You had loved him with everything you had, every inch of your heart belonged to Lando. Years of shared memories, laughter in hotel rooms, holding hands on chaotic travel days, and long nights filled with whispered sweet nothings. But it wasn’t enough. At least, not for him.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he had told you that night, voice tight with guilt. “I’m always away, always busy. You deserve someone who can be present.”

But you had wanted him. Only him. You were willing to be the one who waited, the one who stood by even if it meant late replies and weeks apart. You just wanted to be the one he came home to. Still, he walked away.

You didn’t handle it well.

The months after the breakup were a blur of pain. You barely left your room. Your phone buzzed with worried texts and missed calls from your friends, your family dropping by just to sit with you in silence.

“You deserve better.” “He’s a dick for leaving you.”

But no matter what they said, it didn’t fill the hole in your chest. Because how do you erase the love of your life?

Eventually, something changed. One morning, you woke up and stared at your ceiling, a strange calm in your chest. And then, slowly, you started living again. You surrounded yourself with people who made you laugh, took spontaneous trips with your friends, started focusing on work and the things that made you feel whole again.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt free. Not because you forgot him, but because you remembered yourself.

It’s 3:00 AM when your phone rings. Unknown Number.

You groggily squint at it in the dark, your body already turning to ignore it. But it rings again. And again. On the fourth try, something tells you to answer.

“Who is this?” you snap, more out of instinct than anything else.

A pause. “Hey… babeee…”

Your breath catches. That voice. Slurred, but familiar. “…Lando?” You sit up straight in bed. “Are you drunk?”

“Haha yeahh… can.. you pick — pick me upp…” Your stomach knots. “Where are your friends?”

“I don’t knowww…". You groan. Of course. “What club are you even at?”

“The one… we usually go to…”

Of course it’s that one.

You stare at the ceiling, torn. You should say no. You should let him figure it out like the grown man he is. But something in his voice, that soft, drunk plea—it makes the walls around your heart tremble.

“Fine. I’m picking you up.” You hang up. Your heart’s pounding, but your movements are robotic—sweater on, keys grabbed, door shut behind you.

You drove through the quiet streets, the city lights casting fleeting glows across your windshield. As you entered the bar district, the atmosphere shifted. Neon signs flashed against the pavement, people buzzed like static in the night, and the pulsing beat of music thudded against your chest even from inside the car.

Amongst all the blurry figures and chaos, your eyes locked on a lone, slouched silhouette leaning against a pole. Limp. Almost lifeless.

Lando.

Your heart clenched, but you pushed it down. You didn’t have time to feel anything, not yet. You slammed your door shut, the sound sharp against the night as you rushed over. “Lando?”

No response. You stepped closer. “Lando…”

His head stirred. Slowly. And when he saw your face, his lips curled into that familiar, lazy smile. “Y/nnn… hi…”

You stared at him for a moment, memories clawing at your chest, but you swallowed them down. This wasn’t the time.

“Okay, let’s get you home,” you said firmly, ducking under his arm and pulling it around your shoulder. He leaned into you without hesitation, reeking of alcohol and nostalgia.

He limped beside you all the way to your car. You opened the passenger door and eased him into the seat, his body heavy and warm. As you leaned over to buckle his seatbelt, your face inches from his, he chuckled. “Ha—haha… that tickles.”

You froze. That laugh. That boyish grin. It used to be your favorite sound.

You quickly looked away, ignored the tightness in your throat, and shut the door. The cold air hit your skin as you rounded to the driver’s side and climbed in, gripping the wheel harder than necessary.

The drive to his place was mostly quiet, save for Lando’s occasional drunken yaps — half-finished thoughts, random bursts of laughter, and soft murmurs you couldn’t quite make out. You kept your eyes on the road, doing everything in your power to stay detached.

Once you pulled into his apartment building, you parked quickly and stepped out, ready to help him. But before you even made it around the car, he was already stumbling out on his own.

“Lando—”

Too late. He wobbled on his feet, nearly collapsing, so you rushed to his side and slung his arm over your shoulder again. His weight pressed into you heavier than before, and you muttered a quiet curse under your breath as you made your way toward the entrance.

In the elevator, you pressed the button for his floor. The seconds dragged. Lando leaned heavily into you, head resting briefly against your temple, and you tried not to react.

When the elevator doors finally opened, you nearly sighed in relief — until you remembered his apartment was at the very end of the hallway. Of course it was.

Step by step, you guided him down the corridor, every movement heavier, slower. You reached his door and without even thinking, your fingers punched in the code.

You paused.

You remembered the code. Of course you did — after all the times you snuck in to surprise him, or when both of you were desperate to get inside because Lando was too impatient, lips already on yours before the door had even closed.

Stop. You shook the memory away. You’re not that girl anymore.

