Imagines:

Five More Minutes || OP81

Home Was Always You... || II30

Best Friend Kimi Who... || KA12

────☘︎────

Texts:

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟

Requested: Yes/ Anon

Word count: 9558

Author’s note: Hey guys, I had the absolute best time writing this sweet story for you, hope you love Kimi as much as I do, enjoy xx

Masterlist

The midday sun beat down on the cobblestoned streets of Bologna, casting a brilliant, golden warmth over the terracotta arches and centuries-old porticos that lined the historic center of the city. The summer air was thick with the rich scents of espresso, toasted pastries, and the faint, sweet perfume of blooming jasmine from hidden courtyard gardens. You were currently walking down Via dell Indipendenza by yourself, enjoying a rare moment of absolute solitude amidst what had been a hectic, deeply scheduled family vacation. You were a French girl on holiday with your parents and your older brother, and for the past two weeks, your days had been rigorously organized around guided museum tours, historical monuments, and endless souvenir shopping. While you loved exploring Italy with your family, the constant togetherness had started to feel suffocating, so when your mother announced that she and your brother wanted to spend the next two hours exploring a sprawling, crowded department store for leather goods and Italian fashions, you had happily volunteered to wait outside. You had promised to stay within the neighborhood, take a quiet walk, and find something cool to drink or eat while they shopped.

Within ten minutes of gaining your freedom, you had wandered down a narrower side street and found a charming, traditional artisan gelateria that seemed popular with the local residents rather than the loud crowds of tourists. The shop smelled intensely of roasted hazelnuts and fresh cream, and after admiring the vibrant mounds of gelato displayed behind the glass counter, you had purchased a large cone stacked high with two scoops, a generous helping of creamy stracciatella and a rich, nutty Sicilian pistachio. Holding the cold cone carefully in your right hand, you strolled along the shaded pavement, watching the city life unfold around you. You watched elderly Italian men in sharp suits debating over morning newspapers at outdoor café tables, university students hurrying past with heavy tote bags slung over their shoulders, and young couples walking hand in hand beneath the grand stone arcades. It was peaceful, beautiful, and completely removed from your regular life back in France, where your university studies and part-time job usually kept you running at a relentless, exhausting pace. Here, under the Italian sun, you could just breathe, take small bites of your melting ice cream, and let your mind drift without a single care or responsibility in the world.

You reached a busy intersection where the sidewalk narrowed around a sharp, angled building corner, your eyes momentarily dropping to your gelato to make sure the melting pistachio was not dripping down the side of the waffle cone onto your fingers. Because your attention was focused on your dessert, you did not see the person coming around the corner from the opposite direction until it was entirely too late. He was moving quickly, his head turned slightly over his shoulder as if he were scanning the street behind him or trying to avoid someone, and before either of you could alter your paths or stop, you collided with a sudden, solid impact.

The physical jolt knocked you back a step, causing you to gasp out loud in surprise, but the real disaster occurred with your hands. The sudden force of his chest bumping against your shoulder jarred your arm completely, sending the heavily loaded gelato cone flying out of your grip. The ball of stracciatella and pistachio hit his plain white t-shirt with a sickening, wet thud before sliding down between the two of you, splattering across the front of your favorite light summer dress and landing in a cold, sticky, milky puddle across the toes of your clean white sneakers.

You stood completely frozen for a few seconds, looking down at the disastrous mess of melting cream and crushed waffle cone covering your clothes and shoes. A wave of disgust washed over you as the cold, sticky liquid began to seep through the thin fabric of your dress against your skin, and you let out a heavy sigh, wondering how a peaceful solo walk could have turned into a laundry emergency in the span of a single heartbeat.

"Oh, no, no, no, I am so sorry, I am completely an idiot," a voice stammered out, the words arriving in a rapid, deeply apologetic flurry of English spoken with a soft, melodic Italian accent.

You looked up from your ruined sneakers, ready to offer a polite, forgiving smile to whoever had bumped into you, but the breath caught in your throat the exact moment your eyes met his. The boy standing in front of you looked to be right around your age, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old, with dark, slightly messy hair that curled naturally over his forehead and wide, expressive brown eyes that were currently filled with absolute, unfiltered mortification. He had just pulled off a pair of dark sunglasses, clutching them in his hand as he looked back and forth between the stain on his own white shirt and the disastrous splatter covering your dress and shoes. Beneath the look of panic and guilt, his features were unmistakable to anyone who followed international motorsports. Standing right there on the sidewalk in front of you, looking thoroughly embarrassed and apologetic, was Andrea Kimi Antonelli, one of the most talked-about young Formula One drivers in the entire world.

Your mind raced as you processed the sheer absurdity of the situation. You were a massive, dedicated Formula One fan, and you had been following his incredible career trajectory ever since his early days, watching him ascend through the junior categories all the way to his highly publicized debut in the premier class of racing. You knew his stats, you knew his driving style, and you knew the immense, suffocating pressure that the global sports media placed on his young shoulders every single weekend. Yet, as you stared at him right now, watching him nervously pat his pockets in a desperate search for a tissue while stammering out apologies, a protective, instinctive thought bloomed in your mind. He did not look like a famous superstar or an elite athlete carrying the weight of a legendary racing team on his back. He looked like a normal, sweet nineteen-year-old boy who had just clumsily knocked over a girl's ice cream on a sunny afternoon, and he looked terrified that he had genuinely ruined your day. In a split second, you made a firm decision. You were not going to scream, you were not going to ask for a selfie, and you were definitely not going to treat him like a celebrity. You were going to treat him like an ordinary human being who had simply made an honest mistake on the street.

"I am so sorry, really, I was not looking where I was going at all," Kimi said, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine distress as he finally produced a small, unopened packet of paper tissues from his back pocket. He tore the plastic open with nervous fingers and immediately offered you half the stack. "Please tell me I did not completely ruin your dress, it looks like such a nice dress, and your shoes are covered in cream, I am such a clumsy idiot today."

You took the offered tissues, letting out a soft, genuine laugh that seemed to startle him, easing the tension tightening his shoulders. "It is okay, really, it is just ice cream," you said, using the clean paper to dab away the cold, sticky dollops of pistachio from your dress fabric and wiping the mess off the leather of your sneakers. "It is an accident, and honestly, the sun is so hot today that this dress would have needed a wash by this evening anyway. Do not worry about it so much."

He looked at you with wide eyes, seemingly shocked by your calm, forgiving reaction. He glanced down at the large stain across the front of his own white shirt, offering a self-deprecating smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "You are being way too nice about this, most people would be yelling at me right now for destroying their afternoon snack and their clothes," he said, using a tissue to scrape away the remaining stracciatella from his chest. He crumpled the used paper into his fist, looking at you with a determined, sincere expression. "Please, let me buy you another ice cream, it is the absolute least I can do to make it up to you. I ruined yours, so it is my responsibility to replace it, and I insist on finding you the best gelato in this entire neighborhood."

You looked at him, admiring the genuine warmth and politeness in his demeanor. He wasn't trying to use charm to brush off his clumsiness, he truly wanted to make things right, and you found his earnestness completely endearing. "Are you sure?" you asked, tilting your head slightly with a playful smile. "Because I am a French girl on vacation, and we take our desserts very seriously. If you offer to buy me an ice cream, I am going to hold you to the highest possible standard of Italian hospitality."

His face lit up with a bright, beautiful smile that transformed his entire expression, radiating a contagious, youthful energy. "You are from France? That is awesome, and I am ready for the challenge," he said, gesturing down the street with a welcoming wave of his hand. "I am a local, so I know exactly where to take you for real, authentic gelato that will make you forget about the terrible accident I just caused. Please, let me walk with you and buy you a new cone, I would feel terrible if I let you walk away with empty hands and dirty shoes."

"Alright, deal," you replied, throwing your used tissues into a nearby public recycling bin before turning to walk alongside him. "Lead the way, Mr. Local Guide. Show me what Bologna has to offer."

You fell into a natural, easy pace next to each other, strolling along the shaded arcades away from the busy main road. As you walked, you noticed that Kimi subtly adjusted his position so he was walking on the outer edge of the pavement near the street traffic, a traditional gesture of politeness that made you smile to yourself. He shoved his sunglasses into the collar of his stained white t-shirt, completely unbothered by his own messy appearance now that you had forgiven him, and he looked over at you with curious, attentive eyes.

"So, you mentioned you are visiting from France, which part of France do you live in?" he asked, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his dark denim jeans as your footsteps echoed softly against the stone pavement.

You told him about your hometown, describing the architecture, the local food, and how different the atmosphere was compared to the bustling, sun-drenched energy of Italy. You explained that you were currently in the middle of a two-week family road trip across the northern and central regions of the country, spending days visiting historical landmarks and evenings eating endless plates of pasta with your parents and your brother.

"That sounds like a really great trip," Kimi said, nodding with genuine interest as he listened to every word you spoke. "Traveling with family can be a lot of fun, even if it gets a little crazy sometimes when everyone wants to do different things. How are you liking Italy so far, besides running into clumsy people on the sidewalk?"

"I love it here," you replied honestly, looking up at the beautiful frescoed ceilings of the portico above you. "The history is incredible, the people are so warm and welcoming, and the food is honestly ruining my expectations for whatever I have to eat when I go back home. My only problem today was that my family wanted to spend hours inside a shopping mall looking at leather jackets and handbags, so I escaped to get some fresh air and ice cream by myself."

Kimi laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed down the quiet street. "I do not blame you at all, shopping for clothes for hours is exhausting, I would much rather be outside walking around too," he said, pointing toward a small, picturesque cobblestone alleyway just ahead of you. "We turn right just up here. There is a tiny family-owned shop hidden away from the main tourist streets, and the elderly man who runs it makes everything fresh in the back every single morning. It is ten times better than the place you bought your first cone from, I promise you."

You followed him down the narrow side street, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the alleyway where the sounds of city traffic faded into the background. When you arrived at the shop, you saw that Kimi was absolutely right about its charm. It was a modest, rustic storefront with hand-painted signs and a marble counter displaying dozens of stainless steel tubs filled with intensely colored, creamy gelato. The moment the bells above the door chimed as you walked inside, the elderly man behind the counter looked up and smiled warmly, greeting Kimi in rapid, affectionate Italian as if he were a regular neighbor visiting his favorite neighborhood spot.

Kimi turned to you, gesturing toward the display with a proud grin. "Choose whatever you want, you can have as many flavors as can possibly fit on a cone, it is entirely on my tab today," he said, stepping back to let you inspect the options.

You took your time examining the rich selections, eventually settling on a classic dark chocolate hazelnut combined with a scoop of sweet, fragrant stracciatella to replace the one you had lost earlier. Kimi ordered for you in fluent, rapid Italian, his voice sounding smooth and confident as he chatted with the shopkeeper, and then he ordered a small cup of lemon sorbet for himself. He pulled out a worn leather wallet and paid the elderly man before you could even think about reaching into your purse, refusing to let you touch your money. He handed you your fresh waffle cone with exaggerated care, holding it with two hands as if it were a fragile piece of priceless art.

"Here you go, delivered safely without any collisions," he teased, his eyes sparkling with humor as you took the cone from him. "Now, we just need to find a safe place to sit down so I do not manage to knock this one out of your hands while we walk."

You stepped back out into the warm afternoon air, taking a taste of the hazelnut gelato, and your eyes widened in delight at the rich, velvety texture. "You were not lying, this is absolutely incredible," you said, pointing your scoop toward him in approval. "You are completely forgiven for destroying my first ice cream, this more than makes up for it."

"I told you I knew the best spots," he said proudly, taking a spoonful of his lemon sorbet as he guided you down the alley toward a small, open square at the end of the street.

The piazza was quiet and picturesque, bordered by old stone buildings with green wooden shutters and centered around a small, ancient marble fountain that trickled softly in the background. At the far side of the square, shaded by the sprawling branches of a massive, centuries-old olive tree, sat a wide stone bench that looked out over the fountain. Kimi pointed toward it with his chin, and you both walked over, sitting down side by side in the cool shade of the leaves, enjoying the gentle breeze that rustled the branches above your heads.

For the next hour, sitting on that rustic stone bench under the Italian sun, time seemed to completely slow down. You ate your gelato slowly, savoring the cool sweetness while conversation flowed between you with a natural, effortless ease that you rarely experienced with strangers. There was no awkwardness, no forced small talk, and no uncomfortable pauses to fill. You simply talked about life, about getting older, about the challenges of navigating the transition from teenager to adult, and about your daily routines.

You told him about your typical weekdays back in France, describing how your alarm goes off way too early in the morning, how you rush to catch the crowded metro to get to your university lectures on time, and how you spend your weekends working a part-time job at a local bookstore or meeting your closest friends for coffee and pastries at small corner cafés. You talked about your academic struggles, your dreams for your future career after graduation, and how much you valued simple, quiet moments of peace amidst the chaotic demands of schoolwork and exams.

