#f1

Lando barely lifts his head as Oscar walks in, the sound of footsteps dragging through the quiet room. He watches him out of tired eyes—no energy for anything, not even annoyance. What a bad race—he thought, his poor performance still weighed on his shoulders. Then he saw it. The two tickets held loosely between Oscar’s fingers.

“Cheer up, mate! I’ve got plans for our break from F1.” He smirked proudly like a cat bringing a caught mouse to its owner. A beat passes. Bull riding? Monster Energy Drink-sponsored chaos on hooves? Not exactly his usual scene—but anything was better than sitting here drowning in self-loathing over a race that went south.

He blinks slowly. "...You serious?" His voice is flat, exhausted—but there's a tiny spark underneath.

“unwind for a while, mate. Let's go see something different for a change.” Oscar said. Lando stares at the tickets a second longer, then lets out a small, dry chuckle—more breath than laugh. Unwind. Right. He hadn’t “unwound” in months. Everything was strategy, discipline, pressure to perform. And now here’s Oscar with two tickets to watch cowboys get tossed by angry bulls like it’s entertainment. It was stupid. It was perfect.

Pushing himself up from the bench with a quiet groan. "Alright… yeah." He reaches for his jacket. "Let's go be idiots for once.”

The sun hung low over the dusty arena in Nevada, golden light bouncing off parked trucks and Monster Energy Drink banners flapping in the dry wind. The air smelled like hay, gasoline, and something faintly electric—like excitement on a summer night. Lando stood at the edge of the stands with Oscar beside him, both wearing casual caps pulled low to avoid being recognized. No press passes here—just cowboy hats and leather boots everywhere they looked. People were cheering as loud country music blared before each rider’s entrance. It was nothing like Monaco or Silverstone—a completely different world: raw adrenaline without tires or speed limits. Lando leaned toward Oscar.

"Never thought I’d be watching this instead of reviewing telemetry.”

The crowd buzzed as they settled into their seats—front row, right near the chute where the bulls would explode onto the arena. The energy was wild: half-drunk cowboys hollering, kids screaming at their idols. Lando glanced around, taking it all in—the rodeo cliché came to life. He’d seen highlights on TV during boring media days but never actually been to one. It felt… surreal.

A loud buzzer blared over the speakers—first rider entering! A massive bull thrashed behind a steel gate while a lanky competitor on its back. Oscar leaned forward eagerly beside Lando. "Bloody hell…" he muttered under his breath. It only appears for a few seconds…

Then the man shouted into the mic, announcing: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, EMBRACE THIS SANDSTORM! Y/L L/N! MULTI MILLION DOLLAR CHAMPIONNNN"

The crowd erupted—whistles, screams, clapping—as the gate swung open and a massive bull charged into the arena like a tornado made of muscle and fury. But what really hit Lando was the rider on its back. Even through sweat-streaked hair under that cowboy hat, even with all that dirt and adrenaline in your face… you were unfairly good-looking. Broad shoulders wrapped in a fitted black denim jacket, tan skin glistening under stadium lights—like some kind of rugged action hero stepped out of an old Western film. A hush fell over parts of the audience as you adjusted your grip mid-bucking—and held on like gravity itself obeyed you.

The bull twisted violently—like it was trying to shake off a demon rather than just a rider. But you didn’t flinch. Every brutal lurch, every sudden pivot, you flowed with it—hips syncing with the beast’s chaotic rhythm like you two were dancing. It wasn’t grace, it was pure instinct and control. The way your thighs clamped down on its back while your upper body stayed controlled still made Lando forget how to blink.

Oscar nudged him subtly. "Bloody hell… that guy rides like he's part of the bull." A cheer erupted among the arena as you made it through another wild buck without falling off.

Lando wasn’t aware of anything—no crowd noise, no Oscar beside him, not even the dry Nevada heat sticking to his skin. All he saw was you: the tight coil of muscle in your arms as you held on, the way sweat traced down your neck . The bull spun again—harder this time—and Lando’s stomach dropped like he was on its back. His chest felt too tight. Why couldn't he breathe? A pulse thundered in his ears—not from excitement at a race finish… something else entirely. You shifted slightly mid-ride and for just a second—the camera zoomed in—a flash of sharp jawline and piercing eyes met nothing but silence inside Lando's mind.

The crowd gasped, one collective sharp inhale as the bull finally flung you off, your body twisting through the air like a ragdoll caught in a storm. For half a heartbeat, panic flared: that fall looked brutal. “Ouch-!” Escape your lips. The arena lost it—cheering so loud it shook Lando’s ribs. People were on their feet screaming. You’re safe now. And Lando? Still frozen… but now with something dangerously close to awe burning behind his eyes.

“Mate?...Lando?” Oscar called out, noticing his friend was absolutely frozen.

The voice snapped through the fog in Lando’s brain. Lando blinked rapidly, as if waking from a coma. His hands were slightly clenched in his lap, pulse still humming like he'd just run a qualifying lap on his own. He turned slowly to Oscar—who was giving him that look. The one that said: "You’re not breathing and you're staring at some cowboy like he invented oxygen."

Lando swallowed hard. "...Yeah?" His voice came out quieter than intended—rough around the edges from not using it for so long. A beat passed where neither of them looked away from you, who was now brushing dirt off your jeans near the chute.

The camera zoomed in again—you, straightening your hat with one smooth motion, the brim casting a shadow over those striking features. The black denim jacket hugged your broad frame perfectly, logos of energy drinks and rodeo brands stitched across the back like battle scars. Your jeans were ridiculous—massive flares that swayed when you moved—but somehow it worked on you. Like some retro cowboy from an old Western film who didn’t care about fashion trends because he was too busy being effortlessly cool. A staff member handed you a water bottle. You took a long swig, throat working as you drank… then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Lando felt something dangerously close to heart pounding. Not from adrenaline this time.

The moment you stepped out from the arena gates, a sea of phone cameras lit up—flashes popping like fireworks. Fans pushed forward for selfies, autographs, anything. Journalists jostled to get quotes about your near-fall and flawless recovery. You handled it all with calm charm: a nod here, a quick handshake there—never stopping completely but not ignoring anyone either. That cowboy hat stayed firmly on your head despite the commotion. Lando watched you from their seats without moving yet… until Oscar nudged him again.

"Wanna go say hi?" Oscar asked casually—but there was mischief in his grin.

Lando’s entire body locked up at Oscar’s suggestion. His throat went dry. Speak to you? Approach that walking masterpiece of rugged charm and absolute masculinity? A cold sweat broke out on his neck.

No no no…he wasn’t equipped for this. He was Lando Norris, F1 driver: used to media interviews, sponsors shaking his hand like equals… not some starstruck dude trying to talk to a literal rodeo god who could bench-press a car. He shook his head rapidly—a panicked refusal without words.

"Oscar," his voice cracked slightly. "I can't just... walk up.”

Oscar rolled his eyes—half amused, half exasperated and shoved Lando’s shoulder lightly.

"Come on, mate," he said in a low voice, "You’re acting like this guy’s the bloody king of England or something." A group nearby screamed as you signed a little girl’s poster. The cowboy didn’t look annoyed—just patient, even smiling faintly. Oscar stood up suddenly.

"I’m gonna go say hi. You coming? Or are you staying here looking stupid?” That drew a huff out of Lando.

The scene softened as Lando watched you interact with fans—no longer the adrenaline-fueled rider, but a surprisingly tender version of yourself. A tiny baby was carefully placed in your arms by an overjoyed mother, and you adjusted instantly: cradling the little one like it was made of glass. Your large hands—capable of gripping bulls for eight seconds straight now moved with delicate precision. You bounced slightly to soothe the giggling infant, even pressing a gentle kiss to its forehead when it yawned.

A few kids clung to your legs asking for photos, you crouched down without hesitation, hat tipped back so they could see your face clearly. Lando’s chest did that weird squeezing thing again. This man had layers.

The crowd had thinned—most fans dispersing to food stalls or back to the arena. The arena grounds quieted, lit by string lights and the glow of sponsor vans. You stood near a sleek black Monster Energy truck, still in your riding gear but now without a sea of people. You were scrolling through your phone, hat slightly tilted back as you waited for someone—probably an event rep or team manager. Oscar nudged Lando again—a silent "Now or never." They walked over slowly. The crunch of gravel under their boots was suddenly way too loud.

The tiny click of the Zippo snapped shut as you looked up—your sharp, tired eyes landing first on Oscar. Oscar gave his most charming smile—the one that usually worked on sponsors and strangers alike—and held out a hand.

"Hey.” he said casually. "That ride was insane. You're Y/N L/N?" Lando stayed half a step behind him like an awkward shadow, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His pulse? Loud as hell in his own ears.

“The one and only” you answer with the usual charming, proud smile. You shook Oscar’s hand firmly—calloused palms rough against smoother F1 driver skin. Then those assessing eyes flicked to Lando… who immediately straightened up like he’d been electrocuted. The silence stretched a beat too long. Oscar jumped back in smoothly,

"This is Lando Norris." No titles needed—the name alone carried weight worldwide.

“Lando…Ah—the F1 driver. You must be Oscar then. If my memory still works” You chuckled.

Your expression shifted—recognition flashing in your eyes. A small smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you looked between them, reassessing. These weren't just two guys approaching you…they were Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri, two of the most recognizable faces in F1. The cowboy star extended a hand toward Lando this time.

"Nice to meet you." You said—voice deeper than expected but warm. "Heard about your last race… rough one." You didn’t gush or fawn over them like others might have—just treated them like regular people.

“Yes…it was for me.” Their hands met—Lando’s slightly clammy, yours rough and steady from years of gripping reins and wrestling bulls. The calluses on your palm were immediate against Lando's smoother skin. For a second, Lando couldn’t process anything else. His brain had flatlined—no coherent thoughts, just the sensation of this man shaking his hand, saying he'd heard about his race… talking to him like they were equals. You didn't let go right away either, you gave one firm squeeze before releasing him—a polite but warm gesture. A breeze kicked up dust around their boots as silence settled again… now that introductions were done.

You lean back slightly against the Monster Energy van, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. The question was casual, like you don’t want things to be awkward. “The ride ends in a few minutes. Y'all heading somewhere for fun? Or just call it a night?”

The Nevada night air was cool now that the sun had fully set, and neon lights from nearby food stalls flickered across your face. You looked relaxed for someone who’d been thrown by a bull earlier.

Oscar glanced at Lando briefly before answering. "Dunno yet. Was thinking maybe grab some food? Or drinks if you're up for it." No assumptions—just leaving it open.

The chuckle that escaped you was low and easy—genuinely amused by the invitation. You pushed off the van, straightening up to your full height, which was definitely taller than Lando. For a second, you considered it—drinks with two Formula 1 drivers? That wasn’t exactly your usual scene. But then again… these guys seemed cool.

"Yeah?" You said after a beat. "I’m down." A rare smile tugged at your lips—not just polite anymore, but actually interested.

You pointed toward a dimly lit corner where neon signs buzzed—an old-school bar with peeling paint and the faint sound of country rock leaking through the open door. The place looked lived-in, not some fancy sports bar or sponsor-laden club. The kind of spot where locals went after rodeos to unwind—Good beer and loud music.

"Best place around here." You said. "If you're cool with that.”

As you spoke more about the bar details, your gaze lingered on Lando again—that quiet smirk still playing on your lips while you subtly took in every detail: Lando’s lean build under that shirt, how nervous he seemed despite being a famous athlete… It was amusing.

The bar erupted into a wall of sound the second you stepped inside—country music blaring, boots stomping on wooden floors, and laughter drowning in the clink of beer glasses. It was packed: cowboys in hats, girls twirling near a small dance floor where couples were dancing.

You clearly had regular status here—the bartender didn’t even ask what you wanted. Three frosty beers were already sliding across the counter toward them before they could sit down. The air smelled like fried food and whiskey. The energy was wild—nothing like Monaco’s quiet nightclubs or Silverstone pubs after races. Lando took it all in with wide eyes… this wasn't just a bar—this was pure rodeo culture.

“Seems like they add more modern music to fit the youngster’s taste.” You handed each of them a chilled beer. The label read something local, no fancy branding, just pure small-town brew. The bartender gave you a knowing nod—clearly had history. Champion week meant special batches or discounts for top riders like you.

Lando took his with both hands, warmth spreading through his chest as he held it. This wasn’t some polished event with corporate sponsors watching every move… this was real. Beer shared in a crowded dive bar after bull riding. A cowboy nearby shouted something at another table and laughter exploded again.

You took a slow sip of your beer, eyes locked on Lando over the rim of the glass—challenging, playful. That smirk never left your face, it was like you knew exactly how out-of-place Lando felt here and found it entertaining. The music pulsed around them—some upbeat country rock song with a fast beat—and bodies kept bumping into each other as people danced or weaved through tables.

You leaned slightly against the bar counter.

"Not what you're used to?" You asked casually, voice just loud enough to cut through the noise but not shouting. A few girls glanced their way too—curious about these unfamiliar faces in their regular spot.

Lando took a sip of the beer too. unfiltered, strong, with a slightly earthy flavor that definitely wasn’t some over-marketed brand. It hit different. He lowered the glass and smiled—a real one this time, not forced or nervous.

"It’s good…" he admitted honestly "Way better than most sponsor beers we get shoved at races." The honesty slipped out easily now, he wasn't performing anymore. Just Lando: enjoying cheap beer in a rowdy bar with a bull rider who looked like he stepped out of an old movie poster.

But glasses after glasses, the beer had started to hit Lando hard—he was buzzing, cheeks flushed, movements looser than usual. The room spun slightly with the music’s rhythm as he grabbed your shoulder and tugged you toward the dance floor. You raised an eyebrow—half-amused, half-surprised as Lando pulled you into the crowd of couples. You weren't drunk… just pleasantly relaxed after years of controlling bulls daily, alcohol didn’t mess with your balance like this.

Lando grinned at you "Dance~!" not a question but a demand from someone who’d lost all inhibitions. He’s just sober enough to understand what he’s getting himself into, not aware of the embarrassment or staring eyes.

You laughed quietly—a deep, warm sound—as Lando clumsily closed the distance between them. Drunk Lando had zero rhythm but tons of confidence, pressing himself way too close. Their chests nearly touched as they swayed to the music. One large hand settled lightly on the small of Lando's back—guiding him subtly into something resembling actual dancing while humoring his drunken enthusiasm.

Meanwhile…Oscar sipped his beer from their table in silence… thoroughly entertained by this disaster unfolding as his girlfriend texted him for updates.

Lando, fueled by beer and pure rhythm-drunk joy, slid both hands up your shoulders and around the back of your neck—pulling you closer. The music pulsed between them—a mix of bass-heavy country remixes—and Lando wasn’t just dancing near you, he was dancing on you, all close contact and playful energy. His fingers brushed lightly against the short hair at your nape.

A few people nearby glanced over—some amused couples who knew this was a rare sight: cowboy champion being used as a dance partner by some drunk foreigner.

You didn't mind though… if anything, that smirk had only grown wider.

The moment Lando snatched your hat—plucking it right off your head—and plopped it onto his own messy curls, the entire dance floor seemed to pause for a split second. A hush rippled through nearby cowboys who definitely knew the unspoken rule: taking a cowboy’s hat meant claiming him… and sometimes more.

Even Oscar sat up straighter at their table, eyes widening slightly as he held in his laugh. You froze too—not angry, but stunned by the boldness of this drunk F1 driver now wearing your iconic cowboy hat like he owned it. The music kept playing…

Your shoulders shook with a full, rich laugh—the kind that came from genuine surprise and dark humor. You weren't mad, if anything, you were impressed by Lando’s accidental audacity.

“Ya know the rule?” You snorted.

A few guys nearby chuckled or elbowed each other, they knew about your name and your reputation. One even called out,

"Looks like the brit's got balls!"

You wiped at your eyes briefly before locking gazes with Lando—still wearing your hat, looking adorably clueless.

Lando leans in slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear over the music: "Yeah… I know the rule." A glint of mischief flashed in his drunk eyes—dark brown and suddenly way too focused on you. The hat looked ridiculous on Lando’s head—too big for him—but you didn’t reach to take it back. Instead… you stepped closer again.

