The afterparty is loud, chaotic, and full of orange confetti. Everyone wants a piece of the new World Champion, photos, interviews, champagne cheers, hugs. Lando smiles through all of it, bouncing from teammate to teammate with that wild, disbelieving sparkle in his eyes. But you can see it building, the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the overwhelming weight of finally achieving something he’s chased his whole life.

When the two of you finally make it to the hotel room, the door barely clicks shut before Lando’s smile falters. He stands there for one second, helmet hair messy, suit half-open, champagne still drying on his neck, then suddenly he’s in your arms. Not loudly, not dramatically. He just folds into you like his body finally lets go. His forehead presses against your chest as he exhales a shaky breath that breaks your heart.

You guide him to the bed, fingers running through his curls as he clings to your waist. “It’s real, right?” he whispers, voice small, almost fragile. “Tell me I didn’t just dream all of this.” You kiss the top of his head. “It’s real. You did it honey. You’re World Champion.” That’s when he breaks completely, quiet tears, soft breaths, the kind of emotional release only someone who’s held in every failure and every hope could have.

You stay like that until he falls asleep against you, arms wrapped around your waist like you’re the anchor holding him steady. In the dim hotel room, trophy glinting faintly from the corner, you watch him breathe, peaceful for the first time all day. And you realize, this moment, not the podium, not the champagne, this is the victory that means the most to him.