#foundcomfort

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ

ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ

ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴘᴀʀɪᴛʏ

ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ

The realization didn’t come with a thunderclap. It came on a Tuesday.

(Y/n) was sitting in the cramped lounge of the aviation academy, sipping on cheap coffee and reviewing a checklist from their mock ATC drill. One of her classmates, Theo, was scrolling on his phone beside her. "Dude, the Monaco GP recap is finally up," he muttered.

"Grand Prix?" she asked, half-interested.

"Formula 1. The race they just had? It’s all over the place. Lando Norris was in top form."

Her brows pulled together. Lando?

Theo turned his phone toward her. A video played. Loud engines. Papaya-colored cars. Swarms of press. Then, walking into frame, in a crisp McLaren team uniform and a cocky half-smile, was him.

Lando.

Her Lando.

She blinked.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That’s Lando?" she asked, pointing at the screen.

"Yeah. Lando Norris. Are you living under a rock?"

She barely heard him. Her coffee remained suspended halfway to her lips.

She had met that man through a sugar dating app? Had been having dinners, long talks, quiet walks with that Lando Norris?

She bolted out a laugh. Theo glanced over, confused.

"You good?"

"Oh, I’m just fantastic," she said, grinning into her sleeve.

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That evening, she messaged him: So... any reason you left out the whole 'international racing sensation' thing?

Lando responded with a single emoji: 😅

Then: Wanted you to get to know the version of me that doesn’t need a helmet to be interesting.

She snorted. Fair enough. But I’m still going to tease the hell out of you next time.

Can’t wait.

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They met at his flat later that week. Not the sprawling penthouse she expected, but a modern, minimal apartment tucked above the harbor, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view that could quiet even the busiest mind.

He opened the door in a hoodie and socks.

"Hey," he said casually.

"Oh my god," she drawled dramatically, stepping in. "It’s Lando Norris. Do you sign autographs or just race hearts?"

He groaned. "You're never letting this go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

She tossed her bag down and wandered toward the windows. "You do realize you could’ve just told me?"

"And risk being liked for my net worth instead of my sarcasm? No thanks."

She turned and raised a brow. "You think it was your sarcasm that charmed me?"

He laughed. "So, what was it?"

She pretended to think. "The coffee budget. Definitely."

They slipped into conversation as they always did, but something had shifted. Not awkwardly. Just a new awareness. She wasn’t just sitting across from some generous stranger. She was spending time with someone whose face plastered billboards, who was tracked by cameras, who carried pressure she hadn’t understood before.

That night, over takeout and a documentary she half paid attention to, Lando asked, "Have you ever seen a Grand Prix in person?"

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. "Do I look like someone who has Grand Prix money?"

He grinned. "How about Grand Prix access?"

"What are you offering, exactly?"

"The Spanish Grand Prix is next weekend. You’re off Friday to Monday, right?"

She tilted her head, amused. "You memorized my class schedule?"

"I have an excellent memory when it comes to people I care about."

Her chest did that weird flutter thing again.

He continued, "I can get you a private pass. You won’t be on TV. Not with the media. My family will be there. Oscar and Lily too. You’ll be somewhere...safe. Away from all of it."

She hesitated. "Does your family know about me?"

He shook his head slowly. "They know I’ve been in a good mood lately. That’s about it."

"So, they don’t know I’m a broke aviation student with a sugar app profile?"

He smiled, but it was soft this time. "No. And when they do, they’ll be meeting the version of you I get to see every week. The one who makes me forget how insane my life is."

She swallowed. Then nodded. "Okay. Let’s go to Spain."

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Traveling with Lando was surreal.

The private flight wasn’t flashy, just quiet. Calm. He let her nap on his shoulder, let her pick the music, and even helped her revise a few notes for her systems check exam.

In Spain, everything was discreet. They had separate transportation. A hotel suite with a private elevator. She had passes under a pseudonym. The paddock was off-limits, but Lando made sure she had access to the upper VIP terrace—a space reserved for family and close friends.