The second Lando yanked you down, you didn’t hesitate and kissed back instantly. Lando’s lips were warm and slightly clumsy from the alcohol, but the passion was real—unfiltered and hungry. The cowboy hat tilted sideways on Lando's head as you cupped his jaw with one rough hand to deepen it.

The bar exploded into murmurs around them—not scandalized… more impressed or entertained by this unexpected turn. Two-stepping couples paused mid-dance to glance over, even the bartender peeked through the crowd. You kissed like how you rode bulls: with intensity, confidence… and zero chill.

Lando’s smirk was lazy—lips slightly swollen, hat still askew on his head. He studied your face for a reaction: any trace of regret? Hesitation? Nope. Instead of saying anything cheesy or obvious, he just leaned in again—but this time to murmur against your ear, voice low. "Your place… now?"

The invitation hung between them—no pressure if rejected… but the way Lando looked at you made it clear what he wanted.

Your smirk widened—playful but deliberate. You weren't going to make this easy for the drunk, kiss-happy F1 driver who’d just stolen your hat and kissed you senseless in front of half the bar.

“Ask nicely, sugar”

Lando blinked—then grinned, unfazed by the teasing. He wasn’t used to asking nicely, especially not after kissing someone senseless in a bar… but for you?

He straightened up slightly, as much as a tipsy guy could, hat still crooked on his head, and gave you his best pleading eyes.

"Y/N…" he started, voice softer now "Can we… go back to your place?" The words came out less slurred than before—more earnest.

You didn’t say another word—just hooked a strong arm around Lando’s shoulders, guiding him through the crowded bar with steady steps. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside—the noise from the bar muffled behind. Your truck was parked nearby, a sleek black Ford F-150 with bull riding stickers on the back window.

You opened the passenger door for Lando and waited until he was seated before walking around to your side. The engine roared to life under your firm grip on the wheel.

The truck rumbled down the quiet highway, headlights cutting through the dark. You kept your eyes on the road—focused, steady—but you felt every brush of Lando’s face against your neck. Lando leaned in slowly, nuzzling into your skin with a softness that contrasted how boldly he’d kissed you earlier, almost like a needy cat. The warmth of Lando's breath tickled where it met your collarbone, subtle but intimate. You didn't pull away or scold him for distraction… just exhaled slowly through your nose—your grip tightening slightly on the wheel. Your jaw clenched for half a second before relaxing again. A silent allowance: Go ahead.

The barn was massive—more like a cozy home and a working ranch. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, and soft lantern light glowed from inside. The place smelled like hay and leather, with the faint sound of horses shifting in nearby stalls. You saved up your bullriding money to give this family barn a makeover after you inherited it. You kicked off your boots by the door and led Lando further in. A large living room had a fireplace, bull riding awards hung on one wall next to family photos.

You don’t say much yet… just turn toward Lando under that warm light. The air between you? Thick with unspoken tension now that you two were alone.

The second they were close enough, your lips crashed into Lando’s—no hesitation this time. The kiss was hungry and needy. Hands immediately found their way—your calloused fingers tangled in Lando's hair while Lando slid his palms under your jacket, exploring the hard planes of chest and shoulders through your black tank top that hugs your body close.

Teeth clashing lightly before softening again, breaths mingling between frantic kisses as they stumbled backward toward a nearby kitchen counter where there’s a coffee machine and glasses.

You moved with easy strength—lifting Lando clean off the floor and setting him down on the sturdy black marble kitchen counter. The granite was cool against Lando’s back, a contrast to the warmth radiating from you as you stepped between his legs.

The kitchen was dimly lit by a single hanging light above them, casting long shadows over their faces. Pots and pans hung quietly on racks—this space usually for cooking or making coffee before dawn rides… not this.

You cupped Lando’s face again without breaking eye contact before diving back into another searing kiss.

Lando’s breath came in quick, uneven puffs as you peeled his shirt off—hands warm and deliberate, calloused fingertips tracing the exposed skin of his shoulders and collarbone. Every touch sent sparks.

His gaze flickered to the framed photo on a side shelf: little kid you. Messy curls, a missing front tooth from some falling off dad’s horse… freckles splattered across sun-kissed cheeks like constellations. The contrast was absurd—the scrawny skinny boy who grew into this awfully attractive towering cowboy.

The words tumbled out before Lando could filter them "When did you get so… hot?" A laugh escaped him right after—half-nervous at being so blunt.

Your smirk was pure mischief—slow, confident, teasing. “Wouldn’t you like to know”

You didn’t rush. Instead… you took your time peeling the shirt and denim jacket off your body in one smooth motion—revealing tanned skin stretched tight over defined muscle. Years of manual labor and bull riding had carved every ridge: broad shoulders, toned arms with faint scars from roping accidents… even that V-line disappearing into jeans like a gateway to heaven.

The lantern light caught on you perfectly as you tossed the shirt aside—a deliberate show just for Lando. No stripper music needed. Just silence… and you, owning every second.

You scooped Lando up effortlessly—one arm hooked under his thighs, the other supporting his back and walking up the wooden stairs without breaking their kiss. Each step creaked softly under their weight. Lando’s fingers slid into your hair, soft strands slipping through them as he deepened the kiss—messy but tender now. The bedroom door lays at the end of the hall, a brown themed room with a large bed made neatly, cowboy boots lined neatly. You nudged it open with your hip. Everything looks like it came out of a vintage movie, flower pattern bedsheets, old wooden wardrobe, more pictures of family and yourself.

You lowered Lando onto the bed with surprising gentleness like you were handling something precious, not just some drunken hookup. The mattress dipped under their weight as you stayed on your knees, looking down at him. The belt came off next—a practiced motion from years of wearing these jeans every day. With a quick flick, the buckle unclasped… then the massive flared denim pants slid down your hips and were kicked to the floor. A faint scar peeked above one sock where an old injury had been. And a long one across your rib.

Lando’s breath hitched audibly—his eyes zeroing in on the obvious bulge straining against your cotton boxers. Even soft, it was impressive. But now? Fully hard? That was a whole other level.

Nine inches of thick cowboy… and Lando wasn't even sure how that would fit or if he'd survive it. The realization sent a jolt through him—not fear, but pure electric shock of attraction mixed with nervous excitement. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He swallowed hard, gaze flickering back up to your face… The room felt ten degrees hotter suddenly.

You leaned back over Lando, your kiss gentler now—slow and savoring, not rushed or demanding. Your lips moved with quiet affection against Lando’s, a stark contrast to the earlier heat. One large hand glided up and down Lando's thigh in a soothing rhythm—calloused palm warm through the fabric of his pants. The touch was comforting… almost sweet in its tenderness after all that intensity. The weight of you above him wasn’t crushing, it felt safe. Like being held by someone who knew exactly how much pressure to use. A soft hum vibrated from your chest as you kissed along Lando's jawline next.

Your fingers found the zipper of Lando’s pants without hesitation—metal teeth parting with a quiet shrink. You didn’t rush, just worked the fabric down over Lando's hips with steady hands. The pants were kicked to the floor soon after, leaving him in just his underwear. You took a second to look—appreciating what you saw: lean muscles from racing training, smooth skin… all exposed now under soft bedroom light. Then you hooked two fingers into Lando's waistband next—not yanking yet… just testing if he was okay before going further.

Lando pushed lightly against your chest—a quiet but deliberate command. His eyes were dark with hunger, lips parted slightly as he spoke in a low whisper:

"Sit back… cowboy." The pet name slipped out effortlessly—no teasing nickname, just acknowledging the very obvious role you played tonight: the dominant one. The strong, confident bull rider who’d taken control without saying much. You held the gaze for a beat… then complied. You shifted to sit on the hem of the bed.

The wooden floor creaked faintly under Lando’s knees as he positioned himself between your legs. His fingers trailed up the cowboy's thigh—warm skin, light dusting of hair from years of ranch work—before hooking into the waistband of your boxers. With slow intent, Lando peeled them down… revealing every inch gradually. The fabric slid off over strong hips and thick thighs until they were kicked aside carelessly. Now completely bare beneath him, you didn’t hide or shy away—just watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Lando took in the full sight: all nine inches standing proudly against your stomach.

Your voice was unexpectedly gentle—almost sweet—as you murmured. "Don’t pressure yourself, sugar." The nickname slipped out naturally, soft reassurance. You knew damn well how intimidating your size could be… and despite the obvious arousal between them, you weren't about to push Lando into anything he wasn't fully comfortable with. No expectations.

But Lando? He didn’t hesitate. A determined glint flashed in his eyes as he leaned forward—clearly choosing this—and closed the distance without another word.

Lando’s tongue dragged slowly from base to tip—exploring the taste, the heat, every sensitive ridge. It wasn’t rushed, just curious and experimental… savoring. Like his travel companion Oscar back in the hotel room not knowing when he will come back didn’t matter and he has all night to himself.

The saltiness mixed with something uniquely you, earthy and masculine. A quiet breath escaped you as you tilted your head back slightly, not pushing into Lando’s mouth yet, just letting him explore at his own pace. Your fingers flexed where they rested on the mattress… resisting any urge to guide or hurry him.

Lando’s fingers wrapped around your cock, testing the weight, the heat, tracing every thick vein that pulsed under his touch. His thumb brushed over the tip experimentally, mesmerized by how it felt. The skin was soft but firm beneath him, a contrast to rough cowboy hands and work-worn muscles. He mapped out every detail. You exhaled through your nose again—a quiet sound—but stayed perfectly still otherwise. No instructions… just letting Lando learn him at his own rhythm. A drop of precum glistened at the tip before Lando even kissed it yet. You are too eager.

Lando’s teeth grazed lightly over the sensitive head—just a teasing nip—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt through you. Then his lips parted… and he took just the tip into his mouth first.

The taste hit him: sweet-salty, clean like someone who actually eats right—no junk food or too much alcohol. Probably all protein shakes and ranch-cooked meals for this guy. He experimented with pressure, swirling his tongue cautiously around it while gauging how much of those nine inches could even fit comfortably. A low groan rumbled from your chest at that contact.

Your groan was quiet but deep—a vibration in your chest—as Lando carefully took more of you into his mouth. He lowered his head inch by careful inch.

Lando calculated instinctively: how much could fit without gagging? How to angle it right? He moved slowly, testing depth with each bob—tongue working around the length to ease the stretch. It wasn’t perfect yet… but you weren't complaining. Every slight suction or warm breath through Lando's nose sent sparks down your spine. A hand hovered near Lando’s hair—not pushing, just resting there.

Lando quickly realized the physical limits—your cock wasn’t just long, it was thick too, filling his mouth in a way that made fast movement impossible without accidentally grazing teeth against sensitive skin. It hits the back of Lando’s throat, brushing in the wet tightness. So instead of rushing… Lando adjusted. He slowed down completely, focusing on what he could do: warm swirls of his tongue along the shaft, gentle suction where it fit best, and soft kisses wherever else his lips could reach without discomfort.

Lando stood—hat now firmly planted on his own head, the brim slightly too big for him—and pushed you backward onto the mattress with a newfound confidence.

The cowboy hat looked ridiculous and adorable, tilted over Lando’s messy hair, but there was no time to comment on it.

You let yourself be manhandled—surprised but amused—as Lando climbed over you, straddling your hips. The message was clear: It's ride time. A slow smirk curled your lips as you gazed up at him.

“Don’t bite more than you can chew” your voice was a lazy drawl—teasing but not mocking. Your palm slid up and down Lando’s thigh in slow, rhythmic strokes, the callouses catching slightly against his skin. The warning wasn’t mean… just factual. He knew how overwhelming his cock could be—physically and emotionally for someone who’d never handled a cowboy like him before. Even fine ladies at the bar who somehow end up in your bed had to break a sweat while taking you.

But you didn’t stop him either. If Lando wanted to ride? Fine by him. A glint of challenge flashed in your eyes as you added "Ya sure about this?" giving one last out if needed.

Lando, fueled by alcohol and adrenaline rather than logic, shifted his hips—and started lowering himself down without thinking about lube or prep. Drunk confidence overrode common sense. The stretch was immediate: sharp, almost burning from the lack of preparation. You tensed beneath him instinctively—not pushing up but not pulling away either—as you felt Lando’s body resist.

A quiet grunt escaped you… more concern than pleasure at first. This wasn’t how it should go—but Lando was already committed to seeing it through.

“Don’t pressure yourself, sugar” Your voice dropped to a hushed murmur—gentle, not scolding—as he instinctively called Lando something soft. Your thumb rubbed slow circles on the thigh resting beside his hip, offering silent comfort. The tightness was almost unbearable for you—not painful, but intense in a way that made your jaw clench. You bit down on your lower lip to steady yourself… resisting any urge to buck up or speed things. But it wasn’t working.

Your hands moved to the curve of Lando’s ass—kneading softly, not with hunger, but care. You gave a gentle nudge upward: “Come on… let me fix this.” No frustration in your touch, just practicality. This wasn’t sustainable without lube and proper attention.

The bed creaked as you reached over to your nightstand drawer—the one that definitely had a bottle tucked inside, you like to keep supplies handy. You grabbed it quietly and squeezed some onto your fingers before glancing back at Lando. A silent question: You okay if I take over now?

You carefully repositioned Lando onto his back—gentle but firm—as the hat tumbled to the side of the bed, forgotten. You hovered over him for a second before leaning down to kiss him: soft, reassuring. Then you shifted lower… and with lubed fingers, began working into Lando slowly. Your touch was patient: circling first where it was easier before gradually pressing deeper as Lando relaxed beneath you. Every movement calculated for comfort now.

Your finger worked with precise, practiced pressure—no amateur fumbling. Years of ranch life have taught you patience and control, even in intimate moments like this. The lube made everything smoother, your fingertip found that sweet spot without hesitation—a slow, deliberate circle that made Lando’s back arch off the bed instinctively.

“Fuck- agh!… right there, Y/N!” filled your ears. A quiet hum escaped you as you watched Lando’s reaction: flushed face, parted lips… the way his body responded to proper touch after struggling earlier.

You leaned down, brushing your lips gently against the sensitive spot just below Lando’s ear—a soft kiss, barely there. Your voice was a low rumble of warmth as you asked.

"Comfy?"

The question wasn’t teasing or sarcastic… just genuine checking in. You wanted to make sure Lando was actually relaxed now—no discomfort left from earlier. Your free hand stayed near Lando's hip—thumbs tracing patterns of skin while those lubed fingers continued their patient work inside him. And a soft hum was the only response Lando gave.

“Keep your legs open for me, darling” your voice was a husky whisper against Lando’s skin—warm breath mingling with the light scrape of teeth on his neck. The pet name slipped out naturally, soft and intimate without overuse. You pulled your fingers free carefully before lining yourself up, one hand braced beside Lando’s head while the other guided your cock to him. The tip pressed lightly—testing readiness, giving time to adjust after all that prep—before you’d push in properly. You shifted your hips forward, slow, deliberate—each movement measured to avoid overwhelming Lando. The stretch was still there, but the lube and prep made it far more manageable than before.

After confirming Lando was fully adjusted—no tension left in his body, just quiet breaths and soft sounds—you gradually picked up the pace. Your hips rolled with growing confidence now, each thrust deliberate but no longer cautious. The movement became smoother, deeper… creating a steady rhythm that built pleasure instead of pain. The bed creaked faintly beneath them—not violently shaking yet, just rocking gently with their motion.

Your breath hitched occasionally, even you weren't immune to how good this felt after taking it slow for so long. Lando’s arms slid around your neck—hands tangling gently in your soft, sun-kissed curls. You didn’t mind, if anything, you leaned into it subtly during each forward roll of your hips.

You quickly found that sweet rhythm—where each thrust carried just the right edge of roughness without being harsh. The angle was perfect, every movement hit that spot inside Lando with consistent precision. The pace wasn’t frantic… but it packed intensity. Each drive of your hips created a deep, pleasure-pulsing friction. Your hand came to pin both of Lando’s above his head, keeping it there. A low groan rumbled in your chest as you focused entirely on maintaining this exact motion—the one that made Lando’s breath catch and squirm underneath your control.

