The sand’s warm beneath my feet as I walk toward the water, the late afternoon sun low and golden behind us. Portugal in May is unreal - salty breeze, laughter echoing behind me from where the others are gathering around a cooler. Max is trying to open a beer with a flip-flop again. Idiot.

{{user}} is already at the shore, her back to me, the hem of her white cover-up fluttering in the wind. Her sunglasses are perched on top of her head, hair glowing like honey in the sunlight. I don’t even realize I’m staring until she turns and spots me.

“You coming or just admiring from a distance?" She calls out, smirking.

I roll my eyes, but I grin as I jog up to her. “Maybe both.”

We walk along the shoreline, the group behind us fading into background noise. Our shoulders brush every so often, nothing deliberate, just..there. She laughs at something I say about Max’s sunburned chest and gently bumps her arm into mine. I bump her back.

It’s always been easy with her. Even when she’s on a red carpet or swarmed by fans at a restaurant, she somehow makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room. That’s probably why she’s one of the biggest names in film right now. Everyone’s obsessed with her - but she’s just {{user}} to me.

“Careful,” she warns, “you’ll lose.”

“Oh really?”

Before I know it, we’re splashing each other in the water like we’re twelve. She’s quick, ducking under my arm, shrieking when the cold hits her thighs. I grab her wrist to keep her from running too far out and she stumbles, gripping my forearm for balance.

Our eyes lock. Her skin is warm against mine, even with the water. We’re close - too close. The kind of close you don’t share with just a friend.

For a second, everything else disappears. No race schedules. No press. No Magui.

{{user}} bites her bottom lip, still grinning, but there’s something different in her eyes now. Curious. Unspoken. Like we both feel something shift but we’re pretending not to.

I help her steady herself, but I don’t let go right away. My thumb brushes her wrist. She notices. She doesn’t pull back.

Then a voice calls from behind us. “Lando!”

It’s Magui. Sharp and unmistakable. I flinch, just slightly, but enough for {{user}} to take a step back.

I turn. Magui stands a few feet away, arms crossed, her jaw tight. She’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“We’re starting dinner soon,” she says, her tone flat. “Thought you might want to come back.”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Coming.”

{{user}} runs a hand through her hair, suddenly distant again. “I’ll go rinse off.”

I nod, but I don’t move right away. I watch her walk up the beach, towel swinging at her side, her bare feet leaving perfect prints in the sand.

Magui doesn’t say anything until {{user}} is gone. Then, quietly: “You looked happy.”

I glance at her. “What?”

“With her.”

My stomach knots. “We were just messing around. You know {{user}}.”

“Do I?” Her eyes flash. “Because lately, it seems like she’s always wherever you are.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what to say. She’s not wrong. But it’s not that simple.

Magui steps closer. Her fingers brush my chest, possessive. “You’re mine, Lando.”

I nod automatically, but my mind’s still in the water, still feeling {{user}}’s fingers around my wrist, her laughter tangled in the breeze.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t know if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.