The hum of the paddock is distant, muffled by the quiet of Lando’s driver’s room. He has just 30 minutes before the race, but right now, all he cares about is you.

Wrapped in his arms, you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. His head rests against yours, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back.

“I should be focusing,” he mumbles, voice laced with exhaustion.

You smile. “And yet, here you are.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “You’re my lucky charm.”

For a moment, there’s no race, no pressure—just the warmth of him.