brazil hit lando hard. it was one of his worst races of the season but to make it worse, or maybe better, you weren’t there at the race. he thought it was good because you didn’t see him fail but he needed a shoulder to cry on.

you were busy in london, with work, but you flew back to monaco a day or two after he had.

it was around one in the afternoon when you got home, putting your luggage by the door and hoping to see lando in bed or something.

he had been struggling. he was depressed. he found it hard to talk and express his emotions so you were obviously planning on spending all your time with him and helping him feel himself again.

however when you looked around for lando, you found him playing on his PC. he was on call to max, who was streaming, but he was barely talking. he was gaming to take it of his mind.

he looked a mess, dishevelled hair, black tracksuit set with the hood slightly up. and not in a mean way, he didn’t smell his normal self. not to even mention his eye bags, which suggested he hadn’t slept for the whole time he was home.