Everyone around you was screaming.

Team radios buzzed, the pit wall exploded in cheers, someone actually threw their headset in the air—but all you could do was cover your mouth as the screen flashed LAP 52/52 – NORRIS, P1.

He did it.

Your heart was pounding so loud it was drowning out the chaos. Lando has led the last laps. Attacked like hell. Fought against Oscar. Stayed calm even when the pit stop nearly cost him everything. But now he was rounding that final corner and crossing the line—first. First.

You pushed past the mechanics, your pass hanging around your neck, ignoring the cameras and chaos, just trying to get a glimpse of him. He was still in the car, fist in the air, voice cracking over the radio. “We did it—at home!”

When they finally brought him into parc fermé, you could see him through the crowd. Helmet still on, hands shaking, eyes wet.

And the moment he stepped out?

He looked for you.

Not the crowd. Not the trophy. You.

He found your eyes and grinned so wide it almost made you cry.

You mouthed, “You did it.”

And he mouthed, “Come here.”

You weren’t allowed past the barrier yet, but it didn’t stop you from standing there, fists clenched, absolutely beaming. He pulled off his gloves, tossed them somewhere, and blew out a breath like he hadn’t taken one in an hour.

His whole family was there. The crew was losing it. Zak was already planning the press tour. But none of it mattered—because the second he was allowed, Lando came straight to you.

Helmet off. Curls drenched in sweat. He didn’t say anything.

Just pulled you in, arms tight around your waist, forehead to yours.

You whispered, “You’re crying.”

He laughed into your shoulder. “Shut up.”

You held him like you were never letting go.

Because this wasn’t just a win.

It was everything.