There, she met Oscar Piastri, who was polite and oddly hilarious, and Lily, who immediately took to her like an old friend.

"So, you're the mysterious girl," Lily said, sipping champagne. "He’s been grinning for weeks. I thought it was the car upgrades."

(Y/n) laughed. "I assumed it was the carbs."

They clicked instantly.

Zak Brown gave her a brief nod, too busy on the phone. But it was Lando’s parents who made her nervous.

His mother, Cisca, was kind but observant, while his father, Adam, seemed focused more on Lando than anyone else. Neither asked questions, and (Y/n) was glad. No need to explain why she still wore her student ID in the side pocket of her backpack.

From the terrace, she watched her first race.

The roar of the engines. The choreography of pit stops. The sheer velocity. It was beautiful.

And watching Lando drive—knowing now what it took, the persona he wore, the life he didn’t brag about—made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected.

She held her breath as he crossed the finish line.

P3.

Not a podium, but he looked proud. Happy. Exhausted.

Later that evening, she found a note waiting for her on the suite pillow.

You made today less lonely. Thank you.

She sat down, read it again, and smiled.

Maybe she hadn’t just stepped into a new world.

Maybe she belonged here too.

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3: ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ✈️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ

ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

The warmth of those early days faded like summer evenings—slow, subtle, and painful in ways (Y/n) couldn’t quite name.

She still had Lando’s number saved under something ridiculous, Mr. Vanilla Latte, a callback to their second meeting when he’d ordered the same drink with no shame. But for the past few days, her screen remained achingly still. No texts. No pings. No private driver at her curb with a lazy smile and a mumbled, “You know the routine, Miss.”

It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear briefly during back-to-back races, but this time felt different. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He’d simply faded out, leaving her with a half-read message and a dozen half-formed questions.

You: Everything okay? Just checking in.

Delivered. Not read.

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(Y/n) tried to be rational about it. Lando was busy. The F1 calendar was relentless. And she had her own mountains to climb: mock exams, flight deck assessments, her scholarship paperwork due next week.

But even as she sat inside the university simulator cockpit, headset firm over her ears, altitude ticking upward in digital meters, her mind spiraled somewhere far from the clouds.

What if he was ghosting her?

What if he had someone else?

What if the whole thing—every sweet moment, every soft laugh—had been nothing more than an indulgent illusion?

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It wasn’t until the third evening that he finally texted.

Lando: Sorry. Just landed. Been a shitty week.

That was it. No emojis. No humor. No softness.

She stared at the message, thumb hovering.

She thought about leaving it unanswered. She thought about asking directly—What’s going on? But instead, she sent:

You: Hope things get better soon.

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Another two days passed.

By the time Sunday arrived, she was no longer waiting. She was studying late in a quiet café, textbook open beside her untouched coffee, when her phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Lando.

She let it ring once. Twice. Almost didn’t answer. Then sighed, flipped her phone, and pressed it to her ear.

"Hi."

"Hey," his voice was low, tired. "I’m outside. Can we talk?"

Her brows furrowed. "Outside... the café?"

"Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up."

She gathered her things quickly, shoving notes into her backpack and wrapping her jacket around herself. The sky outside was bruised purple, and Lando leaned against a black SUV, hands in his pockets, baseball cap low over his eyes.

She walked up slowly. "Hey."

"Hey."

They stood there awkwardly for a second. Then he opened the passenger door.

"Ride with me?"

She didn’t say anything, just slid in.

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They drove in silence for a while. The city flickered past in streaks of amber. He didn’t take her to his apartment. Instead, they pulled up near a lookout point on the outskirts—where city lights glittered like stars scattered below.

(Y/n) broke the silence first. “So, is this where you bring all your sugar babies to get dumped?”

His head snapped toward her, startled. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—quiet and raw.

“No. Just you.”

She looked at him. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly serious.

“I didn’t mean to vanish. I was just... overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

He nodded. “The team. The press. My family. And then—” he looked at her, “—you.”

Her breath caught. “What about me?”

“You’re not just a fling, (Y/n). You’re not just some arrangement. And that scares the hell out of me.”