Lando’s moans escaped in quiet, breathy bursts, the rising heat pooling low in his stomach became hard to ignore. It wasn’t pain, it was that deep, coiled tension building with every perfect thrust from you.The sensation radiated through him: warmth spreading like embers…a burn he didn’t want to escape.

Lando’s gaze wavered—unable to hold the intensity of the world’s most dazzling eyes for long. They weren’t just hot… they were mesmerizing up close: a deep, warm shade like sunlit honey, crinkled at the edges with something softer than lust. It was appreciation in that look. Quiet awe—like you found Lando beautiful in this moment without even saying it. A stark contrast to how rough their bodies moved… but your expression? Pure tenderness underneath it all.

Lando’s lips parted in a silent gasp—then he bit down on them as the pleasure crested all at once. Overwhelming release triggered by nothing but your gaze and that perfect rhythm. His body arched subtly off the bed—not dramatically, but with a quiet intensity—as waves of sensation crashed through him. Eyes fluttering shut for a second before forcing them back open to see you again. The aftershocks trembled through his limbs while you kept moving above him.

Your chuckle was warm against Lando’s lips—low and pleased—before you sealed your mouths together in a deep kiss. You swallowed every soft moan that escaped, your hips now moving with more urgency, chasing your own release. The roughness increased naturally, not harsh but intentional—each thrust aimed to push you over the edge while still being mindful of Lando beneath you. The kiss broke only for air between frantic movements… both lost in the shared heat of it all.

Your breath hitched sharply as your own climax surged—your thrusts growing uneven for a few final, deep pushes before you abruptly pulled out. With a low groan, you spilled over Lando’s stomach: warm and heavy in streaks across his skin.

The ranch house was dead silent except for their ragged breathing. You stayed there for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly as the intensity faded into afterglow.

“You’re alright, darling?” your voice was hushed—gentle, almost tender—as you brushed a loose strand of hair from Lando’s forehead. Your fingertips lingered for a second, checking if Lando was okay after everything. You studied Lando’s face quietly—searching for any signs of discomfort or regret now that the heat had cooled between them.

Lando sucked in a deep breath, chest rising as he finally caught his air—still recovering. His hand lifted to his stomach, fingertips brushing over the sticky warmth there with quiet awareness. The silence between them wasn’t awkward… just calm. He met your gaze and nodded slightly before speaking—voice softer than usual from exhaustion:

"Yeah… I’m fine." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Satisfied.

The bed dipped under your weight as you got comfortable beside him, laying on your back. A faint smear of sweat still glistened at your forehead from their earlier intensity.

“Was it good?” You can’t help but check in again.

Lando exhaled—a sound somewhere between a laugh and pure satisfaction. His cheeks were still flushed, hair messier than ever from your hands. He looked at you, really looked—and answered with quiet certainty:

"Yeah… it was incredible." The word felt small for what he actually meant: earth-shattering, unexpectedly perfect, something he hadn't known until tonight. Being talked through it and throughouly fucked with such tenderness? Woah. Just…woah.

The night is still young. You stretched out fully on the bed now—arms behind your head, one leg bent slightly as you relaxed into the mattress. The high of their shared intensity was slowly fading, leaving you in that cozy post-climax haze. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft stripes across their bare torsos.

Then Lando turned onto his side, facing you fully. The earlier shyness was gone—replaced by quiet confidence after everything they’d just shared. He studied the cowboy’s relaxed profile for a second before speaking.His voice was low, slightly hoarse from earlier moans but clear: "Wanna go again?" The offer hung between them—not pushy… just open-ended. One more round before sleep took over.

“Yeah?” Your chuckle was warm—amused but not dismissive—as you sat up, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand. You unscrewed it with a quiet pop before passing it to Lando first. A gentleman. Hydration mattered after all that intensity… especially since they were both still catching their breath.

Your muscles flexed subtly in the dim light from shifting positions but there was no rush yet, just casual care.

Lando shifted to sit up, his back resting against the wooden headboard. He took the water bottle from you and brought it to his lips, drinking deeply—throat working as he swallowed. The cool liquid was a welcome relief after everything. A few droplets escaped down Lando’s chin before he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

Lando, now hydrated and feeling more composed, shifted forward—closing the small gap between them. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you first this time: not hesitant but leading, taking initiative. His hands found your shoulders—fingers tracing over warm skin before sliding down your chest with quiet appreciation.

Lando gently but firmly guided you onto your back, hands pressing lightly against your chest until the cowboy settled into the mattress. Then he climbed over you, straddling your hips with quiet confidence.

Lando’s hand trailed down your torso—fingers grazing over toned abs, feeling the V-line and veins before wrapping around your cock. A few slow, teasing strokes… Then once your cock is nice and hard in his warm palm, with deliberate slowness, Lando lifted himself slightly and lined up—guiding the tip where it needed to go. He began sinking down. The stretch was familiar now… easier than before thanks to prior prep and lube still lingering on skin.

Lando grabbed the cowboy hat from where it had fallen earlier—settled it back onto his own head. The brim sat slightly crooked, but he didn’t fix it… just left it like that. The look was unexpectedly cute on him as always—soft features paired with your rugged accessory. A contrast that somehow worked. You couldn't help a small smile at the sight as Lando straddled you, hat and all.

Lando rolled his hips in slow circles first—grinding down to adjust, letting your length stretch him just right. The familiar burn flared in his stomach… a mix of pain and pleasure. Then, satisfied with the fit, he lifted slightly before dropping back down—bouncing properly now with increasing rhythm. His hands braced on your meaty chest for balance as the motion picked up speed. The hat stayed stubbornly on Lando’s head despite the movement, only tilting more wildly each time he bounced.

Lando’s whimper was delicate—a tiny sound caught between his lips as the pleasure coiled tighter in his stomach. Every bounce sent sparks through him, building that sweet tension. Your large hands slid down to grip Lando’s ass firmly, calloused palms kneading the soft flesh with rough warmth. The contrast of those work-worn hands on sensitive skin made Lando shiver. Lando’s gaze flickered downward—hypnotized by the visual: your veiny cock disappearing into him with every bounce, slick and glistening from lube. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat straight to his core. That might be the hottest thing Lando has ever seen. A quiet groan escaped him—half admiration, half arousal—as he watched their bodies connect so intimately. It was hot in a way that made his stomach flip.

A soft exhale escaped you as you drank in every detail—the way Lando bit his lip during deep bounces, how the brim shadowed part of those pretty eyes… it all clicked together perfectly. Lando’s moans spilled out freely—soft, breathy sounds with no filter left. He was lost in the sensation, utterly intoxicated by how good it felt to ride you like this. Every bounce sent jolts of pleasure through him… dangerous levels of it. He could’ve gotten fucked stupid if he kept going. The cock-drunk haze had fully set in—no thoughts beyond chasing that high over and over again. His fingers claw at your skin, sending that sweet, delicious pain.

Lando melted into the kiss—his lips parting against your as their mouths collided again. The moment you thrust up to meet his bounces, Lando’s breath turned ragged… sharp inhales through his nose between kisses. The stretch was overwhelming in the best way—all nine inches filling him completely with each upward push from below. Their kiss stayed messy—sloppy from heavy breathing and growing desperation—but neither pulled away for long.

The sharp crack of your palm against Lando’s ass echoed through the quiet room—stinging instantly. The pain flared bright and sweet, mixing with pleasure in a way that made Lando moan into their kiss. You didn’t hold back… the spank was firm, deliberate—not cruel but intense, adding a layer of delicious heat to everything else they were feeling.

A faint pink mark bloomed where your hand landed… and you might do it again if Lando reacted like that because…

Lando’s moan was loud—unfiltered and raw—as the sting from the spank blossomed into something electric. A curse tumbled out right after, breathless but approving:

*Fuck—yes!" The pain wasn’t harsh… just sharp enough to send a thrill through him, enhancing every other sensation—the fullness inside him, your hands on his skin. A grin flickered across Lando's face for half a second before he dove back into another searing kiss. Feeling the strong need to have you closer.

Your hands gripped Lando’s ass firmly, using the leverage to snap your hips up with brutal precision. Every thrust was calculated—powerful and controlled—to drive all nine inches in deep, then pull nearly out before slamming back down.

The bed rocked violently beneath them; no gentle rhythm now—just relentless pounding. The sound of wet skin meeting skin filled the room alongside their ragged breathing. Lando could feel every inch retreating and plunging back… a dizzying cycle of fullness and emptiness that left him gasping and moaning out loud. He almost thought he was going to wake up your sleeping horses.

Lando’s coordination faltered—his hips going slack as he slumped forward, resting his full weight against you. Weak arms trying to prop himself up to handle you. He was just there, body sore and trusting, letting you do all the work now. No bouncing of his own—just accepting every rough thrust up into him with dazed surrender. A soft whimper escaped Lando’s lips each time you bottomed out inside him, too blissed-out to even kiss back properly anymore.

The wet claps of skin against skin grew louder—each impact echoing in the small bedroom. The sound was filthy, obscene… and utterly intoxicating to Lando’s cock-drunk brain. Every brutal thrust sent a jolt through his burning lower body, pleasure pooling so intensely it bordered on pain—but the good kind. You didn’t slow down… if anything, you fucked up harder at hearing Lando’s reactions—driven by satisfaction.

Lando’s nails scraped harshly over your chest—desperate clinging. His body trembled from oversensitivity, muscles sore and shaking with each rough thrust. You didn’t ease up… strong arms caging Lando as you kept fucking into that tender, aching hole—ruthless in your stamina. Every movement sent shocks through Lando's exhausted nerves. A whimper escaped him, not protest but pure overwhelmed sensation—too much yet unable to stop it.

Your groan was low and satisfied as your climax finally hit—your body tensing for a second before you pulled out abruptly. Warmth spilled across Lando’s thighs in thick streaks, glistening faintly under the dim light. Some drips out from his hole, making quite a mess.

The ranch house fell silent again… just their heavy breathing now. You exhaled sharply, muscles relaxing as the aftershocks faded.

Lando collapsed fully onto you—his entire body going limp with exhaustion. All his weight settled heavily on the cowboy’s chest, face nuzzling instinctively against your shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath.

The heat between them had cooled into something soft now… just two tired bodies tangled together. You didn’t complain—just wrapped an arm around Lando’s back automatically.

Your hand moved in slow circles along Lando’s lower back—gentle and soothing. The touch was light, almost subconscious… a way to silently comfort him after their intense time together. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you watched Lando breathe against your skin. Too tired to move. Just laying on you like a human blanket.

Lando’s breathing evened out almost instantly—his eyelids fluttering shut before his body fully registered the shift to sleep. One second he was awake. The next, completely knocked out. The exhaustion had hit him like a truck. His head buries in the crook of your neck, lips parting just a tiny bit in deep slumber. You stayed perfectly still beneath him… not wanting to disturb Lando now that he was peacefully asleep after everything they'd done.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the rumpled bedsheets. You had already slipped out quietly—padding barefoot to the kitchen where he brewed coffee with practiced ease. You threw on a jean and button up shirt after taking a quick shower to wash off the sex scent and get on with your routine.

The rich aroma and soft sunlight eventually woke Lando… his nose twitching as he slowly blinked awake. The spot beside him was cold now, you must’ve been up for a while. Stretching slightly, Lando rubbed his eyes and sat up—having absolutely nothing covering up his body as he recalled what happened last night. He scrambles around for his phone, the last message from Oscar was:

| Dude please text me back in the morning so I know ur still alive💀

Lando dressed lazily—pulling his wrinkled shirt over his head and stepping into boxers before padding downstairs. His body felt freshly cleaned… the evidence of last night’s activities gone, likely because you had taken care of it while he slept. The scent of coffee grew stronger as Lando approached the kitchen. The ranch house was quiet otherwise—just the soft clink of a mug and the distant chirping of birds outside. You stood by the stove, back turned, pouring yourself a second cup.

You turned at the sound of Lando’s voice, your face softening into a warm smile. The morning light made your features even more striking—hair slightly messy, muscles tightening in that button up shirt with sleeves rolled up.

You lifted the coffee mug to your lips again and took another sip before saying "Mornin’, darlin’." Your tone was easygoing… no awkwardness after last night. A fresh pot sat on the counter; you’d clearly left room for Lando to pour himself some if he wanted.

Lando’s hum was soft—a sleepy, content sound—as he shuffled over to the coffee pot. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it carefully, steam curling up as hot liquid pooled inside. He leaned against the counter beside you, taking his first sip. The coffee was strong… exactly how ranch hands drank it—black with no sugar. The two stood in comfortable silence for a moment, just waking up together after their night.

“I can give you a ride back to your hotel…your friend Oscar must be worrying sick” You spoke gently, taking another sip of your coffee before glancing at Lando. You remembered Oscar—the anxious friend who watched you snatched his friend away back in the bar. The thought that he might be waiting… maybe even pacing… made you feel a twinge of guilt. No way was the guy not worried by now.

Lando set the mug down on the counter before answering you "Yeah… Oscar’s probably losing his mind by now." A small wince crossed his face at the thought of that frantic texting storm waiting for him.

"Mind if I call him real quick first? Let him know I’m alive?”

You snorted—amused by Lando’s concern for Oscar’s sanity. “Sure”

Lando hung up the phone with a small sigh of relief—Oscar had definitely been freaking out, but now he knew Lando was safe. The call ended smoothly. He turned his attention to you instead—watching as the cowboy moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. Pans clinked… eggs cracked into a bowl… bacon sizzling in grease, sourdough bread resting on the dining table. The smell of breakfast started filling the air: savory and comforting after last night’s intensity.

Lando finished his breakfast and stepped outside, settling onto the wooden porch swing. The morning sun was gentle—warming his skin without being harsh—as he relaxed into the quiet. Back resting on the armchair.

Across the yard, you worked with a few horses near the barn. Your movements were confident and practiced… guiding them with soft commands and light tugs on their reins. Dust kicked up slightly under hooves as they moved in slow circles.

You knew the migraine was coming long before it hit — that faint, shimmering edge to your vision, the pressure blooming behind your eyes, the way sound started to feel like it was scraping against your skull. You’d tried to hide it, because Kimi had just come home from a long simulator session and you didn’t want to ruin the evening.

But Kimi noticed. Of course he noticed.

He always noticed you.

“Tesoro,” he murmured from the doorway, voice low, careful, like he already knew. “You’re squinting.”

You tried to smile, but even that tugged at your temples. “Just a headache.”

Kimi crossed the room in three long strides, crouching in front of you where you sat curled on the sofa. His hands were warm on your knees, thumbs brushing slow circles. His eyes searched your face - worried, soft, impossibly tender.

“That’s not a headache,” he whispered. “That’s your headache.”

You huffed a tiny laugh. “You make it sound like a personality trait.”

“It is,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s the one I hate the most.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue. The pain was starting to pulse, rhythmic and sharp, and the lights felt too bright, the room too loud even in silence.

Kimi saw it all. He always did.

“Come on,” he said gently, sliding an arm around your waist. “Let me help.”

You let him pull you up, leaning into him because standing made the world tilt. Kimi held you steady, guiding you toward the bedroom with slow, measured steps, like he was afraid to jostle you.

The moment you reached the bed, he dimmed the lights to almost nothing. Then he closed the curtains. Then he turned off the hallway light. Then he unplugged the charger that made a faint buzzing sound you’d never even noticed.

Kimi would’ve turned off the sun if he could.

He helped you lie down, lifting the blanket over you with the same care he used when handling carbon fibre. Then he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

You didn’t want him to go, but you nodded.

A minute later he returned with a cold compress, a glass of water, and the painkillers you always used. He sat on the edge of the bed, helping you sit up just enough to take them.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Now lie back.”

You did, and he placed the cold compress gently over your eyes. The relief was immediate - not enough to stop the pain, but enough to soften the edges.

Kimi lay beside you, careful not to move the mattress too much. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers threading through yours.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he whispered.

