You were sitting next to him in his McLaren, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun over Monaco.

The day had been long. Interviews, press events, countless cameras pointed at him.

Smiling, nodding, small talk.

The usual machinery.

But as the streets quieted down, there was only silence. A silence that wasn’t uncomfortable.

On the contrary. It was soft, familiar, almost intimate.

You hadn’t thought much about it in that moment, it just felt…right.

He was talking about something, maybe his training, maybe the car, but you weren’t really listening anymore.

You were just looking at him.

The way the light played on his profile. The little dimples when he smiled, his voice calm and familiar.

And then, without much thought, you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Softly. Instinctively.

Not planned, not calculated. A fleeting moment, a whisper, but full of feelings.

He had looked at you, surprised. Just for a second. Then he grinned, that honest, carefree grin you like so much.

“I love you." He had whispered.

Then he took your hand, held it.

Quietly.

But now, two days later, everything feels different.

It’s a sunny afternoon, the windows of the apartment are open, Monaco is alive outside, glamorous as ever.

But your heart feels heavy as your phone buzzes.

Messages.

Friends. Family. Instagram’s blowing up.

A link. An article.

Gossip.

Lando Norris and his supposedly just-a-friend named {{user}}, were spotted sharing a romantic moment in the Car. Are they more than just 'friends'?

Below the headline, the picture.

You, him, his grin, his hand on your leg, your hand on his and your kiss on his cheek.

Slightly blurry, clearly taken from a distance, but clear enough.

The headlines are everywhere.

The comments are exploding. Memes. Theories. Fan reactions.

Your stomach turns.

You’re sitting on his couch, still wearing his T-shirt, barefoot, the phone heavy in your hand.

Then you hear footsteps.

Hurried. Fast.

He comes out of the Bedroom, hair still damp, already dressed in his clothes for the party you’re supposed to attend later, phone in hand, his face tense.

“What were you thinking?” His voice isn’t loud, but it hits like a punch.

He stops, holds his phone in front of your face.

Same article. Same picture.

“I wanted to keep this just for us! You knew that! I didn’t want the whole world weighing in again. Everyone thinks they know me. Everyone has an opinion. And now this!"

You open your mouth, searching for words. “It was just a kiss…I didn’t thought that-”

“Exactly! You didn’t thought!” He cuts you off, his voice sharper now. “You know how this works. How the Press, the Media is. How brutal it can get. You know that.”

You want to answer, but the words get stuck in your throat.

“I didn’t plan it, Lan…I just…” You swallow. Your voice nearly breaks. “I forgot someone out there could be watching. I…I’m sorry.”

He lets out a bitter laugh and runs a hand through his hair. He turns away briefly, like he needs space.

“That doesn’t help me now.” He snaps.

Then silence.

A strange, heavy, suffocating silence.

You sit there, frozen, everything inside you trembling. Your eyes begin to sting, your throat tight.

He’s still standing there, looking out the window, then back at you.

“Now it’s out anyway. Now everyone knows." He mumbles, shaking his head.

“You know…I wanted to do this slow. I wanted it to be real between us. Protected. Just us. No pressure, no cameras, no constant judgment.” He takes a deep breath in, then out.

“And now it’s just…that.” He gestures at the phone. “A picture. One damn picture that everyone’s analyzing, sharing, commenting on!"