When you turned the conversation toward him, asking about his everyday life in Italy and what his routine looked like, you noticed a brief, almost imperceptible shift in his body language. For a fraction of a second, his shoulders tensed slightly, and his eyes flicked down to his sorbet cup as if he were mentally calculating how much truth he could safely share without blowing his cover and destroying the comfortable normality of the afternoon. But when he looked back up at you and saw only genuine, uncomplicated curiosity in your eyes, he relaxed visibly, letting out a soft breath.

"My routine is a bit different, honestly," Kimi explained, his voice taking on a thoughtful, humble tone as he leaned his elbows on his knees, looking out toward the bubbling fountain. "I work in the automotive industry, in racing development and testing, so my job involves an insane amount of travel. I am basically on the road or flying to different countries every single week, spending days away from my family and my friends here in Italy."

"That sounds incredible, but also really exhausting," you said softly, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the olive leaves to dance across his dark hair. "Do you ever get tired of constantly moving around?"

"Yeah, I really do," he admitted, turning his head to look at you with an expression of striking honesty that made your heart flutter slightly. "People think traveling all the time is glamorous, but most of the time you only see airports, hotel rooms, and work facilities. My mornings start really early with strict physical training in the gym, running, and lifting weights, and then I spend hours studying data, working with engineers, and practicing in simulators. It is a very high-pressure environment, and everyone is constantly expecting you to perform at the absolute highest level without making any mistakes. If you have a bad day at work, hundreds of people notice, and the pressure can feel really heavy sometimes."

You listened to him speak, hearing the genuine weight of his reality beneath the carefully simplified description of his Formula One career. You knew exactly what he was talking about, you knew the relentless media scrutiny he faced after every qualifying session and every race, but you did not give away your secret. Instead, you responded to him purely as a sympathetic peer, offering the comfort of someone who simply cared about his human feelings.

"It sounds like you carry a lot of responsibility for someone our age," you said gently, offering him a warm, understanding smile. "When your entire life is structured around performance and competition, it must be hard to just be yourself and breathe without someone evaluating you. I think it is really important to have moments like this, where you do not have to worry about data, expectations, or training schedules, where you can just sit under a tree and eat sorbet without anyone asking anything of you."

Kimi stared at you for a long moment, his brown eyes softening with an intense, profound warmth that seemed to reach all the way to his soul. You could literally see the tension leaving his body, his posture softening against the stone backrest of the bench as a genuine, relaxed smile spread across his face. He was completely relieved that you did not recognize him, and he was reveling in the intoxicating freedom of just being a normal nineteen-year-old boy chatting with a pretty French girl on a summer afternoon. He did not have to guard his words against reporters, he did not have to worry about someone secretly filming him with a smartphone, and he did not have to answer questions about his car's aerodynamic balance or his team's championship standings. To you, he was just a nice guy who bumped into you on the sidewalk, and you could see how deeply he cherished that simple, uncomplicated acceptance.

"You are completely right," Kimi said softly, his voice filled with a quiet, genuine gratitude as he smiled at you. "It is really easy to forget how to relax when you are always rushing to the next deadline or the next event. Being sitting here talking to you today, listening to your stories about France and school, it feels like the first time I have actually breathed properly in months. You have a really calming way of looking at the world, and it is really nice to be around."

A light blush warmed your cheeks at his compliment, and you looked down at your empty waffle cone, feeling a deep, undeniable connection growing between the two of you. For the next hour, the conversation shifted away from heavy topics and moved into lighthearted banter, teasing arguments, and shared laughter. You debated whether French croissants were superior to Italian cornetti, you laughed at his funny stories about his childhood attempts at cooking traditional meals, and you taught him a few slang phrases in French while he tried to teach you how to pronounce difficult Italian tongue twisters. Every time he laughed, throwing his head back with a carefree, joyful sound, you felt a surge of happiness knowing that you were giving him a genuine break from the intense, highly monitored reality of his professional life.

Suddenly, the peaceful spell of the afternoon was broken by the sharp, persistent buzzing of your smartphone vibrating inside your small crossbody bag. You pulled the phone out and saw a flood of text messages and missed calls from your mother and your older brother on the home screen. They had finished their shopping marathon at the department store, they were currently waiting for you by the main monument in Piazza Maggiore, and they were eager to head back to the hotel to wash up before your scheduled family dinner reservation at a restaurant across town.

A sudden, heavy pang of disappointment hit your chest as you read the messages, realizing that your magical afternoon in the shade of the olive tree had come to an inevitable end. You sighed softly, locking your screen and dropping the phone back into your bag before turning to look at Kimi, whose face had already fallen as he sensed the change in your demeanor.

"I have to leave," you said softly, the reluctance clear in your voice as you stood up from the stone bench and smoothed down the skirt of your summer dress, which now bore only a faint, damp outline where the pistachio gelato had originally landed. "My family is waiting for me at the main square, and if I am late for dinner, my mother will lecture me for the rest of our vacation."

Kimi stood up immediately alongside you, his tall frame suddenly seeming a bit nervous and unsettled as he brushed his hands against his jeans. The buoyant, relaxed energy he had carried for the past two hours seemed to evaporate, replaced by a tangible sadness at the thought of watching you walk away. "Of course, I completely understand, family dinners are sacred in Italy too, you cannot be late for that," he said, his voice dropping into a quieter, slightly wistful register as he looked down at you. "I really want to thank you for being so wonderful today. I am genuinely glad I bumped into you on the street, even if it cost you your first ice cream and ruined your clothes for a little while."

"I am really glad you bumped into me too," you replied, smiling warmly at him as you stepped out from beneath the shade of the olive tree into the golden early evening sunlight. "You know, it is funny, we spent almost three hours sitting on that bench talking about our entire lives, and we never even officially introduced ourselves or exchanged names. I am your clumsy French tourist friend, but my name is actually," you paused, looking him in the eyes as you told him your full first name, letting the sound of it hang in the quiet Italian air.

His face brightened immediately, his eyes memorizing the sound of your name as a soft, unforgettable smile graced his lips. "That is a really beautiful name, it fits you perfectly," he said, stepping a little closer to you, his hands resting nervously at his sides. "My name is Andrea, but everyone in my life calls me Kimi. It is truly, very nice to meet you."

"It is very nice to meet you too, Kimi," you said, committing the sound of his voice introducing himself as just a normal boy to your memory.

You took a step backward toward the exit of the square, preparing to head back toward the busy streets to meet your parents, but then you stopped. You looked at him standing there by the marble fountain, looking so sweet, so humble, and so genuinely sad to see your time together end. You knew that once you walked away into the bustling city crowds, the moment would be over, and you wanted to leave him with one final, honest gift before you vanished from his afternoon.

You took a half step back toward him, looking him directly in his wide brown eyes with a calm, steady expression. "And just so you know, Kimi," you said, your voice clear and gentle over the subtle ambient noise of the fountain, "I knew exactly who you were the very second you bumped into me on the sidewalk today. I am a massive Formula One fan, and I have been watching you race and supporting your career ever since your debut."

Kimi froze completely still, his eyes widening to an almost impossible size as his jaw dropped slightly in sheer, paralyzed shock. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock up as his brain struggled to process what you had just said, his defenses entirely unprepared for the revelation that his secret had never been a secret at all.

Before he could stammer out a single syllable or try to explain himself, you continued speaking, a warm, affectionate smile spreading across your face as you looked at his stunned expression. "I wanted to treat you like a normal human being today, like a regular nineteen-year-old guy my age, and not like a world-famous celebrity," you explained softly, your tone carrying a deep, sincere respect that made his breath hitch in his throat. "I know how suffocating the pressure of the media and the paddock can be, and I think it is always good to be seen for who you really are beneath the racing helmet, not just the public persona everyone watches on television. I wanted to get to know Kimi the boy today, not just Kimi the Formula One driver, and I am really, really glad I got the chance to do that. You are a wonderful person, and I wish you the absolute best of luck with the rest of your season."

Without giving him a single second to recover from the shock, without giving him time to formulate a reply, ask for your phone number, or utter a word, you turned on your heel and walked swiftly away. You moved quickly out of the quiet square and merged into the bustling flow of evening pedestrians on the main thoroughfare, leaving him standing completely frozen next to the ancient olive tree, his heart pounding inside his chest faster than it ever did sitting on the starting grid of a Grand Prix, his mind spinning with the memory of the French girl who had just turned his entire world upside down.

For the next three days, as your family trip continued through the museums and cathedrals of Bologna, your mind was constantly drifting back to that shaded square and the expression of absolute astonishment on Kimi Antonelli face when you left him there. You wondered if you had been too abrupt, if you should have stayed to let him speak, or if your decision to leave without leaving a way to contact you had been a terrible mistake. What you did not know, what you could not see, was the chaotic aftermath your sudden departure had triggered in his world.

The moment you vanished into the crowd that evening, Kimi had snapped out of his paralyzed daze and run to the edge of the street, searching frantically through the sea of tourists and locals in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of your summer dress, but you were already gone. He had returned to his apartment that night in a state of restless, nervous excitement that completely disrupted his normal training routine. He had pulled out his phone and immediately called his manager and his closest trainers, pacing around his living room as he tried to explain what had just happened to him. He told them that he had just met the most extraordinary, perceptive, and genuinely kind girl he had ever encountered in his entire life, a French tourist whose first name he knew by heart, but whose phone number or last name he had completely failed to ask for because he was too slow to react to your parting speech. For three solid days, while attending meetings at the factory and working out in the gym, Kimi was distracted, constantly checking crowd photos online, walking down Via dell Indipendenza whenever he had a spare hour, and tormenting his friends with endless conversations about how he needed to find a way to see you again before your vacation ended and you flew back to France.

On the fourth afternoon after your encounter, your family was spending their final full day in Bologna exploring the grand basilicas near the city center. You had been feeling a quiet, persistent sadness all morning, a heavy realization that you would be leaving Italy tomorrow without ever knowing what Kimi had thought of your final words. While your parents sat down at an outdoor café to drink afternoon espresso and review your travel itinerary for the drive back to France, you felt an overwhelming, magnetic pull to go for one last walk by yourself. You excused yourself from the table, promising to return in an hour, and let your feet guide you instinctively through the labyrinth of cobblestoned alleys until you found yourself standing at the entrance of the quiet, familiar square.

The afternoon sun was hitting the marble fountain in the center of the piazza, casting dancing reflections of light across the stone pavement. You walked slowly across the square toward the old olive tree, your eyes resting on the wide stone bench where you had shared your ice cream and your stories just three days ago. The bench was empty now, shaded by the green leaves, and you stood there for a quiet moment, touching the rough stone with your hand as a bittersweet smile touched your lips, quietly cherishing the memory of the sweet Italian boy who had bought you gelato.

Suddenly, the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps jogging across the stone pavement from the opposite entrance of the square broke the silence, followed immediately by a voice calling your name out loud over the gentle splashing of the fountain water.

You spun around in surprise, your heart leaping into your throat as you saw him. Running across the piazza directly toward you was Kimi. He was dressed in a dark grey hoodie and athletic shorts despite the afternoon warmth, his chest heaving slightly as he came to a sudden halt just a few paces away from you. He rested his hands on his knees for a second, catching his breath from sprinting through the streets, before he stood up straight and looked at you. His dark brown eyes were wide, his face flushed with exertion, and his features were illuminated by an expression of pure, absolute, unfiltered relief that made your breath catch in your chest.

"I cannot believe it, it is actually you," Kimi breathed out, taking two quick steps closer to you as a dazzling, radiant smile spread across his face, replacing the breathless panic he had arrived with. "I have been coming back to this exact same bench every single afternoon at this exact same time for the past three days, just sitting here hoping against hope that you would wander back to this square before your vacation was over."

You looked at him, completely overwhelmed by the realization that he had actively been searching for you, that a world-famous athlete with a million demands on his time had been sitting on a stone bench every day just for the chance to see you again. "You came back here every day?" you asked softly, a smile breaking across your face as a wave of warmth flooded your heart. "Why?"

"Why? Because you completely blew my mind three days ago, and then you vanished into thin air before I could even say a single word to you," Kimi said, laughing out loud as he ran a hand through his messy dark hair, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked down at you. "Do you have any idea what you did to me? You sat here for hours treating me like a normal, boring guy, letting me complain about my travel schedule and laugh without any pressure, knowing the entire time who I was, and then you dropped the sweetest, most thoughtful speech anyone has ever given me and just ran away. I have driven my manager and my family completely crazy talking about you for the past seventy-two hours. I genuinely thought I had lost my only chance to ever see you again."

"I am sorry for running away like that," you said, laughing softly as you stepped closer to him, looking up into his warm, expressive eyes. "I just wanted you to know that your secret was safe with me, and I did not want to make things awkward or put you on the spot by asking for anything from you."

"You did not make anything awkward, you made me feel more normal and respected than I have felt since my entire career exploded," Kimi said firmly, his expression softening into deep, earnest affection as he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out his smartphone. He unlocked the screen and held it out toward you with a determined, hopeful grin. "And you are absolutely not leaving this square today without typing your phone number into my contact list. I refuse to let you disappear back to France without giving me a way to talk to you every single day."

