The Miami GP weekend is here, and you're already exhausted.

Not because of the race, and not because of the heat.

But because of Lando.

He doesn't want to take his ADHD medication.

As always.

"Lando, take your medication." You say firmly.

He gives you an annoyed look and shakes his head.

"No." He snaps back.

You grit your teeth and try to keep your patience.

He paces the McLaren garage like he had too much caffeine or Red Bull, babbling about everything from tire strategy to his nerves about the race.

"You'll be completely confused if you don't take them." You warn him with your arms crossed.

Lando turns around and points at you.

"I like being confused." He snaps again.

"Yeah, until you get overwhelmed, your brain short-circuits, and you turn into a grumpy Lando." You sigh.

"I don't get grumpy!" He starts to argue, just as he trips over a cable and grabs a chair for support.

He stares at the offending cable as if it's done him a personal injustice.

"Yeah, sure." You say, rolling your eyes.

He grumbles quietly to himself and crosses his arms like a little child.

"I just don't want to take them. They make me feel different." His voice is quieter now, more serious.

"You're still you, Lando. The meds only help with the things that get in your way." You say with a sigh.

He snorts, but still seems hesitant.

"I understand. But this weekend is important. You need to be in top shape. And if that means you have to take your meds so you can really focus instead of being a hyperactive Lando, then I'll have to force you to take them." You say.

"I won't take them!" He says angrily and goes into his driver's room.