down two hours before lights out — in the margin of an old notebook, under a page of technical notes she hadn’t meant to be looking at anymore. The exact reason. The probable lap. A strange little instinct that curled in her gut and told her today’s not going to go the way they want it to.

She closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer, and told herself it didn’t matter.

Nobody would ever know. Nobody would ever ask. Because she wasn’t in the garage. Wasn’t in the paddock. Wasn’t even watching from the hospitality suite like she always did, like clockwork.

She was in Woking. In her bedroom. As far from Lando’s garage, from the paddock, as she could possibly be.

And on the TV, when the Sky Sports commentator mentioned her absence like it was some small anomaly (“No sign of Amelia Brown in Norris’ McLaren garage today. Odd, considering she rarely misses a weekend”) she didn’t feel flattered or seen or missed.

She felt sick.

Like the air got thinner the second they said her name.

So she turned it off.

Just like that.

The screen went dark. The sound cut out. And for the first time in ten years, she didn’t watch the entire race.

Not because she didn’t want to. 

But because it hurt too much.

---