You nodded.

He squeezed your hand, slow and steady. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt him shift closer, his breath warm against your temple. He pressed the softest kiss to your hairline - barely there, like he was afraid even affection might hurt.

“Tell me if anything makes it worse,” he murmured. “I’ll fix it.”

You smiled weakly. “You can’t fix a migraine, Kimi.”

“I can try,” he said, stubborn in that quiet, earnest way of his.

He stayed completely still, barely breathing too loudly, like he was trying to become part of the silence. Every few minutes he whispered something - soft, grounding things.

“You’re doing so well.”

“I’m right here.”

“Just rest, amore.”

“You’re safe.”

At some point, the painkillers began to work. The throbbing dulled, the pressure eased, and your breathing evened out. You shifted closer, resting your head against his chest.

Kimi froze - not because he didn’t want you there, but because he didn’t want to disturb you. Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were something fragile and precious.

“You feeling a little better?” he whispered into your hair.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Because of you.”

He kissed the top of your head, lingering. “Good. I’ll stay like this all night if you need.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he said, voice firm but soft. “You take care of me all the time. Let me take care of you.”

You smiled against his chest, eyes finally closing without pain.

“Thank you, Kimi.”

He tightened his arms around you, protective and warm.

“Always, tesoro. Always.”

And he stayed awake long after you fell asleep, listening to your breathing, making sure the room stayed quiet, making sure nothing disturbed you - because loving you wasn’t something he did halfway.

It was everything.

ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ʀᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

papayagirl: SHE MATCHED TODAY'S LANDOSTAND COLOR 😭💛 → lan4ever: she understood the assignment → orange4ever: she's one of us at this point

landostandhq: YESTERDAY PAPAYA. TODAY FLUO YELLOW. OH SHE PLANNED THIS. → gridgirlie: every outfit has a purpose

amelieupdates: butter yellow is SO her color 🥹 → amesdefender: she looks gorgeous every single time → f1fashion: obsessed with this look

lanmeliehub: she's literally color coordinating with HIS grandstand 😭 → papayaprincess: your honor they're so annoying → orangegrid: respectfully never stop

f1updates: i just know the landostand fans are losing it seeing her walk by in yellow 💛

orangeobsession: yesterday she matched McLaren... today she matches Lando 🥹 → papayahq: stop i'm emotional already → papayagirl: race hasn't even started 😭

f1gossipdaily: she's actually so intentional with her outfits

landostandbrazil: SHE'S SUPPORTING THE YELLOW DAY 😭💛 → lanmeliehub: honorary landostander → papayagirl: president of the fan club honestly

ameliecentral: the soft yellow with silverstone sunshine??? CHEF'S KISS → f1fashion: literally glowing

gridgirlie: imagine being one of the fans in yellow and seeing Amelie walk in matching colors 😭 → lan4ever: i'd think i won the lottery → orangegrid: core memory unlocked

papayahq: first the championship jacket now THIS??? → detectiveera: every day there's a new development

orange4ever: she's committed to the bit and i respect it → papayagirl: what bit?? that's her LIFE 😭 → lanmeliehub: exactly

f1fashion: can we talk about how she NEVER misses with race day fits → paddockwags: genuinely one of the best dressed in the paddock

papayaprincess: if Lando wins today i'm blaming the lucky outfit 💛 → lan4life: DON'T JINX IT

f1updates: silverstone has officially become Amelie's runway every year → gridgirlie: and i happily tune in every time → papayahq: race weekend? no, fashion week.

lanmeliehub: okay but imagine the podium photos if she's still wearing yellow 😭 → papayagirl: STOP I'M MANIFESTING

f1detectives: no papaya today because she knew the grandstand was going fluorescent yellow... that's actually so cute → detectiveera: the attention to detail 😭 → lan4ever: she always notices the little things

amesnation: she's literally dressing for HIS fans today and nobody can convince me otherwise → orangegrid: that's the sweetest part honestly

--------------

The black SUV rolled steadily through the restricted service roads surrounding Silverstone, weaving carefully between marshals, security vehicles, and television trucks as it made its way toward the Landostand entrance. Through the tinted windows, Amelie caught flashes of the drivers' parade happening across the circuit, colorful LEGO-inspired go-karts slowly making their way around the track while thousands of fans laughed and cheered from every grandstand. Somewhere out there, Lando had abandoned the parade only a few minutes earlier after McLaren's media team informed him another interview had been scheduled directly in front of the Landostand before the race.

Charlie sat upright beside her on the leather seat, practically vibrating with excitement every time another crowd came into view outside the window. His little helmet-inspired harness matched Lando's helmet design perfectly, and every few seconds he planted his front paws against the door to peer outside before dropping back into Amelie's lap again. She smiled, smoothing one hand over his golden ears while the bodyguard seated opposite them received another message through his earpiece.

—Almost there,— he informed her with a polite smile. —Lando specifically asked me not to lose you on the way.—

Amelie laughed quietly.

—I appreciate the confidence he has in me.—

—He didn't sound concerned about you,— the guard admitted honestly. —He sounded concerned about Charlie finding someone to steal food from before the photo.—

Charlie blinked innocently.

Neither of them believed that expression for even a second.

The SUV finally slowed before pulling beside the temporary entrance reserved exclusively for team personnel. Even before the engine stopped, the roar outside became unmistakable. Thousands upon thousands of voices blended into one enormous wall of sound that somehow managed to shake the air itself. It wasn't the constant roar of race cars. It was people. All chanting. All singing. All waiting.

The bodyguard stepped out first before opening Amelie's door, immediately shielding both her and Charlie from the surrounding activity while she carefully climbed down onto the pavement. She wore a fitted pale yellow sleeveless top tucked neatly into a denim skirt, paired with pale yellow heels that somehow survived the uneven paddock roads far better than anyone expected. Charlie bounced excitedly onto the ground beside her the moment his paws touched the asphalt, tail wagging furiously while she clipped the leash securely into place.

Amelie barely had time to straighten the hem of her skirt before the sound truly reached her. It wasn't just loud. It was overwhelming. The Landostand rose above everything else in a sea of fluorescent yellow, every single seat occupied by someone dressed exactly as Lando had requested for Sunday's "Fluor Day." From a distance, it almost looked like someone had poured liquid sunshine over an entire grandstand. Flags waved constantly, banners stretched across railings, homemade signs bounced above heads, and every few seconds another chorus of "LAN-DO! LAN-DO! LAN-DO!" rolled across the circuit with enough force to make the temporary structures vibrate.

Standing on a small stage positioned directly in front of the grandstand, Lando somehow looked both completely at home and completely overwhelmed by the sight behind him. Dressed in his team kit and holding a microphone, he smiled while answering questions from Natalie Pinkham, though every few seconds his eyes instinctively drifted back toward the thousands of supporters filling every single seat. Even after becoming World Champion, even after winning here the year before, it clearly hadn't become normal.

Natalie gestured toward the enormous wall of fluorescent yellow behind them with an impressed laugh, almost needing to raise her voice above the chants.

—I mean... just look at this! It's even bigger than last year. Every single person understood the assignment today. Fluor yellow everywhere. Did you expect it to look quite like this?—

Lando turned halfway around, taking another look at the grandstand before rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile.

—I honestly don't think you can prepare yourself for something like this. Every year I tell myself I'll be ready, and then I come around the corner and... this happens.— He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. —It's unbelievably bright. Like... ridiculously bright. I don't think I've ever seen this much fluorescent yellow gathered in one place before.—

The crowd immediately erupted into cheers again, waving flags even harder after hearing his reaction. Lando pointed toward them with a grin before placing one hand over his heart in an unmistakable gesture of gratitude.

—Seriously though, thank you. Every single person who's here today... thank you so much. I know people travel from all over the world for this weekend, and seeing this many of you here wearing my colors... it's difficult to put into words. It's honestly one of the coolest feelings I've ever experienced.—

Natalie smiled warmly before shifting the conversation toward the race waiting only a few hours away.

—Home Grand Prix. World Champion. A grandstand completely sold out behind you. I have to ask... how are the nerves today?—

Lando let out a breath through his nose before glancing toward the circuit stretching out beyond the interview stage.

—I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. You can't stand here and not feel something. This is home. Everyone's here. Family, friends, fans... it's a lot. But it's the good kind of pressure. It's the pressure you dream about having when you're a kid watching Formula One on television.—

Natalie nodded knowingly.

—And what result are you hoping to give all these people today?—

Lando didn't hesitate.

—I don't really want to accept anything except a win today.—

The reaction from the Landostand was instantaneous.

An explosion of screams, whistles, and applause rolled across the grandstand with such intensity that Natalie instinctively laughed, momentarily lowering her microphone while the noise completely swallowed the interview. Flags whipped through the air, people jumped from their seats, and thousands of fluorescent yellow shirts bounced together in celebration of the confidence their driver had just shown.

Lando laughed at the response, lifting both hands as if trying to calm them down despite clearly enjoying every second of it.

—We'll see! We'll see!— he called over the cheers, still laughing. —Maybe that's a bit unrealistic... but we'll try our best. That's all we can promise. We'll give absolutely everything we've got today and hopefully put on a really good show for everyone to enjoy.

The applause settled into another round of chanting just as Natalie glanced beyond the television cameras toward the service entrance.

Her smile widened immediately.

—Well... it's getting warmer, the sun's finally decided to join us... and I think someone else has just arrived.—

Lando instinctively followed her gaze.

The moment he spotted Amelie stepping away from the black SUV with Charlie excitedly trotting beside her, his entire expression softened into that unmistakable smile reserved only for her. She hadn't approached the stage yet, instead quietly positioning herself several meters away while clipping Charlie's leash securely into place. Charlie's tail wagged furiously at the unfamiliar excitement around him while Amelie waved shyly toward the grandstand, immediately earning another wave of cheers from fans who had begun noticing her arrival.

Natalie laughed into her microphone.

—I think the crowd spotted her before we did.—

Amelie smiled sheepishly, lifting her free hand once more toward the stands while Charlie enthusiastically attempted to wave with his entire body.

Natalie looked back toward Lando.

—Can you actually feel the energy coming from all these people? Because from where I'm standing, it's unbelievable.—

Lando looked from the grandstand to Amelie waiting nearby before slowly nodding.

—I can. Every second of it.— His voice softened noticeably. —It's honestly beautiful. I'm incredibly lucky. Not just because of everyone sitting behind me today... but because I get to share weekends like this with the people I love. My family being here... my friends... my partner... all the fans who've supported me for years. I don't think I'll ever stop appreciating it.—

Natalie smiled knowingly, sensing there wasn't much left to add after that answer.

—I think that's the perfect place to leave it. Best of luck today, Lando. Enjoy every second of it.—

—Thank you very much.—

Lando handed the microphone back to one of the waiting crew members before thanking Natalie once more, immediately earning another deafening roar from the Landostand as he stepped away from the interview stage. A member of his media team hurried over carrying a T-shirt launcher, already loaded and ready to go, and Lando accepted it with the grin of someone who knew exactly what was coming next.

The moment he lifted the launcher over one shoulder, the entire grandstand somehow became even louder. Thousands of fluorescent yellow shirts bounced in unison while chants of his name echoed around the circuit. Homemade signs waved frantically above heads, children climbed onto their parents' shoulders, and every person within range suddenly stretched both arms toward the sky, hoping to catch one of the limited-edition shirts.

—Alright!— Lando shouted with a laugh, aiming the launcher toward the upper rows. —Let's wake everyone up!—

With a satisfying thump, the first rolled-up shirt rocketed through the air, disappearing into the sea of waving hands before immediately being followed by another eruption of cheers. Lando laughed so hard he nearly missed loading the second one, deliberately aiming toward another section that had begun chanting even louder after being ignored the first time.

Several meters away, Natalie removed her earpiece while one of the production assistants wrapped a cable around her microphone. Spotting Amelie still waiting patiently with Charlie beside her, she smiled warmly before walking over through the controlled chaos surrounding the stage.

—Hi, you,— Natalie greeted cheerfully.

Amelie smiled just as warmly.

—Hi, Natalie. Good to see you again.—

They exchanged a quick hug before both instinctively turned their attention back toward Lando, who had somehow convinced the crowd that launching T-shirts required just as much celebration as winning a race. Every successful catch earned another explosion of applause while he pointed toward lucky fans as though personally congratulating them.

Natalie couldn't help laughing.

—I swear... every year I think this can't possibly get any bigger, and then somehow he proves me wrong.— She shook her head in disbelief while looking up at the enormous fluorescent wall behind them. —This is absolutely mental.—

Amelie followed her gaze, taking in thousands upon thousands of people dressed almost identically beneath the bright summer sunshine.

—It really is,— she admitted softly, unable to hide the pride in her voice. —Last year already felt unbelievable, and somehow this one feels twice as big. I don't know how he processes any of it.—

Natalie glanced sideways at her with a knowing smile.

—I imagine watching someone you love build something like this must be pretty special.—

Amelie's eyes drifted back toward Lando again as another shirt disappeared into the crowd, immediately followed by another chorus of excited screams.

—It's... hard to explain,— she admitted quietly. —I've seen every version of him. The kid who doubted himself. The guy wondering if he'd ever win one race. Now this... it still feels surreal sometimes.—

Natalie's smile softened.

—I can only imagine how proud you must be watching him stand there today. Not just as World Champion... but seeing all these people show up because they genuinely adore him.—

Amelie looked toward the grandstand again, her expression impossibly fond.

—I am proud,— she answered honestly. —More than I probably tell him. He works harder than anyone realizes, and seeing all of this happen because people genuinely believe in him... it's really beautiful.—

Natalie's eyes moved from the pale yellow top to the denim skirt before she let out an amused little laugh, tilting her head as though she'd just solved a mystery.

—Hang on... you're not wearing papaya today.—

Amelie looked down at herself for a second before smiling sheepishly.

—I know.—

Natalie folded her arms, clearly entertained.

—I'm shocked. Usually you're the unofficial McLaren merchandise model by Sunday.—

Amelie laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear before glancing back toward the glowing grandstand where thousands of fluorescent shirts shimmered beneath the midday sun. The pale yellow fabric of her top caught the light in almost the same way, blending surprisingly well with the sea of color stretching across the Landostand.

—I had to make one exception,— she admitted with a grin. —Yesterday I was completely dressed in orange because today was always supposed to be fluorescent day. This felt... close enough to the theme without looking like I lost a fight with a highlighter.—

Natalie laughed so hard she had to briefly cover her mouth with one hand, her gaze moving between Amelie's soft butter-yellow top and the enormous fluorescent grandstand glowing behind them.

—I think you found the compromise,— she teased warmly. —You coordinated without committing entirely to retina damage.—

Amelie laughed, shaking her head.

—I left the retina damage to them.—

She nodded toward the Landostand, where thousands of supporters practically shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.

—I figured somebody had to provide a softer version of yellow today.—

Natalie smiled approvingly.

—Fashion and strategy. I respect it.—

They both turned their attention back toward Lando just as he fired another T-shirt into one of the highest rows, immediately pumping his fist when a young fan managed to catch it cleanly. The entire section exploded into cheers while Lando pointed directly toward them, laughing so hard he nearly forgot to reload the launcher.

Watching him like that, completely relaxed for those few minutes between media obligations and the biggest race of his season, made Amelie's heart swell. Beneath all the pressure, all the expectations, he still looked like the same boy who got excited over making strangers smile.

Natalie noticed the expression immediately.

—He's different here,— she observed quietly, almost thoughtfully. —Every driver has a home race, but this... this feels personal for him.—

Amelie nodded without taking her eyes off him.

—It is.—

Her voice remained soft.

—Silverstone isn't just another circuit. It's where he remembers being a little kid sitting in the grandstands dreaming about Formula One. Now he's standing in front of one filled entirely with people wearing his colors. I don't think anyone really prepares for something like that.—

Natalie followed her gaze toward the bright wall of fluorescent yellow stretching into the distance.

—It must be incredibly emotional seeing him live through something he imagined for so many years.—

Amelie smiled to herself.

