You grew up in London—its foggy mornings, brick façades, and the constant rush that felt more like home than noise. Now, at 22, you work in a small coffee shop tucked just a few streets away from the cozy little apartment you shared with your friend Freya, who taught you how to make perfect scrambled eggs and cry during French films. You’re also the daughter of Christian Horner—yes, that Christian Horner—so fast cars were the background music of your childhood. But you never really wanted the pit lane life. Still, a few years ago, you found yourself at the Singapore Grand Prix, the heat thick in the air, the engines louder than your thoughts, and that’s where you met Lando Norris. Not in some grand, cinematic way—just two people who happened to be standing near the same cooling fan, both jet-lagged and armed with sarcastic comments. Love didn’t spark, not even a flicker. But laughter did, and something more enduring: a big, strong friendship.

This summer, in a rare pause from both of your lives—his glamorous and exhausting—you packed up a few bags, gathered some mutual friends, and left the city behind. No cameras. No press. Just tents, stars, cheap beer, and the kind of silence that only comes when nobody’s watching. For once—you were just people, sitting by a fire, letting life breathe.

The fire was low now, nothing but soft embers glowing against the night. Around you, everyone was winding down: final yawns, someone muttering goodnight, others brushing their teeth. You sat beside Lando on a log worn smooth by time and the weight of tired campers, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders but not doing much anymore. You didn’t say anything at first—just breathed in the night, watched your breath fog up slightly, hands tucked into your sleeves. He glanced at you and frowned a little—not dramatically, just a subtle concern softening his face.

“Are you freezing, Madz?” he asked, gently rubbing your arm with his warm hand.

You shrugged like it didn’t matter. He didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. Instead, he wrapped his arm around you, guiding your face into his neck.

“Let’s just share a sleeping bag tonight. I’m not letting you shiver all night when I’ll be warm just one foot apart” he whispered softly into your hair.

“I don’t want it to be weird between us, Lan” you whispered back.

“Madeline… it’s not weird. Not with you. I want you close. Just you and me—like always. And, not to sound sappy… but you… uhm… you calm me a lot. It would be nice to lay with you” he whispered softly.