You’re sitting in the McLaren Garage, headphones half on, watching as Lando takes off his helmet and balaclava.

His hair is messy, a crooked grin on his lips.

To everyone else, he’s the easygoing, funny guy. To you…he’s just Lando. The guy you met in Kindergarten.

"You’re staring again." He says without looking at you, unzipping his racing suit down to his waist before dropping down beside you.

You flinch slightly. "I’m not."

"You are." He replies, finally glancing at you. "I can tell."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is beating faster than it should.

It’s always like this with him. Always a little too much.

You’ve known each other for a long time now. Long enough that his shoulder naturally leans against yours, long enough that your conversations don’t need a beginning or an end.

Long enough that you know exactly how he drinks his coffee and when he gets nervous, even if he pretends he doesn’t care.

And far too long for your feelings to still be a secret you keep to yourself.

"You're good today." You say quietly.

He shrugs. "It's okay. Could’ve been better."

"You always say it could’ve been better."

"Because it’s always true. Practice usually goes well, but quali and the race are a different story."

You smile faintly. That’s so typical of him. He puts himself down too often.

A few seconds pass in silence.

The roar of other engines fills the air, but between you, it feels quiet. Almost heavy.

Then his phone goes off.

You don’t look directly, but you already know who it is.

He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his phone. "It’s Melanie. I just need to reply real quick."

He smiles. Different than with you. Softer. More genuine. And right then, something tightens in your chest.

"Sure." You murmur, looking away as he types.

Melanie…his girlfriend since six months.

It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. He never promised you anything. Never gave you false hope.

You’re friends. Good friends.

You’re just the one who turned it into something more.

"Sorry. Where were we?" He asks after a moment, slipping his phone away.

You take a deep breath and force a smile. "I forgot."

He raises an eyebrow, studying you briefly, then smirks. "Wow. Am I getting old, or are you getting forgetful?"

"Definitely you." You shoot back immediately.

"Rude." He says, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. "I’m in my prime."

"Yeah, sure. Your prime was last year, champ." You mutter, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

He laughs softly, that familiar, warm laugh that usually makes you feel better.

"You’re pretty mean today." He says, looking at you a little longer than usual. "But seriously…you’ve been kind of…spaced out lately. You’re not really listening."

You force yourself not to look away immediately. "I am."

"No." He says quietly. No joke left in his voice now.

You swallow.

For a moment, you consider just telling him. Everything. That he’s the reason. That his Girlfriend is the reason. That you lose a little more every time he smiles like that because of someone else.

But you already know the answer.

So you shrug. "Just tired."

He studies you for another moment, like he’s deciding whether he believes you.

Then he nods slowly. "Okay. If…you want to talk, you know I’m here."

He doesn’t believe you.

But he doesn’t push either.