There it was. The fracture line.

She folded her arms. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been terrified since day one, Lando. I walked into this thinking I’d trade time for tuition money, not... not fall for someone who acts like I’m his secret.”

He blinked. “You’ve fallen for me?”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He leaned back against the headrest. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle it. You’re young. You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole future ahead of you. I shouldn’t even be in the picture.”

“You are in the picture,” she said softly. “Whether you want to be or not.”

Silence stretched again. A tension hung between them, dense and uncertain.

Finally, he looked over. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Would you still want to be with me... if there was no money? No McLaren? No private flights?”

That cut deep. She didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the glittering horizon.

Then, quietly: “Yes. But I won’t lie, your money got me through the door. Your heart kept me here.”

He looked wrecked. Moved. Maybe both.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Norris.”

He chuckled. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Then, without warning, she reached across the console and took his hand. It was cold. But steady.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

His thumb brushed over hers.

“I think we could be.”

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The next week was a strange return to something familiar, but with cracks now visible.

Lando still called, still sent Uber Eats to her dorm when she forgot to eat. Still left her sweet notes when she visited. But he was guarded now. Measured. Like he was afraid to tip the scale too far.

And (Y/n), for all her coolness, felt the shift too.

They weren’t sugar daddy and sugar baby anymore. Not really. They were something messier. Undefined.

One evening, as they lay in bed fully clothed, her head on his chest and his fingers tracing light patterns along her arm, she asked, “What happens if your team finds out?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your parents?”

Still silent.

She pulled back to look at him. “Lando. I need to know where I stand.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels real right now. But I don’t know how to protect that without ruining everything else.”

Tears stung her eyes, unbidden.

“I don’t need protection. I need honesty.”

He nodded. Swallowed hard. “You’re right.”

(Y/n) sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m not asking you to announce me to the world. I’m asking you not to hide me from it.”

He sat up too, closer now. “Then I’ll try. I promise.”

She searched his face. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.”

And somehow, she believed him.

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But late that night, as Lando watched her sleep beside him—curled into his hoodie, lips parted slightly—he wondered just how long he could hold that promise.

He was falling for her.

And falling, in his world, always came at a cost.

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ✈️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ (17)

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀʏ ʀᴇꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴᴛ

ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ

ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴘᴀʀɪᴛʏ

Back in Monaco, everything should've gone back to normal.

But it didn’t.

Not for her.

(Y/n) replayed the weekend in her head like her favorite song, moments looping in the quiet of her small dorm room. The hum of the engines. Lando’s laughter muffled behind his helmet. The way his hand brushed her lower back when he thought no one was looking. The note he left.

You made today less lonely.

She read that line until she could whisper it like a prayer.

Things didn’t go back to normal for Lando, either. Not entirely.

He texted her the next morning: Made it through the debrief. Barely. Thinking about churros. Thinking about you.

She laughed. Then typed: In that order?

Equal priority.

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Over the next two weeks, they spent more time together. Carefully. Quietly.

Long walks in Kensington Gardens. Drive-thru runs with tinted windows. Nights on his balcony with a blanket over both their shoulders.

He never rushed her. Never made her feel like a secret. But she knew she was one. Not because he was ashamed. Because he was protecting her.

She admired that.

One night, he brought her to his place again. It had rained, and the smell of petrichor mixed with candle wax lingered inside.

They watched an old aviation documentary. She tried to pay attention. Really, she did.

But he was sitting too close.

And she was wearing his hoodie.

And he kept looking over at her like she was made of glass and gravity all at once.

"You okay?" she asked, gently.

Lando sighed, pressing the pause button. The screen froze on a cockpit view. "No. Not really."

She turned toward him, concerned. "Is it McLaren? The car?"

"No. It’s you."

That stunned her. He looked away immediately, running a hand through his curls.

"You’re seventeen, (Y/n). You’re... brilliant. Funny. So grounded. And it terrifies me that I even think about you the way I do."

She blinked. Her heart stuttered.

"Lando..."

