The cameras always find her first.

It doesn’t matter if we’re at a McLaren event, some brand dinner, or walking through the paddock - {{user}} is always the one they spot. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself, or maybe it’s that smile that looks like it’s never once been forced.

She’s standing a few meters away now, talking to Kika and Alexandra. I try not to stare, but that’s always been my problem with her - I can’t not.

And it’s not just me. Even the fans have picked up on it. There are TikTok edits of us everywhere - clips from events, moments where we happen to stand too close, photos where I’m caught looking at her for a second too long. They ship us like we’re a secret they’ve already figured out. Sometimes I scroll through those videos late at night, half–embarrassed, half–tempted to believe there’s something real in the way they see us.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what everyone thinks. Friends through Max and Pietra. Nothing more. Except we both know that’s a lie.

There was a time when it wasn’t complicated. Nights at Max’s flat, drinks and music and the two of us finding reasons to end up alone on the balcony. Or in the backseat of my car after a party, trying not to wake anyone up when her lips were on mine and her laugh was pressed against my throat. It was never planned, never serious. Just something that happened when we were both single and bored and pretending we didn’t care.

No one knows. Not even Max, though I’m sure he suspects. Pietra teases sometimes, throwing me that knowing look whenever {{user}} walks into a room wearing something that makes my pulse quicken. “You two have a weird energy,” she once said. {{user}} had just rolled her eyes and I’d laughed too - a little too quickly.

Now things are..different.

{{user}} has been seen again with her ex. A good guy, apparently. They were photographed together at a friend’s birthday dinner, smiling.

And me? I’m in a relationship now. A real one. Public. And she’s great - smart, kind, easy to be around. Everything should feel right.

But then there’s {{user}}.

At the Miami GP afterparty, I catch her watching me. Just a glance before she looks away. It’s enough to undo months of pretending. I tell myself not to move toward her, not to ruin the fragile balance we’ve built - but I always do.

She sees me coming, of course. “Don’t,” she says softly when I reach her, that teasing glint in her eyes replaced by something I can’t name. “I’m just saying hi.” “You shouldn’t,” she whispers. Her fingers brush mine when she takes the drink I hand her.

For a while, we just stand there. The music’s loud, lights flashing, people laughing. Around us, no one notices the small distance we’re keeping. The one that feels heavier than ever.

“You look happy,” I say finally. “I am.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You too.” “Yeah.” I nod, but it’s a lie.

Later, when Max and Pietra drags us to a late-night diner, she ends up across from me in the booth. Max is half-asleep beside me, Pietra scrolling her phone. {{user}}’s foot brushes mine under the table by accident and she freezes. We both do. Neither of us move away.

This is what it’s always like now. Close enough to touch, pretending we don’t want to.

When we leave, she catches my arm outside. The street’s quiet, the air thick with humidity. “Don’t make it harder than it already is,” she says.

I exhale a small laugh, but it has no humor in it. “You think I’m doing this on purpose?” I ask, my voice low. “You think I want it to be like this?”

Her brows pull together, thrown off by the sudden honesty. “Lando-”

“I’m trying, {{user}},” I say quietly. “Every day. I’m trying to put it in a box and pretend I don’t know exactly how you look when you laugh too hard, or how loud you talk when you’re tipsy, or how your voice drops when you’re messing with me.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“And I’m trying to be okay with just being your friend,” I add, softer now. “But don’t tell me I’m making it hard on purpose. I’m suffocating over here doing the opposite.”