I push the front door open and drop my keys in the bowl by instinct. The flat is quiet, too quiet. No music, no TV, no rustling in the kitchen. Just the low hum of the fridge and my heartbeat picking up for no good reason.

“{{user}}?” I call out.

Nothing.

I toe off my shoes and step into the living room. Her laptop’s still open on the coffee table, a half-written email blinking on the screen. Her phone is on the couch. I frown. She never leaves that behind.

Then I hear it.

A thud.

My stomach drops. I rush down the hallway, throw open the bedroom door - and there she is. Slumped on the floor beside the bed, one hand braced against the nightstand like she tried to catch herself but didn’t quite make it. Her skin is pale, almost waxy. Her eyes flutter open at the sound of my voice.

“Lando?” She whispers, barely audible.

“Shit, {{user}} -” I’m already on my knees, cupping her face. Her skin’s cold and damp with sweat. “Hey, stay with me, okay? You’re just low. We’ve got this.”

I dart to the kitchen, heart racing. Grab the glucose tabs from the top drawer - thank God we keep extras everywhere. I’m back in seconds, lifting her gently so she’s sitting against the bed.

“Here,” I say, slipping a tablet into her mouth. “Suck on it for me. Slowly.”

She obeys, eyes unfocused, fingers trembling in her lap. I wrap an arm around her, steadying her, grounding myself.

“How long’ve you felt like this?”

She blinks, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I don’t know. I..I didn’t eat.”

My jaw tightens. “{{user}}, why didn’t you -?”

“Work was insane,” she whispers. “I didn’t notice until everything started spinning.”

I exhale sharply, trying not to let frustration creep into my voice. Not with her like this. But fuck, she does this every time she’s stressed. Puts everything and everyone above herself until her body forces her to stop.

“I told you, you can’t do that.” I say gently, brushing her hair back. “You don’t get to forget to eat. You can’t.”

Her lip quivers. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” I whisper, kissing her temple. “I know you didn’t. But next time, you call me. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of a damn race debrief - just call.”

She nods against my chest, still shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” I murmur. “You just need to be okay.”

Minutes pass. She finishes the tablets, then the juice box I fetch from the fridge. Slowly, color returns to her face. Her breathing evens out. But I don’t let go of her. Not yet.

Eventually, she rests her head on my shoulder. “You always come home just in time.”

I huff a soft laugh, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Maybe the universe knows I worry too much about you.”

“You do.” She says quietly.

“And you give me every reason to.”

That gets the faintest smile from her - tired, but real.

I hold her tighter.

“Next time,” I whisper, “we beat the stress and the blood sugar. Deal?”