"I shouldn’t want to kiss you. Or want you to stay the night. Or dream about us in Monaco, or the paddock, or here, with our legs tangled under the blankets. I shouldn’t be thinking about those things."

She swallowed. "But you are."

"Every night."

The silence buzzed.

"So," she said, softer now, "why haven’t you?"

He looked at her then. His eyes were unreadable. Tired. Full.

"Because you’re seventeen and a half. Because the world would crucify me if they knew. Because I would crucify myself."

She reached for his hand. He let her take it.

"I know you think I’m just a student. But I’ve lived through things most people never have. My parents aren’t around. I paid for my own flying hours by working part-time and studying until I dropped. I found that app because I needed help, not because I was naive. I knew what I was signing up for."

Lando inhaled sharply. Her words felt like steel wrapped in silk.

"I’m not asking you to break any rules, Lando. I’m asking you not to run from something just because it scares you."

He leaned his head back against the couch. Exhaled.

Then slowly, he pulled her into his arms.

She melted into him like she belonged there.

"Can I hold you?" he whispered.

"Please."

And that’s all they did.

No kisses.

No sheets tangled or breathless gasps.

Just the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear. His fingers threading through her hair. Her fingers resting lightly on his ribs.

Intimacy in its rawest, most honest form.

It was enough.

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A week passed.

She had a grueling simulator exam. He flew out for tire testing in Austria.

But they texted. Called. Sent photos. Inside jokes layered between voice memos and late-night "thinking of you" messages.

He FaceTimed her once from the motorhome.

"Oscar’s being a menace," he whispered.

"Tell him I said hi."

"Already did. He said you’re too good for me."

She smirked. "He’s right."

Lando groaned. "I regret introducing you two."

They saw each other again the day he returned.

She met him at the flat.

The second the door closed, he kissed her forehead. Nothing more. But she felt it through her bones.

He handed her a small paper bag.

"What is this?"

"Open it."

Inside: a toy model of the McLaren car. Tiny, detailed, papaya orange.

"For your desk. Thought maybe one day it could sit beside your captain’s hat."

Her throat tightened. She blinked hard.

"You’re impossible."

He grinned. "You like it."

She set the toy on his desk instead. "Only if you promise to sign the real thing someday."

Lando leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Watching her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just... trying to remember what life was like before you walked into it."

She didn’t know what to say to that. So, she walked over, buried her face in his chest, and let herself stay there.

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That night, they lay under the covers. Still clothed. Still gentle.

But the tension was there.

His hand traced her arm slowly. Up and down. Up and down.

"Tell me about your favorite flight so far," he murmured.

She smiled against his collarbone. "The night flight over Bristol. Everything was dark, except the lights below. The world looked like a sea of stars flipped upside down."

"Sounds beautiful."

"It was. Like... everything made sense for a moment. I wasn’t scared about the future. I wasn’t thinking about tuition or missing meals or anything. I just felt... free."

He nodded slowly. "That’s what driving feels like. On the good days."

She looked up at him. "Maybe that’s why we understand each other."

He cupped her cheek.

"Maybe."

She leaned in slightly. He didn’t move.

Their lips were inches apart.

Then he closed his eyes and turned his head.

She didn’t push.

She just nuzzled closer, resting her head under his jaw.

They fell asleep like that.

Not as sugar baby and sugar daddy.

Not as pilot-in-training and Formula 1 star.

But as two people trying to navigate something real in a world that didn’t make space for it.

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ✈️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ

ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇ (ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ)

ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ɪɴᴛɪᴍᴀᴄʏ (ɴᴏɴ-ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ)

The rain tapped against her dorm window like a ticking clock, quiet and unrelenting. Outside, the street lamps lit the wet pavement in dull amber streaks, catching the shuffle of late-night students returning from the library or their part-time jobs. Inside her small room, (Y/n) sat in the dark with her laptop open, blue light casting shadows across her face.

Her McLaren hoodie draped loosely over her frame. Her embroidered name? It felt more like a pulse tonight, a mark of something both dangerously close and absurdly unreal.