You pushed the door open and helped him onto the couch, settling him down beside his sim setup. He slouched into the cushions with a soft groan, eyes already fluttering closed.

You exhaled deeply, taking a step back, and that’s when you noticed it.

The apartment was different.

The frames that once held your photos together were now replaced with images of him — celebrating wins, posing with fans, lifting trophies. The shelf where your souvenirs once lived: ticket stubs, polaroids, little trinkets from your travels — was gone. In its place stood neatly arranged awards, medals, and perfectly lined up championship memorabilia.

It felt clean. Like you’d never existed here.

You barely had time to process it when you heard him stir. A soft rustling of fabric, followed by a low, slurred whisper.

You turned. Lando’s brows furrowed slightly, lips moving again as he mumbled something incoherent.

You moved closer, cautiously sitting down beside him on the couch, trying to catch what he was saying. “Y/n…” he murmured.

Your heart stopped.

You stared at him, frozen in place. He said your name again, so softly, it broke something in you.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to feel. Shock? Anger? Heartache?

But above all, you felt confused. Why now? Why, after everything?

And why did it still hurt this much?

His eyes fluttered open slowly, unfocused at first. But the moment they settled on you, something shifted. It was like a haze lifted—just enough for recognition to sink in.

“Y/n…” he breathed, voice low and thick with emotion.

Before you could even react, his hand reached for your cheek and suddenly—his lips were on yours.

You froze.

Your eyes widened, your breath caught in your throat, every cell in your body going rigid. It took a second, before your hands pushed against his chest and you pulled away, heart racing.

“Lando,” you whispered, stunned. “You..You can’t just—”

He blinked at you, dazed, confusion and something almost like longing swimming in his gaze. But the alcohol still clung to him, and the moment passed as quickly as it came. His body slumped slightly, the weight of exhaustion and intoxication finally pulling him under again.

And just like that, he was out.

You sat there in silence, pulse pounding in your ears.

What the hell just happened?

You touched your lips, still warm from his kiss. You hated that it felt familiar. That your body remembered it like a home. But it wasn’t home anymore. Not since the day he let you go. Not since he stopped choosing you, even when you begged to stay.

A hollow ache sat heavy in your chest.

You stood up quietly, eyes flicking to the bedroom down the hall. You hesitated, but the thought of lying in that bed—the one where so many memories were etched into the sheets—was too much.

No. Don’t do this to yourself.

Instead, you tiptoed into his room just long enough to grab a pillow and a spare blanket. You returned to the living room and laid them out on the smaller couch across from his.

He looked peaceful now, breathing softly, the rise and fall of his chest steady. You watched him for a moment before finally lying down and turning your back to him.

You stared into the darkness, heart aching in ways you thought had long since healed.

Eventually, exhaustion won. And you drifted off, not quite as alone as you were last year, but not any less heartbroken.

Soft rays of sunlight slipped through a narrow gap in the curtains, warming your face and gently pulling you from sleep. You stirred, squinting against the light as you rubbed your eyes, letting your surroundings come into focus.

And then it hit you… last night.

Lando. The phone call. The kiss.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of it settle. Before the thoughts could spiral, your stomach let out a loud, impatient growl, reminding you of something: you hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

You sat up, folding the blanket neatly and placing the pillow back where it belonged. The apartment was quiet. Still.

Slipping into the kitchen, you scanned the pantry and fridge. A loaf of bread sat on the counter, and a carton of eggs waited in the fridge. Simple enough.

You moved quietly, careful not to make noise. The last thing you wanted was to wake Lando just yet—not while the air was still heavy with everything unsaid. You cracked the eggs into a pan, whisking them gently as they sizzled on the stove. The toaster clicked as you dropped in the bread, and for a moment, the smell of breakfast brought a strange sense of comfort.

Despite yourself, you made enough for two.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe, deep down, a part of you still cared enough to make sure he had something to eat after the mess of last night.

As you plated the food and loaded the used pan into the dishwasher, you heard the familiar sound of rustling behind you. A groan followed, low and tired.

Lando.

You didn’t turn around immediately. You moved to the kitchen island, hands gently resting on the cool countertop as you waited for him to fully wake.

Behind you, you could hear him shifting, likely clutching his head in a hangover-induced haze. You could already imagine the furrow of his brow, the groggy confusion in his eyes.

And you stood there, steady and silent — waiting for whatever came next.

Unable to ignore the ache in your stomach any longer, you picked up a slice of toast and took a bite, letting the warmth and crunch distract you from the tension that still lingered in the air.

“Y/n?”

The voice made you freeze mid-chew.

You turned slowly to face him, the voice that once brought you peace now tugging at something far more complicated.

He stood there, tousled hair, sleep still in his eyes, confusion etched across his face. “What… what are you doing here?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “You called me last night,” you said plainly, watching his expression closely. “You were drunk. I picked you up.”

