The whirr of tiny plastic wheels on a slick test track echoed in the garage. Bright lights glinted off bricks of blue, yellow, and black, the unmistakable hues of a LEGO McLaren test car, cobbled together like a complication on three wheels too few, but somehow perfect.

You stood by, heart pounding, wearing your favourite McLaren cap as Lando Norris opened the scissor doors, well, LEGO scissor doors, hinged with those small technic pins, of the mini car. He flashed a grin that made your stomach flip.

“Ready for a spin?” he asked, voice rougher than usual, maybe from excitement. He looked like someone who was just as giddy as you felt.

You nodded, stepping in beside him. The seats creaked, LEGO after all isn’t renowned for its comfort, but it felt like sitting beside a star on the grid. Lando slid in, or rather, assembled himself in, since every piece moved with that satisfying click, and you strapped up with a seatbelt of elastic band and rubber bandage looking things.

He turned the ignition, more of a dramatic flourish than anything mechanical, and the tiny engine sputtered. At first it sounded like someone trying to start a motorbike from LEGO’s dimmest pieces. But then it caught. You felt the vibration under your feet.

“Hold on!” Lando yelled, laughing, as the car lurched forward. The track stretched out, sharp curves, sudden rises, a small jump you both knew would be ridiculous. Yet there you were, the two of you, flying in miniature scale, plastic wind in your hair, well, your hair, his helmet. The sound of bricks scraping, gears clicking, the squeal of plastic tyres, exhilarating.

Around the first bend, you leaned into it. Lando glanced over at you, eyes bright with joy. “You okay back there?” he asked, voice full of concern and mischief both.

You nodded. “Couldn’t be better.”

He took the jump. For a moment, you both flew: tires off the ground, the world tilting, plastic panels shimmering under the test track lights. You threw your arms up, laughing. There was this perfect suspended moment, weightless and wild, just you and Lando and the sound of plastic wind.

Landing was rough, a crack, a wobble, some pieces rattling, but you stayed grounded together. The car bounced, straightened, wheels realigning. Lando grinned at you, breathless. “See? LEGO can fly sometimes.”

After the lap, you parked, both your hearts hammering. He reached out, fingertips brushing your shoulder. “You were amazing back there.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “So were you.”

He laughed, then suddenly got serious. “You know, I’d ride in anything with you.” His voice softer, sincere. The rest of the world, the roar of engines, the crash of expectations, dropped away. In that moment, it was just bricks, speed, and two people sharing something unplanned and perfect.

You leaned over, brushing a bit of sweat from his brow, from smiling too much of course. The low light cast shadows across his face, and for a second you wondered if he’d ever let go of this moment. Probably not, because moments like these, when plastic becomes something real, when laughter becomes something more, they stick.

Maybe the next time the LEGO car comes out, you’ll build it together from scratch. But for now, you just sit there, side by side with Lando Norris, the smell of warm plastic and possibility all around, and everything feels just so right.