My body feels like it’s on fire as I pull myself out of the car, my race suit soaked through with sweat. Singapore is brutal - humid, exhausting, relentless. Every muscle in my body aches, but at least I made it to the finish line. As I rip off my gloves and unclip my helmet, my vision swims for a second, a wave of dizziness hitting me out of nowhere. I shake it off, blinking against the harsh lights of the paddock.

And then the ground tilts beneath me.

I barely register the voices around me, the movement, the chaos. My hands feel numb, my legs like lead. I try to breathe, but it’s like my lungs aren’t working properly, the heat pressing down on my chest.

I hear my name - shouted, urgent.

“Lando!”

A familiar voice, cutting through the haze.

{{user}}

I blink again, trying to focus, but my body doesn’t cooperate. My knees buckle, and suddenly, I’m falling.

Arms catch me before I hit the ground.

“Shit, Lando - hey, stay with me.”

I know that voice. {{user}}. She’s here. But I can’t make my mouth form words. My head feels like it’s filled with static, my body burning up from the inside.

“Lando, look at me.” Her voice is sharp, demanding. I try - I really do - but my eyelids are so damn heavy. I feel myself sagging against her, my fingers weakly gripping her race suit.

I hear more voices now. Footsteps. Someone pressing cool hands against my face.

“Heat stroke.” Someone says. “He needs fluids and rest.”

No shit. I want to say it, but the words don’t come. My body isn’t listening to me.

{{user}}’s grip tightens. “He’s burning up.” She says, voice tight with worry.

I hate this. The helplessness. The way my body is betraying me. The way {{user}} sounds scared.

“I’ve got you, okay?” She murmurs, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I stop fighting it.

Because {{user}} is here. And she won’t let me fall.