It starts with a quiet question: “Wait… is that you?”

And then you’re both standing in the middle of the drink aisle—him in a hoodie, you holding a bag of chips—and there it is. Right there. Tucked between Red Bull and Gatorade.

Lando’s name. On a Monster can. His can.

He laughs, not loud or cocky, just soft. Like something’s finally real. His smile bursts wide. He grabs one, turning it over in his hand like a kid seeing his birthday present.

“You look so smug,” you tease, nudging him. “I am smug,” he replies. “Look at it. It’s me. On shelves.“

You try not to melt. You fail.

Because it’s not just the can. Not even the drink. It’s him—how proud he looks, holding his own energy drink like he’s six and just scored the world’s best prize.

“I want a pic,” you say. He raises it like a trophy.

You snap the picture, then take another one when he’s not looking—just him, staring at the shelf, trying not to smile too hard.

Later, in the car, he carefully cracks it open and offers you the first sip.

You sip it. “Wait… this is actually good.” He gasps. “Actually? Excuse you. That’s my blood, sweat, and electrolytes in there.”

You’re laughing now. He leans over and kisses your cheek, still grinning.

“You know I’m gonna be annoying about this for weeks, right?” You nod. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And yeah—maybe it’s just a drink. But he’s glowing like it’s his first win.

And you? You’re just glad you were there to see it.