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“God, I love this song.”
The sound came blasting through the speakers, crackling over the noise of voices as you pressed your palms flat against the sticky wooden table before you, a soft smile curling at your lips as the synth began to build softly through the crowded bar.
You were currently wedged into the corner booth of a smokey bar, your third drink dripping condensation onto the beer mat below and soaking it through. The London heat had settled over the city like something cruel, clinging to your skin and offering no relief indoors or out.
You looked up to find Lando already watching you.
Not just looking. Watching.
A gleeful grin spread across his face like he’d been waiting for this exact reaction. “Tears for Fears? Really?” he asked, amusement laced through every word as he lifted his lukewarm beer to his lips.
“It’s a classic, the melody is so damn good. You just don’t get it,” you teased, leaning forward over the table and keeping his bright eyes captured in yours. “Some of us have taste, Norris. You don’t need to be so jealous.”
Lando barked out a laugh, his head tipping back as a bead of sweat disappeared beneath the collar of his t-shirt. Your eyes followed before you could stop them. Which felt like something you probably shouldn’t unpack.
“Yeah, because liking eighties tracks means you have taste.”
“You’re just jealous,” you shot back, taking a sip of your vodka cranberry before nodding your head to the rhythm. “I know you don’t get to appreciate music the way I do, you’re too busy being world champion.”
Lando grinned at that and, as always, your own smile widened in response. There had always been something deeply unfair about his smile. Maybe it was how easily it dragged one out of you. Maybe it was because, after all these years, it could still make your pulse skip in a way that felt vaguely concerning.
You chose not to think too hard about either.
Ever since you’d first met back before either of you could properly form a coherent sentence, Lando had been your best friend. You’d met during primary school when he’d accidentally pulled your braid trying to climb to the top of the climbing frame and you’d shoved him off in revenge, fully expecting him to burst into tears.
Instead, he’d looked back up at you from the ground, eyes bright and face split with a grin. He’d pointed right up at you and proudly declared that you were his best friend.
And that had pretty much been it.
Twenty years later and here you still were. Cramped into the corner of a London bar, enduring the first stretch of summer heat after you’d begged him to come out with you before he disappeared back into racing after a short break.
Your other friends had all bailed at the last minute, though that never really bothered you. You loved them, you really did. But no-one got you like Lando did. And, if you were being completely honest, you liked knowing no-one got him quite like you either.
“You and your bloody tunes,” Lando muttered. Before you could ask for another drink, Lando was already sliding your usual towards you after catching the bartender’s eye. “You looked like you wanted another,” he shrugged.
Your chest did that annoying fluttering thing again. You ignored it. Best friends knew each other’s drink orders. That was normal.
Probably.
“I didn’t even know you ordered,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.
And Lando just shook his head before launching into a story about what he and Max had apparently gotten up to earlier that week, chaos spilling from every word. You listened the way you always did, entirely invested in whatever nonsense left his mouth.
Halfway through the story, he reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair away from where it had stuck to your lip gloss. The movement was absentminded. Casual. Like he’d done it a thousand times before.
Maybe he had. He didn’t pause. Didn’t seem to realise what he’d done.
You, unfortunately, noticed immediately. Along with the warmth crawling up your neck. You blamed the weather.
Then he laughed again at his own story and instinctively looked at you first. Like your reaction was his favourite part. It always was. And that felt dangerous enough that you quickly looked away.
Later, you both stumbled out of the bar and dragged yourselves giggling through warm London streets towards the tube station, your hand wrapped tightly around his as you crossed the road.
It stayed there longer than necessary. Neither of you mentioned it.
You were too busy laughing as he dramatically complained about nearly being recognised by a group of drunk girls outside a kebab shop.
And you didn’t notice when he pulled out his phone. You didn’t notice the soft smile that overtook his face as he looked at you. You didn’t notice him opening a playlist with your name buried in the title.
Or adding the song from the bar carefully alongside years worth of moments he’d never been brave enough to say out loud.
Instead, you kept talking. And Lando kept loving you quietly.
Just as he always had.
~~
You knew surprises weren’t exactly Lando’s thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the kind everyone else liked. Surprise parties. Birthday presents. Unexpected wins.
What he hated was being surprised. Which just so happened to be one of your favourite hobbies.
It wasn’t often you managed to sneak up on him. The first time had been after school when he’d invited you over for tea and his mum had cornered you in the living room to show you baby pictures while begging Lando to wash the dishes.
(You ignored the way your twelve-year-old heart had done something embarrassingly dramatic at the sight of his wild curls, chubby cheeks and eyes that somehow looked exactly the same.)
You’d eventually escaped his mum and crept into the kitchen where Lando stood elbow-deep in soap suds. The scream he let out when you grabbed his shoulders had been truly spectacular. You’d laughed so hard you nearly cried.
But what had stuck with you wasn’t the scream. It was how quickly his entire body had relaxed when he realised it was you. How his panic had dissolved into laughter almost instantly.
You’d loved that. Maybe a little too much. And so, naturally, you made it your mission to do it again whenever possible.
Which explained why you’d kicked off your trainers before slipping your key into the door of his Monaco flat. Max had texted to let you know Lando was still in the gym downstairs, giving you plenty of time to execute your masterpiece.
You’d told Lando you couldn’t get time off work to watch him race in Monaco this year. You were still offended he’d believed you so easily.
Your trainers dangled from your fingers as you padded through his flat, your overnight bag heavy against your shoulder as you made your way to the spare room.
Your phone buzzed moments later.
[10:52am] Max F: eagle has left, eta 5 mins.
You bit back a laugh. You quickly shoved your bag and shoes into the wardrobe before making your way into the kitchen, pressing yourself against the wall behind the partition.