—I don't think he's fully realized it yet. He's still so focused on performing that sometimes he forgets to actually look around and enjoy what he's already built.—

Natalie nodded slowly.

—That's probably why he needs people like you reminding him.—

Amelie looked away from the grandstand for a second, offering a small, almost bashful smile.

—I just try to make sure he remembers to breathe every now and then.—

Charlie, apparently deciding the conversation had become insufficiently centered around him, let out an impatient little bark before sitting proudly between both women, tail sweeping enthusiastically across the asphalt.

Natalie immediately laughed.

—I think someone disagrees.—

Amelie bent slightly to scratch behind Charlie's ears.

—He thinks every conversation should include him.—

—I mean... he's probably right.—

Charlie accepted the compliment with obvious satisfaction, his tail somehow wagging even faster while nearby photographers couldn't resist snapping several pictures of the tiny retriever wearing his miniature helmet-inspired harness.

A sudden roar erupted from the grandstand.

Both women instinctively looked up.

Lando had finally emptied the launcher and now stood directly in front of the Landostand with both arms stretched dramatically out to either side, soaking in every second of the deafening applause. Thousands of fluorescent flags waved back at him while chants rolled continuously through the summer air.

He slowly turned his head.

Almost immediately, his eyes found Amelie.

The enormous grin already spread across his face somehow widened even further.

Without saying a word, he lifted one hand and crooked his fingers toward himself in the unmistakable universal gesture for come here.

Amelie laughed.

—I think I'm being summoned.—

Natalie smiled knowingly.

—I don't think you've got much choice.—

Charlie was already trying to trot in Lando's direction before Amelie even reached for him.

—Hang on, mister.—

She carefully bent down, scooping the excited retriever into her arms before straightening again. Charlie immediately rested both front paws over her shoulder, happily watching the growing crowd around them while Amelie carefully made her way across the open area toward Lando.

The closer she came, the louder the cheers seemed to become.

Fans near the front barriers immediately noticed her approaching, waving enthusiastically while several people called her name. Amelie smiled warmly, lifting one hand in greeting while Charlie enthusiastically wagged his tail at practically everyone within sight.

Lando waited until she reached him before naturally stepping closer, one arm immediately sliding around her waist as though it belonged there.

—Ready?— he asked quietly.

She smiled up at him.

—Always.—

One of McLaren's photographers raised a camera from only a few meters away.

—Right here, guys!—

Lando turned toward the camera first, his arm remaining comfortably around Amelie while she shifted Charlie slightly higher against her chest. Behind them stretched an unforgettable backdrop: thousands of supporters dressed in fluorescent yellow, waving flags beneath the bright English sunshine.

—Beautiful!— the photographer called.

Lando smiled broadly.

Amelie smiled beside him.

Charlie looked somewhere completely different.

The shutter clicked repeatedly, capturing the moment from every possible angle while the crowd behind them erupted into another chorus of cheers simply because they were standing there together.

When the photographer finally lowered the camera with a satisfied grin, Lando gently scratched beneath Charlie's chin before reaching down to clip the leash back into his harness.

—Your turn to walk,— he told the puppy.

Charlie happily accepted the promotion, immediately hopping back onto the ground before proudly marching a few steps ahead as though personally leading the procession.

Lando wrapped the leash comfortably around one hand.

With the other, he instinctively reached for Amelie's.

Their fingers intertwined without either of them even looking.

Together they began walking back toward the waiting black SUV, Charlie confidently leading the way while the Landostand continued chanting behind them. Lando glanced sideways at Amelie for just a moment, smiling quietly before giving her hand the smallest squeeze.

She squeezed back.

Neither of them needed to say anything.

The race was only hours away.

But for one brief walk beneath the July sunshine, surrounded by thousands of people who believed in him, everything felt exactly where it belonged.

--------------

liked by f1updates, papayaprincess, and others

lanmeliehub: Amelie was spotted walking through the Silverstone paddock hand in hand with Mila and Athena today. 🥹💛

The girls looked so excited to be with her, and honestly... our hearts can't handle how naturally she fits right in with the Norris family.

The cutest paddock trio of race day. 🫶

View all 803 comments

papayagirl: SHE'S HOLDING BOTH OF THEIR HANDS I'M ACTUALLY SOBBING 😭💛 → lan4ever: i can't do this today → orange4ever: race hasn't even started and i'm emotional

gridgirlie: the girls look SO happy with her 🥹 → papayahq: they were literally skipping next to her → lanmeliehub: stop i'm gonna cry

amelieupdates: they adore her and it shows 😭 → amesdefender: kids never fake who they like

orangeobsession: honorary auntie energy 😭 → lan4life: HONORARY????? → gridgirlie: don't start 😭

f1updates: the way neither of the girls wanted to let go of her hand 🥹 → papayahq: my heart physically hurts → orange4ever: they're so attached to her

landostandhq: imagine looking over and seeing Amelie walking around with Lando's nieces 😭💛 → papayagirl: i'd simply pass away → lanmeliehub: core memory honestly

f1gossipdaily: the Norris girls have officially adopted her 😭

papayaprincess: i just know Mila was telling Amelie the most random story ever 😭 → lan4ever: and Amelie was absolutely listening → gridgirlie: she always does 🥹

ameliecentral: silverstone really is her second home now huh 🥹 → papayahq: the Norris family basically claimed her years ago

f1detectives: this is my favorite paddock content every year → detectiveera: forget the cars GIVE ME FAMILY CONTENT → papayagirl: exactly 😭

orangeobsession: someone tell me why this made me more emotional than the couple photos → lanmeliehub: because it's so natural 🥹 → f1updates: nothing feels forced with them

gridgirlie: accidental color coordination strikes again → orange4ever: they're literally sunshine

amesnation: Amelie has the biggest "safe adult" energy 🥹 → papayaprincess: the girls always run straight to her

f1fangirl99: the way Athena wouldn't stop looking up at her while they walked 😭 → orangegrid: STOP I'M TOO SOFT FOR THIS → papayahq: she looked so proud holding her hand

lanmeliehub: i just know Lando saw this and smiled somewhere in the paddock 😭 → papayagirl: don't make me imagine that

orange4ever: this family content heals something in me 🥹 → lan4ever: same honestly → f1updates: silverstone always brings out the softest moments

papayagirl: imagine being a fan at the track and randomly seeing this trio walk past 😭 → orangeobsession: i'd forget why i even came

gridgirlie: every year she gets closer with his family and every year i become more unwell 😭 → papayahq: the lore keeps expanding → papayaprincess: we've been here for YEARS and it still gets me every time

--------------

The motorhome had grown noticeably quieter as the final hour before the race approached, the earlier bustle giving way to the focused calm that always settled over Formula One teams before lights out. Engineers disappeared into meeting rooms, mechanics made their final trips toward the garage, and conversations throughout the hospitality area naturally dropped into softer voices, everyone aware of the significance of what lay ahead.

Inside Lando's driver's room, however, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different.

Amelie sat comfortably on the carpeted floor with her back resting against the lower edge of the cream-colored sofa, her legs stretched loosely in front of her while sunlight poured through the narrow window beside the door. Charlie lay happily on his back in the middle of the room, looking entirely pleased with himself as four tiny hands continuously reached toward him from opposite sides.

Mila sat cross-legged directly in front of him, carefully scratching beneath his chin with all the seriousness of someone carrying out a very important responsibility. Beside her, little Athena giggled uncontrollably every time Charlie's tail thumped enthusiastically against the carpet or his tongue reached out to give someone's fingers an unexpected lick.

The puppy had clearly decided this was the greatest moment of his entire existence.

Every few seconds he rolled slightly from one side onto the other, making absolutely certain neither little girl felt left out of the attention distribution.

—I think he likes tummy rubs,— Athena announced confidently, rubbing slow circles across Charlie's stomach.

Mila nodded with equal confidence.

—Because he's smiling.—

Charlie let out a happy little sigh that sounded suspiciously like agreement.

Amelie smiled from her place against the sofa, quietly watching the three of them together. Earlier that morning Savannah had tried convincing both girls to stay in the hospitality suite while everyone prepared for the race, only to be met with immediate protests from both daughters.

Savannah had eventually looked toward Amelie with an expression somewhere between apologetic and amused, clearly realizing she'd already lost the negotiation before it had properly begun.

—I don't know if they want to spend time with you... or your dog,— she had admitted with a laugh.

Amelie had smiled warmly before holding her arms out toward both girls.

—I don't mind either way.—

Mila had answered the question immediately.

—Both!—

Athena had nodded so enthusiastically her little ponytail bounced.

—Charlie... and Melie!—

Savannah had laughed, surrendering completely.

—I suppose that settles it.—

Now, nearly half an hour later, the room echoed with quiet giggles as Charlie patiently endured being declared everything from "the bravest puppy ever" to "an honorary princess," accepting each new title with the unwavering confidence only a golden retriever could possess.

Mila carefully placed one of Charlie's floppy ears over the top of his head before looking toward Amelie with complete seriousness.

—Does he like wearing hats?—

Amelie bit back a smile.

—I don't think he's very fashionable.—

Charlie looked up at her with the deeply offended expression of someone who believed that statement to be entirely unfair.

Athena immediately defended him.

—I think he's beautiful.—

Charlie wagged his tail.

Amelie laughed softly.

—I think he agrees with you.—

The little puppy rolled dramatically onto his other side, stretching all four legs into the air before giving Athena another enthusiastic lick across the fingers. The three-year-old squealed with laughter so loudly that it echoed gently around the otherwise peaceful room.

Mila giggled too, reaching over to scratch beneath Charlie's chin again.

—I wish we could take him home.—

—I think Lala might miss him,— Amelie replied gently.

Athena tilted her head thoughtfully.

—He can come too.—

Amelie laughed.

—I don't think Uncle Lala would fit in your backpack.—

Both girls immediately dissolved into another fit of giggles, apparently picturing exactly that.

The peaceful moment continued uninterrupted until the driver's room door suddenly swung open without warning.

Lando stepped inside still wearing his team hoodie, an his black trousers. His curls looked slightly messier than earlier, and he carried the unmistakable expression of someone who had come looking for exactly one thing before the race: twenty uninterrupted minutes of stretching with Jon and, ideally, a nap involving his favorite person as a pillow.

He barely took two steps into the room before stopping completely.

His eyes immediately landed on the unexpected scene unfolding across the carpet.

Lando blinked once before the corners of his mouth lifted into the softest smile imaginable.

The room in front of him looked nothing like the quiet space he had expected to find before one of the biggest races of his season. Instead, it had somehow transformed into a miniature playroom. Charlie was sprawled across the carpet receiving constant attention, Mila and Athena sat happily chatting away, and Amelie leaned comfortably against the sofa watching all three of them with the relaxed smile she only wore around people she loved. It was so unexpectedly domestic that, for a second, Lando simply stood there taking it all in.

The girls noticed him almost immediately.

—Lala!— they shouted together.

Both of them scrambled to their feet so quickly that Charlie startled for half a second before realizing what was happening. His tail immediately began wagging again as the two little girls hurried across the room toward their uncle, nearly colliding into each other in their excitement.

Lando laughed as he crouched down to their height, opening both arms without hesitation.

—Hello, monkeys.—

Mila wrapped her arms around his neck first while Athena squeezed around his waist from the side, forcing him to laugh even harder as he somehow managed to hug them both at once.

—I missed you,— Athena announced proudly.

—I saw you like... twenty minutes ago,— Lando replied with exaggerated confusion.

—I still missed you.—

He smiled.

—I missed you too.—

After another squeeze, he gently ruffled Mila's hair before looking between the two girls.

—So... what are you two doing in my driver's room?—

Mila answered as though the explanation should have been obvious.

—We're playing with Charlie.—

Athena nodded enthusiastically.

—He's being a good puppy.—

Charlie barked once from the middle of the room, seemingly pleased to contribute to the conversation.

—I can see that,— Lando chuckled.

The girls immediately wandered back toward Charlie, returning to their places on the carpet as though nothing had interrupted their game. Charlie happily rolled back onto his side the second they sat down again, already expecting another round of belly rubs from his tiny fan club.

Lando watched them for another moment before walking farther into the room.

Instead of claiming the sofa like he normally would before his pre-race nap, he lowered himself onto the carpet beside Amelie until their shoulders brushed together. She instinctively leaned lightly against him, neither of them really thinking about it anymore after years of finding comfort in each other's presence.

He looked toward the girls with an amused smile.

—I genuinely thought I'd find you hiding in here by yourself.—

Amelie laughed quietly.

—I thought so too.—

He turned toward her.

—Then why do I suddenly have a daycare in my driver's room?—

She smiled, glancing toward the two little girls who were now attempting to convince Charlie to balance a plush toy on his nose.

—Apparently they wanted to stay with Charlie.—

Lando raised one eyebrow.

—That's the official story?—

She nodded.

—Sav asked if they wanted to stay with her or come with me, and they immediately chose me.—

Lando looked suspicious.

—I refuse to believe that wasn't mostly because of him.—

Amelie pretended to consider the question very seriously before glancing toward Charlie, who was currently receiving enough affection to believe he had become paddock royalty. Mila was carefully smoothing the fur on one side of his face while Athena whispered something into one floppy ear that clearly qualified as top-secret information.

—I think it's about fifty-fifty,— she admitted with a laugh. —Maybe sixty-forty in Charlie's favor.—

Lando gasped dramatically, placing one hand over his chest.

—Brilliant. First my dog replaces me, now my nieces replace you with my dog. He's building quite the résumé.—

She nudged his shoulder gently.

—You're just jealous because he's the favorite Norris.—

—I thought I was at least in the top three.—

—You're fighting for third at the moment.—

Lando narrowed his eyes at her with exaggerated suspicion before leaning sideways without another word, pressing a quick, absentminded kiss against her lips as naturally as if he'd simply reached for a glass of water.

—There,— he said with obvious satisfaction. —That should improve my ranking.—

Amelie smiled into the kiss before pulling back, unable to hide the amused expression spreading across her face.

—I don't think that's how rankings work.—

—I make the rules.—

Before either of them could continue teasing each other, a tiny voice interrupted from the middle of the carpet.

—...Lala?—

Both adults turned simultaneously.

Mila sat cross-legged beside Charlie with her eyebrows pulled together in deep concentration, looking between her uncle and Amelie as though trying to solve a particularly complicated puzzle.

—Why did you kiss Melie?—

Lando blinked once before glancing sideways at Amelie, who had already pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. For a second neither of them answered, both silently waiting to see if the other would volunteer an explanation first. Charlie, blissfully unaware that an important family discussion had just begun, rolled onto his back again and stretched dramatically, earning another absentminded tummy rub from Athena while everyone else's attention remained somewhere entirely different.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile before looking back toward Mila.

—Because... she's my girlfriend.—

Mila slowly nodded as though filing that information away somewhere important, though it clearly raised far more questions than it answered. She looked from Lando to Amelie and then back again, carefully examining both of their faces before speaking once more.

—So... boyfriends kiss girlfriends?—

Lando smiled, choosing his words carefully.

—Sometimes they do. If both people want to, yes.—

Athena tilted her head from beside Charlie, clearly unwilling to be left out of such an important discussion.

—Like Mummy and Daddy?—

—Exactly like Mummy and Daddy,— Amelie answered gently, smiling at the little girl.

Athena looked delighted by the confirmation, immediately returning her attention to Charlie as though that explained absolutely everything.

Mila, however, was nowhere near finished.

She rested both hands on her knees and studied Lando with the unmistakable determination of a five-year-old conducting a very serious interview.

—Do you kiss Melie every day?—

Amelie immediately covered part of her face with one hand, already laughing quietly before Lando even had the chance to answer.

He glanced sideways at her with an expression that practically screamed help me.

She only smiled wider.

—You're on your own.—

Lando sighed dramatically before looking back toward his niece.

—...Usually.—

Mila's eyes widened.

—Every day?—

—Well... we live together,— Lando explained with an awkward laugh. —So yes... most days.—

Athena gasped as though she'd just heard the most romantic thing imaginable.

—That's lots of kisses.—

Lando nodded solemnly, deciding there was no point pretending otherwise anymore.