His brows knit together as he tried to piece it together. “I… called you?”

You nodded.

He took a hesitant step forward, as if unsure how close he was allowed to get. You swallowed, feeling the shift in the air. It was the first real conversation you’d had with him since the breakup. And despite the time apart, it felt too familiar. Too fragile.

“Yeah,” you said softly, turning your eyes back to the plate in front of you. “And… here’s breakfast.”

You slid the second plate across the island toward him. He caught it, eyes dropping to the food.

A beat passed before he mumbled, “Thanks.”

He sat down across from you, the silence between you louder than anything either of you could say.

And just like that, it was you and him again. At the same table. But not quite the same.

The atmosphere was thick with silence, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you. Minutes passed, the only sounds were the occasional clink of cutlery or the low hum of the city outside his windows.

Lando shifted in his seat, clearly noticing the way you sat — tense, guarded, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Uh… I’m sorry,” he said at last, voice low and uncertain. “For dragging you into this. It’s my fault.”

There was hesitation at the end of his sentence, like he wasn’t sure if he even had the right to speak it aloud.

It had been a year since that night, since everything fell apart.

In that time, you both found your own ways to cope. Lando threw himself deeper into racing, burying the pain in speed and silence. You drowned yourself in work, distraction becoming survival. But despite all the time and distance, nothing ever quite filled the void he left behind.

He felt it too. He had missed you, so much so, but he’d never found the courage to reach out. Never trusted himself not to break you all over again.

You broke the silence, voice soft. “No, it’s alright.”

But it wasn’t, not really. The moment felt like a flashback, transporting you to the final days of your relationship, where words were too hard to find and feelings too heavy to hold.

After a pause, you looked up. “Nothing… happened between us last night, right?”

He blinked, caught off guard.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the truth pushed its way forward. “Actually… something did. You… kissed me.”

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to remember. Then, something shifted in his expression — a flicker of realization, and then guilt.

“I… I’m so sorry,” he said quietly. “I know being drunk isn’t an excuse, but I didn’t mean to cross any lines. I didn’t mean to—hurt you. Again.”

His voice trailed off as he pursed his lips, as if bracing for the weight of your response.

You studied him for a moment, searching for anything beyond regret in his eyes. There it was—remorse, but something else too. A softness. Maybe even longing. But you didn’t let yourself linger on it.

You gave him a small, measured nod. “It’s okay. I know it wasn’t intentional.”

You meant it. Because this time, you wouldn’t let the past pull you under again. You weren’t the same girl he left behind.

You’d healed. You’d grown. And you weren’t going to let a single kiss, no matter how familiar it felt, undo all of that.

“So… how’s life?” Lando’s voice was tentative, as if he was testing the waters, unsure whether it was safe to ask.

It felt strange. Foreign, even. This was someone who used to know every corner of your life, and now he sounded like a stranger trying to start small talk.

You kept your eyes on your plate. “It’s fine,” you replied flatly. Then, without thinking, you added, “I’m guessing you’re doing well too, judging by the number of trophies lined up on your shelf.”

Your tone came out sharper than you intended. You didn’t mean to sound bitter, but something about seeing those trophies where pictures of you two used to be made your stomach twist.

Lando followed your gaze to the shelf. He swallowed and nodded slowly. “Yeah… I guess.”

There was a beat of silence before he added, more quietly, “But some days… I still felt like something was missing.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, narrowing slightly. “Missing?” you echoed, trying to keep your voice neutral. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

He met your gaze then. For a second, you thought he might look away—but he didn’t. His jaw tensed before he spoke.

“I mean you.”

The room went still. The air between you felt charged.

You laughed once, bitterly. “Funny. Because when you ended things, you made it pretty clear that I didn’t fit into your life anymore.”

Lando flinched, just barely. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you said. “You were always tired, always gone. And I still tried, Lando. I tried to be okay with the distance, the silence, the last-minute changes. But it was like I was the only one fighting for us at the end.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I know. I know you were. And I hated myself for letting it get to that point.”

“Then why did you let go?” your voice cracked at the end, despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Why didn’t you just talk to me instead of shutting me out?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, voice low. “I thought cutting you loose would give you the chance to be happy without always waiting around for me. I didn’t want to keep hurting you by not being there. I thought I was being… unselfish.”

You looked at him, stunned.

“Unselfish?” you repeated, shaking your head. “You don’t get to call it that when you never asked what I wanted. I was willing to make it work, even when it was hard. You were my person, Lando.”

His face twisted in regret, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “I know. And I threw it away. I thought it would get easier with time, but it didn’t. I missed you every damn day. But I was scared that if I came back, I’d mess it up all over again.”

You sat in silence, letting his words sink in. You weren’t sure what to say, because a part of you had needed to hear this. But another part still ached from everything left unsaid back then.

