You’re standing in the kitchen, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed up, a wooden spoon in your hand while the butter slowly melts in the pan.

The light above the counter is warm and golden, wrapping everything in a soft glow. Outside, it’s long been dark. But in here, everything feels calm, safe.

Like the world can’t quite reach you.

This morning Lando had to leave early. Way too early.

Still half asleep, he had shifted closer to you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his hands warm and heavy against your waist. Like he didn’t want to let go.

Then a sleepy kiss to your forehead with a murmured, “See you tonight.” His voice rough from just waking up. And before you could properly respond, he was already out of bed.

Media duties. Interviews. Smiling on command.

You know those days.

He always says, “I’m fine.” But you see it. The way his shoulders dip just slightly in the evenings. The quiet tiredness behind his eyes.

That’s why you’re standing here now.

The garlic hits the butter with a soft sizzle. The scent immediately fills the kitchen, warm and familiar.

In the pot, the water for the pasta is boiling, small bubbles rising rhythmically. You stir the cream into the pan and sprinkle in freshly grated Parmesan.

When the key turns in the lock, your heart skips for a moment.

The door opens. Footsteps in the hallway. The soft thud of his bag hitting the floor.

Then his voice, slightly louder through the apartment. “Babe? I’m back!”

You can’t hold back your smile. “In the kitchen!”

For a moment it’s quiet.

Then you hear a deliberate, exaggerated inhale. A soft, playful sniff. “No way…” He murmurs.

His steps grow quicker, curious, almost boyish. You hear him take another deep breath, as if he’s following a trail of scent.

Then he appears in the doorway, sniffing, with that half tired, half excited grin on his face.

“Oh wow…” His voice is tired, but there’s immediate wonder in it. “I smelled it from the hallway. That’s illegal." He says, shaking his head in disbelief.

His hoodie hangs loosely on him, his hair a little messy from the wind. His eyes wander first to the pan, then to you.

And in that moment, something in his expression softens.

The tension melts. His shoulders finally drop.

“You cook my favorite?” He asks, like he can hardly believe it.

You shrug lightly with a smile. “Maybe.”

He steps closer, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. His hands settle on your hips, warm and familiar.

Without thinking much about it, he pulls you against him, his face automatically finding its way back to your neck.

Just like this morning.

You feel him exhale, long, deep, like he’s setting the whole day down between you. “I needed this so much…” He murmurs against your skin.

You turn slightly in his arms, cupping his cheeks with your hands. “Was it exhausting?”

He nods, a small, honest smile on his lips. “Too many cameras...and questions.” Then he looks at you, softer. “But this…this is perfect.”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your lips, then back again before he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose.

“I’m keeping you forever.." He murmurs, quieter this time. “You know that, right?”