The Istanbul night was thick with rain, the floodlights reflecting off the soaked tarmac like liquid gold. Lewis stood at the edge of the paddock, hands shoved deep in his race suit pockets, breathing in the cold air like it’d settle the storm in his chest. His body was electric, the kind of energy he only ever felt before a title-deciding race—but tonight, it was different. Sharper. More alive. Bono had noticed it, throwing him a side-eye with a knowing smirk. “Feeling good, mate?” He’d laughed, but Lewis knew they all saw it—Toto, Valterri, even his dad, standing quietly near the garage. Something had shifted.

Because you were here. Or at least, you were supposed to be.

His foot tapped against the concrete, impatience buzzing beneath his skin. He hadn’t done this in years—waited for someone like this, felt the weight of someone’s presence before they’d even arrived. His past relationships had been distant, tangled up in the chaos of his career, but you? You were different. No expectations, no distractions—just the fire in your eyes that matched his own. You had flown in from England, promised you’d be here, and yet, the minutes stretched thin, testing him in ways that even the toughest races never could.

Had you even gotten on the plane?

Doubt crept in, curling cold fingers around his mind. Maybe he’d asked too much. Maybe it was too soon to expect you to drop everything, to fly across the world for him when you weren’t even sure what this was yet. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus, but the thought nagged at him, latching on like a bad set of tires he couldn’t shake.

His father’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re thinking too much.”

Lewis exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah? Maybe.”

Anthony studied him, eyes sharp. “You don’t doubt yourself on the track. Don’t start now. She'll be here.." Lewis sighed. Where were you?