He always went straight to the kitchen after the gym. Always. You knew him embarrassingly well.
You heard the key turn in the lock and had to physically stop yourself from laughing. Then came his humming. Soft and absentminded. The sound of shoes being kicked off. Sock-clad footsteps against the floor.
Your stomach fluttered stupidly at how easily you could picture him. Then he appeared.
Sweaty hair. Grey vest clinging to his skin. Back muscles shifting as he bent into the fridge. You stared for slightly too long. And firmly blamed the weather for the sudden heat rushing through your body.
He grabbed a snack before placing his phone on the kitchen counter. Then wandered into the living room.
And suddenly, a truly terrible idea struck you. You slipped from your hiding place and grabbed his phone, unlocking it with the passcode permanently burned into your brain.
His mum’s birthday. Normal best friend information. Entirely normal.
You opened Spotify and searched for the loudest, most obnoxious song you could think of, fully intending to blast it through his headphones. Then your eyes caught something.
A playlist. Your name.
Your breath caught. Before your brain could fully process it, you clicked a heavy metal song and turned the volume all the way up.
A scream erupted from the living room. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stop your laughter as something crashed loudly to the floor.
“I fucking knew Max was being dodgy!” Lando shouted. His footsteps thundered back towards the kitchen.
You darted toward your hiding spot. Too slow.
A hand wrapped around your wrist. His phone was snatched from your hand before your back slammed gently into his chest. You squealed as his arm curled around your waist, locking you against him while you kicked uselessly.
“One day I’m actually going to have a heart attack, you know,” Lando laughed into your ear. “And my death will be entirely your fault.”
The warmth of his chest pressed against your back. The smell of soap and sweat. His breath ghosting your skin. Entirely too much. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?” you laughed, still reaching for his phone.
“What are you doing?” Lando asked as you dug your elbow into his side. He yelped, his arm shooting upward as you jumped for his phone.
“I wanted to be nosey.”
“You’re always nosey,” he murmured, tightening his arm around your waist as you wriggled. Your entire nervous system seemed alarmingly aware of where his hand rested.
Then you said it. “I thought I saw a playlist with my name.”
Everything stopped. His arm loosened. His breathing changed. And when you looked up at him, all the laughter had vanished. You jumped once more and managed to grab his phone. You barely made it two steps before his hand wrapped around your wrist again.
Tighter this time.
“Stop,” you froze. Then quieter: “Please.”
The word hit you like cold water. You turned. Lando looked terrified. Actually terrified. His eyes were wide. Jaw tight. Bottom lip caught between his teeth. Like whatever was on that phone mattered far more than you understood.
And suddenly this didn’t feel like a joke anymore. Your smile faded. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to…” you handed him his phone. “I was just taking the piss, Lan.”
He shoved the phone into his pocket far too quickly. Then forced a grin onto his face. “I know, idiot,” he said too fast. Too rehearsed. “I finally got you back,” he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you. “Now give me a hug and tell me why I shouldn’t rescind your spare key.”
You squealed as his sweaty body crushed into yours while you shoved at him. Everything looked normal again. Everything sounded normal again.
But later that night, curled up in his spare room, your mind kept replaying the same thing.
The playlist with your name. And the look on his face when you almost opened it.
Like you’d come dangerously close to discovering something he wasn’t ready for you to know.
And for the first time in your life, you found yourself wondering if there were parts of Lando you didn’t know at all.
And strangely— the thought made your chest ache.
~~
Weeks had passed since that day in his flat. And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t.
There had been something in Lando’s eyes that day. Fear. Real fear. The kind you’d almost never seen directed at you. And it had lodged itself somewhere beneath your ribs ever since.
Even now, as you stood in the crowd of orange, watching him climb onto the top step at the podium, you couldn’t quite shake it.
His face was split by that blinding smile. His eyes were red with exhaustion and pride. Champagne soaked his race suit. His family stood beside you, screaming themselves hoarse. Your arms were wrapped tightly around one of his sisters as all of you looked up at him like he’d hung the bloody moon. Another home win. Another milestone.
And yet— something still felt wrong.
Lando had never hidden things from you. Never snatched his phone away. Never looked at you like you’d stumbled across something dangerous. You knew his passcode. God, he would regularly throw his phone at you to answer texts when he was driving or too hungover to form a sentence.
So why had a playlist made him panic?
You’d thought about asking him. A hundred times. But every time, you remembered the way his breathing had changed. The way his hand had shaken. The way he’d looked almost cornered.
So you stayed quiet.
You briefly considered asking Max. Then immediately decided that was perhaps the worst idea you’d ever had.
And if you were being honest— this wasn’t even new.
There had been long drives through English countrysides where you’d reached to change whatever painfully generic playlist he had on, only for him to slap your hand away and tell you to stop ruining the vibe.
There was the time at university when you’d asked for his Spotify login while drowning in dissertation stress and he’d told you he refused to become your personal bank account.
At the time, you’d rolled your eyes. Now you wondered if he’d simply panicked.
Your forehead rested against the cool car window as the drive back to the hotel dragged on. Your thoughts were louder than the celebrations happening around you. What was he hiding? And why did it hurt this much?
You knew him. You knew how soft he got at three in the morning. How cruel he could be to himself after bad races. How he always put his family before himself. How much he truly hated fish. How he once admitted, quietly, that if racing hadn’t worked out he thought he might’ve liked photography.
You knew everything. And he knew everything about you. Or at least— you’d always thought he did.
A horrible thought crept in.
What if one day that changed? What if one day you stopped being the first person he called? What if someone else knew him better? What if one day he built a life that didn’t instinctively make space for you?
