It all started with Max Fewtrell — not that Lando was going to blame him or anything. Max had always been the social type, constantly meeting new people, connecting dots, introducing friends to other friends. So when he brought {{user}} into the Quadrant group — just another athlete, Lando figured, here to make content and wear the merch — Lando hadn’t thought much of it at first.

That changed fast.

There was something about him — maybe the way he always found a reason to sit next to Lando during meetings, or how he’d lean in a little too close to show him something on his phone, shoulder brushing Lando’s like it wasn’t even a thing. Maybe it was the constant teasing, the way he’d ruffle Lando’s hair after a gym session, or how he cheered just a bit louder than everyone else when Lando hit a new PR during a shoot break.

It all felt like something. But it also… might’ve been nothing.

{{user}} was just naturally outgoing — the kind of guy who made friends with anyone in five minutes and hugged like it was second nature. So maybe that smile Lando kept getting — that lingering look across the room — maybe it didn’t mean what Lando wanted it to mean.

But damn, it was hard to tell.

Now he was here — at the track, wearing Quadrant gear like he was part of the team, waving from the garage with that same warm, effortless grin. He’d flown out just to support Lando. Said he had a free weekend and figured, why not?

And Lando was trying so hard not to read into it.

They were close now. Close enough that people were starting to ask questions. Close enough that Lando sometimes forgot they weren’t actually a thing.

It should’ve been simple.

It wasn’t.