You smiled happily, taking his phone from his hand and typing your personal cell phone number into his contacts, saving your name with a little French flag emoji next to it so he would always remember your home. When you handed the phone back to him, he immediately pressed the call button, waiting until your own phone vibrated inside your crossbody bag to make sure he had the right digits saved.

"There, now I have you," Kimi said, locking his phone and slipping it safely back into his pocket, his shoulders dropping in complete relaxation now that he knew you were not going to vanish from his life again. He looked down at you, his brown eyes shining with genuine excitement and curiosity. "How much longer do you have in Italy before your family goes back home? Please tell me you do not have to leave tonight."

"We leave tomorrow morning after breakfast," you replied, watching his face drop slightly at the short timeline before you smiled to reassure him. "But I have the entire evening free today. My parents are packing at the hotel tonight, so I am completely off duty until tomorrow."

"Then you are spending the rest of this evening with me," Kimi declared without a moment of hesitation, gesturing toward the quiet side streets that led away from the tourist crowds. "I know a quiet, private little trattoria tucked away in the hills where the owners are old friends of my family and never let anyone bother us. Let me take you to dinner properly tonight, as Kimi the boy, not Kimi the driver. We have three whole days of missed conversation to catch up on."

That final evening in Bologna was nothing short of magical. Kimi guided you through the hidden, picturesque backstreets of the city to his car, driving you out into the rolling green hills that surrounded the urban center. He took you to a secluded, rustic restaurant overlooking the valley, where the elderly owners greeted him with warm embraces and immediately seated you at a private table on a quiet stone terrace beneath a canopy of grapevines and fairy lights. Far away from the flash of paparazzi cameras, motorsport reporters, and the intense pressure of the F1 paddock, you spent the entire evening eating incredible handmade pasta, sharing desserts, and talking for hours under the starlight. By the time he drove you back to your hotel late that night, walking you to the front entrance and leaving you with a lingering, gentle kiss on your cheek and a promise to text you the moment you woke up, you knew that your life had changed forever.

When you flew back to France the following morning with your family, returning to your regular university routine and your part-time bookstore job, the geographical distance between you and Kimi did nothing to slow down the intense connection you had formed in Italy. In fact, as the weeks turned into months, your communication only grew deeper, becoming an indispensable, constant foundation in both of your lives.

Your phone became a lifeline bridging the gap between your quiet student life in France and his chaotic, high-speed reality traveling the global Formula One circuit. Because he was constantly crossing time zones, flying from European races to intense flyaway events in Asia and the Americas, your daily rhythm adapted to his crazy calendar. You woke up every single morning to long, affectionate voice notes recorded while he was walking the track in Singapore, sitting in hotel rooms in Austin, or waiting for engineering briefings in Sao Paulo. He would tell you about his tire degradation, complain playfully about the intense humidity inside the cockpit, and ask endless questions about your university literature assignments, your exams, and the funny interactions you had with customers at the bookstore.

In return, you became his absolute safe harbor, the one person in the entire world he could confide in without fearing judgment, criticism, or leaked stories. Whenever he had a difficult qualifying session where his lap times fell short, or when a race weekend ended in frustration and mechanical failure, you were the first person he called from his private driver room. You never offered him unsolicited technical advice or treated him like a failing sports star. You simply listened to him vent, offered a calming, loving voice that reminded him of who he was outside of the racing car, and grounded him in the quiet reality of ordinary life. You sent him photos of your morning coffee, snapshots of rain falling on French streets, and silly jokes that made him laugh out loud in the middle of stressful team debriefings. Over the phone, through thousands of text messages, late-night video calls, and shared secrets, your friendship blossomed into a deep, undeniable romance.

Finally, during a rare two-week autumn break in the relentless Formula One racing calendar, Kimi arranged for the two of you to meet again in person. Desperate for privacy away from the probing eyes of the Italian sports media who monitored his hometown of Bologna, he rented a private, secluded villa nestled along the quiet shores of Lake Como in northern Italy. He flew you out from France for the long weekend, picking you up at the airport in a tinted sedan and driving you up into the mountains where the autumn leaves were turning brilliant shades of gold and deep crimson against the dark, peaceful water of the lake.

The weekend was a secluded paradise, an intimate sanctuary where you could finally be together without a screen separating your faces. On your second evening at the villa, after cooking a simple dinner together in the kitchen and laughing at his clumsy attempts at flipping pasta in the pan, you both walked out onto the wide stone terrace overlooking the moonlight reflecting off Lake Como. The mountain air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine trees and fresh water, and Kimi stood close beside you, wrapping a thick, warm woolen blanket around your shoulders to protect you from the autumn chill before sliding his arm around your waist.

He was dressed simply in a dark sweater and comfortable trousers, looking exceptionally handsome in the silver moonlight, yet as he looked down at you, his expressive brown eyes held that same sweet, nervous vulnerability that you had first seen when he bumped into you on the sidewalk months ago. He turned slightly, taking both of your hands in his and pulling you gently to face him, his thumbs brushing slowly, rhythmically across your knuckles as he took a deep, steadying breath.

"I have been thinking about what I wanted to say to you tonight all week," Kimi said softly, his voice full of rich, genuine emotion as his gaze locked onto yours, refusing to look away. "Ever since that day you walked out of my life in Bologna and I had to spend three days hunting for you in the square, you have completely consumed my entire world. You have become my best friend, my greatest support, and the first person I want to talk to every time I open my eyes in the morning or close them at night."

Your heart began to beat rapidly against your ribs, a warm, overwhelming wave of happiness spreading through your chest as you looked up into his earnest face, feeling the gentle strength of his hands holding yours.

"My life is completely crazy, and I know that better than anyone," Kimi continued, his voice dropping into a tender, passionate tone as he stepped even closer to you, closing the remaining distance between your bodies. "The Formula One world is intense, the media can be ruthless, and the pressure is something I have to deal with every single day of my career. But whenever I am talking to you, whenever I hear your voice or read your messages, all of that pressure just disappears. You see the real me, you love Kimi the boy who loves simple things and makes terrible mistakes on the sidewalk, and you make me a better person and a stronger driver just by being in my life."

He paused for a second, his eyes searching your face with quiet, intense hope before he asked the question that would define your future. "I am completely, deeply in love with you," he whispered, his hands squeezing your fingers gently. "Will you please be my girlfriend? I know the public eye is terrifying, so I promise you that we can keep our relationship completely our secret for as long as you need. We can keep it entirely between us, away from the cameras and the reporters, protecting our peace and protecting what we have built together until we are both ready to share it with the world. I just want to be yours, and I want you to be mine."

Tears of pure joy pricked the corners of your eyes as you smiled up at him, without a single second of doubt or hesitation in your heart. You let go of his hands, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up on your tiptoes as you answered him. "Yes, of course I will be your girlfriend, Kimi," you whispered against his lips. "I love you too, exactly as you are, and I am ready for whatever crazy life brings us as long as we are facing it together."

His face illuminated with sheer, overwhelming happiness, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips just before he leaned down and captured your mouth with his. The kiss was slow, incredibly tender, and filled with all the accumulated longing, affection, and passion that had been building between you over months of late-night phone calls and long-distance yearning. Standing there on the quiet terrace overlooking Lake Como, wrapped in his arms beneath the autumn stars, you officially tied your life to his, agreeing to step into the shadows of his high-speed world as his secret partner, his confidante, and the absolute love of his life.

For the next entire year, you and Kimi lived in a beautiful, exciting, and fiercely protected secret bubble. As his Formula One career continued to flourish under the intense spotlight of the global media, your relationship remained a private sanctuary known only to your immediate families, his personal manager, and a handful of his most trusted team members who swore absolute secrecy. You perfected the art of navigating the high-stakes world of international motorsports without ever letting a single reporter or photographer catch your silhouette on camera.

Whenever your university schedule in France allowed you to travel to his European races, you arrived at the circuits in private, tinted team vehicles long after the media scrums had cleared the gates. You watched him drive from the deep back corners of the team garage, dressed in plain, unbranded casual clothes, wearing a standard VIP pass that revealed nothing about your true connection to the driver in the cockpit. You spent evenings in his private motorhome, cooking dinner together, watching movies, and rubbing his shoulders after brutal qualifying sessions, providing him with a quiet, loving oasis of normal domestic life right in the middle of the roaring, chaotic F1 circus. When rumors occasionally surfaced on social media about his relationship status or fans speculated about who he was dating, you both simply sat on the couch in his apartment during break weeks, reading the wild internet theories together and laughing out loud at how completely wrong everyone was, cherishing the quiet power of knowing that your love belonged entirely to you and no one else.

It was not always easy keeping such a massive part of your life hidden in the dark. There were moments when you stood in the back of the garage watching him celebrate a fantastic podium finish, desperately wanting to run out into the pit lane and throw your arms around him for the entire world to see, but holding yourself back to protect his focus and your personal peace. Yet, through every challenge, every flight, and every moment of distance, your unbreakable bond only grew stronger. By the time twelve full months had passed since that magical autumn night on Lake Como, you had successfully built a rock-solid foundation of trust, communication, and deep emotional intimacy that no media storm or paparazzi pressure could ever threaten or shatter.

Then came September, bringing the most important and emotionally charged weekend on Kimi racing calendar, the Italian Grand Prix at the legendary Autodromo Nazionale Monza. It was his home race, set in the historic parklands just outside Milan, where tens of thousands of passionate Italian racing fans gathered under the late summer sun, waving massive flags, chanting his name, and filling the grandstands with a deafening sea of red and silver support.

On the evening before the race weekend officially began, you were sitting together on the balcony of his hotel room in Milan, looking out over the city lights as the warm September breeze ruffled your hair. Kimi was sitting next to you, holding your hand tightly in his lap as he looked down at your intertwined fingers with a quiet, contemplative expression.

"We have been hiding for a whole year now," Kimi said softly, turning his head to look at you with deep, steady affection in his brown eyes. "You have been my absolute rock through the hardest and most exciting year of my life. You have hidden in garages, sneaked through hotel back doors, and dealt with all the stress of my job without ever complaining once, all just to protect our relationship and keep me focused."

"I would do it all over again in a heartbeat," you replied honestly, leaning your head against his shoulder and feeling the familiar, reassuring rhythm of his breathing. "I never minded keeping it our secret, Kimi. I just wanted you to be happy and safe."

"I know you did, and that is exactly why I do not want to hide you anymore," Kimi said, his voice dropping into a firm, resolute tone that made you lift your head to look at him. He shifted his body, taking both of your hands and lifting them to press a gentle, lingering kiss against your palms. "I am so incredibly proud of you, I am so proud of what we have together, and I am completely tired of pretending that I am walking into that paddock alone every morning when the only reason I am driving so well is because you are waiting for me at the end of the day. This is my home race, in front of my home country and my family, and I want to walk through those paddock gates holding the hand of the girl I love. I want the entire world to finally know who has my heart. Are you ready to hard launch this relationship tomorrow morning and step out into the sunlight with me?"

You looked into his eyes, seeing the absolute certainty, pride, and overflowing love shining within them, and all your previous fears about media scrutiny and public attention completely melted away. You were no longer the nervous French tourist who ran away from a celebrity in a square, and he was no longer a stranger hiding behind sunglasses. You were equals, partners, and deeply in love, and you were ready to stand by his side where everyone could see.

"Yes," you said, a radiant, happy smile breaking across your face as you squeezed his hands tightly. "I am completely ready, Kimi. Let us show them."

The following morning, the atmosphere outside the Monza circuit was electric, vibrating with the deafening roar of engines, the cheering of thousands of fans, and the energetic chatter of the global sports media gathered around the main VIP paddock entrance. Photographers lined the red carpet walkway with heavy lenses raised, television reporters stood before rolling cameras broadcasting live to millions of viewers around the globe, and team principals and drivers hurried through the security turnstiles surrounded by publicists and security guards.

A sleek, black, heavily tinted Mercedes team sedan pulled up to the curb right at the start of the paddock walkway, causing a sudden ripple of excitement to surge through the gathered crowd of journalists and fans. Camera shutters immediately began to click in a rapid, mechanical crescendo as everyone prepared to capture the arrival of the hometown hero, Andrea Kimi Antonelli, for his biggest race of the season.

Inside the quiet, air-conditioned cabin of the car, Kimi turned to look at you sitting on the leather seat beside him. You looked absolutely stunning, dressed in a sharp, elegant pair of tailored trousers and a pristine white blouse, with his official team jacket draped casually over your shoulders, his driver number subtly embroidered on the lapel for everyone to see. He reached over, taking your hand in his and giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze, his eyes locking onto yours with a bright, confident grin.

"Ready, my love?" he asked softly over the muffled sounds of the shouting crowd outside the vehicle doors.

"Ready," you replied without a single flutter of hesitation, squeezing his hand right back as you squared your shoulders.

