No Title - Proof of Concept
Lando Norris x Louise Levine (Original Character)
Summary: Miami gives good results, good friends, and good distractions. But, as McLaren’s endurance project starts taking shape. Lando realizes that “home” has started to mean a person, a dog, and a future he never expected to want.
Word Count: 7.8k
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Miami arrives like a song they already know the chorus to.
Heat clings to skin. Music leaks through the paddock fences. The air hums with people who are here to be seen—and people who pretend they aren’t.
This week, neither Louise nor Lando are alone.
Friends drift in and out of the garages, familiar faces tucked between engineers and strategists. Laughter carries farther than it should. Someone always has a drink in hand, even at noon. It’s Miami.
Louise hugs Sabrina in the paddock, nearly knocking her sunglasses crooked.
“We’re going to Disney again, aren’t we?” she asks knowingly.
“Obviously,” she says. “It’s tradition.”
“Unhinged tradition,” Joey adds. “You just won’t stop.”
Lando watches from a few steps away, arms folded, smiling despite himself.
He’s faster this weekend.
Not just on paper—he feels it. The car responds. The balance is finally there. The confidence settles into his shoulders instead of rattling around his chest.
Sprint race: P2.
Main race: P2 again.
Both times, Louise is ahead of him.
Both times, she turns toward him in parc fermé with that familiar grin—proud, unbothered, bright like the sun bouncing off the asphalt.
“You’re annoying,” he tells her, bumping her shoulder.
“You love me,” she replies, helmet still on.
He does.
And this time, second place doesn’t sting. It feels like momentum
—
Louise changes out of race gear and straight into chaos.
One minute she’s peeling herself out of something engineered for speed and restraint; the next she’s in sneakers, hair loose, sunglasses on, adrenaline repurposed instead of gone.
Disney World greets her like it remembers her.
Hollywood Studios hums louder than the others—neon edges, sharp corners, music bleeding from one land into the next like someone couldn’t decide which mood to commit to. Star Wars scores swell dramatically over crowds. Somewhere nearby, a lightsaber hums. The air smells like popcorn, sunscreen, fried dough, and heat.
Sabrina links arms with Louise immediately, decisive.
“Okay,” she says, surveying the chaos. “This park is bolder. Slightly unhinged. I feel like it suits you.”
Louise laughs. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” Sabrina confirms.
Joey squints down at the map like it’s personally offended him. “Why does every ride description sound like a lawsuit waiting to happen?”
“Because art,” Kiernan says solemnly, already adjusting her ears headband like she’s preparing for battle.
Baille doesn’t even slow down—sunglasses shoved into her hair, determination blazing. “If we don’t move now, we’ll regret it.”
They run.
—
Rise of the Resistance is first, because someone said “it’s immersive” and that was enough.
The queue winds. The atmosphere tightens. Louise is fully in it—eyes bright, curiosity switched on, brain happily absorbing narrative instead of lap times.
By the time they’re captured by the First Order, Joey is whispering, “I don’t like this. I don’t like being perceived by stormtroopers.”
Louise bites her lip to keep from laughing.
The ride breaks down twice. No one cares.
When it finally launches, Louise grabs Sabrina’s hand during the drop—not because she’s scared, but because it’s happening fast and she forgot she doesn’t actually have to be in control here.
When it ends, they stumble out blinking into daylight.
“That,” Louise says, breathless, “was excessive.”
“Five stars,” Baille replies. “Emotionally destabilizing.”
—
They barely pause before Slinky Dog Dash.
It looks innocent. It is not.
Louise insists she’s fine. Smiling. Relaxed. Totally normal.
The launch hits.
Her laugh turns feral.
Kiernan screams something unintelligible about friendship. Joey’s hat flies off and is immediately mourned. Sabrina whoops like she’s on a roller coaster on purpose.
When they get off, Louise’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Again?” someone suggests.
They all run back to the line.
—
Millennium Falcon: Smugglers Run descends into absolute incompetence.
Louise and Joey are pilots. This is a mistake.
Sabrina is gunner. Overcommitted. Aggressive.
