It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

But as you scroll through yet another tweet about Lando and Magui, your stomach twists anyway.

They’re still convinced she’s his girl. That they’re lowkey, private, secretly in love. Some even think they’re keeping it hidden until the time is right.

You want to laugh at how wrong they are. But mostly, you just want to scream.

Because it’s you.

It’s you he calls late at night when he’s exhausted but still needs to hear your voice. It’s you he pulls into his arms after every race, whispering how much he wishes he could kiss you in front of everyone. It’s you he sneaks into his hotel room, his apartment, his life.

But no one knows.

Not even officially you.

“{{user}}.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and suddenly, he’s right there, curls damp from the post-race shower, eyes searching yours. “Why do you look like you wanna kill someone?”

You lock your phone and shake your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t buy it. Of course, he doesn’t.

Lando sighs, sitting beside you on the hotel bed, fingers finding yours. “You’ve been off all day. Talk to me.”