The security guard opened the rear door of the sedan, letting in the warm September sunlight and the roaring noise of the Monza crowd. Kimi stepped out of the car first, his dark sunglasses resting on his face, looking sharp, focused, and undeniably handsome in his official team apparel. A massive cheer erupted from the grandstands across the street as the fans recognized him, and reporters immediately began calling his name, pushing microphones forward over the security barriers to get a quote from the young Italian star.

Instead of turning to walk down the paddock carpet toward the team hospitality suite the way he usually did, Kimi paused right at the open door of the car. He turned his back entirely to the flashing cameras and the shouting reporters, reaching his right hand back inside the dark cabin toward you with an open, inviting palm.

You placed your hand firmly into his, feeling his strong fingers immediately wrap around yours, interlocking your digits in an unbreakable grip. With a smooth, gentle pull, he guided you out of the car into the brilliant morning sunlight, stepping back slightly so you stood right by his side on the pavement in front of the entire Formula One world.

The moment you stepped out onto the asphalt holding his hand, wearing his team jacket over your shoulders, a sudden, collective gasp seemed to ripple through the gathered media scrum, followed instantly by an absolute explosion of flashing camera lights and frantic shouts from reporters. The rapid clicking of camera shutters doubled in speed, sounding like a torrential downpour of rain as photographers scrambled to get clear shots of the unknown French girl who had just materialized out of thin air, walking hand in hand with the most famous young bachelor on the grid.

"Kimi, over here! Who is your guest today?" a British reporter shouted over the barrier, waving a microphone frantically toward your faces.

"Andrea, look this way! Are you two dating? How long have you been together?" an Italian journalist called out, trying to get a clear angle of your face as you walked onto the red carpet walkway.

You felt a brief, momentary wave of adrenaline rush through your veins at the overwhelming noise and the intense focus of a hundred camera lenses directed straight at you, but before the pressure could even begin to touch you, Kimi pulled you slightly closer to his side. His thumb began to trace smooth, comforting circles over the back of your hand right there in front of the cameras, grounding you instantly in the familiar, loving safety of his touch. He did not let go of your hand, he did not rush his pace to escape the media, and he did not hide his face. Instead, he slowed his walk down, keeping you tucked safely against his side as he walked down the center of the Monza paddock with his head held high, his shoulders relaxed, and a proud, magnificent smile beaming across his face that told the entire world everything they needed to know.

As you walked together past the rows of team motorhomes, walking smoothly through the security turnstiles toward the Mercedes hospitality suite, Kimi suddenly paused right in the middle of the crowded paddock thoroughfare, directly in front of the main television broadcast crews who were filming live for the morning pre-race show. He turned his body completely toward you, ignoring the cameras, the reporters, and the shouting fans entirely, focusing his entire world solely on you.

He reached up with his free hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your forehead with tenderness that made the surrounding photographers click their shutters in absolute frenzy. Then, with a slow, deliberate grace, he leaned down and pressed a long, deeply affectionate kiss to the side of your head right in front of the rolling broadcast cameras, letting his lips linger against your hair as he whispered into your ear so only you could hear him over the roar of the Monza crowd.

"I am so glad I knocked over your ice cream that day," Kimi whispered softly, his voice full of warmth, humor, and endless, overflowing love. "You are my entire world, and I love you so much."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with pure, unadulterated happiness as you looked at the sweet, incredible boy who had completely captured your heart on a sunny street in Bologna. You squeezed his hand tightly, walking hand in hand with him through the glass doors of the team hospitality suite, stepping out of the shadow of secrecy forever and stepping into a bright, beautiful future together, ready to face whatever the racing world had in store side by side as equals, partners, and deeply in love.

There was something about seeing her asleep that always managed to slow him down. The outside world could be pulling at him from every direction—engineers, sponsors, interviews, flights—but the second he walked into a room and found Amelie peacefully sleeping, everything else somehow became significantly less urgent.

A small smile settled across his face.

He padded quietly across the carpet until he reached his side of the bed, carefully lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress. The movement made it dip ever so slightly beneath his weight, but she didn't stir beyond the tiniest shift against her pillow.

Lando turned onto his side behind her, closing the small distance between them until he was pressed gently against her back.

He smiled to himself before leaning forward, brushing the lightest kiss against the bare curve of her shoulder where the oversized shirt had slipped slightly during the night. His lips lingered there for a brief second before traveling higher, leaving another soft kiss just below her neck, then another against her shoulder blade, each one deliberately slow as though he were trying to wake her without ever actually disturbing the peace surrounding them.

Amelie smiled before she was even fully awake.

Somewhere between dreaming and consciousness, she immediately recognized him. No one else kissed her with that particular combination of tenderness and quiet amusement, as though he enjoyed the process of waking her almost as much as he enjoyed having her awake. She let out the faintest sleepy hum, her smile growing a little wider as another kiss found the corner of her jaw before one brushed lazily across her cheek.

Lando chuckled softly against her skin.

—You're supposed to be asleep,— he whispered, his voice still rough from sleep himself.

Her eyelashes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the warm morning light filtering through the curtains. She stayed exactly where she was for another second, savoring the feeling of his arm resting loosely around her waist before lazily rolling onto her back to look up at him.

His curls were somehow even messier than usual, sticking up in every direction imaginable, and he still wore nothing except a pair of black boxers. The combination made him look far less like the reigning Formula One World Champion and much more like the twenty-six-year-old she'd fallen hopelessly in love with.

She smiled sleepily.

—How exactly am I supposed to stay asleep,— she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, —when I get woken up so beautifully?—

Lando let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and sleepy as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. His fingertips lingered gently against her cheek, his smile impossibly soft beneath the morning light streaming through the windows.

—That sounds suspiciously like encouragement,— he murmured.

Amelie smiled up at him, still blinking away the last traces of sleep.

—Maybe it is.—

He shook his head with an amused little smile before leaning down once more, capturing her lips in another slow kiss. It wasn't hurried in the slightest. There was no urgency waiting for them despite the schedule everyone else had carefully planned. For those few seconds, Wimbledon, interviews, photographers, and London itself simply didn't exist. There was only the quiet room, tangled white sheets, and the familiar comfort they always found in each other.

When they finally separated, their foreheads rested together naturally.

—I was trying to let you sleep in,— Lando whispered.

—You failed terribly.—

—I know.— He smiled. —I'm not even sorry about it.—

She laughed quietly, one hand finding the back of his neck almost absentmindedly.

—I noticed.—

He looked at her for another moment, studying the sleepy smile that still hadn't disappeared from her face. It amazed him how someone could wake up looking so effortlessly peaceful, as though mornings had never been capable of being anything except gentle.

—You still look half asleep,— he observed.

Amelie stretched lazily beneath the duvet, one arm disappearing above her head as she let out the tiniest yawn imaginable. The oversized white shirt slid slightly higher along one shoulder, and she smiled without opening her eyes again, looking entirely content to drift straight back to sleep if given the opportunity.

—I think that's because I was asleep thirty seconds ago,— she replied, her voice still thick with sleep. —You're expecting miracles before coffee.—

Lando laughed quietly, unable to resist brushing another feather-light kiss against the tip of her nose.

—I did bring coffee.—

She opened one eye dramatically.

—See? You really do know the way to my heart.—

—Pretty sure I figured that out years ago.—

Before she could think of another teasing reply, a faint scratching noise echoed from the other side of the bedroom door.

The soft scratching came again, a little more persistent this time, followed by the tiniest, most pitiful whine imaginable.

Lando froze for exactly half a second before the corners of his mouth twitched upward into an unmistakable smile.

The scratching resumed with renewed determination, accompanied by another tiny, dramatic cry that sounded almost offended they hadn't answered immediately. Charlie had clearly decided that enough time had passed without either of his humans acknowledging his existence, and he intended to remedy that problem as quickly as possible.

Amelie couldn't help laughing softly, burying her face briefly against Lando's shoulder. Even after months of having Charlie, the puppy remained completely convinced that every closed door represented a personal betrayal. Whether they were asleep, showering, or simply changing clothes, Charlie viewed separation as an inconvenience that required immediate correction, preferably through persistent scratching and the saddest noises a dog could possibly produce.

—I think someone is feeling neglected,— she mumbled, her voice still sleepy as another scratch scraped gently across the painted wood.

Lando sighed dramatically, though the grin stretching across his face ruined every attempt at sounding inconvenienced. He gave her one last quick kiss before reluctantly untangling himself from the warmth of the bed.

Lando pushed himself upright with an exaggerated groan, stretching until his shoulders clicked softly. Still dressed in nothing but his black boxers, he lifted both arms above his head as he walked across the bedroom, his curls sticking out in every possible direction after a full night's sleep. The morning sun caught the faint tan lines across his shoulders as he reached the door, and he couldn't help smiling before he even turned the handle. There was absolutely no mystery about who was waiting on the other side.

The moment the door opened, Charlie practically tumbled into the room.

The golden retriever puppy bounded across the threshold with all the enthusiasm only a puppy could possess, his tail wagging so violently that his entire body swayed with it. He let out a delighted little bark before making a beeline for the bed, his paws skidding slightly against the polished wooden floor as he struggled to stop himself from launching onto the mattress without permission. Instead, he sat—remarkably obedient for once—right beside Amelie's side of the bed, staring up at her with impossibly bright brown eyes and a smile that somehow looked every bit as excited as a human's.

Lando leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the scene unfold with obvious amusement. Charlie's ears perked forward expectantly, his tail continuing to sweep enthusiastically across the floor while he waited for the invitation he knew he was supposed to receive. It was a routine they had accidentally created over the past few months. No matter how eager he was, Charlie had learned that the bed belonged to them first, and he wouldn't jump up until one of them invited him.

—Such a gentleman,— Lando said with a sleepy grin. —You cry like the world is ending, but suddenly you've got perfect manners.—

Charlie answered by letting out one tiny, impatient whine without taking his eyes off Amelie for even a second.

She couldn't stop smiling.

Still wrapped in the oversized Oxford shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs, Amelie slowly pushed herself upright against the headboard, her hair wonderfully messy after a full night's sleep. The duvet pooled around her lap while one sleeve slipped down toward her fingertips, making the shirt look even larger than it already was. She looked between Charlie's hopeful expression and Lando's amused one before laughing softly, the sound filling the quiet bedroom.

—I know, baby,— she cooed, her voice naturally slipping into the impossibly affectionate tone she reserved almost exclusively for Charlie. —You've been so patient, haven't you?—

Charlie's ears lifted instantly at the sound of her voice. His entire body seemed to vibrate with anticipation, though somehow he remained planted exactly where he was, his gaze fixed entirely on her face as though awaiting official approval from the highest authority imaginable.

Amelie lifted both hands toward the mattress and gave it two gentle pats before clapping lightly against the duvet.

—Come here.—

That was all the permission he needed.

Charlie sprang onto the bed in one effortless leap, landing with surprising grace before immediately making his way toward her. His tail wagged so enthusiastically it slapped against the duvet as he nudged his nose beneath her hand, practically demanding the morning cuddles he clearly believed were overdue. Within seconds, he had settled comfortably against her side, pressing his warm body into her hip while looking up at her with complete satisfaction, as though the morning had only truly begun now that everyone was together again.

—There he is,— Amelie laughed, scratching behind one floppy ear before rubbing both hands through his impossibly soft golden fur. —Life was simply unbearable for the last... what? Five whole minutes?—

Charlie responded by licking the back of her hand with complete seriousness.

—I think that's a yes,— Lando observed, chuckling as he wandered back toward the bed.

He climbed onto the mattress again, sitting beside them with one knee bent while watching Charlie immediately divide his attention between both of them. The puppy leaned against Amelie while stretching his neck toward Lando, determined not to neglect either parent for too long. It never failed to make Lando laugh how Charlie somehow managed to love them with equal enthusiasm, always finding impossible ways to be touching both of them at once.

—He's got separation anxiety,— Lando said, reaching over to rub Charlie's chest. —But only when it comes to us. Leave him with anyone else and he's perfectly fine. Close one bedroom door, though, and suddenly he's starring in his own tragedy.—

—Excuse you,— Amelie defended, still smiling as Charlie rested his chin on her thigh. —He's not dramatic. He's emotionally expressive.—

Lando looked at her with raised eyebrows.

—Emotionally expressive? He cried because I went to brush my teeth yesterday.—

—Well... you did disappear.—

—I disappeared into the ensuite for approximately ninety seconds.—

She shrugged with complete confidence, scratching beneath Charlie's chin until one of his back legs started kicking involuntarily.

—Ninety very long seconds.—

Lando laughed so hard he had to shake his head, reaching over to lace his fingers with hers where they rested against Charlie's back. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before leaning over to kiss the side of her head, smiling against her hair.

—I swear the two of you encourage each other.—

Amelie turned just enough to look at him, her eyes still carrying that sleepy softness from only minutes earlier.

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

—No?—

—Nope.—

Charlie chose that exact moment to roll dramatically onto his back between them, paws curled toward his chest in an unmistakable request for belly rubs.

Lando pointed down at him without taking his eyes off Amelie.

—Exhibit A.—

She looked at Charlie's shamelessly expectant expression before dissolving into laughter all over again.