The thought hit so hard your throat tightened. You’d cried about that exact fear once. Drunk and exhausted and clinging to his shirt while you sobbed that one day he’d outgrow you.
He’d held your face and promised— never.
And yet.
You swallowed hard and forced yourself back into the conversation around you. Celebration plans. Dinner reservations. Afterparties. You nodded where appropriate and prayed you were being ridiculous.
Because you didn’t know how to be anything less than what you were to him. And maybe that was its own problem.
Lando opted for a low-key celebration. Which was how you found yourself dressed up and sitting cross-legged on his hotel bed while he got ready.
He’d locked himself in the bathroom. Not before enduring several minutes of you relentlessly mocking his curl routine until he’d practically slammed the door in your face.
Steam curled beneath the bathroom door. You could hear him humming softly to himself. His suitcase lay half-open on the floor. One of his hoodies was tossed across a chair. His aftershave lingered in the room. Everything felt unbearably him.
You’d been ready for over an hour. He hadn’t even needed to ask before texting you his room number and telling you to wait there so you could leave together.
You were halfway through losing a stupid game on your phone when boredom finally won. With a dramatic sigh, you flung yourself backward onto the bed.
And that was when you saw it. His phone.
Sitting on the bedside table. Left completely unattended.
Your stomach dropped.
Don’t. Your brain screamed at you not to do it. It was invasive. Cruel. Not you. But the ache in your chest had grown too loud to ignore.
Slowly, you sat up. Your hand trembled as you reached for it. Even then, you hesitated. Because if he found out— if this broke whatever existed between you— you weren’t sure you’d survive it.
But you needed to know.
So you unlocked it. Opened Spotify.
And froze. There it was. A playlist.
The cover photo was from his thirteenth birthday party at Laser Quest. You in blue. Him in red. Your hair in ridiculous pigtails. His curls completely feral. Both of you grinning like your lives depended on it. His arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your hand gripping his waist.
Your chest tightened. Then your eyes moved upward.
songs that sound like home
(your name)
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale. Then you noticed the number beneath it. Dozens of songs. Years worth.
And as your trembling finger pressed play— your entire world tilted.
And the memories came rushing back like a flood.
~~
2013 — Little Things.
“I still don’t understand why we have to learn this stuff. Like, when am I ever going to use algebra in real life?” you whined dramatically, lying on your stomach across your bed with your school skirt wrinkled beneath you and your legs kicking lazily in the air.
You’d been staring at the same equation for nearly ten minutes and were no closer to understanding it.
Lando, meanwhile, was absolutely no help. He sat cross-legged on the floor with his back pressed against your bed, sketching absentmindedly in his English textbook that you were almost certain he was supposed to be writing in.
“If you ever want to be my engineer one day, then you really do need to learn it,” he replied, tipping his head back to grin at you.
You rolled your eyes and leaned over the edge of the bed to flick his forehead. “You’re boring, Norris. I thought you said you were just bringing me with you. I didn’t realise I had to earn my place.”
You rolled onto your back, staring dramatically at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling while late afternoon sunlight spilled through your curtains.
“You’re annoying,” Lando shot back. “Why would I keep you around for free?”
“Can’t believe you’d treat your best friend like this,” you snorted. The words came softer this time, your amusement melting into something quieter.
Eventually, the room settled into a comfortable silence. Lando continued doodling in his exercise book while pretending to write something profound. And you stared at your maths worksheet, silently begging it to explain how on earth you were supposed to simplify 4m + 5 + 2m - 1.
Your laptop sat open on your desk, music crackling softly through its poor-quality speakers. Then familiar guitar strings floated through the room. A grin immediately tugged at your lips.
“Oh no,” Lando groaned.
You ignored him entirely and started singing along. Loudly. Slightly off-key. Entirely committed. Lando shook his head, though he was already smiling.
“Oh come on, Lan,” you sang between lyrics. “How can you not love this song?”
“You love every song.”
“I do not,” you gasped dramatically. “I only like the ones with good lyrics.”
“Good?” he scoffed. “I think you mean questionable.”
“Hey,” you leaned over the edge of the bed again and lightly smacked his curls before letting your fingers absentmindedly tangle through them. “You just don’t understand One Direction the way I do.”
Lando let out an exaggerated sigh as the song continued to play. The guitar plucked softly through the room. Your singing gradually became quieter.
Then softer. Then faded completely.
He frowned. The gentle tugging in his hair had stopped. The whispered lyrics had disappeared.
Lando pushed himself up from the floor and turned. You were lying on your back. One hand rested over your chest. The other was still stretched toward where his hair had been moments before.
Your eyes were closed. Your breathing had evened out. Your lips still moved faintly with the lyrics, like your body hadn’t quite realised you were falling asleep yet.
And Lando— stilled. Completely.
The world narrowed to the soft hum of your laptop. The warm afternoon light spilling across your bedroom floor. The rise and fall of your breathing.
He noticed everything. The way the tip of your nose was pink from rubbing at your allergies all afternoon. The tiny crease between your brows that only appeared when you were tired. The way your lips looked impossibly soft as they ghosted the final lyrics.
I’m in love with you and all your little things.
Lando’s breath caught. Because that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t one big moment. It was every tiny thing. Every laugh. Every argument. Every song. Every stupid maths worksheet. Every version of you.
And all he could think was— oh fuck.
Later that night, despite loudly maintaining that he hated the song, he still found himself adding it to a playlist. He told himself it was because the song reminded him of that afternoon. Of you singing badly. Of your terrible maths skills. Of your weird obsession with One Direction.
He ignored what it really meant. Even then— he knew he was lying.
~~
2014 — Happy.
You were gripping Lando’s arm hard enough to probably cut off his circulation. Your face was buried firmly in his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as terrifying sounds blasted through the television speakers.
