The karting paddock was chaos. Engines shrieking, tires squealing, kids running around with medals dangling off their necks. It smelled like fuel, rubber, and sugar from the snack stand — the usual cocktail of every race weekend.

But that day, none of it mattered.

You had just climbed out of your kart, helmet still under your arm, adrenaline still buzzing from the checkered flag. P2. Not bad, not bad at all. You should’ve been smiling. Instead, your stomach knotted as your father’s voice ripped through the air.

“You had that win! Do you hear me? You had it and you blew it!”

The words hit sharper than the roar of any engine. Heads turned, but just as quickly, turned away. Nobody interfered. Everyone had seen it before — the way he demanded perfection, the way you wilted under it but never fought back.

Except one person.

Lando Norris. The boy with messy brown hair, bright eyes, and a grin usually wide enough to light up the paddock. But not now. Now, he was sitting on his kart’s sidepod a few meters away, watching you. Really watching.

Your dad stalked off to the van, muttering under his breath, leaving you clutching your helmet like a shield. When you looked up, Lando was still staring. Not with pity. Not with smugness. Just… quiet understanding.

You expected him to look away. Instead, he hopped down, walking over, hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t want to spook you.

“Tough race,” he said simply. His voice wasn’t mocking, wasn’t empty. Just… normal.

You blinked, caught off guard, and managed a stiff nod. “Yeah. Guess so.”

For a second, you thought that was it. But then he added, softer, “Second place isn’t losing.”

And somehow, those four words landed heavier than all the yelling.

Now, years later, that moment still clung to you. Because Lando wasn’t just some kid in the paddock anymore. He was one of the fastest men in Formula 1 — your teammate, your rival, and, depending on the day, the only person who could cut through your walls.

And maybe that’s why, after qualifying at Monza, when you pulled off your helmet and caught him leaning against the garage, arms crossed with that same unreadable look, it felt like being twelve years old again.

He gave you a once-over, then smirked faintly. “Not bad. P2’s not losing.”

Your lips parted in surprise, a laugh escaping before you could stop it. “You remember that?”

He shrugged, eyes glinting, playful but almost too careful. “Course I do. I remember everything.”

And just like that, you knew — Lando had always been watching. From the paddock shadows, from across the garage, from the start line lights. And maybe this time, it wasn’t just about racing anymore.