—I stand corrected,— she admitted between giggles. —Maybe someone in this room is a little dramatic.—

Charlie barked once, happily accepting the belly rubs from both of them anyway, entirely unconcerned about the accusations being made at his expense. The bedroom filled with quiet laughter, sleepy smiles, and the contented sighs of a puppy who had successfully reunited his favorite people, while beyond the windows London continued waking for another busy day that, for just a little while longer, could wait.

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

liked by f1updates, landostandhq, and others

lanmeliehub: Lando and Amelie spotted together at Wimbledon today.

View all 283 comments

wimbledonwatch: NOT THEM GETTING DRAGGED TO WIMBLEDON AND STILL LOOKING LIKE THEY'RE ON A DATE 😭 → lanmeliehub: they make everything look romantic unfortunately → papayagirl: their biggest talent

papayaprincess: LANDO SAID HE WAS "FORCED" TO COME AND NOW HE'S SMILING LIKE THAT??? 😭 → orange4ever: Amelie effect

amelieupdates: she looks so happy omg 🥹 → amesnation: she always looks happiest when she's annoying him → papayahq: and he loves it

f1gossipdaily: remember when Lando said he didn't understand tennis and now he's attending Wimbledon 😭 → orangegrid: bro went from "no thanks" to front row → lan4ever: love changes a man

papayagirl: THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER WHILE THEY'RE WALKING??? → gridgirlie: don't zoom in i beg

tennisszn: came for the tennis stayed for the F1 crossover 😭 → f1updates: the paddock followed them to Wimbledon → orangeobsession: we're everywhere

landostandhq: waiting for the photo where Amelie explains the rules to him again 😭

ameliecentral: i just know she picked the outfits and he complained for 20 minutes → lan4life: accurate → orange4ever: but wore it anyway

f1detectives: this is the same man who said he wanted a quiet weekend btw → detectiveera: impossible with Amelie around 😭 → papayahq: he secretly loves it

gridgirlie: silverstone ➡️ wimbledon with no break??? they're stronger than me

orangeobsession: everyone talks about F1 WAG content but can we talk about tennis event Amelie + Lando content 😭 → amesdefender: a new category has been created → f1updates: elite crossover

papayaprincess: the funniest thing is he probably complained about coming and then had the best day → lanmeliehub: that's literally their relationship dynamic

f1updates: Lando at Wimbledon is the most "dragged by girlfriend" thing ever 😭 → orange4ever: and somehow he looks happy → papayahq: that's the important part

lanmeliehub: new challenge: find an event where these two don't turn it into a date → papayaprincess: impossible

tennisandtyres: the crossover nobody knew they needed 😭🎾🏎️ → f1updates: honestly the content is elite → papayagirl: F1 fans won today

orangeobsession: Lando pretending he doesn't like Wimbledon while sitting there with the biggest smile 😭

papayahq: someone check if Lando knows the score or if he's just there to hold her drink 😭 → f1fangirl99: his main job today → orange4ever: boyfriend duties > tennis knowledge

ameliecentral: she really said "you're coming with me" and he said "yes ma'am" 😭 → lanmeliehub: the power she has

f1gossipdaily: Lando Norris at Wimbledon was not on my 2026 bingo card → orangegrid: neither was him looking this comfortable → papayagirl: Amelie expanding his hobbies one event at a time

gridgirlie: i need the behind the scenes conversation of her convincing him to go 😭

f1fashion: can we appreciate their event fits though?? → paddockstyle: always coordinated without matching exactly → amesdefender: they understand the assignment

papayaprincess: the funniest part is he probably knows more about tennis now than he admits → tennisfan88: give him six months he'll have a favorite player

landostandhq: LANDO AT WIMBLEDON CONTENT IS SO FUNNY BECAUSE HE LOOKS LIKE A LOST GOLDEN RETRIEVER 😭 → gridgirlie: with Amelie as his guide → lan4ever: exactly

orangegrid: the way they look like they just went on a casual afternoon date 😭

amesnation: Amelie has officially introduced Lando to every British summer activity possible 😭

f1fangirl99: someone tell Lando he's allowed to admit he's having fun → papayaprincess: his brand is pretending everything is annoying → gridgirlie: meanwhile he's thriving

wagsdaily: the WAG crossover content this weekend has been elite → f1updates: race paddock 🤝 tennis courts

tennislover: respectfully, Amelie explaining tennis to Lando is probably hilarious → f1fangirl99: "no Lando, you can't just hit it harder" → papayaprincess: I CAN HEAR THIS

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

The applause around Centre Court rolled like distant thunder as the final spectators settled into their seats. The unmistakable atmosphere of Wimbledon surrounded them—the perfectly trimmed grass, the quiet murmur of thousands of conversations blending into one, and the occasional pop of champagne corks somewhere higher in the hospitality boxes. Cameras swept across the crowd every few minutes, pausing on celebrities, athletes, and familiar faces before moving on again as anticipation continued to build for the first semifinal of the afternoon.

Amelie adjusted the skirt of her white and red plaid dress as she settled more comfortably into her seat, crossing one leg neatly over the other. Her hair had been gathered into a soft ponytail that rested against the back of her neck, leaving a few wisps framing her face whenever the gentle London breeze wandered through Centre Court. Beside her, Lando looked effortlessly put together in a cream dress shirt tucked neatly into matching tailored trousers, his sunglasses hooked casually into the front of his shirt despite the overcast afternoon. It wasn't exactly where either of them would have chosen to spend their rare week off, but there was something undeniably pleasant about simply existing together without either of them having to perform.

To Lando's right sat George and Carmen, who had arrived only minutes before the players were scheduled to walk onto court. George had already spent the better part of fifteen minutes making observations about nearly every famous person scattered throughout the stands, earning more than one discreet elbow from Carmen whenever his commentary became slightly too loud for Wimbledon standards. The famously polite silence expected around Centre Court did very little to discourage him, forcing most of his opinions into exaggerated whispers that somehow remained just as noticeable.

The announcer's voice echoed softly through the stadium as another wave of applause rippled around the court, drawing everyone's attention toward the tunnel where the players would soon emerge. Amelie leaned forward slightly with genuine interest, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she admired the immaculate grass stretching before them.

A movement beside her pulled her attention away for only a second.

Someone had arrived for the remaining empty seat on her left.

The young man offered an apologetic smile as he carefully squeezed past the already seated spectators, quietly murmuring excuses before finally reaching his place. The second he turned toward her, recognition immediately spread across both of their faces.

Amelie's expression brightened almost instantly.

—Jack!— she whispered, mindful of the setting as she leaned over just enough to greet him. —I didn't know you were coming.—

Jack Innanen smiled just as warmly while settling into his seat, carefully placing his programme on his lap before turning toward her.

—Last-minute invitation,— he explained quietly. —I figured if someone offers Centre Court, you don't exactly say no.—

—Very true.—

They shared a quick, effortless laugh that carried the unmistakable ease of two people who had spent the better part of the last several weeks together.

—How's your week off treating you?— Jack asked.

—Surprisingly peaceful.— Amelie smiled. —Until they dragged us here.—

He laughed again.

Lando's attention drifted toward the conversation almost instinctively.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. In fact, he'd been watching the grounds crew finish their final preparations only seconds earlier. But hearing Amelie laugh—that particular laugh she reserved for people she genuinely enjoyed—made his eyes flicker sideways before he could stop himself. The unfamiliar man beside her looked around their age, relaxed in a navy blazer over an open-collared white shirt, and spoke to her with the easy familiarity of someone who didn't need introductions. Lando searched his memory, cycling through award shows, premieres, concerts, birthdays, after-parties, and every event they'd attended together over the years. Nothing. He had absolutely no idea who he was.

George noticed almost immediately.

Not because Lando had said anything, but because George Russell had developed an almost supernatural ability to detect even the slightest hint of paddock gossip before anyone else. Without turning his head from the court, he leaned a fraction closer.

—Who's your mate?— he whispered with complete innocence.

Lando kept his eyes forward.

His expression remained perfectly neutral, at least to anyone who didn't know him particularly well. George, unfortunately, knew him far too well for that performance to be remotely convincing. Lando kept his hands loosely folded in his lap, his jaw relaxed, his attention supposedly directed toward the baseline where the players had begun their warm-up. Yet every few seconds, almost against his own will, his gaze drifted sideways for the briefest moment before returning to the court as though nothing had happened.

—I have absolutely no idea,— he admitted quietly, careful to keep his voice low enough not to disturb anyone nearby.

George's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

—Interesting.—

Carmen, who had followed the entire exchange without saying a word, gently nudged George's arm with the unmistakable warning look that meant don't you dare. She knew exactly what expression had appeared on her boyfriend's face, and it was never one that led anywhere productive. George simply smiled to himself, making no effort whatsoever to disguise how entertained he already was.

The applause around Centre Court swelled as both players emerged from the tunnel, carrying their racquets beneath the polite ovation that Wimbledon crowds always seemed to master perfectly. Thousands of spectators rose briefly before settling back into their seats, conversations fading into respectful silence. Cameras floated overhead, occasionally lingering on familiar faces throughout the stands before returning their focus to the athletes below.

Amelie applauded enthusiastically beside him, completely absorbed by the atmosphere.

Jack applauded as well, smiling as he looked out across the immaculate grass before making a quiet comment about how different Wimbledon looked in person compared to television. Amelie nodded in agreement, replying with an observation about how much quieter everything felt despite twenty thousand people occupying the stadium. Their voices remained little more than whispers before both naturally redirected their attention toward the court.

Lando heard every word anyway.

Not because they were speaking loudly, but because his brain had apparently decided that anything the stranger said automatically deserved immediate attention. It irritated him almost instantly. He wasn't normally like this. He trusted Amelie completely. There had never been a reason not to. Yet the fact that someone she clearly knew well enough to fall into effortless conversation with had appeared completely out of nowhere left an uncomfortable little knot sitting somewhere beneath his ribs.

—No idea,— he replied under his breath, sounding far more casual than he actually felt.

George had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

—That's somehow worse,— he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the court where the players had begun knocking a few practice balls across the net. —She's talking to Mystery Man while you're out here collecting absolutely zero information. Bold strategy, mate.—

Carmen immediately reached over and lightly pinched George's forearm.

—George,— she whispered firmly.

George looked at her with the expression of someone who had been deeply misunderstood.

—What?— he whispered back innocently. —I'm simply observing the situation. I'm basically providing live commentary. It's educational.—

—You're making it worse.—

—I haven't even started yet.—

Carmen closed her eyes for a brief second, already regretting bringing him anywhere that required prolonged periods of silence.

The chair umpire called for quiet as the players stepped behind the baseline, bouncing the first balls of the afternoon. Centre Court fell into the kind of respectful hush unique to Wimbledon, where thousands of people somehow managed to become almost completely silent within seconds. The only sounds came from the distant birds overhead, the squeak of tennis shoes against grass, and the rhythmic bounce of a ball before the opening serve.

Lando fixed his attention on the court with determined concentration, or at least, that had been the plan.

His eyes followed the first serve across the net before, entirely against his better judgment, drifting toward Amelie once more. She was sitting with perfect posture, one hand resting lightly against her crossed knee as she watched the rally with genuine fascination. The soft ponytail swayed gently whenever she tilted her head, and the red plaid pattern of her dress looked almost made for the setting, fitting effortlessly among the strawberries, cream, and timeless Wimbledon traditions surrounding them.

The opening rally stretched longer than anyone had expected, drawing appreciative murmurs from the crowd as both players exchanged precise shots from the baseline. A collective gasp rolled through Centre Court when one of them managed a spectacular passing shot down the line, followed by warm applause as the point finally came to an end. For a few brief moments, every pair of eyes remained fixed on the court.

Every pair except one.

Lando's attention drifted sideways almost involuntarily before he caught himself and forced his gaze back toward the match. He shifted slightly in his seat, folding one ankle behind the other beneath his chair as though changing positions might somehow redirect his focus. It didn't. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remained acutely aware of every small movement occurring to his left without actually looking. It was infuriating.

Jack leaned forward briefly to retrieve the match programme that had slipped toward his feet, quietly apologizing to the spectators in the row ahead before settling back into his seat. Amelie smiled politely without taking her eyes away from the rally unfolding below, absentmindedly brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped her ponytail. Neither of them exchanged another word as the match continued, both completely absorbed by the quality of tennis being played.

George noticed that too.

Which, somehow, made the situation even funnier.

He waited until another burst of applause masked his whisper before leaning ever so slightly toward Lando, making sure Carmen couldn't physically stop him in time.

—They're not even talking anymore,— George murmured with exaggerated concern. —This is somehow even more serious. Comfortable silence? That's dangerous territory.—

Lando didn't even look at him.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he exhaled through his nose, never taking his eyes off the court despite hearing every ridiculous word George had just whispered. He knew exactly what George was doing. If there was even the faintest possibility of creating harmless chaos, George would nurture it like it was his full-time profession. Normally Lando would've laughed, made some sarcastic remark back, and the conversation would've ended there. Unfortunately, George had chosen the one topic capable of making him genuinely distracted.

