The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of the city lights streaming through the window. The faint hum of traffic below filled the silence, but all I could hear was her steady breathing beside me.

I lay there on my side, head propped on my hand, watching her. Her face was peaceful, framed by messy strands of hair scattered across the pillow. She always claimed she didn’t look pretty when she slept—said it as a joke, but I never found it funny. I thought she looked perfect, especially in moments like this, when the rest of the world faded away, and it was just her.

The season had been relentless, leaving me mentally and physically drained. But none of that mattered now. She grounded me in ways no race, trophy, or podium ever could. I wasn’t Lando Norris, the driver, when I was with her. I was just… me.

Her hand was curled loosely against the sheets, fingertips brushing mine. I shifted closer, gently brushing my thumb across her knuckles. She stirred slightly but stayed asleep.

A quiet melody played in my head, the kind of song that sneaks in when your heart is too full to stay silent. If ever there was a doubt... my love, she leans into me. Those words settled deep in my chest, capturing the way I felt about her in a way I never could say aloud.

I thought about all the moments she’d been there for me—the late-night calls after rough races, the way she listened without judgment, the times she made me laugh when I didn’t think I could. And I realized something I hadn’t fully admitted before.

I wanted to be that person for her too. The one who showed up, who stayed, who made life just a little lighter when it got heavy. I wanted to look after her, not because she needed it, but because I couldn’t imagine not doing it.

Leaning in, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She sighed in her sleep, shifting closer to me, and my heart twisted in that sweet, overwhelming way it always did around her.

“I’ll always be here,” I whispered. "No matter what."