She had received another package from him that morning: a rare aviation mechanics manual out of print for years. Inside the front cover was a short note:

So you’ll have an edge before uni even starts. Let me know which chapter makes you think of flying the most. — Lando

She smiled at that. Always thoughtful, always skirting the line between doting partner and someone still tethered by the weight of the world watching.

But tonight felt different. He was calling.

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“Hey,” she answered, sitting cross-legged.

His voice was soft on the other end. “Hey, you.”

“You sound… tired.”

“Media day. Sim sessions. Debriefs.” A yawn. “And I missed you. That part was worse.”

(Y/n) tucked a knee to her chest, trying to keep her voice light. “You’re getting sappy.”

He chuckled. “I’ve always been this way. You’re just finally seeing it.”

A pause.

Then—

“I want to see you this weekend. It’s not a race weekend, and I’ll be in Monaco for a few days. You could come.”

“Lando—”

“I’ll have a car come for you. Nothing official, nothing that traces back to me. No press. No one knows except my assistant. You’ll stay at the apartment.” He paused, voice softer. “I just want time with you, without looking over my shoulder.”

She hesitated, heart hammering. “Won’t that be more dangerous?”

“I’ve thought it through.”

“…Okay,” she whispered. “Then I’m in.”

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The car ride wasn’t something she’d ever fully get used to. Not because it was flashy, because it wasn’t, but because of how deliberately invisible it felt. Tinted windows, a nondescript dark interior, the steady hum of tires against wet asphalt as Monaco blurred past outside. Nothing about it screamed him, and that was the point.

There were no other passengers. Just the driver, who kept his eyes forward and the music low, offering her bottled water with a quiet nod.

It was raining when they pulled into the underground garage beneath the apartment building.

The elevator ride up was silent except for the soft whir of cables and the distant patter of rain echoing somewhere far below. When the doors opened, warm light spilled into the hallway, muted and calm, like the world had been turned down a notch.

Lando was already inside.

She barely had time to set her bag down before the door closed behind her, the lock clicking softly into place. He was standing a few steps away, hoodie on, hair still slightly damp like he’d been pacing near an open window. No rush. No crowd. Just him, waiting.

She crossed the space between them.

It wasn’t a dramatic run or anything cinematic—just a quick, slightly unsteady walk that ended in his chest, her forehead pressing against his neck, arms wrapping around his back like muscle memory taking over.

“I missed you,” she mumbled into his hoodie.

He smelled like warm cotton and faint cologne, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

“I missed you more,” he murmured, arms tightening around her as the rain continued tapping quietly against the windows behind them.

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His apartment overlooked the marina.

He had moved some things around. There was a toothbrush for her in the bathroom, oat milk in the fridge, and a copy of a textbook she had mentioned weeks ago sitting on the kitchen island.

(Y/n) sat on the couch, her fingers playing with the hem of her sweater. “You’re nesting.”

Lando raised a brow, sitting beside her. “Excuse me?”

“You’re preparing your space for me. Like I’m… more than just a visit.”

His gaze softened. “Aren’t you?”

Her heart tripped.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, looking out the glass window, the rain now just mist. “In a few months, you’ll turn eighteen. Legally, everything gets easier. No grey area. No lines to blur.”

She nodded slowly.

“And I don’t want this to be just some pocket of rebellion or secrecy. I want it to be something real. That we build on.”

“Even if people find out?”

He turned to face her fully. “Even if. I’ll take the heat. But I want to do right by you. We move at your pace. We set our own rules.”

She studied him for a long moment. Then leaned in and kissed him—gentle, grateful, grounding.

And then she whispered, “Then can I sleep here tonight?”

He hesitated. His hand was already curled around her waist, warm and possessive.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “but just cuddling.”

“I know.” She didn’t push. “Just cuddling. Nothing else.”

“Then yes. A thousand times yes.”

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The night passed in quiet intimacy.

They lay in bed, his arm tucked beneath her head, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his chest. (He still had his shirt on, for goodness’ sake.)