You had absolutely no idea why you’d convinced yourself this was a good idea. It was a rare free Friday night for Lando. Karting had started taking over his life and weekends like this were becoming rarer and rarer.
He’d begged you to come over. You’d tried to be responsible and told him he needed rest. Then thirty minutes later you’d shown up at his house in your comfiest clothes holding a bag of Kinder chocolate, popcorn, and a horror DVD your older cousin had sworn was “more funny than scary.”
Your cousin was a liar.
Lando had protested immediately. You were both pathetic when it came to horror films and always had been.
He’d suggested literally anything else. But all it had taken was one dramatic pout and your best puppy dog eyes before he gave in with an exhausted sigh.
And now— you were both suffering the consequences.
Another horrifying screech echoed from the television. You practically climbed into his lap.
“Jesus Christ,” Lando yelped.
“Don’t say his name right now,” you whispered frantically. “What if that makes it worse?”
Lando stared at you for a long moment. Then burst into laughter. You glared. “This is serious Lan.”
“You’re literally shaking.”
“You are too.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Because annoyingly— you were right.
You were pressed so tightly against him that your legs were half tangled with his, one of your hands clutching the fabric of his t-shirt. And Lando was trying very hard not to think about any of that. Particularly not the way your hair smelled like your shampoo. Or how your heartbeat seemed to sync with his every time you clung tighter. Or how he would quite happily sit through ten thousand terrible horror films if it meant you kept holding onto him like this.
He also tried very hard not to think about how fast his own heart was beating.
By the time the film finally ended, you were scrambling for the remote like your life depended on it.
“I don’t understand why you do this to yourself,” Lando groaned from the sofa, throwing the last piece of chocolate into his mouth. “You hate horror films.”
“Because it gives me an adrenaline rush and I always forget how much I hate being scared.”
“That is genuinely one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said.”
“Thank you.”
You flipped through channels desperately. Anything to erase the images now haunting your brain.
Then— music. Your entire face lit up.
“Oh no,” Lando groaned immediately. The opening beats of Happy filled the room. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Lan,” you launched yourself off the sofa and grabbed both of his wrists. “It’s a happy song. You know you secretly love it.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You’re lying.”
You tugged him upright before he could protest further. Soon you were dancing wildly around his living room. Completely off beat. Sliding in socks across the wooden floor. Nearly knocking over a lamp. Laughing so hard neither of you could breathe properly.
Lando tried resisting for approximately twenty seconds. Then, as always— he gave in.
Because he always gave in to you.
You spun beneath his arm. He nearly dropped you. You both collapsed into hysterical laughter. And for the first time since the film ended— you forgot to be scared.
By the time the song ended, you were breathless. Your cheeks hurt from smiling.
And when his mum entered the room to politely tell you both to stop screaming lyrics at midnight, you dissolved into fresh laughter.
As she walked away shaking her head, you fell straight into Lando’s arms. Still giggling. Still breathless. Your head rested against his shoulder as your breathing slowly steadied. And for a moment— everything felt warm. Safe. Easy.
Lando looked down at you as you melted into him without hesitation. Trusted him without question. And something in his chest tightened painfully.
Later that night, despite loudly declaring Happy was the most irritating song ever written— he still added it to the playlist. Because now all he could hear when it played was your laughter.
And all he could think about was how much he loved being the person who made you feel safe.
~~
2017 - Feel Good.
You had been quiet the entire car ride. Which was deeply unsettling. You were rarely quiet. Usually your words spilled out faster than your brain could catch them.
But tonight— nothing. Lando kept glancing over at you as he drove through quiet streets with no real destination in mind. He was just driving.
Because when you’d called him sobbing so hard he could barely understand you, all coherent thought had abandoned him. He’d thrown on shoes. Forgotten a jacket. And left his house within thirty seconds.
When he pulled up outside yours, his chest had tightened painfully. You were wearing one of his old hoodies. One he’d left at your house months ago. Your shoulders were slumped. Your usual bounce completely gone.
You looked so heartbreakingly small walking toward his car that Lando had to physically stop himself from getting out and pulling you into his arms.
Instead— he unlocked the door. You climbed in. Offered him the smallest smile imaginable. And absolutely shattered him.
Your eyes were red and swollen. Your lips looked raw from chewing at them. Mascara streaked beneath your eyes. Like you’d been crying long before you called him.
And Lando wanted— desperately— to fix it. He wanted to ask who did this. He wanted names. Addresses. Potentially a shovel.
Instead— he started driving.
An hour passed before you finally spoke.
“He broke up with me,” your voice sounded shredded. Like every word hurt to say. Lando’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly who you meant. The older boy from college you’d spent weeks talking about. The one who made your face light up. The one Lando had smiled politely about while quietly dying inside.
You’d spent weeks gushing about how sweet he was. How thoughtful. How funny. And every single time Lando had wanted to scream— I could love you better than this.
Instead, he’d smiled. Because that’s what best friends did. Even when it killed them.
You let out another broken sob. Your face disappeared into the sleeve of his hoodie. There were dark mascara stains smeared across the fabric. And Lando thought they were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.
Because it meant you came to him. Always him.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to reach for your hand. Wanted to wipe your tears away. Wanted to tell you this boy was an idiot. Wanted to tell you he’d spend the rest of his life proving you deserved better.
Instead— he reached forward and turned on the radio.
A familiar beat blasted through the speakers. You looked at him through wet lashes.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re crying too loudly.”
A watery laugh escaped you. And Lando nearly drove into a lamppost because that sound felt like oxygen returning to his lungs.
By the chorus, your fingers were tapping against your knee. By the second verse, you were quietly singing. By the end— you were smiling. Small. Fragile. But real.
