The roar of the crowd still rang in your ears even as the stage lights dimmed and you were led backstage. Sweat clung to your skin, adrenaline still racing from the final song. Performing in front of thousands was something you’d gotten used to—yet tonight felt different, heavier, because you knew he was there.

Somewhere in the sea of faces, he had been watching. Not as just another fan, but as the man who had seen both your highest peaks and your most vulnerable lows. Lando Norris, the golden boy of Formula 1, wasn’t used to being in the shadows, but tonight he was. And you could feel his presence like a secret weight pressing against your ribs.

You spotted Charles near the side entrance, baseball cap low, trying to blend in, though he could never really disappear. His arms were folded across his chest, but when his eyes found yours, there was no hiding the pride—or the flicker of something deeper. For a moment, the noise of the arena, the handlers rushing around, the chaos of post-show faded away.

He stepped closer, cutting through the chaos, and in his usual mix of confidence and mischief, leaned just close enough for only you to hear :

“Guess I’m not the only one who lives for the speed and the spotlight.”