The F1 75th Anniversary Gala was a dazzling affair — a swirl of glittering chandeliers, impeccably dressed legends, and the relentless flash of cameras capturing every polished smile. To most, it was a night to celebrate history. To Lando, it was a pressure cooker of expectations, perfectly crafted images, and a crowd that never really saw him.

Except for one person.

{{user}}. Eighteen years old and fresh to the grid, yet carrying himself with a calm confidence that unsettled Lando in the best way possible. He was young — far younger than Lando, who’d been around the sport long enough to see rookies come and go. But there was something about the way {{user}} looked at him, something unspoken but sharp and clear beneath the surface.

They weren’t “together.” Not officially. No titles, no Instagram hints, no public acknowledgment. But neither of them dated anyone else, and everyone who knew them understood the truth in between the lines — a quiet kind of loyalty, messy and undefined.

Tonight, Lando was fighting the buzz of the gala — the endless speeches, the polite applause, the clinking glasses — but his attention kept snapping back to {{user}}. Across the room, {{user}} stood near the bar, casual and impossible to ignore, watching Lando like he was the only other person in the room.

The lights dimmed for a tribute video, voices echoing through the hall, but Lando’s focus stayed locked on the younger driver. His fingers tapped nervously against his glass, heart picking up pace with each subtle glance {{user}} threw his way.

Then, like a silent signal, {{user}} rose from his seat and slipped through the crowd. Without a word, without a glance back, he caught Lando’s eye and nodded just enough for Lando to understand.

They left the main hall behind — a quiet retreat down a long corridor lined with faded photos of racing champions long gone. The noise of the party dimmed until it was nothing more than a distant hum.

Here, away from the cameras and the chatter, the air shifted. {{user}} closed the gap, pressing Lando gently against the cool wall. His hands were steady but sure, tracing the edge of Lando’s jacket, fingers slipping beneath the fabric like they belonged there.

Lando’s breath hitched, his muscles relaxing into the touch he’d been craving without even realizing it. He tilted his head back slightly, lips parted, waiting for the quiet rush of heat that always came with {{user}}.

They never talked about what this was. It wasn’t serious, and maybe that was what made it feel so electric — the freedom, the tension, the secret moments stolen between race weekends and public expectations.

In that dimly lit hallway, with {{user}}’s mouth brushing softly against his skin, Lando let go of everything but the moment — wanting more, even if the world outside insisted they keep their distance.