—It is quite a lot of kisses,— he admitted, earning an amused snort from Amelie beside him. Charlie, meanwhile, chose that exact moment to yawn dramatically, completely unconcerned with the relationship discussion happening only a few feet away from him.

Mila absorbed the information with the seriousness only children seemed capable of. She looked thoughtfully between her uncle and Amelie again before another question immediately appeared in her head.

—Are you going to get married too?—

The room suddenly became very, very quiet.

For a brief second, Lando genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Beside him, Amelie remained blissfully unaware of the tiny earthquake currently happening inside her boyfriend's head. She simply smiled fondly at Mila, assuming it was another innocent childhood question, while Lando very carefully kept his expression neutral despite the fact that his heart had just launched itself into his throat.

He cleared it with exaggerated casualness.

—Maybe one day,— he answered gently. —If we're both very lucky.—

Mila seemed perfectly satisfied with that possibility.

Athena looked up from where she was gently hugging Charlie's neck, her tiny brows knitting together in concentration as she tried to follow the conversation.

—Do people have weddings because they love each other?—

Amelie smiled warmly.

—That's one of the reasons, sweetheart. People get married because they want to spend their lives together. They promise to look after each other and be a family forever.—

Athena considered that for a long moment before nodding with complete certainty.

—That's nice.—

—I think so too,— Amelie replied softly.

Mila, apparently deciding she had become the official interviewer of the room, immediately continued with another question before anyone else had the chance to speak.

—Would Charlie come to your wedding?—

Lando burst into laughter before he could stop himself, the suddenness of it making Charlie lift his head in confusion.

—Oh, absolutely,— he answered without hesitation. —I don't think he'd forgive us if we didn't invite him.—

Amelie looked over at him, smiling.

—He'd probably spend the entire ceremony trying to steal the cake.—

—Or everyone's dinner,— Lando added.

Athena giggled loudly.

—He could wear a bow!—

Charlie thumped his tail enthusiastically against the carpet, apparently approving of this entire plan despite having no idea what any of them were talking about.

Mila rested her chin thoughtfully in her hands.

—I think he would look very handsome.—

—He always looks handsome,— Athena defended immediately.

Charlie rolled proudly onto his back again, clearly deciding compliments were an acceptable substitute for treats.

Lando watched his nieces happily fuss over the puppy before quietly reaching for Amelie's hand where it rested beside her on the carpet. Their fingers slipped together naturally, almost absentmindedly, while the girls remained completely absorbed in discussing Charlie's hypothetical wedding outfit.

Neither of them commented on it.

Neither of them needed to.

Mila eventually noticed anyway.

Her eyes dropped to their joined hands before immediately looking back up.

—You hold hands lots too.—

Lando glanced down before smiling.

—I suppose we do.—

—Why?—

He shrugged simply.

—Because I like holding her hand.—

Amelie squeezed his fingers lightly.

—I like holding his too.—

Mila nodded again, seemingly pleased with another satisfactory answer.

—Daddy holds Mummy's hand too.—

—He does,— Lando agreed.

—Sometimes when they think nobody's looking,— Athena whispered very dramatically, as though revealing classified family information.

Amelie laughed so hard she had to look away for a second.

Lando leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

—I have a feeling your mum and dad know you're looking anyway.—

The little girls dissolved into giggles, Charlie immediately joining the excitement by bouncing happily to his feet before trotting in excited circles around the small group, convinced something wonderful had just happened.

The happy chaos continued for several more minutes. Mila carefully threw Charlie's favorite plush toy across the room while Athena clapped enthusiastically every single time he proudly retrieved it. Lando and Amelie simply sat side by side, quietly watching the three of them with identical smiles, both thinking the exact same thing without saying it aloud.

The room felt impossibly peaceful.

Outside, one of the biggest races of the season waited only a short time away.

Inside, it felt wonderfully normal.

A gentle knock broke the calm.

Unlike the dramatic entrance Lando had made earlier, this one was polite and unhurried.

The door opened only after a quiet voice called through it.

—Can I come in?—

Oliver stepped into the room with an apologetic smile already on his face. The moment Mila and Athena spotted their father, both girls immediately looked guilty, as though they had somehow forgotten they were supposed to return eventually.

Oliver folded his arms, smiling knowingly.

—I think I've finally found where my daughters disappeared to.—

Mila pointed toward Charlie.

—We were busy.—

—I can see that.—

Athena hurried over first, wrapping both arms around one of Oliver's legs.

—Can we stay longer?—

Oliver looked toward Lando before shaking his head gently.

—I'm afraid Uncle Lala has to start getting ready now. Jon's probably already wondering where he's disappeared to.—

Lando groaned dramatically.

—I was hoping nobody would notice.—

Oliver laughed.

—I don't think your performance coach forgets about race day naps somehow.—

Mila's shoulders slumped.

—Already?—

Oliver crouched down until he was eye level with both girls.

—Already.—

Athena immediately looked toward Charlie.

—Can Charlie come with us? Please?—

Oliver smiled before glancing toward Lando and Amelie.

—What do you think? Can we borrow him for a little while?—

Charlie looked between every person in the room, blissfully unaware that custody negotiations were currently taking place on his behalf.

Amelie smiled.

—I think he'd love that.—

Lando nodded in agreement.

—Just don't teach him any bad habits.—

Oliver laughed.

—I make no promises. These two are a terrible influence.—

Mila beamed proudly, clearly interpreting that as a compliment.

Oliver bent down and effortlessly scooped Athena onto one hip before lifting Mila with his other arm, somehow balancing both girls with practiced ease. The two sisters immediately burst into another round of giggles while Charlie happily trotted over beside them, already convinced he was joining the adventure.

—Bye, Melie!— Mila called, waving enthusiastically.

—Bye, Lala!—

Athena leaned around Oliver's shoulder to wave too.

—Bye! See you after the race!—

Charlie barked once, his own version of a farewell.

Lando smiled warmly.

—See you later, monkeys.—

Amelie waved until they reached the doorway.

—Have fun with Charlie.—

Oliver smiled over his shoulder.

—I have a feeling he's about to become the most spoiled dog in Northamptonshire.—

With one final chorus of excited goodbyes, Oliver disappeared into the corridor carrying both daughters while Charlie proudly followed beside him, his little leash trailing loosely in Oliver's free hand.

The door clicked softly shut behind them.

Silence immediately settled over the room again.

Lando looked toward the now-empty patch of carpet where, only moments before, three tiny whirlwinds of energy had been playing.

He let out a slow breath before turning toward Amelie.

—Well...—

She smiled knowingly.

—I think your nap is officially back on schedule.—

Lando didn't answer.

Instead, he simply opened one arm toward her with the unmistakable expectation of someone who had absolutely no intention of sleeping alone.

Amelie laughed quietly.

—I was wondering how long it'd take before you asked for cuddles.—

He smiled innocently.

—I didn't ask.—

She raised an eyebrow.

—No?—

—I very clearly invited you.—

Still laughing, she scooted across the carpet toward him, already knowing there had never really been another outcome.

--------------

liked by papayahq, gridgirlie, and others

lanmeliehub: Just before lights out at Silverstone. 🥹🏁

View all 535 comments

papayagirl: THE PRE-RACE HUG I'M ACTUALLY UNWELL 😭🧡 → lan4ever: that's his good luck hug idc → orange4ever: i'm crying before lights out

gridgirlie: the way they were just standing there talking like the rest of the grid didn't exist 🥹 → papayahq: their own little bubble

f1updates: JON JUST STANDING THERE HOLDING THE UMBRELLA LIKE 🧍‍♂️😭 → papayaprincess: he's seen it all at this point → orangegrid: honorary third wheel

amelieupdates: THEY LOOK SO CALM WITH EACH OTHER 🥹 → amesdefender: that's what gets me the most

orangeobsession: imagine getting a hug from your favorite person before your home grand prix 😭 → gridgirlie: don't do this to me → papayahq: i'm already emotional

f1gossipdaily: the grid is complete chaos and these two are just having a quiet conversation 😭

lanmeliehub: the way he leaned in to hear her 😭 → orange4ever: i need to know what she said SO BAD → detectiveera: probably "good luck" and i'm still crying

papayahq: his entire body language changes around her → lan4ever: he instantly relaxes

f1detectives: jon deserves an award for pretending he wasn't witnessing all that 😭 → orangegrid: professional umbrella holder

ameliecentral: she always finds him before lights out 🧡 → amesupdates: it's become their tradition → orangeobsession: and now it's ours too 😭

papayagirl: okay but THAT HUG??? → lanmeliehub: forehead almost touching afterwards 😭

orange4ever: silverstone really brings out the softest version of them every year 🥹 → lan4life: something about this place → papayahq: home race magic

f1updates: imagine being the photographer who captured this 😭 → orangegrid: i'd never shut up about it

amesnation: she always looks at him like she's trying to memorize the moment 🥹 → amesdefender: STOP THAT'S TOO MUCH → lan4ever: i'm literally tearing up

gridgirlie: no staged poses. no looking at the cameras. just them 😭

f1gossipdaily: if someone looked at me the way Lando looks at Amelie before a race i'd never know peace

papayahq: i know he walked away smiling after that hug 😭 → gridgirlie: don't make me imagine it → lan4life: too late i already did

f1fangirl99: this is literally his pre-race ritual now and nobody can convince me otherwise → papayaprincess: hug ✔️ talk ✔️ go race ✔️ → orangegrid: championship checklist

lanmeliehub: the way she always waits until the very last second before letting him go 🥹 → papayagirl: okay that's enough i'm crying for real

--------------

The celebrations surrounding the podium had only just begun to settle into something quieter as Amelie and Alexandra made their way through the crowded paddock together. Champagne still clung faintly to the air, photographers hurried between television compounds chasing final reactions, and somewhere behind them another chorus of cheers erupted as Ferrari mechanics continued celebrating Charles' long-awaited victory. After nearly two years without standing on the top step again, the entire paddock seemed genuinely happy for him.

Alexandra had slipped her arm comfortably through Amelie's several minutes earlier, neither of them in any particular hurry to reach their next destination. They moved slowly through the sea of team uniforms and camera operators, occasionally stepping aside to let hurried engineers or hospitality staff pass before continuing their conversation exactly where it had left off.

—I don't think I've ever screamed that much during the last ten laps,— Alexandra admitted with a laugh, shaking her head. —I honestly thought something was going to happen right until the Safety Car came out.—

Amelie smiled knowingly.

—I think everyone thought something was going to happen. It felt like one of those races where nobody wanted to breathe until the flag actually dropped.—

Alexandra nodded immediately.

—Poor Lando though. Fourth again... I know that's not what he wanted after qualifying yesterday.—

Amelie's smile softened.

—No. But considering how the race unfolded... I think he'll eventually see the positives. Right now he'll probably just be frustrated.—

—Drivers,— Alexandra sighed dramatically.

—They're exhausting,— Amelie agreed.

They both laughed.

The conversation drifted toward lighter things almost instinctively after that. Alexandra excitedly recounted Charles accidentally spraying half the Ferrari hospitality staff with champagne before the podium ceremony had even officially ended, while Amelie confessed Charlie had somehow managed to charm three separate television crews into giving him treats before anyone realized he wasn't technically supposed to be wandering around the media pen.

—I swear he has better networking skills than most celebrities,— Alexandra teased.

—It's genuinely concerning,— Amelie replied. —I'm convinced Charlie could negotiate a sponsorship deal if someone handed him a business card.—

Their laughter echoed softly through the paddock until it gradually faded as another figure entered Amelie's peripheral vision.

Several meters ahead, Max walked briskly across the paddock toward the Red Bull motorhome without acknowledging anyone around him. His race suit remained zipped all the way to his neck despite the afternoon heat, one hand still carrying his gloves while the other remained tightly clenched into a fist. He didn't look angry in the explosive way cameras usually captured after difficult races. He looked... empty. His jaw remained locked, his shoulders unusually tense, and his eyes never lifted from the pavement ahead of him.

Amelie's smile slowly disappeared as she watched him continue walking, the familiar heaviness settling quietly in her chest. She had known Max long enough to recognize the difference between frustration and something much deeper. Frustration usually came with muttering, eye rolls, sarcastic comments, or the occasional dramatic complaint. This wasn't any of those things. This was silence, and somehow that worried her far more.

Alexandra followed her gaze, immediately spotting the reigning World Champion disappearing toward the Red Bull hospitality building.

—...He's taken today hard,— she observed softly.

Amelie kept watching until Max disappeared through the Red Bull motorhome entrance, his pace never slowing, never once looking over his shoulder despite several people quietly greeting him as he passed. Every single interaction lasted less than a second. A nod. A barely audible word. Nothing more. It reminded her far too much of conversations they had shared over the last few months, where disappointment had gradually stopped sounding like frustration and started sounding like exhaustion.

She hesitated for only another moment before gently squeezing Alexandra's arm.

—I think I should go check on him,— she admitted quietly. —Lando's probably going to be buried in interviews for a while anyway, and... I don't really like that look on Max's face.—

Alexandra immediately understood.

She gave Amelie's hand a reassuring squeeze before letting their linked arms separate.

—Go,— she said with a small smile. —Charles is going to disappear into Ferrari debriefs for the next hour anyway. Text me later?—

—I will.—

They shared a quick hug before heading in opposite directions, Alexandra toward the Ferrari motorhome while Amelie quietly turned and made her way after the Dutchman.

The Red Bull motorhome felt noticeably calmer than the celebrations happening elsewhere throughout the paddock. Mechanics walked quietly between offices carrying laptops and paperwork, conversations remained hushed, and nobody seemed particularly surprised to see Amelie making her way inside. She had been around long enough that she no longer felt like a visitor in most paddocks, especially not somewhere Max had practically adopted her years ago as one of his closest friends.

She climbed the staircase toward the driver's area, already noticing one of the doors standing slightly open at the end of the corridor.

Max's room.

She knocked softly against the frame before peeking her head inside.

—Permission to interrupt your dramatic brooding?—

Max looked up from where he sat on the small sofa, still wearing the top half of his race suit tied around his waist now. For a split second he looked almost surprised to see her before the faintest smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

—I wasn't brooding.—

Amelie raised an eyebrow.

—Max...—

—I was... thinking.—

—With the exact same face Batman makes before fighting crime.—

That earned a quiet snort.

—I don't think Batman complains this much.—

She stepped inside anyway, gently closing the door behind her before walking farther into the room.

The driver's room looked exactly how every Formula One driver's room looked after a difficult race. Helmet resting on the counter. Gloves discarded carelessly onto a chair. Half-finished water bottle sitting forgotten beside the massage table. Usually Max would already be halfway changed by now, impatient to get out of race overalls as quickly as possible. Today he hadn't even started.

Amelie lowered herself onto the sofa beside him without asking, leaving just enough space between them that neither felt crowded. For several moments neither of them spoke. They simply sat there listening to the distant muffled celebrations drifting faintly through the walls.

Eventually Max let out a slow breath.

—I spun a car that was capable of a podium.—

Amelie didn't rush to answer. She had learned years ago that Max rarely wanted immediate reassurance after races like this. He needed to empty everything first before anyone tried putting the pieces back together. Instead, she rested one elbow against the back of the sofa and quietly watched him stare at the floor, his fingers absentmindedly turning one of his racing gloves over and over in his hands.

—You did,— she admitted gently. —You also spent sixty laps dragging that car somewhere it probably didn't belong in the first place. Both things can be true at the same time.—

Max let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head once.

—That's exactly the problem. I'm constantly dragging it somewhere it doesn't belong. Every weekend feels like damage limitation now. Qualify higher than we deserve. Defend more than we should. Hope strategy saves us. Then something happens anyway. It's... exhausting.—

His voice never became louder, but somehow that made every word heavier. There was no anger behind it anymore, only fatigue. The kind that settled into someone's bones after carrying the same weight for far too long.

Amelie looked at him carefully, recognizing the expression that had become increasingly familiar throughout the season. Months ago, conversations after disappointing races had still ended with determination. They had always circled back to fixing things, improving, fighting again the following weekend. Recently, however, the ending had started sounding different.

