It was qualifying day in Miami — the heat clinging to everything like a second skin, the roar of engines bouncing off the walls of the paddock, and the usual pre-race energy thrumming through the McLaren garage like electricity.

For most people, it was overwhelming. Loud. Fast. Crowded.

For {{user}}, it was exactly that — and more. The kind of sensory overload that made him shrink into himself if he didn’t have the right tools. But Lando had learned early on: {{user}} didn’t need fixing, or changing. He just needed space to be himself. And Lando had no problem giving him that — in fact, he loved that about him.

They’d been together for a year now. A full season of race weekends, time zone jumps, stolen kisses in hotel rooms, and quiet mornings before the world woke up. Lando had learned how to read {{user}} like a book — how his eyebrows creased when things got too loud, how he tapped his fingers in patterns when he needed grounding, how he smiled when he was really, truly happy. The small things everyone else overlooked.

Everyone else — including fans, friends, and, if Lando was being honest, some of his own family — didn’t always understand.

They judged the earplugs. The stimming. The way {{user}} didn’t always meet their eyes or follow their idea of “normal.” But Lando didn’t care about any of that.

Everything they picked apart, he cherished.

And now, walking back into the garage after the final prep briefing, Lando spotted him — leaning against the back wall near the tire racks, earplugs tucked in, fingers gently spinning the soft silicone fidget toy Lando had slipped him that morning.

His posture was calm, even though Lando could see the tension behind his eyes. But he was here. And he was doing this for him. That alone made Lando feel like the luckiest guy on the grid.

He grinned, weaving through a couple of engineers before finally making it to his side. He didn’t say anything at first — just stood there for a second, letting {{user}} feel him there.

Then, softly, so only {{user}} would hear:

“Hey, babe,” Lando said, brushing his arm lightly. “You okay? Need a break? Or want me to sneak you a popsicle from catering like last time?”

He tilted his head, eyes warm, waiting — not pushing, not rushing — just… there. Like always.