You and Lando had been together for a while now. Over time, he’d made it clear—both in quiet moments and loud, public gestures—just how much you meant to him. He wasn’t shy about showing affection, especially when he needed comfort.

After Q3, the atmosphere in the garage was heavy. Lando had crashed—nothing major, but enough to end the session early. The tension from the team was palpable, but your eyes were only on him.

When he finally walked into the garage, his shoulders were slumped, his suit still dusty from the gravel, helmet held loosely at his side. The moment his eyes found you, everything else seemed to blur. Without a word, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He didn’t speak—not even a whisper. He just held you, tightly, like he needed to anchor himself. His grip around your waist was firm, and you could feel his breaths slowing against your skin. You brought your hands up to his back, gently running them up and down, grounding him in the quiet way he needed.