He told her stories about karting in the rain, about crashing in practice at a local karting place and laughing through the bruises. She told him about her mother’s cooking, about the time she broke her wrist trying to assemble a DIY glider.

At one point, she asked, “Were you ever scared?”

“Of racing?”

“Of… being this public. This exposed.”

He looked up at the ceiling.

“Every day. But I signed up for it. I trained for it. I never expected, though, to have something private I wanted to protect this much.”

“You mean me.”

He met her eyes. “Yes. You.”

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The next morning, she woke up before him.

The light was pouring in over the bay, casting golden streaks across the bed.

She watched him sleep, eyelashes dark against his cheek, mouth slightly parted.

Her heart ached in the best way.

She got up quietly and padded to the kitchen, pulling his hoodie around her. It nearly swallowed her whole.

She made coffee. And when he finally stirred, hair a mess, smile sleepy and crooked, she handed him a mug and said, “Happy morning, boyfriend.”

He choked on his coffee. “Boyfriend?”

“You don’t like labels?”

He set the mug down, grinned, and pulled her into his lap. “I love that one.”

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Later that afternoon, they didn’t go anywhere at all. The world stayed outside, muted behind glass and drawn curtains, while the apartment settled into a quiet rhythm around them.

They shared gelato straight from the freezer, sitting on the kitchen counter like it was the most normal thing in the world. She chose lemon. He went for chocolate. He teased her about it; she stole a bite anyway.

They ended up by the window, the balcony door cracked open just enough to let the breeze in. Below them, the marina existed only as distant movement—boats rocking gently, voices too far away to matter.

She asked softly, “What would you be if you weren’t a driver?”

He leaned back, considering it. “A mechanic,” he said. Then, after a moment, “Or maybe a photographer.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“I like seeing moments,” he said. “Capturing what no one else notices. You do that too, in your own way. With engines. With pressure points.”

She turned her face toward the open door, letting the air brush her skin.

“I think I’d be a bird if I could,” she said quietly. “Just flying. No press. No expectations.”

Lando nodded, gaze steady on her. “But birds don’t get to fall in love like this.”

She looked at him.

And didn’t say anything for a long time.

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That night, they lay tangled again.

No words, just the rhythm of breath and quiet heartbeat.

His fingers brushed over her temple.

He whispered, “Whatever happens next, I’m with you.”

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7: ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ✈️

Today I went out with my husband to his workplace. But instead of following him around, I decided to wander off to a nearby marketplace on my own. I found a cozy little spot and treated myself to a warm cup of tea and a local dessert. The place had such a rich cultural charm — perfect for people-watching and enjoying a quiet moment.

As I sat there, sipping my tea and indulging in the sweet treat, I observed the world around me. Families strolled by, friends laughed together, and children ran around playfully. It reminded me so much of home — my own family and friends back in my hometown. I realized just how much I missed them.

It was such a refreshing change of scenery — so different from my daily view of walls and doorways, walking from room to room inside the house.

Then, a small but unforgettable thing happened.

I thought of calling my father-in-law to invite him for a cup of tea. Just as I was about to dial his number, I looked up and there he was — walking right past me! I couldn’t hold back my excitement. I called out his name with a big smile, and it felt like the little child in me suddenly came alive again. 🤣

I adore my father-in-law. He’s one of the few people who made me feel welcome in this new chapter of life. His warmth and kindness are something I truly cherish.

And yet, behind that smile — life has been teaching me something harder to digest.

No matter how much we try to fit into someone else’s world, some people will always be too caught up in their own. It’s not that we’re not capable of living on our own — we are. But sometimes, we just long for someone to truly be there. For us. Beside us.

When that doesn't happen, when the connection feels one-sided, it hurts. But we learn to accept it — not because it's okay, but because sometimes that's the only way to keep going.

Some choices bring loneliness even in the presence of people. Some distances can’t be measured in miles — but in hearts drifting apart.

And so I sip my tea, watch the world move around me, and tell myself: just enjoy this moment, even if it aches a little. This is life — messy, bittersweet, and constantly teaching us how to breathe through it all.