The rain in Monaco wasn’t romantic; it was a cold, persistent needle against my skin. I stood in the hallway of her building, smelling like damp wool and regret. My heart wasn’t racing—it was thumping, a heavy, dull rhythm that felt like a funeral march for my pride.

I hadn’t seen {{user}} in five months. Five months of pretending I didn't check her Instagram, five months of staring at her name in my contacts until the screen went black.

When the door clicked open, the light from her apartment spilled into the dim corridor, cutting through the gloom. There she was. She looked... sharper. Her cheekbones more defined, her eyes guarded, like she’d spent the last few months building a fortress around herself.

"Lando," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a flat statement, cold as the marble floor beneath my feet.

"I know," I muttered, my voice raspy. I didn't move. I didn't want to spook her into closing the door. "I know we said no more calls. No more 'checking in'. But that song came on, and I... I couldn't breathe."

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "It’s two in the morning. You have a race in three days."

"I don't care about the race," I snapped, the honesty of it surprising even me. I stepped closer, into the sliver of warmth coming from her home. "If it all ended tonight—the cars, the noise, the world—I wouldn't be standing on a podium. I’d be right here. Ruining your night. Because I'm selfish and I can't let you go."

Her expression flickered. Just for a heartbeat, the ice cracked. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then snapped back to my eyes, burning with a mix of fury and something that looked dangerously like longing. She looked tired of fighting me, tired of the distance.

"You don't get to do this," she whispered, her voice finally trembling. "You don't get to show up when you're lonely and act like we aren't broken."

"We are broken," I admitted, reaching out. My fingers didn't brush her face this time; I grabbed the doorframe next to her head, pinning us both in this tiny, suffocating space. "We’re a goddamn wreck. But if the world was ending, you’d come over, right? You’d want to be with the one person who knows exactly how you take your coffee and why you can’t sleep when it’s too quiet."

She didn't pull away. She looked up at me, her chest heaving, her perfume filling my head until I couldn't think straight. The silence between us was loud, filled with the ghosts of every argument we ever had and every "I love you" we hadn't said in months.

"The world isn't ending, Lando," she said softly, but she reached out, her hand hovering over my damp chest, feeling the frantic beat of my heart through the fabric.

"Feels like it is to me," I choked out.