And Lando would’ve replayed that song a thousand times if it meant seeing that smile again. After that— you talked. About how he’d broken up with you over text. About how humiliating it felt. About how stupid you felt for not seeing it coming.
And Lando listened. He said all the right things. Soft things. Steady things. The things best friends were supposed to say. Even while every selfish part of him wanted to ask why you kept choosing boys who would never love you properly.
At some point your words slowed. Then stopped entirely. He glanced over. You’d fallen asleep. Your head resting against his shoulder. One hand loosely tangled with his on the centre console.
Like touching him was instinct. Like it was home.
Lando nearly broke right there.
Instead— he kept driving. Long after he should’ve taken you home. Long after the petrol warning light came on. Because he knew the second he dropped you off— you’d wake up heartbroken again.
And if he could give you one more hour of peace— he would. He always would.
Later that night, after helping you inside, past your concerned parents and making sure you drank water and washed your makeup off— he searched the song just to add it to the playlist.
Because it made you smile through heartbreak. Because your laugh had returned. Because your hand had reached for his without thinking. Because for one brief moment— it had almost felt like you were his.
And he was weak enough to treasure even that.
(You never told him your boyfriend had ended things because he said he couldn’t compete with Lando. That secret stayed buried deep inside you. Right next to the terrifying truth that maybe— you hadn’t wanted him to.)
~~
2018 — Yellow.
You’d been there for almost every version of Lando. You were there when he first discovered karting. When he’d come home after watching races with his dad, eyes bright and voice breathless as he talked about how one day that would be him.
You were there through his years in junior formula. Through impossible schedules. Through wins. Through losses. Through exhausted phone calls and rushed airport goodbyes.
You’d attended enough races with his family that people occasionally assumed you were a Norris too. Neither of you ever corrected them.
When he joined McLaren’s young driver programme, you’d cried so hard his sisters laughed at you. When he became a reserve driver, you sent him embarrassing videos of yourself sobbing at your television.
And when he finally got the call— a Formula One seat. A real one. Next year. Alongside Carlos Sainz. You thought your heart might burst from pride. And maybe break a little too.
It wasn’t technically a going-away party. Everyone knew Lando would be home constantly. Mostly because he physically couldn’t stay away from his mum for very long.
But it was still a celebration. A marker. A before and after. You’d helped plan everything with his mum and sisters.
And now the night had blurred into one long haze of laughter. Fairy lights hanging from the garden fence. Smoke from the barbecue lingering in the summer air. Music drifting from speakers. Too much food. Too many drinks.
Your feet aching from dancing. Your stomach hurting from laughing. And beneath all of it— grief. Quiet. Sharp.
Because everything was changing. And you hated yourself a little for mourning something you should’ve been celebrating.
You were proud. God, you were proud. But you were sad too. And no matter how hard you tried— you couldn’t seem to shake it.
By the time the evening began winding down, most people had retreated inside for warmth. Everyone except you and Lando.
You sat wrapped in a blanket in the garden. Your legs stretched out in front of you. Lando lay beside you with his head in your lap. Your fingers lazily moved through his curls as both of you stared at the sky.
“That one’s definitely Orion.”
You snorted. “That is absolutely not Orion.”
“It is.”
“It’s literally a plane.”
Lando squinted. “That feels unnecessarily embarrassing for me.”
You laughed softly. And he thought again how it was his favourite sound in the world.
Then a song began drifting through the garden speakers. Your entire face lit up.
Lando smiled instantly. “You really love this song.”
“I’m going to get it tattooed one day.”
He tilted his head slightly to look at you. “Oh yeah?”
“Definitely.”
“Where?”
You frowned thoughtfully. “Haven’t really thought that far ahead.”
He laughed quietly. “Of course you haven’t.”
Then— silence. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just full.
Your fingers slowed in his hair. Your eyes drifted downward.
And suddenly you became painfully aware of how close his face was. How soft his expression looked. How his eyes kept flicking to your mouth.
Your breathing faltered. So did his. Your hand moved from his curls to his jaw. Your thumb brushing softly across his skin. Lando stopped breathing entirely.
For one suspended, impossible moment— you leaned down. And Lando genuinely thought his entire life was about to begin. He wondered if this was it. If every year of waiting had somehow led here.
Your lips parted. His eyes fluttered shut. And then—
“Thank you,” his eyes opened. You were smiling sadly. “For always being there for me,” your fingers still traced his jaw. “I’m really going to miss you, Lan.”
And just like that— the moment shifted.
Lando swallowed the sharp sting of disappointment. Because of course your first instinct was to love him gently. Even when accidentally breaking his heart.
He reached up and covered your hand with his. “I’m not leaving you,” his voice was quiet. Certain. “I could never leave you.”
Your throat tightened. “You promise?”
He sat up slightly. Close enough that your noses almost brushed. “I promise that no matter where I go,” his eyes locked onto yours. “You’ll always have me.”
And maybe that should’ve felt like friendship. Maybe it should’ve felt simple. Instead— it felt like standing too close to something life-changing.
So you did what you always did when things with Lando felt too big. You smiled. He smiled back. And neither of you mentioned how close you’d come to changing everything.
And once again, almost ritualistic, long after you’d gone home, Lando added Yellow to the playlist. Because it sounded like summer. Like promises. Like almosts. Like you.
And if he spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering what would’ve happened if you’d leaned just a little further— well. That stayed between him and the playlist.
~~
2019 - Liability.
You hadn’t even stepped into the hotel room yet and you could already feel his frustration. It clung to the air. Heavy. Sharp.
The race had gone horribly. And you knew him well enough to know exactly what was happening inside his head.