Less hopeful.

More... uncertain.

—You've been saying that for a while now,— she observed quietly.

Max nodded.

—I know.—

He leaned forward, resting both forearms on his knees while looking toward the carpet.

—I don't even recognize the feeling anymore. Racing used to be... simple. I got in the car because I couldn't imagine doing anything else. Now I get in it wondering whether I'm actually enjoying myself or whether I'm just doing it because it's all I've ever known.—

The confession hung between them longer than either of them expected.

Outside the room, distant footsteps echoed briefly down the corridor before disappearing again, leaving the driver's room wrapped in comfortable silence.

—I hate admitting that out loud,— Max murmured. —Because people hear something like that and immediately think you've stopped caring. I haven't. That's almost the problem. I care too much. Every bad weekend follows me home. Every disappointing race stays in my head for days. I keep asking myself whether this is actually worth it anymore.—

Amelie slowly turned toward him, resting one arm across the back of the sofa.

—Are you asking because you genuinely want to stop... or because you're tired?—

Max didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he rubbed his thumb slowly across the seam of one glove before quietly exhaling.

—I honestly don't know anymore.—

He laughed once beneath his breath, though there wasn't much humor behind it.

—A couple of years ago I couldn't imagine retirement. Now... sometimes I catch myself wondering whether maybe that's my answer. Maybe I've done everything I wanted to do. Maybe it's someone else's turn.—

Amelie stayed quiet for a long moment, giving his words the room they deserved instead of rushing to fill the silence. She had learned over the years that Max rarely needed advice first. He needed someone willing to sit with the uncomfortable thoughts until they stopped feeling quite so heavy. Outside, faint celebrations from Ferrari still drifted through the motorhome walls, a strange contrast to the quiet conversation unfolding inside the small driver's room.

—I don't think you're asking yourself the right question,— she said gently at last, keeping her voice soft enough that it almost blended with the distant noise outside. —You're asking whether it's time to retire, when maybe you should be asking whether you're still happy with the life you're living around racing. Those aren't necessarily the same thing.—

Max looked over at her, his expression thoughtful rather than defensive.

—You think so?—

—I do.— She nodded once. —Because every time we've had this conversation over the last few months, it never starts with "I don't love driving anymore." It starts with "I'm exhausted." There's a difference between falling out of love with something and being too tired to recognize the parts you still love.—

He rested his elbows on his knees again, staring down at the floor while quietly considering her words. The room remained still around them, interrupted only by the occasional muffled voices drifting down the corridor outside. It felt oddly familiar, almost identical to conversations they had shared after difficult seasons years ago, except now they were older, more honest, and no longer pretending they had all the answers.

—I used to wake up excited to get in the car,— Max admitted after another long pause. —Even if qualifying had gone badly or we'd had reliability problems, I still wanted Sunday to come because I knew something could happen. Now I spend most weekends calculating damage before we've even started. It's become... work. Just work.—

Amelie nodded slowly.

—And that's heartbreaking for someone who turned their biggest childhood dream into their everyday life.—

Max laughed quietly through his nose.

—I never thought I'd hear you describe Formula One as heartbreaking.—

—Neither did I,— she admitted with a small smile. —But dreams evolve. Sometimes they stop being magical because you've carried them for too long without putting them down for a minute.—

He leaned back against the sofa cushions, rubbing both hands over his face before looking toward the ceiling.

—I keep wondering if people would understand it. If one day I woke up and said, "I'm done." I don't know if they'd see someone making the right decision... or someone quitting.—

Amelie turned slightly toward him, her expression soft but certain.

—The people who matter would understand. The people who love you aren't keeping score of championships or podiums. They just want you to be happy. Everything else is noise.—

Max let the silence settle for another few seconds before exhaling through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to notice. His gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond the room, as though he were trying to picture a version of himself that existed outside racing altogether. It looked like an impossible exercise, one he had probably attempted more than once over the last few months without ever arriving at a satisfying answer.

—Maybe I should just become a stay-at-home dad,— he said suddenly, completely deadpan.

Amelie stared at him for exactly one second before bursting into laughter.

The sound filled the little driver's room so unexpectedly that even Max couldn't stop the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

—You?— she asked between laughs. —A stay-at-home dad? Max Verstappen?—

He shrugged with exaggerated confidence.

—Why not?—

She pointed accusingly toward him.

—Because I genuinely can't picture you sitting at home making dinosaur-shaped sandwiches and helping with arts and crafts.—

—I could absolutely make dinosaur-shaped sandwiches,— he defended immediately. —Arts and crafts... maybe we'd outsource that part.—

Amelie laughed even harder, shaking her head as she wiped at the corner of one eye.

—I need you to understand how ridiculous that image is. You'd be timing preschool drop-off like it was qualifying. "If we leave thirty-two seconds earlier we avoid traffic."—

Max snorted.

—That's called efficiency.—

—That's called being you.—

He leaned farther back into the sofa, smiling properly now for the first time all afternoon.

—People change, you know.—

She narrowed her eyes playfully.

—Do they?—

—I think they do.—

Max crossed his arms loosely over his chest, studying her with the unmistakable expression that usually meant he had noticed something before everyone else.

—Besides... don't act like I haven't noticed you two lately.—

Amelie immediately frowned, though the smile threatening the corners of her mouth gave away far more than she intended.

—I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.—

—Really?— Max asked, sounding entirely unconvinced. —Because from where I'm standing, you've both become disgustingly domestic.—

She laughed, leaning back into the sofa.

—Domestic?—

—Very domestic,— he confirmed with a nod. —You have a dog. You argue about groceries. You somehow made Lando enjoy furniture shopping. I walked into your house two weeks ago and found him folding laundry.—

Amelie's eyebrows lifted.

—He was not folding laundry.—

—Fine.— Max held up his hands dramatically. —He was attempting to fold laundry. There is a difference.—

She couldn't help laughing at the image.

—That's slightly more believable.—

Max pointed at her triumphantly.

—Exactly. And don't think I haven't noticed how soft he's become.—

She tilted her head.

—He's always been soft.—

—No.— Max shook his head immediately. —He's always been emotional. That's different. Now he's... homely.—

Amelie blinked.

—Homely?—

—He genuinely gets excited telling me Charlie learned a new trick,— Max continued, counting on his fingers. —He complains about grocery prices. He asks what flowers look nicest in the kitchen. Last week he spent ten minutes telling me about some stupid coffee machine you bought together.—

Amelie pressed her lips together, already laughing before she even attempted defending either of them.

—I still don't know what you're talking about.—

Max looked at her with the kind of expression that clearly communicated I know you better than that.

—Please.— He rolled his eyes dramatically. —I've known you for almost a decade. You're about as subtle as a flashing safety car.—

She folded her arms across her chest, trying very hard to look offended.

Amelie lifted her chin with exaggerated dignity, refusing to let the smile escape.

—I have always been exactly like this.—

Max stared at her for a long second before letting out the driest laugh imaginable.

—No, you absolutely have not.—

She gasped theatrically.

—I can't believe you're attacking my character after I came here to comfort you.—

—I'm not attacking your character,— he replied innocently. —I'm reminding you of your character.—

Amelie pointed an accusing finger toward him, trying very hard to maintain a serious expression despite already losing the battle against her own laughter.

—I have always been a perfectly reasonable, emotionally balanced person.—

Max looked at her with complete disbelief.

—Amelie...—

—What?—

—Need I remind you that after Cameron passed away, you sat in my apartment eating cereal straight from the box and very confidently informed me that if neither of us had found anyone by forty, I was legally obligated to marry you because, and I quote: "I refuse to learn how to date again."—

For exactly two seconds, she simply blinked at him.

Then she groaned dramatically, dropping her face into both hands.

—I cannot believe you still remember that.—

—I remember everything,— Max replied far too proudly.

Amelie let out a muffled laugh from behind her hands before finally looking back up at him, cheeks faintly pink despite herself.

—I was grieving,— she defended with exaggerated seriousness. —People in grief say ridiculous things.

Max didn't even hesitate.

—You weren't even crying when you said it. You were eating chocolate cereal at eleven o'clock at night and negotiating our hypothetical marriage like it was a business contract.—

She pointed at him immediately.

—Because somebody had to think ahead.—

—You literally said, "Neither of us likes meeting new people, so statistically this is the smartest option."—

Amelie groaned louder, sliding farther down the sofa cushion in theatrical embarrassment.

—I cannot believe I actually said statistically.—

—You absolutely did,— Max confirmed, already laughing again. —Then you told me we'd save a fortune by skipping dating apps.—

She covered her face once more.

—I'd really appreciate it if we could erase that entire conversation from history.—

—I don't think I will.—

—Max...—

—It's one of my favorite memories.—

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, trying—and failing—to look intimidating.

Max laughed properly now, head tipping back against the sofa as the sound echoed around the small driver's room. It wasn't forced anymore. It wasn't the polite chuckle he'd been offering people throughout the afternoon. It was genuine, loud enough that Amelie couldn't help joining in, both of them momentarily forgetting the race that had brought them there in the first place.

When the laughter finally settled, Max wiped at the corner of one eye before looking back toward her.

—Funny thing is... I actually believed we'd end up doing it.—

Amelie blinked.

—You did?—

He shrugged one shoulder.

—I mean... after Cam, you shut everyone out for ages. You kept insisting nobody would ever fit into your life again. And honestly? I wasn't exactly winning any awards for emotional availability either.—

The laughter gradually faded until the room settled into silence once more, softer this time but somehow heavier. The joking had done exactly what it was supposed to do for a few minutes, pulling both of them away from the weight sitting on Max's shoulders, yet as naturally as it had disappeared, reality quietly returned. Amelie watched his smile slowly slip away, replaced by that familiar distant expression she'd noticed so often lately, the one where his thoughts seemed to disappear somewhere neither podiums nor championships could reach.

Max rested his elbows on his knees again, loosely clasping his hands together while staring at the floor. Whatever relief the laughter had brought lasted only a handful of moments before the anxious thoughts crept back in, settling visibly across his features. His jaw tightened almost unconsciously, and his foot bounced lightly against the carpet, the small restless movement giving away far more than his carefully controlled expression ever would.

Amelie didn't interrupt him.

Instead, she simply studied him quietly, recognizing every tiny habit he'd developed over the years whenever his mind became too loud. The tapping foot. The fixed stare. The way he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his knuckles without realizing it. She had seen this version of Max after difficult championships, after family losses, after races that hurt more than they should have. It wasn't something a few reassuring words could solve.

For nearly a full minute, neither of them spoke.

Outside the driver's room, muffled conversations drifted faintly down the corridor, accompanied by the occasional closing door somewhere farther along the motorhome. Inside, however, time seemed to stand still. Max remained trapped inside his own thoughts while Amelie quietly searched for anything that might pull him back out again.

Then, all at once, something sparked behind her eyes.

Without saying a single word, she suddenly pushed herself off the sofa.

The abrupt movement immediately caught Max's attention.

He looked up in confusion, eyebrows knitting together as he watched her brush invisible creases from her jeans before turning toward him with an expression that looked far too determined for someone who hadn't explained a single thing.

—...What are you doing?— he asked cautiously.

Amelie didn't answer.

Instead, she simply stepped directly in front of him and extended one hand toward him, palm open in invitation.

Max looked from her face to her outstretched hand and back again, clearly trying to work out whatever strange plan had just appeared inside her head.

—Meels...—

She gave her fingers an impatient little wiggle.

—Come on.—

He frowned.

—Where?—

—I had an idea,— she replied simply.

He blinked.

—That's... not an answer.—

—No,— she agreed cheerfully. —It isn't.—

Max stared at her for another second, completely unconvinced.

—I feel like I should be concerned whenever you say you've had an idea.—

—Probably,— Amelie admitted without the slightest hint of guilt.

That answer did absolutely nothing to reassure him.

He glanced suspiciously toward the closed driver's room door before looking back at her.

—Should I ask questions?—

She immediately shook her head.

—Absolutely not.—

He sighed dramatically.

—That's somehow even more concerning.—

Amelie smiled, still refusing to explain herself.

—Trust me.—

Max looked at her hand again before finally accepting defeat. With an exaggerated groan that sounded far more dramatic than he actually felt, he reached up and let her pull him to his feet.

—I'm already regretting this,— he muttered while straightening up.

—You're not even doing anything yet.—

—I know,— he replied. —That's the worrying part.—

She laughed softly before giving his arm one reassuring squeeze.

—Go change out of your race suit.—

He looked down at himself as though only just remembering he was still half dressed in it.

—I was going to do that anyway.—

—Good.— She nodded once. —Do that, don't ask any questions, and meet me downstairs in... fifteen minutes.—

Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

—Fifteen?—

—Fifteen.— she smiled innocently, —no questions,— she reminded him with a grin.

He watched her reach for the handle, still looking entirely unconvinced that any of this qualified as a sensible plan.

—You're impossible.—

Amelie smiled over her shoulder.

—I know.—

She opened the door, pausing only long enough to point at him one final time.

—Fifteen minutes. Comfortable clothes. Trust me.—

Before Max could object again or extract even the smallest clue from her, she slipped out into the corridor, letting the door click softly shut behind her.

Left alone in the suddenly quiet driver's room, Max stared at the closed door for several long seconds before shaking his head to himself.

He still had absolutely no idea what she was planning.

But after nearly ten years of friendship, he knew one thing for certain.

Whenever Amelie told him not to ask questions...

Something ridiculous was almost always about to happen.

--------------

liked by lan4ever, orangegrid, and others

f1gossip: POST-RACE CHAOS 😂🏁

While everyone else was wrapping up their Sunday, Amelie and Max were spotted taking the LEGO go-karts for a spin around Silverstone—with Amelie behind the wheel of Lando's kart. 💛🧱

View all 483 comments

papayagirl: MAX REALLY SAID "MY RACE IS OVER, TIME FOR LEGO" 😭😭😭 → orange4ever: honestly valid coping mechanism → gridgirlie: i'd do the same after a DNF

f1updates: i'm crying because Amelie is driving Lando's kart 😭💛 → lan4ever: she saw the opportunity and took it

maxielover: max laughing like he didn't just have the worst afternoon 😭 → dutchlion: at least someone got him smiling again 🥹 → orangegrid: that's what friends are for honestly

amelieupdates: they've been friends for YEARS and they still act like children together 😭 → amesdefender: that's why i love their friendship → f1updates: zero thoughts just vibes

lanmeliehub: LANDO'S KART 😭😭😭

f1gossipdaily: max and amelie together always have the most sibling energy 😭 → gridgirlie: constantly bullying each other probably → dutchlion: 100% she was talking trash while driving

papayahq: she definitely challenged him to a race immediately 😭 → orangeobsession: before he could even say no

maxverstappenfan: after everything today i'm glad he found something to laugh about 🥹 → orange4ever: genuinely needed this → dutchlion: we all did honestly

f1detectives: where was Lando while his girlfriend stole his LEGO kart 🤨 → detectiveera: probably letting her because he knows better 😭

gridgirlie: imagine losing your race and then losing to Amelie in a LEGO kart five minutes later 😭 → maxielover: worst day ever → orangegrid: max probably still argued it wasn't fair

amesnation: their friendship has survived like... what? almost a decade? 🥹 → amesdefender: literally paddock siblings at this point

orangeobsession: the way they're BOTH laughing in every single photo 😭 → lanmeliehub: pure serotonin → f1updates: nobody was taking this seriously

dutchlion: that's the max verstappen experience

lan4ever: i know Lando was somewhere watching these two and shaking his head 😭 → papayagirl: "there goes my kart..." → gridgirlie: "and my girlfriend"

f1fangirl99: not Amelie driving Lando's kart while racing Max 😭 → orangegrid: this is the content i pay internet for → papayahq: silverstone never disappoints

dutchlion: thank you Amelie for making our grumpy Dutch driver smile after today 🥹🫶

f1updates: someone PLEASE tell me there are videos of this 😭 → lanmeliehub: i need the onboard immediately → papayagirl: release the footage!!!

papayagirl: why do they always end up causing chaos together 😭 → amesdefender: because they're mentally 12 around each other → dutchlion: and i hope they never change

--------------

The two LEGO go-karts sat abandoned near the bottom of the Landostand, parked crookedly against one another after what had easily become the most ridiculous half hour either of them had experienced in months. Amelie and Max now occupied the very top row of the grandstand instead, exactly where Lando had spent so many quiet moments over the years. The fluorescent yellow seats surrounding them had finally emptied, the last fans long gone after another unforgettable British Grand Prix. Without thousands of people filling every row, the grandstand felt strangely peaceful, the circuit stretching silently beneath them as the evening sun slowly disappeared beyond the Northamptonshire countryside. The sky had transformed into layers of warm orange, pale pink and lavender, reflecting softly across the empty asphalt where only hours earlier Formula One cars had thundered past at impossible speeds.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't awkward. It felt earned. After thirty minutes of aggressively racing LEGO go-karts around a nearly empty Silverstone circuit, shouting insults at each other and arguing about corner-cutting rules that definitely didn't exist, they had finally run out of adrenaline and settled into something quieter. The wind moved gently across the top of the grandstand, carrying the faint smell of rubber and grass while the circuit slowly cooled beneath the fading sunlight.

