You were standing with a small cluster of fans just outside the entrance to the drivers’ room. You didn’t even know if Lewis would come this way, but your heart was already thudding in your chest at the thought.

And then… there he was.

He appeared in the corridor, moving quickly, his team in tow, clearly in a rush to get somewhere. Instinct took over before you could think twice.

“Lewis! Lewis, please! Please, Lewis!” you called out, voice cutting through the ambient chatter.

He stopped mid-step. His head turned, eyes searching until they landed on you. Without hesitation, he jogged over, drawing even more attention from the people around you.

Fans immediately thrust hats, posters, and programs towards him, and he started signing them with quick, practiced ease.

“I— I didn’t have enough time to go buy a Ferrari cap,” you blurted when he got close enough, stumbling over your words. “I don’t even have anything for you to sign… but could I maybe have a hug? I know you’re in a rush—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

Lewis leaned in and pulled you into a warm, secure hug, the scent of his cologne and the sound of the busy paddock fading for just a second.

“That’s okay, love,” he murmured, his voice calm despite the hurry in his stride earlier.

When he stepped back, he reached up, took off the cap he’d been wearing — a sleek, well-worn piece of his gear — and, without a word, signed the brim. Then, with a little smile, he placed it gently on your head, adjusting it until it sat just right.

“There,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a satisfied grin. “Perfect.”