He was brutal with himself. Always had been. He could win and still focus on what went wrong. He could achieve something incredible and immediately tear himself apart over what he should’ve done better. And no matter how many times you reminded him how extraordinary he was— that voice in his head always seemed louder.
You’d spent years trying to quiet it. Tonight was no different. You knocked softly on his hotel door. Then waited. And waited.
Your stomach twisted. Because there was always a chance he wouldn’t let you in. That he’d choose isolation instead. And you’d respect that. Even if it broke your heart.
Then finally— the door opened. Lando stood there in grey sweats and an old t-shirt. His hair was messy. His eyes tired. His jaw tense.
But the second he saw you— something shifted. Not completely. But enough.
You lifted the bag of sweets in your hand like a peace offering. “I come bearing emotional support sweets.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. And he stepped aside.
That tiny movement felt like victory.
You’d learned a long time ago that pushing Lando never worked. He talked when he was ready. Your job was simply to stay.
So that’s what you did. You kicked off your shoes and dramatically launched yourself onto his bed. Sprawling across it like you paid for the room yourself. Lando sat near the headboard, shoulders still rigid with tension.
“Never thought I’d get to see this side of the world,” you said after a while, opening the sweets. “Becoming friends with you was actually a brilliant financial decision.”
A small laugh escaped him. Forced. But present.
You kept going. “You know, I found these bracelets at a market yesterday,” you held yours up proudly. “I was going to get you one but they didn’t have idiot sizes.”
He huffed a real laugh this time. Your chest warmed. Progress. “The dumplings here are incredible by the way. Life-changing, honestly,” he looked at you properly now. “I think I might move here solely for dumplings.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“You know me.”
“I unfortunately do.”
And so it continued. You rambled. About markets. About your flight. About bad tourists. About a waiter who hated you. Anything to pull him out of his own head.
And slowly— his shoulders dropped. His jaw unclenched. His eyes softened.
By the time an hour passed— his smile looked real again. And your heart nearly burst with relief.
“Do you want to listen to some music?” you asked softly. You moved beside him at the headboard, slipping beneath his duvet like you belonged there. Maybe you did.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
Your shoulder brushed his. Then stayed there. Neither of you moved away. Your pulse did something strange. You ignored it.
You pulled out your phone and opened a playlist you’d carefully built for nights exactly like this. Songs for when Lando forgot how incredible he was. Songs for when you didn’t have the right words.
Lorde began playing softly.
The room went quiet. Your fingers found his hand beneath the duvet without thinking. Like muscle memory. Like instinct.
Lando looked down at your intertwined hands. Then at you.
Your head rested against his shoulder now. Your breathing slowly evening out. He could feel every inhale. Every exhale. Every place your body touched his felt electrically alive. His heart stuttered painfully against his ribs.
And then— you fell asleep. Typical. But, you were still holding his hand. Still tucked against his side. Still trusting him with every fragile part of yourself.
Lando looked down when you let out the tiniest snore. And he smiled so hard it almost hurt. Because no one knew how to love him like this. Quietly. Patiently. Without asking for anything in return.
And God— he was so hopelessly in love with you it felt terminal.
Later that night, after carefully untangling himself so he wouldn’t wake you— he added more songs to the playlist. Because it reminded him of your hand finding his in the dark. Of your head on his shoulder. Of how your love always arrived in the exact form he needed.
And how terrifying it was that you still didn’t realise you already owned his entire heart.
~~
2024 - cardigan.
The atmosphere was electric. It buzzed through your veins so violently you thought you might explode from it. The screams. The chanting. The tears. The heat.
Everything blurred into one overwhelming moment. And yet somehow— all you could see was him. Standing on the top step. His first win. Finally.
Your face was soaked with tears. Your cheeks hurt. Your chest physically ached from how hard your heart was pounding. You’d watched the entire race barely breathing as he defended against lap after lap.
And when he crossed that finish line— you’d screamed so loudly that his mum had burst into laughter before pulling you into her arms.
Only then had you realised you were sobbing. Properly sobbing. Completely undignified. You didn’t care.
Your best friend had just won his first Formula One race. And the world finally felt correct.
You’d always known he was destined for this. Even before either of you really understood what racing meant. There had always been something extraordinary about him.
You saw it the day he’d looked up at you from the ground after you shoved him off the climbing frame. That ridiculous grin. That spark in his eyes. That certainty.
Maybe that was why you’d agreed to be his best friend so easily. Because some part of you knew your life would always be brighter with him in it.
You watched him disappear into a sea of orange as the celebrations roared around him. His family clung to him. His team cried. Champagne sprayed everywhere.
And you stayed back. Even though every part of you wanted to launch yourself at him. Wanted to kiss his stupid smiling face. Wanted to tell him you loved him.
That thought hit you so suddenly you almost stopped breathing. You blinked it away. Absolutely not. You were emotional. That was all.
Then he stepped onto the podium. And you forgot how to breathe all over again. Because he looked— beautiful.
There was no other word for it. Sunlight caught in his curls. His jaw sharp beneath the spray of champagne. His smile so bright it bordered on blinding.
As the British anthem played, all you could think was: He belongs there. He always had.
Hours later, once the chaos in the garage had calmed slightly— you ran. Straight at him.
Lando barely had time to react before you launched yourself into his arms. He stumbled backward with a startled laugh before his hands locked around your waist. Lifting you effortlessly.
Your legs instinctively wrapped around him. And suddenly— everything else disappeared. The noise. The team. The cameras. The celebration.
Gone.
All you could feel was him. Warm. Sweaty. Sticky with champagne. Real. Your face buried into his neck. His breath hot against your skin.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, Lan,” you whispered brokenly. Your voice cracked. “You were incredible today.”