—Will you shut up?— Lando muttered beneath his breath, keeping his tone calm enough not to attract the attention of anyone around them.

George's grin only widened.

—Ah, there it is.— He nodded knowingly, as though he'd just confirmed a long-standing scientific theory. —Defensive already. That's never a good sign.—

Lando resisted the almost overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

Instead, he fixed his attention firmly on the court where another breathtaking rally had drawn the audience into complete silence. The players traded impossible shots across the immaculate grass, the crowd collectively holding its breath before erupting into polite applause as the point finally ended. It should have been easy to lose himself in the match. It was phenomenal tennis. Ordinarily, he would've been analysing serves, predicting break points, and quietly appreciating the athleticism on display.

Today, however, George Russell was making that virtually impossible.

—You know,— George whispered again after another applause break, somehow finding precisely the moments when the crowd became loud enough to disguise his voice, —I reckon Mystery Man's doing pretty well for himself. Confident posture. Good hair. Nice jacket.—

Lando blinked slowly.

—I genuinely cannot believe this is what you're choosing to spend your afternoon doing,— he replied without looking at him.

—I'm invested now.—

—You're insufferable.—

—Correct.— George nodded proudly. —But not inaccurate.—

To Carmen's credit, she looked thoroughly mortified.

She reached over and lightly smacked George's arm, shaking her head with an apologetic smile toward Lando before quietly mouthing, I'm sorry. George simply looked pleased with himself, apparently viewing her disapproval as confirmation that he was successfully entertaining himself. Unfortunately for everyone sitting within whispering distance, he clearly had no intention of stopping.

As if George weren't enough, Jack happened to lean slightly toward Amelie after one particularly spectacular passing shot.

—That angle was ridiculous,— he commented quietly, still watching the court.

—I know.— Amelie smiled. —There's absolutely no way I would've gotten anywhere near that ball.—

—Neither would've I.—

Lando heard the exchange despite making a very conscious effort not to. It wasn't even that they were talking much. They weren't. Most of their comments consisted of quick observations about the match before immediately returning their attention to Centre Court. That was almost worse somehow. Their conversation flowed with an easy familiarity that suggested they didn't need to fill every silence to enjoy each other's company, and every now and then Jack's dry sense of humor earned another one of Amelie's soft laughs. They weren't loud laughs, nor particularly frequent, but every single one landed directly on Lando's rapidly diminishing patience.

Another game came and went.

The match itself was spectacular, full of impossible winners and rallies that had the entire stadium leaning forward in anticipation. Every point seemed to outdo the previous one, drawing respectful applause that rolled around Centre Court before dissolving back into perfect silence. Normally Lando loved tennis. He genuinely enjoyed watching high-level athletes perform at their absolute best. Yet he was becoming increasingly aware that he had spent the last twenty minutes absorbing almost none of what was happening on the court.

Another ripple of applause swept across Centre Court as one player held serve with a perfectly placed ace down the T. The scoreboard changed, the crowd settled once again, and another respectful hush descended over the stadium. Around them, spectators leaned forward with quiet anticipation, completely engrossed by the quality of tennis unfolding on the pristine grass. Lando, meanwhile, was beginning to suspect he'd witnessed perhaps three actual points in the last twenty minutes.

He'd certainly heard enough commentary to fill the gaps.

George, despite Carmen's repeated attempts to silence him, had somehow transformed the afternoon into his own private documentary. Every time Jack happened to whisper something to Amelie, George found a way to notice. Every small laugh she let out earned another subtle nudge toward Lando, another ridiculously innocent observation delivered in the most unhelpful tone imaginable.

—There it is again,— George murmured after another point ended. —He's funny too.—

Lando didn't even blink.

He simply stared straight ahead, jaw tightening ever so slightly as polite applause echoed around the stadium once more. If George made one more comment about "Jack," whose surname he still didn't know, he was genuinely considering switching seats. It wasn't even jealousy anymore. It was George relentlessly narrating a situation that Lando had been trying very hard not to think about in the first place.

—Mate,— Lando whispered through the smallest smile imaginable, one that looked pleasant enough for any nearby cameras but carried an unmistakable warning beneath it. —If you say the word "Jack" one more time, I'm putting you on the next flight back to Monaco myself.—

George looked almost offended.

—I don't think that's very Wimbledon of you.—

—George...—

—I'm just saying, he seems delightful.—

Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose.

—I am begging you to stop talking.—

—I physically can't.— George shrugged. —It's one of my worst qualities.—

Lando huffed out an involuntary laugh despite himself, though it disappeared almost immediately when another soft laugh escaped Amelie beside him.

He didn't even need to look to know why.

Jack had leaned over to make another quiet comment after an amusing exchange between the players and the chair umpire. Whatever he'd whispered earned another smile from Amelie, the kind where her nose scrunched just slightly before she covered it with a polite hand, mindful of the silence expected around Centre Court.

That laugh.

Lando adored that laugh.

He also happened to prefer being the one causing it.

His fingers drummed absentmindedly against his knee as he watched another rally unfold, trying—and failing—to convince himself to simply ignore the entire situation. Rationally, he knew there was absolutely nothing happening. He trusted Amelie more than anyone on the planet. She'd never given him a single reason to doubt her, not once in nearly three years together.

Still.

That didn't stop a tiny, entirely irrational part of his brain from finding the situation mildly irritating. Not because of Jack himself—who, from everything Lando had observed, seemed perfectly polite—but because George had spent the better part of half an hour turning the man into the protagonist of an imaginary rivalry. It was impossible to ignore something when George insisted on narrating it like a nature documentary.

Another burst of applause echoed around Centre Court as the players changed ends.

George leaned back in his seat, glanced past Amelie for approximately half a second, then looked back at Lando with an expression that immediately raised alarm bells.

—Jack seems to know quite a lot about music too,— he whispered. —Very versatile chap—

Lando inhaled slowly.

Deeply.

He counted to three.

Then four.

By five, he decided he'd officially had enough.

Without saying a single word, he shifted in his seat.

Amelie, completely focused on the scoreboard while absentmindedly taking a sip of the sparkling water resting in the cup holder beside her chair, barely noticed him moving until his arm suddenly appeared across the back of her seat.

In one smooth, almost theatrical movement, Lando draped an arm comfortably around her shoulders from behind, gently pulling her back against his side as though the position had been the most natural thing in the world all along. His forearm rested loosely across her collarbones while his hands linked together just below her shoulder, effectively wrapping her in an unmistakably affectionate embrace.

Subtle it was not.

It was, in fact, perhaps the least subtle thing he could have possibly done in the middle of Wimbledon.

Amelie nearly choked on her sip of water.

Not because the movement had startled her, but because she recognized exactly what he was doing within a fraction of a second. She lowered the bottle back into the cup holder with exaggerated care, fighting the smile that immediately threatened to spread across her face. Without turning her head, she glanced sideways toward the arm comfortably wrapped around her shoulders before slowly looking up at Lando. His expression was the very definition of innocence, eyes fixed attentively on Centre Court as though he hadn't just announced to an entire section of Wimbledon that the woman beside him was very much taken.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Oh, this was far too entertaining.

It had been years since she'd seen this particular version of Lando. Early in their relationship, he had been adorably possessive in the most harmless, transparent ways imaginable. A hand on the small of her back. Fingers intertwined a little tighter whenever someone flirted a touch too confidently. Quiet reminders to anyone nearby that she wasn't simply Amelie Dayman, international pop star, but his girlfriend. Over time, that side of him had almost completely disappeared, replaced by the calm confidence of someone who no longer questioned where her heart belonged.

Which was exactly why seeing it reappear now made her want to laugh.

She loved this version of him.

Not because she enjoyed making him genuinely uncomfortable—she never would—but because she knew the truth behind it. Lando wasn't insecure. He wasn't suspicious. He simply adored her with his entire heart, and every now and then, when circumstances aligned in exactly the wrong—or right—way, that tiny possessive streak peeked out for a few minutes before disappearing again. It was ridiculously endearing.

She decided, almost instantly, that she was going to have a little fun with it.

Jack, completely oblivious to the silent drama unfolding on the other side of Amelie, leaned forward after another incredible rally ended with roaring applause.

—That backhand was insane,— he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Amelie turned toward him with a smile.

—I don't even understand how he got there in time,— she replied quietly, genuinely commenting on the match.

Lando's arm tightened.

His reaction was almost imperceptible to anyone else.

Almost.

His forearm remained comfortably draped across her shoulders, but they tightened by the smallest fraction as though his subconscious had made the decision before his brain caught up. His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of her dress while he kept his gaze fixed stubbornly on the court, pretending to be completely invested in the point beginning below. If someone had asked him, he would've denied doing anything differently. Amelie, however, knew every tiny unconscious habit he possessed after nearly five years together.

She noticed all of them.

The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

Jack continued watching the rally for another few shots before leaning over again during the applause that followed.

Amelie turned toward him once more, listening as he made another quick observation about how impossible grass-court tennis looked compared to any other surface. She answered with an amused nod, adding a short comment of her own before both of them naturally looked back toward the court. It was a conversation that lasted barely ten seconds, completely innocent and entirely about tennis, yet she could practically feel the warmth of Lando's arm becoming just a touch more protective around her shoulders.

It was adorable.

She lowered her eyes briefly, pretending to adjust the bracelet around her wrist simply to hide the smile threatening to betray her. If she'd looked at Lando right then, she knew she would've laughed. He was trying so unbelievably hard to appear casual that it somehow became even more obvious. His chin rested lightly against the side of her head for the briefest moment before lifting again, his posture radiating an effortless confidence that would've fooled almost anyone else.

Not her.

She knew every version of him.

The confident world champion who walked through paddocks without a second thought. The exhausted boyfriend who stole her hoodies because they somehow smelled like home. The man who still reached for her hand in his sleep without ever waking up. And the incredibly specific version currently sitting beside her, quietly reminding an entire row of Centre Court exactly who his girlfriend was without saying a single word.

God, she missed seeing him like this.

Not because she questioned his trust—quite the opposite. Over the years, Lando had become wonderfully secure in their relationship. Gone were the days when tabloids or headlines could genuinely bother him. He knew her. He knew exactly where she'd be at the end of every day. More importantly, he knew she only ever looked at him the way she did.

Which was precisely why this rare glimpse of harmless jealousy felt almost nostalgic.

She couldn't resist.

As another applause break rolled through Centre Court, she leaned ever so slightly away from Lando's chest—only enough to look up at him over her shoulder.

—Comfortable?— she asked sweetly, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes met hers behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

—Very,— he answered without a trace of shame.

There wasn't even an attempt to disguise what he was doing anymore. His arm remained loosely looped around her shoulders, his fingers lazily intertwined against the front of her dress while he continued looking toward the court as though they were simply sitting like every other couple in attendance. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked comfortably affectionate. To Amelie, who knew him better than anyone alive, it was practically a public declaration.

Mine.

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

—Good,— she whispered, fighting every instinct to tease him immediately.

Lando hummed contentedly before resting his chin for the briefest second against the top of her head. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't territorial in any obvious sense. It was simply... incredibly, unmistakably boyfriend. The kind of unconscious affection that somehow managed to communicate everything without requiring a single word.

Amelie shifted her weight slightly, her plaid dress rustling against the leather seat as she prepared to turn her full attention back to Jack and deliver another playful tease that would undoubtedly drive Lando insane, but she never got the chance. Before she could even part her lips to speak, Lando’s hand moved with lightning-fast precision, his fingers firmly catching her chin and gently but unyieldingly turning her head so she was forced to look directly at him.

He didn't care about the cameras, the prestigious Wimbledon crowd, or George Russell’s inevitably suffocating amusement as he leaned down and pressed a slow, incredibly firm kiss against her lips that effectively silenced her. The possessive warmth of his mouth completely consumed her for a long, lingering moment, leaving her slightly breathless and utterly dizzy under his sudden, dominant display of affection right in the middle of Centre Court.

When Lando finally pulled back just an inch, his fingers remained wrapped under her jaw, his dark sunglasses reflecting her flushed cheeks as he looked down at her with a wicked, entirely serious smirk.

—Behave.— he murmured into the tiny space between them, his voice dropping into a rough, private whisper that was meant entirely for her ears

Amelie let out a soft, defeated chuckle, her heart hammering violently against her ribs as the bright redness completely covered her cheeks, realizing she had been thoroughly caught in her own game. She nodded obediently under the steady weight of his gaze, completely melting against his side as Lando finally released her chin, his arm remaining securely wrapped around her shoulders to keep her tucked firmly against his chest for the remainder of the afternoon.

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

liked by papayahq, lanmeliehub, and others

paddockwags: From the paddock to Centre Court. 🤍🎾

Lando and Amelie were spotted sharing a sweet kiss in the stands before settling in with his arm around her throughout the match.