Baille and Kiernan are engineers, which means they are yelling.
Louise misses half the instructions because she’s laughing too hard.
They crash into something expensive-looking almost immediately.
“That was you,” Louise says, already pointing.
“I was literally the engineer!” Joey protests.
“Exactly!”
The Falcon limps through the mission, alarms blaring, score humiliating.
When it ends, the cast member smiles a little too politely. “Great… effort.”
They dissolve into laughter the moment they’re clear of the exit.
—
Tower of Terror comes next.
Louise insists she’s calm. Totally calm. Very chill.
She is not calm.
The doors close. The room lifts. Drops.
Louise screams like she’s been personally betrayed by architecture.
Sabrina clamps onto her arm. Baille laughs so hard she cries. Kiernan loses her voice halfway down and just wheezes silently.
When it’s over, Louise presses both hands to her face.
“I hated that.”
“You loved that,” Sabrina says.
“I loved surviving that,” Louise corrects.
—
They slow down just enough to eat.
They sit on a curb, legs stretched out, passing around something blue, sugar-coated, and deeply suspicious.
“What flavor is this?” Louise asks.
“No idea,” Baille says. “But it’s vibrating.”
“Is it supposed to do that?” Joey asks.
They eat it anyway.
—
Toy Story Mania turns competitive immediately.
Louise is locked in. Focused. Ruthless.
Kiernan trash-talks nonstop. Sabrina is weirdly good. Joey panics under pressure. Baille laughs every time she misses.
When the scores pop up, Louise wins by a lot.
She blinks. “Oh.”
Everyone groans.
“Of course you did,” Sabrina says. “You can’t even turn it off here.”
Louise laughs, unrepentant.
—
By the time they stumble onto Mickey & Minnie’s Runaway Railway, the sun has started to dip.
They’re tired. Sun-warmed. A little sticky. Happy in that loose, unstructured way that only comes from hours without clocks.
The ride is ridiculous. Wholesome. Chaotic.
They sing along badly.
Louise laughs until tears gather again—not from adrenaline this time, just from joy sneaking up on her when she wasn’t guarding against it.
—
Phones stay mostly in bags.
Sunglasses get passed around and forgotten. Someone buys matching hats they’ll never wear again. Louise ends up with a churro she didn’t order and keeps forgetting to eat.
Time blurs.
At some point—no one remembers exactly when—someone lifts a phone.
They’re mid-laugh. Slightly disheveled. Sunburned in odd places. Arms tangled. No posing. No fixing hair.
The shutter clicks once.
That’s it.
At sunset, she sits on the curb with a churro, feet aching, cheeks flushed, phone buzzing in her pocket.
Lando:
I’m jealous. I want you to take me to Disney World too.
She smiles immediately.
Louise:
You’re a millionaire with free will. Take yourself.
A pause.
Lando:
Rude.
She laughs out loud, earning a look from one of her friends.
Louise:
Please. Like your own friends aren’t trying to drag you to a club somewhere.
The reply comes fast.
Lando:
How do you know?!
Louise:
They’re boys.
Another beat.
Louise:
Anyway
Drink responsibly
I’ll see you back home.
—
The Photo they post It’s blurry.
Not aesthetically blurry. Accidentally blurry.
Louise is mid-laugh, head thrown back, mouth open, one hand lifted like she’s explaining something dramatic no one will ever hear. Sabrina is half out of frame, sunglasses slipping down her nose, pointing at something off-camera. Joey is turned sideways, clearly mid-sentence. Kiernan is looking completely the wrong direction, focused on something serious. Baille is the only one vaguely aware a camera exists—eyes wide, smiling like she’s just been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Behind them: neon lights, palm silhouettes, a slice of the park glowing like it’s breathing.
It feels alive.
Comments Flood In
SHE LOOKS SO HAPPY
how is no one looking at the camera 😭
THE BLUR MAKES IT BETTER
this picture feels loud
THIS IS FRIENDSHIP
not a single soul prepared and that’s the point
evidence of happiness your honor
And quietly—almost unnoticed unless you’re looking for it—
@.landonorris liked this post.
Louise doesn’t see it right away.
