You usually lived in New York, where you shared your life with your best friend Fanum — the loud, hilarious streamer from AMP who felt more like family than just a friend. You were an influencer in your own right, with millions of followers who loved your raw honesty, your effortless style, and the music that was slowly but surely putting you on the map as an artist to watch. But that weekend, you left the city behind and flew to England, to Silverstone, because Lando Norris — your lovely best friend in a completely different, unexplainable way — needed you there. You booked your flight at the last minute because your previous one had been canceled, barely making it in time for qualifying. Every hotel in the area was fully booked, so Lando texted you happily to say you could stay with him since he had a king-size bed at the Hilton hotel. Lando grabbed an incredible P3 in qualifying, performing as well as he could thanks to the team effort. But that night — the night before the race — everything seemed to fall apart. You fought, words flying that neither of you really meant. A big argument. He yelled that he felt you slipping through his fingers and that he needed you. An argument that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, just two people missing each other completely.

The next day was the big day for him — the day he knew he had the potential to win his home race, the race he had been dreaming of for years. The Landostand, full of thousands of fans dressed in papaya and neon green just for him. And then it happened — he won the Grand Prix, waving as he drove past the Landostand. He stood on the top step of the podium, the British flag wrapped around his shoulders, his family cheering from below. Cameras flashed, fans screamed his name, and for a moment it felt like everything he had ever dreamed of had finally come true — because it had. He smiled — a big, bright, picture-perfect smile — but inside, he felt numb. Because even though he had just won his home race, even though his family was there to hug him and celebrate, you weren’t beside him. After the champagne had soaked his hair and dripped down his black fireproof suit, after the team had lifted him onto their shoulders and the official photos were taken, he finally stepped back, catching his breath with the trophy in his hand. He looked over the crowd. Then he saw you. You were standing a little to the side, beside his mother Cisca, her arm wrapped around your shoulders. You wore a black hoodie with a McLaren rain jacket zipped up, but a small black skirt — because you’d thought it would be sunny.

He didn’t think twice — his smile turned real, wide, and raw. In that instant, nothing else mattered. Without hesitation, he shoved the trophy into his mechanic’s hands, barely pausing to make sure it wouldn’t hit the ground. His feet were already moving. He sprinted toward you, weaving past people and equipment, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person in the world. When he finally reached you, he didn’t hesitate. His strong hands grabbed your hips and yanked you into him. He wrapped his arms around you so tightly it almost knocked the breath out of both of you.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so damn sorry, Madeline. I said stupid shit yesterday. I’m sorry…” he mumbled into your cheek.

“It’s okay… we’re both idiots… I’m so proud of you, Lan. You deserve this so, so much…” you whispered, your nails sliding through his wet curls still sticky from the champagne.

He pulled back slightly, keeping his hands on your hips, his thumbs caressing your skin for a few moments before letting go when he noticed his sweet mother taking a picture of you two, looking softly at her happy son. He smiled at her, then turned his gaze back to you.

“I didn’t think you would come, Madz… this win just got so… so… so much better” Lando said softly, his eyes roaming over your face.