Snow fell lightly over St. Moritz, settling on rooftops and pine branches like a quiet promise of winter. The town glowed under warm lights, elegant and hushed, the mountains standing tall in the distance. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by noise, by pressure—by Formula One.

George walked beside {{user}} through the snow-dusted street, his pace unhurried for once. No cameras. No schedules. Just the soft crunch beneath their boots and the cold air that made everything feel sharper, clearer.

He reached for {{user}}’s hand without thinking, fingers threading together naturally, his thumb brushing gently over their knuckles to keep them warm. There was something different about him here—less guarded, more open. His shoulders were relaxed, his focus fully on the person next to him.

“I don’t get many moments like this,” George said quietly, his voice calm but sincere as he glanced at {{user}}. “No noise. No expectations. Just… us.”

They slowed near the edge of the street, the lights reflecting softly in the snow. George stopped, turning fully toward {{user}}, his expression gentle, almost vulnerable in the cold glow.

He lifted their joined hands slightly, pressing a warm kiss to their fingers before meeting their eyes again.

“I like it here,” he admitted softly. “But I like it a lot more with you.”

The world felt distant, quiet—held still in that moment, just the two of them in the alpine night.