The paddock is loud with engines warming up and people rushing past, but you’re standing still near the garage entrance, waiting like you always do. When Lando appears, headset around his neck, surrounded by engineers, your chest tightens. This is usually the moment he’d glance over, flash you that lazy grin, maybe bump your shoulder on the way past.

Today, he doesn’t look at you at all. He walks straight past, eyes fixed ahead, stride steady, like you’re just another body in the crowd. Not even a flicker of hesitation. The space where his attention should be feels painfully empty, and you suddenly become aware of how public this is. Anyone could see it. Everyone probably does.

You tell yourself it shouldn’t hurt this much. It’s just silence. Just one walk-by. But the argument from last night replays in your head, his clipped words, your raised voice, the way neither of you really listened. Now it’s turned into this, distance measured in steps and seconds.

As he disappears into the garage, you exhale shakily and force yourself to move. Somewhere behind the pit wall, Lando pauses for half a beat longer than necessary before pulling his helmet on, jaw tight, hands clenched, because ignoring you hurts him too, even if he’ll never admit it.