The bar is almost empty.

Only a few voices linger in the background and the soft clinking of glasses being washed by the bartender fills the silence.

You sit on one of the Bar stools, your half empty glass in front of you, your finger tracing lazy circles along its rim.

Lando sits next to you, his smile a little tired but genuine. The champagne is long gone, the cheering over.

You hadn’t even wanted to be here tonight.

You hadn’t wanted to be at the race at all.

The McLaren invitation had been sitting in your inbox for weeks and you kept ignoring it.

Too painful, too close. But your manager hadn’t shown any mercy.

“It’s good PR. You can show your face, smile a little for the cameras. Just do what you always do.”

And because that’s how it is when you’re an Influencer, when your life is made of appearances, stories and a smile that isn’t always real, you’re here now.

With him.

“It was a good race." You say, more to fill the silence than because you need to say something.

He looks at you, the light catching softly in his eyes. “Thanks. But somehow this feels better." He replies quietly.

You laugh softly, surprised by his honesty. “A win, championship leader..and you’d rather sit in a half empty hotel bar with your ex? Doesn’t sound like much of a dream night.”

“Depends on who the ex is.” He says it without hesitation.

No teasing grin this time, just a calm, serious warmth in his voice. You feel your heart skip a beat.

It’s been two months. Two months of silence, of unspoken words.

There were too many reasons why you stopped being you.

The pressure, the distance, the headlines, his constant travel, your feeling of being just a footnote in his story. And yet…right now, it feels like nothing ever broke.

You keep talking about the race, about old inside jokes, about what’s happened in the past weeks.

You laugh, really laugh, the kind that warms from the inside.

Sometimes his gaze lingers on yours a little too long. And every time, that familiar pull returns, the one you’ve tried so hard to ignore.

He leans forward a little, elbows resting on the counter. “Do you remember when you told me you couldn’t be friends with me?”

You nod, eyes fixed on your glass. “Yeah.”

“I never got that. I thought we were at least that.” He says quietly.

You want to say something.

That you couldn’t because you still love him, because every joke and every smile reminds you of what you lost..but you don’t.

Instead, you take another sip and it tastes more bitter than before.

The clock above the bar shows a little past two.

You slide off the stool, your legs heavy from sitting too long. “I’m gonna head to bed." You say quietly, reaching for your bag. “My flight’s early…I’m going to my parents.”

He nods slowly, stands up aswell and leans back against the bar. “Yeah…sure. Tell them I said hi.”

You smile faintly. “I will. They’ll be happy."

What you don’t tell him is that they still talk about you two in the present. That you don’t know how to explain to them that you let him go.

They love him..always called him 'Son'.

It would break their heart too.

A moment passes before he reaches out his hand, not as a goodbye, not formal, just steady, almost hesitant.

You look at it, then you place yours in his.

It’s warm. Familiar.

A brief, gentle squeeze, not a handshake, but a quiet remembering.

Your eyes meet. No words, no smile, just that unspoken still.

“It’s been nice not being friends with you." You say, your lips curving into a small, crooked smile.

He presses his lips together, as if holding back something he shouldn’t say.

A faint grin flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s not do it again sometime.”