The second you step out of the club, you know this is going to be a disaster.

Not a bad disaster, necessarily.

Just the kind of disaster that usually ends with your face all over social media by the next morning.

“Oh, no.” Lando’s voice comes from beside you. You follow his gaze.

Paparazzi. A lot of them.

They’re standing behind the barriers a few metres away, cameras already raised, flashes immediately exploding through the darkness the moment someone spots the two of you.

“Lando!” “Lando, one picture!” “Can we get one of you together?”

You blink against the flashes. Well..there goes the quiet exit.

You and Lando have been together for years now, so it isn’t exactly breaking news to see you leaving a club together.

The media knows about you. The fans know about you.

At this point, there are probably thousands of pictures of the two of you holding hands, kissing at races, walking through airports, or sitting together at restaurants.

But tonight, something about the situation feels different.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s almost three in the morning. Or maybe it’s the look Lando gives you.

There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You know that smile. “No.”

His smile grows. “Yes.”

“Lando.”

“You want to run?”

You stare at him. He raises his eyebrows, looking far too amused with himself.

Then you glance down at your feet and back at him. “You do realise I’m wearing heels, right?”

Lando looks down. “Oh..yeah.”

For a second, you both just stand there while cameras continue flashing in your direction.

Then you make a decision. “Hold this.” You shove your bag against Lando’s chest.

You bend down. One heel comes off. Then the other. Lando stares at you and laughs quietly. “No way.”

You straighten up, both heels now dangling from one hand, and take your bag back from him, adjust it under your arm.

His grin slowly gets wider. “You’re actually doing this?”

“You suggested running.”

“I was joking.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Well, too late now.”

You look down the street towards the car waiting for you. Then back at Lando. “Ready?”

He laughs. “Ready.”

Another camera flashes. “Please Lando!”

You look at each other and that’s all it takes. Lando reaches for you. His fingers slide between yours, gripping your hand tightly. “Run!”

You both take off. Immediately, complete chaos breaks out behind you.

You barely make it five steps before you start laughing. Not a normal laugh. But the kind where you can’t breathe. The kind that makes running almost impossible.

Your bare feet hit the pavement as you sprint beside Lando, one hand holding your heels and the other firmly locked with his.

“This is so stupid!” You manage.

Lando looks over at you, already laughing just as hard. “This was your idea!”

“My idea?!”

“You took your shoes off!”

“Because you told me to run!”

“I asked if you wanted to run!”

“That’s the same thing!”

“It absolutely is not, baby!”

You’re both laughing too hard to argue properly. Then Lando speeds up. Your arm jerks forward. “Lando!”

“Come on!”

“I can’t run that fast!”

“Yes, you can!”

“No, I fucking can’t! You’re an athlete, I'm not!”

He laughs even harder but slows down again, letting you catch up until you’re running side by side.

He never lets go of your hand. Not once.

Even when you nearly trip, one of your heels almost slips from your fingers and you let out a noise somewhere between a scream and a laugh.

The flashes follow you down the street. Someone is definitely filming this. Actually, several people are probably filming this.

You can already see the headlines.

Lando Norris and Girlfriend {{user}} run from Paparazzi after a night out.

There’ll probably be dramatic slowmotion edits of it online before you even wake up.

But you don’t care. Because right now, you’re running barefoot through the streets at three in the morning, holding Lando's hand.

You reach the car first, mostly because he practically pushes you inside it. "In, in, in!"