His grip tightened around your waist. And when he spoke, his voice sounded dangerously soft. “I’m just glad you were here.”
Your entire body went still. Your heart stuttered violently. Because he said it like it mattered. Like you mattered.
And that felt far too dangerous to unpack.
So like always, you didn’t.
Later, exhausted and slightly tipsy, you found yourself in the backseat on the drive to the hotel. Your forehead rested against the cool glass. Your headphones played softly. Your entire body hummed with emotional exhaustion.
Then— his hand landed on your bare knee. You physically jolted. Electricity tore through your body so sharply your breath caught. It felt like every nerve ending you possessed had suddenly become aware of him.
You turned sharply. Lando was already watching you. His curls still damp. His cheeks flushed. His eyes impossibly soft. Golden under the streetlights. He looked unfairly beautiful.
He nodded toward your earphones. You pulled one out slowly.
“What’s on the playlist today?” His voice was quiet. His thumb absentmindedly brushed across your knee. Once. Twice. Your brain completely short-circuited.
You forgot every word you’d ever known. Forgot how breathing worked. Forgot your own name, probably.
“I—” Nothing. Your lips parted uselessly.
Lando’s eyes dropped to your mouth. Then flicked back up. And suddenly the air felt dangerously thin.
So instead— you shoved the earbud toward him. Coward.
He took it. Listened for a moment. Then laughed softly. “Taylor Swift?”
You exhaled shakily. “I like her lyrics.”
His hand finally left your knee. And you hated the loss instantly.
Later that night, drunk and still buzzing from victory, Lando added the song to the playlist. Because your legs had wrapped around him like instinct. Because your body reacted to his touch like it meant something. Because you looked at him like he hung the stars.
And for the first time in years— he allowed himself to believe this might actually have a happy ending.
~~
2025 - Everywhere, Everything.
Lando knew it was a terrible idea. Max had certainly told him it was a terrible idea. His mum probably would’ve agreed.
And yet— when you casually suggested spending two weeks with him in Monaco before pre-season testing began— he said yes before his brain could intervene.
Which was objectively idiotic. Two whole weeks. Just you. Just him. Alone. In his flat. Wandering sun-drenched streets. Getting tipsy in tiny restaurants hidden from tourists. Falling asleep on the sofa during films. Talking until three in the morning about childhood memories.
It was a spectacularly terrible idea for someone hopelessly in love with his best friend. Especially after Miami. After the way you’d looked at him. After how your body reacted to his touch.
He’d almost convinced himself you felt it too.
Then two weeks later— you’d tried setting him up with a girl in a bar. And yelled at him when he turned her down.
So clearly— he was an idiot. And this? This was simply him volunteering for emotional torture.
By day seven, being woken by your singing had become routine. Terrible singing. Loud singing. Entirely confident singing. He usually found it deeply annoying.
He secretly adored it.
Dragging himself from bed, hair a mess and sleep still heavy in his bones, Lando expected to find you singing while doing something normal. Brushing your teeth. Doing laundry. Scrolling your phone.
What he didn’t expect— what stopped him dead in the doorway— was you dancing in his kitchen. Morning sunlight spilled through the windows. Your bare feet slid across the floor. Your phone blasted from the counter.
And you— God. You were wearing his clothes. One of his oversized t-shirts which swallowed your frame. A pair of his shorts hung low on your hips. Your hair was messy from sleep. You were singing lyrics that were definitely incorrect while attempting to cook breakfast.
And Lando forgot how to breathe. Completely. Because it looked— dangerously— like home. Like Sunday mornings ten years from now. Like every future he’d quietly imagined but never let himself fully want.
His chest physically ached from it. Because this was everything he wanted. And none of it was actually his. You were still just his best friend. And that felt unbearably cruel.
He stood there far longer than he should have. Just watching. Watching you dance terribly. Watching you smile to yourself. Watching your hips sway off beat. Committing every second to memory.
Then you spun around. And screamed. “Lando!” You clutched your chest dramatically. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
He laughed softly. “Now you know how it feels.”
You narrowed your eyes. Then turned back toward the stove. “Get out.”
“What?”
“I’m making you breakfast.”
“It smells burnt.”
You gasped. “It is caramelised.”
“It smells like smoke.”
“Get out, Norris!”
Lando raised his hands in surrender, laughing as he retreated. And somehow— he fell even harder.
A few minutes later, you appeared balancing two plates. He watched you set breakfast down with an unnecessarily proud expression.
Shockingly— it was edible.
You talked through breakfast. About a bizarre dream you’d had. About a dog you saw yesterday. About absolutely nothing.
And Lando sat there watching morning light hit your face and thought: This is it. This is everything. This is what people write songs about. This is what forever should feel like.
And it was killing him. Because he couldn’t have it.
“So,” you asked brightly, stabbing your fork into your eggs, “what’s the plan today?”
Lando nearly said: Stay exactly here forever.
Instead, he smiled. And let you plan another day he’d replay for the rest of his life.
After breakfast, he insisted on washing up. You bounded around the table. Then— without thinking— pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Lan.”
And walked away. Just like that. Like you hadn’t completely altered his molecular structure.
Lando froze. Plate still in hand. Heart pounding so hard it physically hurt. His skin burned where your lips touched him. And for one completely delusional second— he let himself imagine chasing after you.
Pulling you back. Kissing you properly. Telling you everything.
But instead— he stood perfectly still. And accepted the devastating truth. He was going to be in love with you for the rest of his life. Whether you ever loved him back or not.
Once again, after you’d both gone to bed much later than you should have, he added another song to the playlist.
Then lay awake staring at his ceiling until sunrise— wondering how something could feel so much like forever and still not be his.
