For as long as you could remember, you and Charles had been inseparable—partners in crime since childhood, the kind of bond that felt more like family than friendship. But lately, life had a way of pulling you apart. Between countries, calendars, and the chaos of Formula One, your time together had become fleeting, snatched in passing texts and rare video calls.

So when he told you he’d be in town for Valentine’s Day, it was like gravity pulling something back into place. An unspoken thing.

That morning, you woke to the soft murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs—your mum's unmistakable laugh followed by the lower timbre of someone you hadn’t heard in far too long. Still half-asleep, you padded down the hallway in your pyjamas, heart quickening with every step.

And then you saw him.

Charles stood just inside the doorway, a little windswept from the February chill, dressed smartly in a navy coat and holding two bouquets—one cradled in each arm. Your mum beamed beside him, already clutching her flowers. When his eyes met yours, his grin widened.

“These are for you,” he said, offering the second bouquet—roses the exact shade of blush you felt rise to your cheeks.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the distance, not the missed calls. Just Lando, looking at you like he hadn’t missed a beat.

"Happy Valentine's, sweetheart."