Lando Norris

"Magui? Really?"

Your voice rang with disbelief as you stared at Lando, arms crossed, your phone clutched tightly in one hand. You had seen the headline not five minutes ago, the words blazing across the screen like an unwelcome slap: Lando Norris spotted with Magui at late-night event. It felt surreal, like some kind of bad joke. You were his PR manager at McLaren, sure, but your relationship with Lando had grown beyond that. You were friends—close enough that you thought he’d at least mention something like this before it hit the tabloids.

Lando, sitting casually on the couch, looked up from the controller in his hand. He was in the middle of a video game, the faint sounds of engines roaring in the background. His face was the picture of nonchalance, though there was a flicker of something—guilt, maybe?—in his expression as he saw the storm brewing in your eyes.

"Tell me it's a joke, Lando," you pressed, your tone sharper this time. You weren’t the type to meddle in his personal life, but Magui? Everyone knew about her reputation, and none of it was good. She was flashy, provocative, and notoriously involved in drama—someone who loved the limelight and all the chaos that came with it.

Lando set the controller down and leaned back, running a hand through his messy curls. "It's not what you think," he said, his voice calm, as if that alone could diffuse the tension.

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Oh, really? Because what I think is that you were out with someone who thrives on scandal, and now your name is plastered all over the internet next to hers. Do you have any idea what that looks like? For you? For McLaren?"

Lando sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "Look, it wasn’t planned, alright? I ran into her at a party, and we talked. That’s it. The paparazzi blew it out of proportion, like they always do."

You weren’t convinced. "Lando, this isn’t just a random photo. The article says you left together. And let’s not pretend you don’t know how this kind of thing plays out. You’re not some rookie driver anymore; people are watching your every move."

He winced slightly, the reality of your words sinking in. "Okay, fine. I gave her a ride home. She didn’t want to deal with the press outside, and it was late. I was just trying to be nice."

You stared at him, searching for any sign of dishonesty. Lando wasn’t usually one to hide things from you, but this felt... off. "And you didn’t think to tell me this before the whole world found out? I had to read about it online, Lando. Online! Do you have any idea how unprofessional this makes us look?"

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I didn’t think it was a big deal, okay? I didn’t think it would blow up like this."

You let out a frustrated laugh, pacing the room. "Not a big deal? You’re one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid, Lando! Everything you do is a big deal. And Magui? She’s practically a walking headline. Of course this was going to blow up."

He stood then, stepping into your path and placing his hands on your shoulders to stop your pacing. His touch was firm but gentle, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "I get it, alright? I messed up. I should’ve told you, and I’m sorry. But nothing happened. I promise."

For a moment, you wanted to believe him. Lando had a way of looking at you that made it hard to stay mad, but the disappointment still lingered. You sighed, pulling away from his grip. "You can’t keep doing this, Lando. If you want me to have your back, you’ve got to let me in. No more surprises like this, okay?"

He nodded, his expression sincere. "No more surprises. I swear."

You shook your head, still frustrated but a little less angry now. "Good. Because next time, I’m not cleaning up your mess."

Lando cracked a small, sheepish smile. "You always do, though."

You shot him a glare, but he was already grabbing his controller again, the conversation apparently over. Typical Lando, you thought, but as much as you hated to admit it, you’d always have his back—even when he made it harder than it needed to be.