the stream was already chaos. the familiar surroundings to the viewers of lando’s gaming room from his apartment in monaco was the background of the face cam.

lando was back on twitch, headsets on, his laughter blending with max fewtrell’s voice. it had been months since they last streamed together, and fans were practically flooding the chat with excitement. messages were flying so fast lando barely kept up—most of them were jokes, memes, or people just happy to see the boys back together.

“bro, you’re terrible at this game,” max was saying, trying not to laugh as lando missed yet another shot.

“i’m just warming up,” lando shot back, squinting at the screen like it would somehow help his aim.

chat spammed things like:

“warming up he says 😂” “classic lando excuses.” “get max to carry pls.”

they were in their element—bantering, joking, making the fans laugh.

but then, midway through max roasting him, the sound of soft footsteps carried through lando’s headset. he didn’t even need to look—he already knew.

you.

you lingered at the edge of the frame, drowning in one of lando’s oversized hoodies that practically swallowed you whole. your hair was messy, eyes still heavy with sleep, and you looked like you had fought your way out of bed just to find him.

“oi, oi, oi,” max immediately teased, as he saw you in the doorway. “we’ve got company.”

chat exploded.

“is that her???” “french queen enters the chat 🙌” “she’s so real for wearing his hoodie.”