~~
You couldn’t breathe.
As You Are In Love began to swell through the speakers, it felt like your entire body was shutting down. Your hands trembled violently. Your chest ached. Your face was soaked with tears, mascara dragging down your cheeks as years of memories crashed into you all at once.
Every song. Every moment. Every tiny memory he had treasured enough to save. He had taken the most ordinary moments of your life and turned them into something sacred.
And somehow— every single song had been about you. You felt sick with it. Not disgust. Not fear. Just overwhelming, all-consuming emotion.
Because how had you missed this? How had you missed him?
Before you could gather a coherent thought— the bathroom door opened. Steam spilled into the room.
And there he was.
Lando walked out of the bathroom adjusting the collar of his shirt, curls still damp from his shower. “Before you say anything,” he began lightly, “my mum bought me this shirt and I know it looks slightly divorced dad but—”
He stopped. Completely. His eyes landed on you. Your tear-streaked face. His phone in your trembling hands. The music still quietly filling the room. And all the colour drained from his face so quickly it terrified you.
You watched the exact moment he understood. The exact moment his entire body seemed to lock up.
“Oh,” the word barely existed. His throat bobbed harshly. “It’s not—” He stopped himself. Because what exactly was the lie? That the playlist wasn’t about you? That he hadn’t spent half his life loving you? That every song didn’t belong to a version of you he had adored? His breathing became uneven. “I can explain.”
“Lando—”
“No,” his voice cracked so sharply it made your heart lurch. “Please— please just let me explain before you say anything.”
And suddenly he looked terrified. Not embarrassed. Not awkward. Terrified. Like this was his worst nightmare unfolding in real time. Like he was watching his entire future collapse. He didn’t come closer. Didn’t dare. Because this— this was the moment he had spent years avoiding.
He was twelve years old when he started that playlist. A stupid little coping mechanism. A place to put feelings that felt too enormous for a twelve-year-old boy to understand. And over time— it became everything. Every version of you. Every memory. Every almost. Every moment he loved you so much it felt unbearable.
And now you knew. And he was certain he was about to lose the most important person in his life. “I know it’s pathetic,” he laughed weakly, though it sounded more like he was breaking apart. “I know it’s insane and creepy and I should’ve deleted it years ago but I—”
His voice broke completely. His eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t know what to do with how much I love you,” your entire body went still. And Lando mistook your silence for devastation. He nodded to himself like he was bracing for impact. “That’s fair.”
Your face crumpled further. “Lando—”
“No, it’s okay,” he was crying now. Actually crying. And it looked like it was killing him to keep speaking. “I know you don’t feel the same,” that sentence physically hurt to hear. “I know that,” he inhaled shakily. “But I swear to God I never wanted anything from you.”
His voice cracked again. “I was happy just being your best friend,” he laughed bitterly through tears. “Well— not happy. That feels dramatic. But I could live with it,” he looked at you then. Completely wrecked. Because he had nothing left to hide. “I could survive loving you quietly,” your breathing turned ragged. “But I couldn’t survive losing you.”
That shattered something inside you. Because suddenly— everything made sense.
Every boyfriend you compared to him. Every moment of jealousy you swallowed. Every electric touch. Every almost kiss. Every irrational fear of him falling in love with someone else. Every time your heart had screamed his name while your brain called it friendship. Every version of your future that felt wrong unless he was standing in it.
Oh.
Oh.
You had been in love with him for years. Maybe forever. And you had both wasted so much time being afraid.
A broken laugh escaped through your tears. “You absolute idiot.”
Lando blinked at you. Completely confused. “What?”
And then you moved. Fast enough that he barely had time to react before your hands framed his face. Your thumbs wiped away tears he clearly hadn’t even realised had fallen.
And then— you kissed him.
And the world stopped. Completely. His lips were warm. Soft. Familiar in a way that made no sense and yet felt entirely right. Like your body had been waiting years for this exact moment.
Lando froze for half a second. Then he kissed you back like he’d been starving. One hand buried itself in your hair. The other wrapped around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer. And suddenly there was no space left between either of you.
No room for fear. No room for doubt. Just years of buried love finally spilling free.
The kiss was desperate. Tender. Messy with tears and laughter and disbelief. Every almost. Every longing glance. Every song. Every moment. All of it led here.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless. Foreheads pressed together. Laughing in stunned disbelief.
“How long?” you whispered.
Lando let out a shaky laugh. “Honestly?” His thumb brushed your cheek. “I think I came out of the womb loving you.”
You laughed through tears. “God,” you collapsed into him again, hiding your face in his neck. “We are such idiots,” his arms tightened around you instantly. “I don’t think I’ve ever known what it feels like not to love you, Lan.”
He went completely still. Like he needed to hear it again to believe it. “You love me?”
You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You made an entire playlist documenting our love story and you’re still asking stupid questions?”
He laughed so hard it broke into a sob. And kissed you again. Softer this time. Reverent.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much it’s actually embarrassing.”
“I’m sorry I looked through your phone.”
“I’m sorry I made a secret psycho playlist.”
You snorted. “It’s disgustingly romantic actually.”
His smile nearly blinded you.
Later that night, after hours of talking and kissing and laughing and saying I love you in increasingly ridiculous ways— you fell asleep wrapped in his arms. Your back pressed to his chest. His lips brushing lazy kisses against your shoulder. Like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.
At some point during the night— you quietly stole his phone. Opened the playlist. And smiled.
You changed the title.
songs that sound like home
(finally mine)
Then you added one final song.
When Lando found it the next morning— the sound of his laughter woke you. Followed very quickly by him kissing you like he planned on doing it for the rest of his life.
And for the first time— forever didn’t feel frightening.
It felt exactly like home.