View all 414 comments

papayagirl: THEY KISSED IN THE STANDS????????? HELLO???? 😭🤍 → lan4ever: WIMBLEDON JUST BECAME A ROM-COM → gridgirlie: i'm actually blushing

orangeobsession: the arm around her shoulders the WHOLE match 🥹 → papayahq: your honor that's his favorite position

amelieupdates: they're literally incapable of acting like they're not on a date 😭 → amesdefender: because they ARE on a date → papayaprincess: exactly 😭

tennisfan88: imagine trying to watch the match and THESE TWO are in front of you 😭 → orange4ever: i'd forget tennis existed

lanmeliehub: THE LITTLE KISS 😭😭😭 → papayagirl: i need 700 more angles immediately → orangegrid: release the CCTV

f1gossipdaily: silverstone one day... wimbledon kisses the next 😭 → lan4life: they're feeding us nonstop

wagsdaily: the way he automatically put his arm around her 🥹 → orangeobsession: muscle memory at this point → amesnation: it's so natural

f1updates: someone check on the people sitting behind them 😭 → papayaprincess: they witnessed CINEMA

papayagirl: they're so "let me kiss you before we watch tennis" coded 😭 → lan4ever: relationship goals unfortunately → orange4ever: my standards just got higher

ameliecentral: @ameliedayman winning at life honestly → amesupdates: respectfully yes

orangegrid: i know they forgot there were cameras 😭 → lanmeliehub: that's why these photos are so cute

f1detectives: i fear Lando likes her a little bit guys → detectiveera: hot take → papayagirl: controversial if true

papayaprincess: imagine being the photographer and accidentally getting the cutest photo of the day 😭

lan4life: okay but THE SMILE HE HAD AFTER THE KISS 😭 → papayahq: STOP I'M TRYING TO FUNCTION → orangeobsession: impossible task

amesnation: this man has been smiling for like four straight days 😭

papayagirl: i just know he spent half the match talking to her instead of watching 😭

gridgirlie: the way they make every event look cozy is actually a talent → papayaprincess: race paddock? cozy. tennis? cozy. airport? probably cozy. → orange4ever: they're committed to the aesthetic

f1gossipdaily: they genuinely look like they've forgotten they're famous 😭 → lan4ever: that's what makes these moments so sweet

papayahq: okay but can we appreciate how HAPPY they both look lately 🥹 → f1updates: it's written all over their faces → orangeobsession: they're glowing

lanmeliehub: if they keep being this cute i'm sending them my therapy bill 😭 → papayagirl: SAME

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

The rhythm had long since passed the point of gentle pacing, dissolving into a raw, exhausting intensity that had been driving them both crazy for the better part of two hours. Lando was pounding into her with straight, unyielding force, his strong hands locked completely around her hips to anchor her against the mattress while every single slamming impact sent the heavy wooden headboard rattling rhythmically against the hotel room wall. Amelie had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her fingers clawing desperately into the damp sheets beneath her as the relentless, friction-filled depth of him pushed her entirely past the brink of sanity.

A sharp, completely broken cry tore from the back of her throat as her internal walls suddenly clamped down around him in a series of violent, crushing spasms, her body shuddering under the weight of a devastating orgasm. The intense, pulsing heat of her release squeezing his shaft was the absolute breaking point for Lando; he let out a low, animalistic groan, his muscles locking up entirely as he drove himself as deep as humanly possible, coming hard inside the latex barrier at the exact same moment she did.

The frantic energy in the room completely evaporated, leaving nothing but the sound of their heavy, ragged breathing echoing against the walls as Lando slowly collapsed onto her chest, his entire body trembling from exhaustion. He shifted his weight slightly so he wouldn't crush her, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against her damp shoulder before moving up to capture her swollen lips in a quiet, deeply affectionate connection. Amelie let out a soft, contented sigh, her hands moving lazily up his arms to slide through his wet curls, gently pushing the sweaty strands away from his forehead while they both tried to catch their breath.

—I love you,— Lando murmured against her mouth, his voice incredibly thick and raspy from the physical exertion.

—I love you too,— she whispered back, a beautiful, entirely spent smile breaking across her flushed face as she gave the back of his neck one final, gentle squeeze.

Lando let out a slow breath and carefully slid out of her soaking wet heat, rolling over to flop heavily onto his back right beside her on the messy sheets. He immediately reached out with one arm, pulling Amelie tightly against his side so that she could rest her head comfortably on his bare chest, both of them still completely covered in a thin layer of sweat that gleamed in the dim lighting of the hotel room. He reached down with his free hand, carefully stripping the condom off his length and tying it in a neat knot before leaning over the edge of the mattress to toss it precisely into the small trashcan resting beside the nightstand.

Amelie watched the movement with an amused smirk, her fingers absentmindedly tracing small, lazy patterns across the tight skin of his stomach.

—You know,— she murmured, her voice carrying a heavy note of playful exhaustion, —the cleaning people in this hotel must genuinely hate our guts by now.—

Lando let out a low, breathless chuckle, the vibration chest-rumbling beneath her cheek as he turned his head to look down at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

—Honestly, I don't think the housekeeping staff hates us half as much as our next-door neighbors probably do right now,— he joked back, gesturing vaguely toward the wall that had been vibrating against the headboard for the last two hours. —I'm pretty sure they're going to file a noise complaint at the front desk before the night is even over.—

Amelie burst into a soft laugh, rolling her eyes affectionately at his ridiculous pride before he let out a long stretch, his muscles flexing beneath her touch.

—Are you hungry?— he asked gently, his thumb running slow circles over her bare shoulder. —Because I feel like I just ran a full race distance, and I desperately need to put some calories back into my system.—

—Starving,— she agreed completely, but instead of staying wrapped up in the covers, she suddenly sat up, entirely unbothered by her bare, naked body as she shifted her weight on the mattress. She turned gracefully onto all fours, crawling slowly over his lap with a wicked, deliberate slowness that had Lando’s eyes darkening instantly as he watched the fluid movement of her spine. She leaned down, pressing a slow, completely teasing kiss against his lips, before offering him a beautiful, triumphant smile. —I am going to take a long shower. You can take care of ordering the room service while I’m in there.—

She backed off his lap and stood up from the bed without a single shred of hesitation, her hips moving sensually with every slow, deliberate step she took across the carpet toward the bathroom. Lando propped himself up on his elbows, his jaw practically dropping as his eyes tracked the stunning curve of her waist and the perfect view of her bare ass disappearing behind the frosted glass door.

He let his head fall back against the pillows with a breathless, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his messy curls as he reached for the hotel phone on the nightstand. Fuck, Lando knew without a single doubt in his mind that he was the absolute luckiest, luckiest bastard in the entire world.

The bathroom door finally clicked open nearly twenty minutes later, allowing a cloud of warm steam to drift lazily into the suite.

Amelie stepped out, freshly showered, her damp hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. She had slipped into one of Lando's oversized navy T-shirts, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs while the familiar scent of his detergent and cologne clung to the fabric. Her cheeks still carried the soft pink warmth left behind by the shower, and she absentmindedly rubbed a towel through the ends of her hair as she crossed the bedroom.

Lando looked up from his phone almost immediately.

He hadn't moved much in the twenty minutes she'd been gone. Still sitting against the headboard with one leg stretched across the mattress and the other bent comfortably beneath the duvet, he remained exactly where she'd left him, his curls still damp with sweat and falling messily across his forehead. His attention had been split between replying to a few messages, confirming the room service order, and absentmindedly scrolling while waiting for her to finish.

The moment he saw her step into the bedroom, however, the phone ceased to exist.

A slow smile spread across his face as he lowered it onto his lap without even realizing he'd stopped reading whatever had been on the screen. There was something about seeing Amelie freshly showered, wearing one of his oversized T-shirts, that somehow managed to undo him every single time. The shirt was unmistakably his, hanging loosely over her frame and nearly swallowing her hands with sleeves that were much too long.

Lando caught her lingering glance almost instantly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug grin as he lowered his phone onto the duvet.

—You know,— he said, tilting his head with obvious satisfaction, —you could just take a picture. It'd last longer.—

Amelie stopped mid-step before letting out an incredulous laugh.

—You're impossible.—

She reached the bed and gave his shoulder a playful shove, making him deliberately exaggerate the movement until he flopped dramatically onto his side with an offended gasp.

—I was assaulted,— he declared, placing a hand over his chest. —Right here in a five-star hotel.—

—You'll survive.—

—I don't know... that looked pretty aggressive.—

She rolled her eyes so dramatically it made him laugh out loud.

Still chuckling, Lando pushed himself upright and stretched, every muscle protesting after the long day. He ran both hands through his unruly curls before wandering toward the dresser where a neatly folded pile of clothes waited for him.

—I should probably shower before dinner,— he said, grabbing a clean T-shirt and a pair of lounge shorts. —Room service has to be almost here, though.—

He glanced back over his shoulder.

—Please don't start eating without me.—

Amelie placed a hand over her heart in mock offense.

—Never.—

—Promise?—

—I promise.—

Satisfied, he crossed the room until he stood directly in front of her.

—Good.—

He leaned down, brushing a slow, affectionate kiss across her lips before resting his forehead against hers for a brief second.

—I won't be long.—

—I know.—

Lando disappeared into the bathroom with one last smile over his shoulder, the door clicking softly shut behind him before the sound of running water gradually filled the suite. Amelie remained standing exactly where he had kissed her goodbye, absentmindedly touching her lips for the briefest moment before shaking her head with a fond smile. It never seemed to matter how many years passed; he still found the smallest excuses to steal one more kiss before walking away, as though leaving a room without one simply wasn't an option.

She wandered toward the bedroom door, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet beneath the oversized navy T-shirt that almost reached the middle of her thighs. The suite was wonderfully quiet again, interrupted only by the muffled shower running behind the bathroom door and the distant sounds of London filtering faintly through the windows. Reaching for the handle, she pulled the bedroom door open and immediately found exactly who she had expected.

Charlie.

The golden retriever puppy had eventually surrendered sometime during the night after his determined campaign of scratching, whining, and dramatically throwing himself against the bedroom door had failed. They'd been working patiently on teaching him that bedtime meant sleeping in his own little bed in the sitting room rather than insisting on squeezing himself between them. Tonight, he'd curled himself into a perfect golden ball inside his plush dog bed, his nose tucked beneath one paw while he dozed peacefully.

The second the bedroom door opened, one floppy ear twitched.

Then both eyes snapped open.

Within a heartbeat Charlie was on his feet, his tail wagging with such force that his entire back half seemed incapable of remaining still. He bounded across the carpet with an excited little bark, practically launching himself toward Amelie before skidding to a stop just in front of her, looking up with the unmistakable expression of a puppy convinced he'd been abandoned for several years rather than one evening.

Amelie laughed immediately.

She crouched down just enough to scratch both sides of his neck as Charlie enthusiastically leaned into every bit of affection, his tail continuing to whip back and forth against the floor.

—Good morning to you too,— she giggled. —You're so dramatic, do you know that? We were only in there sleeping.—

Charlie responded by pressing his nose against her hand as though he disagreed entirely with that assessment.

She smiled down at him before another thought crossed her mind.

—Are you hungry?—

The reaction was instantaneous.

Charlie's head shot up, his ears perked forward, and before she had even finished the sentence he spun around and sprinted toward the kitchen area, nails clicking rapidly across the hardwood floor. He came to an abrupt stop beside his food bowls, looking back at her expectantly before looking down at the empty bowl, then back at her again, his tail wagging harder than ever.

Amelie burst into laughter.

—I knew it! I hadn't even finished asking!—

Charlie let out one eager little bark, convinced he had interpreted the conversation perfectly.

Still smiling, she crossed into the kitchenette where Lando had already left Charlie's food container beside the counter. She measured out his dinner into the stainless-steel bowl before setting it down on the floor.

—There you go, handsome.—

Charlie didn't need a second invitation.

He immediately buried his nose into the bowl with complete concentration, his tail continuing to sway happily behind him as though eating dinner were the greatest privilege he'd ever been granted.

Amelie watched him for a moment, smiling to herself before quietly retreating toward the living area of the suite.

The oversized sofa practically invited her to collapse onto it.

She flopped down sideways with a contented sigh, tucking one leg beneath herself before spotting Lando's MacBook resting neatly on the coffee table. He'd probably been using it earlier before switching to his phone while she'd showered. Without thinking much of it, she reached over and pulled it onto her lap.

She cracked the screen open, intending to casually browse the internet or look for a movie they could put on while eating room service, but the moment the display came to life, her fingers froze completely over the trackpad. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes rapidly scanned the active browser window Lando had left completely open, revealing a page she had never, in her wildest dreams, expected to see on his computer.

Lando hadn't just been browsing a standard jewelry website; the screen was explicitly parked right on the exclusive engagement rings catalog of a high-end designer boutique based directly in Monaco. Amelie felt a sudden wave of heat rush to her face, her chest tightening with an overwhelming mix of shock and pure disbelief as she stared at the rows of sparkling diamonds and detailed platinum bands.

Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as she leaned in closer, checking the exact filters he had selected, realizing with a jolt that he had actively been narrowing down specific carat sizes and custom cuts for weeks. She couldn't even process the absolute gravity of what she was looking at, her mind spinning in a chaotic loop.

