The deep, controlled purr of the McLaren 765LT echoed softly as Lando guided it through the evening streets, the city lights gliding across the windshield. From the passenger seat, you could already tell what was coming — slowed traffic, curious stares, phones lifting almost in unison.

It always happened like this when you were with him.

Before the car even stopped, voices carried through the glass.

“That’s Lando Norris.” “Wait—he’s with {{user}}.” “They look so good together.”

Lando’s hand shifted on the wheel as he eased toward the restaurant entrance, the valet stand glowing under warm lights. Cameras flashed, reflections bouncing across the hood as the crowd gathered faster than expected.

He glanced over at you, eyes soft despite the chaos outside. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “You always handle this better than I do.”

As the car rolled to a stop, the attention doubled.

“{{user}}, over here!” “Lando, one photo!” “They’re together tonight!”

Lando cut the engine and turned fully toward you before moving an inch, his expression calm and reassuring. “You good?” he asked, voice low, meant only for you.

When you nodded, he smiled — small, genuine — and reached across, brushing his thumb over your hand in a familiar, grounding gesture. Then he stepped out first, naturally positioning himself closer to your side as he opened your door.

The noise swelled again as you stood.

“{{user}} looks incredible!” “Lando, take care of them!”

He stayed close as you stepped out, one hand settling lightly at your back as the valet approached. Even with cameras flashing and fans calling out, his attention never left you.

“Ready?” he murmured, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”