“I’m not the same person you left,” you finally said, voice calm but heavy with the weight of everything you had to rebuild. “When you walked away, I had no choice but to put myself back together, piece by piece.”

You paused, your gaze falling to your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “And I swore to myself that I’d never let anyone make me feel like I wasn’t enough. Not even you.”

Lando didn’t say anything right away. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between remorse and longing. But his eyes… his eyes were soft. Devastatingly soft.

“I see that,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “You’re different now. Stronger. Braver.”

You blinked, heart pounding in your chest. You’d spent so long building your walls, sewing yourself back together. Now, here he was, standing in front of you, shaking those walls without even trying. But you weren’t that same girl who had waited around, breaking quietly. You had grown. You had healed.

He took a hesitant step closer. “And I swear.. I won’t hurt you again.”

That did it. Your gaze sharpened, and the sting of the past rose like a tide. You stood up, your voice colder now, sharper.

“You don’t get to promise that,” you said. “Not when you already did. And look where that got us.”

You turned, ready to walk away, to save yourself before old wounds reopened. But before you could take a full step, his hand gently wrapped around your wrist. Not tight. Just enough to stop you.

“Please,” Lando said, his voice breaking just slightly, the first crack in his guarded calm. “I know I was selfish. I know I ruined everything. But I’m not asking to pick up where we left off — I’m asking to start again. From the beginning. I’ll earn your trust, your time… your heart, if you’ll let me.”

You turned to face him, the vulnerability in his expression unraveling something in you. He looked scared, not of losing you again, but of not even being given the chance to try.

And despite everything — despite the pain, despite the time — you still knew that look. You still knew him.

The fire in your chest softened into a quiet ache. Tears prickled faintly at the corners of your eyes, but you held them back. Your lips trembled, and after a long, quiet breath… you nodded.

A small, shaky smile tugged at his lips.

And when you stepped forward into his arms, it was instinct. Familiar. Safe.

He held you tightly, as if you’d vanish if he loosened his grip. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. For a while, neither of you said anything.

Then, just as you were about to pull away, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead — gentle, lingering, full of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your hair.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in.

“I missed us too,” you whispered back.

And maybe this time, you wouldn’t lose anything.

Arvid hadn’t planned on coming home this weekend, but when the team’s schedule shifted, giving him a few rare days off, he knew exactly where he wanted to be. He didn’t tell you, though. Surprises were more fun, and besides, he wanted to see your reaction.

You were at your usual spot by the bus stop, earbuds in, scrolling on your phone while you waited. Same routine, same spot, like clockwork. The bus hadn’t shown up yet, which was perfect for him. He pulled up to the curb, rolling the window down with a smirk.

“Need a lift?”

Your head snapped up, eyes widening, jaw wide open in pure shock before recognition dawned. And then, for a second, you just froze. He could practically see your brain glitching. But then your face began to form a slow grin as you ran to the passenger side, yanking open the door and diving into the seat.

“What the hell?” you demanded, your voice a mix of disbelief and excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

You hugged him, taking in the signature scent he always had on. Which you desperately miss as all his hoodies were now practically scent-less.

“And ruin the surprise? No chance,” Arvid said, grinning as he watched you buckle up, your fingers fidgeting with the strap. “Besides, I wanted to see if you’d still recognize me after my championship win.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother hiding your smile. "Oh, please. You love making an entrance, don’t you?"

He had just returned from an incredible CTFROC season, a perfect start to what was shaping up to be an amazing year before his F2 debut. The two of you made sure to call every night to check in, though, in reality, most of the conversations were just him excitedly rambling about his races and daily life in New Zealand while you listened, nodding along with a smile. You didn’t mind one bit—you loved hearing him talk, his enthusiasm, and his silly rants that always managed to make you laugh.

As you were now inside the car, he got a better look, he realized your was wearing it—one of his hoodies. The oversized black one with the Red Bull logo. It drowned you a little, the sleeves covering half your hands. It was a good look on you.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that mine?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You left it at my house so I decided to keep it."

He chuckled, knowing damn well he left it on purpose, “Like all of my other hoodies.”

Despite your usual energetic behavior, especially with Arvid, you didn’t let go of his arm as he drove. One hand clung to his jacket sleeve, your fingers curling into the fabric like you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. He glanced over, expecting you to tease him some more, but your face was softer now, your usual demeanor giving way to something else.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone dropping to something more serious.

You nodded, but your grip tightened. “Yeah. Just… I really needed this.”

And just like that, the teasing took a step back. He reached over, lacing their fingers together. “Me too,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze.

A moment of silence settled between them, warm and comfortable. Then, because he couldn’t resist, he smirked.

“So, should I drop you home, or do you wanna go for a joyride with your championship winning boyfriend?”

You snorted. “Just drive, idiot.”