The sudden, sharp sound of the bathroom door unlocking tore her violently out of her trace before she could even scroll any further down the luxury webpage.

Amelie reacted on pure, panicked instinct, abruptly slamming the MacBook shut with a loud snap and frantically sliding it back onto the coffee table in the exact position it had been resting only seconds before. She forced herself to sit upright on the cushions, smoothing down the front of Lando's oversized navy t-shirt while trying to control her shallow breathing just as her boyfriend emerged from the steamy room.

Lando trotted out into the living area with a fresh white towel hung loosely over his shoulders, wearing only his clean grey lounge shorts while his damp curls stuck out in every direction.

—Hey, I seriously hope you haven't started eating all the good stuff without me,— he called out with a lazy, boyish grin, though his expression shifted into immediate confusion when he noticed her completely frozen posture on the sofa. He walked over slowly, his bare feet sinking into the carpet as his eyes scanned her wide, startled expression. —Ames? Everything alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost or something.—

—Yeah… yeah, everything is completely perfect,— Amelie stammered a little too quickly, forcing a tight smile as she nodded her head to reassure him.

Lando didn't question the sudden shift, simply attributing her quietness to the absolute exhaustion of their previous two hours together. He flopped down heavily onto the plush sofa right next to her, immediately wrapping his strong arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest with that extra touchy, affectionate neediness that always took over his body right after they had sex.

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a series of slow, warm kisses against her skin before moving up to trail his lips softly over her bare shoulder, completely content to hold her close while they waited for dinner. Amelie stayed perfectly still against him, her mind completely short-circuiting as she stared blankly at the wall ahead, the single, terrifyingly beautiful thought repeating in her head.

Requested: Yes/ Anon

Word count: 2653

Author’s note: Hii, I really hope this is what you had in mind, kinda short but I hope you all love it!! xx

Previous part

Masterlist

The drive back from his parents’ house was completely different from the ride there, yet the silence in the car was just as heavy. Lando kept one hand on the steering wheel and reached across the center console with the other, trying to find your hand. You didn't pull away, but your fingers remained limp and cold in his grasp, offering no reassuring squeeze. Lando kept glancing over at you, his chest tight with anxiety, realizing that while the explosive tears had stopped, the deep wound he had inflicted was far from healed. He had thought that crying together on the patio and leaving the dinner early meant the worst was behind them, but as he looked at your blank expression staring out at the rainy London streets, a cold knot of dread began to form in his stomach.

When you finally reached the apartment, you dropped your keys on the counter and immediately began unzipping your dress. Lando closed the front door softly, kicking off his shoes and taking off his suit jacket. He watched you walk toward the bedroom, his voice quiet and cautious as he spoke.

“Y/N, can we talk for a bit more before we go to sleep?” Lando asked, his eyes pleading. “I just want to make sure you are okay.”

You didn't turn around as you stepped out of your heels. “I am tired, Lando. I want to sleep.”

“Okay, yeah, of course,” Lando said quickly, walking into the bedroom behind you. “Let’s just get into bed and get some rest. It has been a really long night.”

You walked over to the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of oversized pajamas, and then grabbed a spare pillow and a thick blanket from the top shelf. Lando froze, his heart dropping into his shoes as he watched you gather the bedding.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“I am sleeping in the guest room,” you replied, your voice completely devoid of emotion, flat and distant.

“Y/N, please, no,” Lando begged, stepping forward and reaching out to touch your arm. “Please don’t do that. We talked out there. I said I was sorry. Sleep in our bed, please. You don’t have to hide away in the guest room.”

You stepped back, avoiding his touch, and looked him dead in the eye. “Lando, crying on a porch does not magically fix everything you said to me today. You called me clingy. You called me insecure. You laughed at my loneliness in front of your entire family and made me look like an idiot. I am completely exhausted, and I do not want to lie next to you right now while my heart is still breaking. I need space.”

Lando stood paralyzed, his arms hovering in the air as you turned and walked out of the bedroom, closing the guest room door firmly behind you. The click of the lock turning felt like a physical blow to his chest. He was left standing alone in the large, quiet bedroom, the silence echoing louder than any argument they had ever had. He didn't sleep at all that night. He tossed and turned, staring at the empty space beside him, the realization of how badly he had messed up finally sinking deep into his bones.

The next morning, Lando woke up early, determined to start making things right. He was exhausted, bags heavy under his eyes, but he forced himself out of bed and went straight to the kitchen. He wanted to surprise you with breakfast, making your favorite pancakes, brewing the specific coffee you liked, and setting the table perfectly. He put his heart into it, hoping that this small gesture would show you how much he cared, how much he wanted to take care of you.

Just as he was plating the last pancake, the guest room door opened. You walked out, your hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing the oversized pajamas. You looked pale, your eyes still a bit puffy from the night before.

Lando immediately smiled, trying to inject some warmth into the room. “Good morning. I made breakfast for you. Pancakes, just the way you like them, and your coffee is ready too.”

You walked into the kitchen, looking at the beautifully set table, but your expression didn't soften. You didn't smile, and you didn't look pleased. You walked past the table straight to the fridge, pulling out a carton of juice.

“Thank you, Lando, but I am not really hungry,” you said quietly, pouring yourself a glass of juice.

Lando’s smile faltered, a desperate look crossing his face. “Y/N, come on, please just sit down and eat with me. I made them for you. I want to talk to you. I want to make things better.”

“You can’t fix this with pancakes, Lando,” you said, setting the juice carton down and looking at him with a tired, steady gaze. “You think that because you apologized, things just go back to normal the next day. They don’t. The things you said revealed exactly how you view me when you are stressed. You view me as a burden and a drama. It takes more than a breakfast to earn my trust back.”

“I don’t view you like that,” Lando insisted, his voice rising in desperation as he took a step toward you. “I was stressed, I was stupid, I was trying to act tough in front of my brother. I swear to you, I don't think you are a burden. You are the best part of my life.”

“Then you should have treated me like it,” you said, your voice calm, which somehow made it worse for him. “I am going out for the day. I have some errands to run, and I need to get out of this apartment.”

“Where are you going? Can I come with you?” Lando asked, practically begging now.

“No, Lando. I want to be alone,” you said, walking back toward the guest room to get changed.

For the next four days, you made Lando suffer the absolute agony of your absence, even while living in the same apartment. You became a ghost, but not the kind he could ignore. You were a polite, distant roommate. You stopped cooking dinner for him. When you made yourself a meal, you washed your own dish and left the kitchen clean, leaving him to figure out his own food. When he came home from the simulator, you didn't run to the door to greet him. You stayed in the guest room or sat on the opposite end of the sofa, reading a book, barely looking up to acknowledge his entry.

Lando tried everything. On the second day, he brought home a massive, gorgeous bouquet of your favorite flowers, spending an absolute fortune on them. He presented them to you with a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I saw these and thought of you,” he said softly, holding them out.

You looked at the flowers, then looked up at him. “They are very pretty, Lando. Thank you.” You took them, walked into the kitchen, placed them on the counter without putting them in a vase, and walked right back to your book. You left them there to slightly wither before finally putting them in water hours later, treating them like a chore rather than a romantic gesture. Lando watched from the doorway, feeling a cold spike of pain in his chest. He realized flowers wouldn't buy his way out of this.

On the third day, he tried to text you throughout the day, sending you updates about his simulator sessions, asking how your day was, sending funny memes just like he used to do when things were good. Your replies were short, hours late, and completely formal.

“Good. Hope your session goes well,” was all you wrote.

Lando sat in his driver room at the McLaren Technology Centre, staring at his phone, his chest aching. His performance coach, Jon, noticed his distraction during their training session, asking him if he was alright. Lando just shook his head, unable to explain the crushing weight of the silence waiting for him at home. He had never realized how much he relied on your warmth, your texts, your absolute devotion, until it was completely stripped away. He was learning exactly what it felt like to be ignored, to be an afterthought, to sit and wonder if the person you loved actually cared about you at all. He was experiencing the exact torment he had put you through for months.

By the fourth evening, Lando couldn't take it anymore. The silence in the apartment was suffocating him, breaking him down bit by bit. He had spent the last four days watching you move through the apartment like a stranger, refusing to share his bed, refusing to share his meals, refusing to share her life with him.

You were sitting on the sofa, scrolling through your laptop, when Lando walked into the living room. He didn't look like the confident, wealthy racing driver the world adored. He looked completely shattered. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his hair a total mess from where he had been running his fingers through it in frustration, and his shoulders were slumped in complete defeat.

He walked over and stopped right in front of you, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please. I am begging you. Talk to me. Cut me some slack, please. I am dying here.”

You closed your laptop slowly, setting it aside, and looked up at him. Your heart ached seeing him look so broken, because you still loved him fiercely, but you knew that if you gave in too easily now, nothing would ever truly change. He needed to understand the gravity of what he had done.

“I am talking to you, Lando,” you said evenly.

“No, you aren’t,” Lando choked out, a tear finally escaping his eye and running down his cheek. “You are talking to me like I am a stranger. You look at me like you don’t even love me anymore. It is killing me, Y/N. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus at work, I can’t breathe in this flat because you are so cold to me. I know I messed up. I know I said horrible, disgusting things that I didn’t mean, but please don't freeze me out like this. I can’t lose you.”

You stood up from the sofa, standing inches away from him. “Now you know how it feels,” you whispered, the words carrying a weight that made Lando flinch.

“What?” he breathed.

“Now you know exactly how it feels, Lando,” you said, your own voice finally cracking, the emotion breaking through your calm facade. “For the last three months, I have sat in this apartment feeling exactly like this. I have stared at my phone waiting for a text that never came. I have felt like a stranger in your life. I have gone to sleep alone in our bed wondering if you even remembered I existed. You are hurting after four days, Lando. I have been drowning in this for months, and when I finally tried to tell you, you screamed at me, called me insecure, and laughed about it to your family.”

Lando dropped to his knees right there on the living room rug, his hands flying to your waist, burying his face into your stomach as he began to sob openly. It was a raw, agonizing sound, the sound of a boy completely undone by his own mistakes. He gripped your pajama shirt tightly, his body shaking with the force of his tears.

“I am sorry, I am so sorry,” Lando wept, his voice muffled against you. “I didn’t realize. I swear to god, Y/N, I didn’t realize how lonely I was making you feel. I was so caught up in my own world, so selfishly focused on my own pressure, that I didn’t see I was destroying the only person who actually protects me. I hate myself for making you feel like that. I hate myself for what I said at dinner. I was an absolute monster to you.”

You stood there, feeling his tears soak through your shirt, your fingers twitching with the urge to run through his curls. You let out a long, shaky breath, the anger inside you finally beginning to melt away, leaving only the profound sadness of the situation. You placed your hands gently on his shoulders, letting him feel your touch for the first time in days.

“Get up, Lando,” you said softly.

He looked up at you, his face wet with tears, his eyes desperate as he slowly stood up, keeping his hands tentatively on your waist, terrified that you would push him away.

“I don’t want to punish you forever, Lando,” you said, looking into his eyes. “But you need to understand that sorry is just a word. You have to change how things are. I cannot live like this anymore. If your career means you have absolutely nothing left for me, then we shouldn't be together, because I refuse to be a ghost in my own relationship.”

“No, don’t say that, please,” Lando said quickly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I already talked to my manager. I talked to the team today. I told them I am pulling back on the extra sponsor events for the rest of the season. I am not doing the optional PR days anymore. I told them that when I am done with my engineering debriefs, I am leaving. No more staying late to just hang around the garage. I am coming straight home to you.”

You looked at him, surprised by his words. “You did that?”

“Yes,” Lando said, nodding eagerly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness. “I did it today. I told them my personal life is my priority and I need boundaries. I mean it, Y/N. I will do whatever it takes to make you feel safe and loved again. I will text you every single time I land. I will call you every night from the hotel. I will never, ever let you feel like an afterthought again. Just please come back to bed. Please let me hold you.”

You searched his face, seeing the absolute sincerity, the terror of losing you, and the deep devotion that had been buried under his stress for so long. You knew he had suffered, you knew he had finally felt the weight of his actions, and you knew he was genuinely trying to change.

Slowly, you reached up, your fingers finally sliding into his messy curls, gently wiping away a stray tear from his cheek with your thumb. Lando let out a broken, relieved sigh at the contact, leaning heavily into your touch, his eyes closing as if he had finally found safety after a massive storm.

“Okay,” you whispered softly. “I will come back to bed.”

Lando didn't waste a single second. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you up slightly as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was desperate, full of love, relief, and a promise to do better. He held you against him as if you were the most precious thing in the world, refusing to let go even as you both walked back into the main bedroom.

That night, Lando held you tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. He kept whispering soft promises into the dark, kissing your forehead every few minutes just to remind himself that you were really there. You closed your eyes, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart beneath your cheek, finally feeling the warmth return to the apartment, knowing that the storm had passed, and this time, he was truly here with you.