Max rested his forearms on his knees, staring out toward Copse Corner.

For several long minutes neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It felt earned, settled gently between them after the chaos of the afternoon and the absurdity of two adults racing LEGO go-karts around Silverstone like overgrown children. Somewhere far below, a marshal vehicle rolled slowly along the circuit before disappearing around a corner, leaving the track quiet once more.

Max finally broke the silence.

—Thank you.—

Amelie turned her head slightly, though she already knew what he meant.

—For what?—

He looked out over the circuit instead of at her.

—For this.— He gestured vaguely toward the empty track, the abandoned karts, the sunset. —I didn't realize how much I needed it until we were halfway around the lap and I was trying to beat you into Copse.—

Max let out a quiet laugh beneath his breath, the kind that carried no bitterness anymore, only genuine amusement at how completely ridiculous the afternoon had become. He leaned back against the fluorescent yellow seat, folding his arms loosely across his chest while the fading sunlight painted the empty circuit in shades of gold.

—I forgot,— he admitted softly. —I actually forgot that driving could just... be fun.—

Amelie stayed quiet, allowing him the space to continue without interrupting. She had learned long ago that the most honest things Max ever said almost always arrived after the silence rather than before it.

—There weren't engineers talking in my ear. No tire temperatures. No degradation targets. No championship points. No expectations.— His smile widened almost imperceptibly. —Just... "Don't let Amelie overtake you." That was literally the only objective I had for half an hour.—

She laughed quietly.

Amelie tucked one leg beneath herself as she smiled toward him, the breeze lifting a few loose strands of hair that had escaped during their improvised race around the circuit. The setting sun reflected across the empty tarmac below, turning Silverstone into something almost unrecognizable compared to the frantic atmosphere it had held only a few hours earlier.

—I still overtook you,— she reminded him proudly.

Max immediately looked at her with exaggerated offense, the expression so familiar it almost made the afternoon feel like they were twenty again instead of standing in the middle of careers neither of them could have imagined back then.

—You absolutely did not.—

Max pointed an accusing finger toward her, already smiling.

—You cut the inside of Vale.—

—I took an alternative racing line,— Amelie corrected with complete confidence.

—You drove across the painted runoff.—

—I was being... creative.—

He let out another laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

—You would've been given a five-second penalty.—

She shrugged innocently.

—Good thing nobody was stewarding LEGO races today.—

Max rolled his eyes toward the sky, though the grin never disappeared. Somehow, arguing over imaginary penalties in children's go-karts felt infinitely more important than discussing race strategy ever had.

The laughter faded naturally after that, leaving the quiet to return once more. Neither of them rushed to replace it. The evening breeze drifted gently across the empty grandstand, carrying distant sounds of trucks beginning to pack away hospitality units while the last streaks of orange melted slowly into the horizon. It was one of those rare moments where an entire Formula One circuit seemed to exhale.

Max looked back toward the ribbon of asphalt stretching below them, his expression softer now than it had been all afternoon.

—I needed today,— he admitted quietly. —Not the race... this. I think somewhere along the way I forgot that I started karting because I couldn't wait to get behind the wheel every weekend. Today... for thirty ridiculous minutes... I remembered exactly what that little kid felt like again.—

He smiled to himself before shaking his head almost affectionately.

—You somehow tricked me into enjoying driving again.—

Amelie smiled without looking at him.

—I didn't trick you.—

—No?—

—I just removed everything that wasn't driving.—

Max let those words settle.

There had been no stopwatch. No telemetry. No media obligations. No expectations hanging over every corner. Just two friends refusing to let the other win around Silverstone in tiny plastic karts that barely reached jogging speed. It sounded ridiculous when put into words.

Yet somehow... it had worked.

—You're annoyingly good at fixing people without them realizing you're doing it,— Max murmured.

She immediately shook her head.

—I don't fix people, Max.—

He looked toward her.

—I remind them who they are when they've forgotten,— she finished softly.

Max stayed quiet after that, letting her words settle somewhere deeper than he expected. He didn't immediately answer with a joke or a sarcastic comment like he normally would have. Instead, he simply looked back toward the circuit, watching the last traces of sunlight disappear behind the grandstands while the track below slowly became covered in shadows.

For once, he didn't feel the need to fight against the feeling.

The frustration from earlier that afternoon hadn't magically vanished. The questions about his future hadn't suddenly disappeared. He still didn't know what the next years would look like or whether the exhaustion he felt was something temporary or something much bigger. But sitting there, with the empty circuit in front of him and the ridiculous memory of racing LEGO go-karts still fresh in his mind, everything felt slightly less overwhelming.

Amelie noticed the change immediately.

She didn't point it out. She didn't make a big deal out of it. She simply sat beside him, allowing him to exist in that calmer version of himself without reminding him how far he'd come. Sometimes, she had learned, people didn't need to be told they were healing. They just needed someone to sit beside them while it happened.

For another minute, they watched the sunset in silence.

The sky continued shifting above Silverstone, the warm colors slowly fading into deeper shades of blue while the first hints of evening settled over the circuit. Somewhere in the distance, the last team trucks moved through the paddock, the sounds growing quieter with every passing minute until the entire place felt almost disconnected from the chaos it had hosted only hours before.

Max rested his head back against the seat, eyes still fixed somewhere beyond the circuit as if memorizing the view in front of him. The calm expression on his face was something Amelie hadn't seen enough of lately, and she found herself quietly appreciating the fact that, even if only for an afternoon, she had managed to give him a small piece of the person he used to be.

For another moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Amelie took a slow, deep breath.

It wasn't a dramatic movement. It wasn't something meant to announce a confession. It was simply the quiet preparation of someone finally deciding to stop keeping something locked away. She looked down at her hands resting together in her lap, watching her fingers move slightly against one another while she searched for the right words.

Amelie let out the breath just as slowly as she had taken it, her eyes never leaving the empty circuit below. The silence around them somehow made honesty feel easier. There were no cameras, no interviews, no people waiting for the perfect answer. Just two friends who had spent nearly a decade watching each other grow into people neither of them had expected to become.

—I think...— she began quietly, smiling to herself before shaking her head. —I think you've ruined me a little today.—

Max frowned slightly.

—Me?—

She nodded once.

—Because earlier... when you were making fun of me for becoming all... domestic... I laughed it off.— A small smile tugged at her lips. —I always laugh it off.—

He stayed quiet, sensing there was something much bigger sitting behind the words.

—I keep pretending I don't notice it either,— she admitted. —Like it's just Charlie, or groceries, or furniture shopping, or arguing over laundry, or deciding which coffee beans we're buying this week. I joke about it because... I don't know... maybe it feels safer that way.—

The breeze lifted a few loose strands of her hair across her face before she tucked them absentmindedly behind her ear.

—But deep down... I know.— Her voice softened even more. —I know exactly how serious everything has become.—

Max turned his head toward her fully now, saying nothing.

She gave the smallest laugh, almost embarrassed by what she was about to admit.

—It's funny, because if you'd asked me five years ago where I'd be now... none of this would've been on the list. I didn't think I'd ever picture myself building a life with someone again.—

She paused, watching the sunset reflect across the silver safety barriers.

—I mean... of course I love Lando. I've loved him in one way or another ever since we met. Even when we were pretending we didn't. Even when we were making each other's lives incredibly complicated.— She smiled to herself. —He always felt... different.—

Her eyes drifted farther down the circuit.

—I just never thought different would eventually become forever.—

Max remained completely still beside her.

She laughed quietly through her nose.

—That's the weird part.— He waited. —I catch myself imagining things now.—

She looked down at her intertwined fingers.

—Not tomorrow. Not next month. Not next season.— Her smile grew impossibly soft. —I imagine years.—

The confession lingered between them.

—I imagine Christmases in the house. Charlie getting old. Maybe another dog because Lando will absolutely convince me we need one. I imagine Sunday mornings where neither of us has anywhere to be. I imagine him complaining that I bought another plant we don't have space for. I imagine us arguing over paint colors or who forgot to buy milk.—

She laughed at herself, almost in disbelief.

—I imagine growing up together.—

Max didn't interrupt her, simply allowing her words to drift out into the cooling evening air over the empty grandstands. He knew exactly what she meant, having witnessed the two of them navigate the chaotic paddock lifestyle while somehow building a completely solid, protective bubble around their relationship.

A small, genuinely warm smile touched his lips as he looked down at the abandoned LEGO karts below, realizing how far they had all come from the dramatic, uncertain years of their early twenties.

—It’s about time you finally admitted it out loud, Amelie,— Max murmured gently, his voice carrying a rare, affectionate softness that he usually reserved only for the people he considered true family. —Everyone else around you has known it for years, you know. You two look like an old married couple even when you're just arguing over who has to walk the dog in the rain, so stop trying to pretend you're surprised by it now.—

Amelie let out a soft chuckle, rolling her eyes playfully at his teasing before resting her chin in her hand to look back at the fading colors of the horizon.

—I guess I just needed to hear myself say it,— she admitted quietly, the heavy weight of the confession completely transforming into a sense of beautiful, settled calm inside her chest. —It's terrifying, but at the same time, I don't think I've ever felt more certain about anything in my entire life. He’s just my home, Max. No matter where we are in the world, as long as he's there, everything makes sense.—

They sat together in that comfortable, understanding silence for another long minute, watching the dark blue shadows of twilight fully take over the Silverstone circuit. The calm atmosphere wrapped around them like a protective blanket, sealing away the raw honesty they had both shared until a distant, incredibly familiar voice suddenly echoed through the open structure of the grandstand.

—Amelie!—

Both of them instinctively turned toward the sound.

Standing near the entrance at the very bottom of the Landostand was Lando, now changed out of his race overalls and looking much more like himself again. The team kit had been replaced with a simple grey T-shirt tucked loosely into a pair of blue jeans, his curls still slightly messy from the shower he'd undoubtedly taken after media duties. Charlie rested comfortably in one arm, the little golden retriever immediately spotting Amelie before his entire body began wriggling with excitement, his tail wagging so violently it looked like he might launch himself right out of Lando's arms.

Lando smiled the moment their eyes met.

The expression was tired after a long race day, but warm in the effortless way it always became whenever he looked at her.

He adjusted Charlie slightly against his chest before calling up toward them again.

—You ready to go?—

His voice carried easily through the empty grandstand, softened by the evening air now that the thousands of fans had long since disappeared. Without the constant roar of race-day celebrations surrounding them, it almost felt strangely intimate, the simple question echoing across rows of fluorescent yellow seats that only hours earlier had been overflowing with people chanting his name.

Amelie smiled instinctively.

—Yeah!—

She pushed herself up from her seat, brushing the invisible dust from the back of her jeans before turning toward Max one last time. For a second neither of them said anything. They didn't really need to. The conversation they'd shared over the last couple of hours had somehow said far more than either of them normally allowed themselves to. She stepped forward anyway, wrapping both arms around him in a quick, tight hug that he returned without hesitation.

—Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all that,— she murmured quietly.

Max rested his chin briefly against the top of her head before letting out a small breath.

—Thank you... for kidnapping me with LEGO karts.—

She laughed into the hug.

—I maintain it was an excellent therapeutic technique.—

—I hate how right you were.—

Pulling back, she reached up to straighten the collar of his hoodie with the same absentminded familiarity she'd done a thousand times over the years.

—You'll be alright,— she said softly.

Max looked at her for a long second before giving the smallest nod.

—I think... I will be.—

There wasn't complete certainty behind the words yet, but there was something that hadn't been there when she'd found him in the Red Bull motorhome earlier that afternoon.

Hope.

Sometimes that was enough.

Amelie smiled once more before turning toward the stairs that wound their way down through the empty Landostand. Halfway down, Charlie began squirming enthusiastically in Lando's arms, tiny paws already reaching toward her as though he'd waited long enough.

—Alright, alright,— Lando laughed, struggling to keep hold of the dramatically excited puppy. —You've seen her literally this morning.—

Charlie clearly believed that was far too long ago.

The moment Amelie reached the bottom step, Lando leaned forward without a word, greeting her with a gentle kiss that lingered for just a second longer than necessary. It wasn't dramatic or hurried. It was simply familiar, comfortable, the kind of kiss that had become second nature somewhere along the way.

—Hi,— he murmured against her forehead.

—Hi.—

Charlie immediately protested the lack of attention directed toward him, earning a laugh from both of them.

—Apparently I'm interrupting something,— Amelie teased, scratching behind his ears.

—He's been offended for the last five minutes because I wouldn't let him run up the stairs by himself,— Lando explained. —I told him you'd come down eventually, but he didn't believe me.—

Charlie gave a tiny bark that sounded suspiciously argumentative.

Lando finally looked past her toward the top of the grandstand where Max still stood watching them. He didn't say anything.

He simply gave him a small nod.

It wasn't elaborate.

It didn't need to be.

Max returned it with one of his own, the quiet exchange carrying years of friendship, mutual respect, and an unspoken thank you that neither man felt the need to explain aloud.

Lando shifted Charlie into one arm before reaching for Amelie's hand with the other as naturally as breathing.

Their fingers intertwined immediately.

—Come on,— he said quietly. —Let's go home.—

The word settled warmly in Amelie's chest.

She glanced sideways at him as they walked together through the now-empty service road toward the waiting car. Charlie trotted proudly between them after Lando finally set him down, the leash held loosely in his left hand while his right never let go of hers. The puppy occasionally looked back over his shoulder just to make sure both of his humans were still following before continuing confidently toward the parking area.

The black SUV waited exactly where they'd left it, illuminated by the soft glow of the paddock lights beginning to replace the fading sunlight. One of the security staff quietly opened the rear passenger door as they approached.

Lando waited for Amelie to climb inside first.

She smiled at the familiar gesture before stepping into the vehicle, sliding across the leather seat as Charlie immediately jumped up beside her, curling into a happy golden ball against her hip.

Only once she was settled did Lando climb in after her, gently pulling the door closed behind them. The noise from outside disappeared almost instantly, replaced by the comfortable quiet of the car's interior as it slowly pulled away from Silverstone.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

Lando reached over almost absentmindedly, intertwining their fingers again where her hand rested between them.

His thumb brushed slowly across the back of hers.

—Everything alright?— he asked softly.

Amelie turned toward him.

She looked at the man beside her, still slightly sunburnt from the afternoon, curls messier than ever after an emotional race day, quietly checking on her before thinking about himself. Charlie sighed contentedly against her side, already half asleep, while beyond the window Silverstone slowly disappeared behind them, another British Grand Prix becoming part of their history.

She smiled.

Not the polite smile she'd worn for cameras all weekend.

Not the amused smile she'd given Max while teasing him.

The kind that reached every corner of her face without her even realizing.

—Yeah,— she whispered, gently squeezing his hand. —Everything's perfect.—

Lando smiled back, lifting her joined hand to his lips for one absentminded kiss before resting it back between them.

Outside, the last light of the English summer disappeared completely.