She’s too busy laughing, too busy being pulled toward another ride, another moment, another memory that doesn’t need proof.
⸻
Somewhere Else in Miami
Lando stands on a hotel balcony, city lights blinking like they’re winking at him.
Below, laughter spills from the street. His phone is still warm in his hand.
Tom is knocking on his door, asking if he’s coming out. Someone else is calling his name from the hallway.
He looks at the screen one more time.
I’ll see you back home.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Not loud.
Just… certain.
He realizes then how quiet their love is.
How it doesn’t demand attention or proof or constant proximity. How it survives separate rooms, separate cities, separate joys.
It’s deliberate.
Chosen.
Built in the spaces between.
He smiles to himself, steps back inside, and grabs his jacket.
“Coming,” he calls.
But later—when the night winds down, when the noise fades—he knows exactly where he’s going.
Back to her.
Inside, the club it’s exactly what it’s supposed to be.
Heat. Noise. Movement.
Miami doesn’t do subtle, and the club leans into it—lights cutting through darkness in sharp pulses, bass heavy enough to settle in his chest like a second heartbeat. The air smells like citrus and sweat and something expensive he can’t quite place.
It’s a lot.
But tonight, it doesn’t hit wrong.
Not immediately.
They get drinks. Someone’s already halfway through a story. Someone else interrupts it before it lands properly. Max disappears for exactly three minutes and comes back with two more people and a completely different conversation.
Lando laughs—real, easy.
Lets himself get dragged into it.
—
At some point, he ends up behind the DJ booth.
He doesn’t remember agreeing to it.
One minute he’s leaning against the bar, the next someone’s waving him forward, a quick exchange happening between people who seem to know each other, and suddenly he’s stepping up onto a platform that feels slightly too elevated to be comfortable.
“Go on,” the DJ says, grinning, stepping aside just enough. “Have a go.”
Lando hesitates for half a second.
Then shrugs.
Why not.
The headphones settle over his ears, muting the chaos just enough to make it manageable. The controls feel unfamiliar but not impossible—patterns are patterns, timing is timing.
He tests it.
Adjusts something.
The beat shifts—barely noticeable, but enough.
Someone cheers.
He laughs, shaking his head, but leans into it a little more, fingers more confident now, playing with transitions, letting instinct take over where knowledge doesn’t quite reach.
It’s… fun.
He glances out over the crowd once—lights catching faces in fragments, movement constant, everyone caught in their own version of the night.
For a second, it feels like being outside of it all.
Then—
It hits.
Not sharp.
Not overwhelming.
Just… there.
He wishes she was here.
Not because something’s missing.
Because something would fit.
He can picture it too easily—her standing just off to the side, not in the middle of the chaos but not removed from it either, watching everything with that quiet focus she always has. Saying something dry into his ear that makes him laugh mid-mix. Not needing the attention. Just… existing in the same space.
The thought settles.
Doesn’t ruin the moment.
Just colors it.
He adjusts the track again, smoother this time.
—
Down on the floor, things shift in ways he doesn’t fully see.
Someone tries to edge closer to the booth—too persistent, too curious.
Max steps into the path without making it obvious, hand landing casually on the guy’s shoulder, redirecting him with a grin and a comment that lands just right.
Elsewhere, another friend intercepts a conversation before it reaches Lando at all—laughing something off, shaking his head, steering it sideways into something harmless.
“No, mate,” he says lightly. “He’s good.”
“Didn’t say anything,” the guy replies, defensive.
“Yeah,” the friend grins. “Exactly.”
It’s subtle.
Unspoken.
A quiet understanding passing between them—protect the space, keep it easy, don’t let it turn into something it doesn’t need to be.
Lando doesn’t notice.
Not consciously.
He just feels… unbothered.
—
When he steps down from the booth, the night folds back around him easily.
Someone hands him a drink. Someone else claps him on the back like he’s just done something impressive instead of messing around with buttons for fifteen minutes.
He smiles at the right moments.
Adds a comment here and there.
But there’s a distance now.
Not obvious.
Just enough.
He checks his phone without meaning to.
Nothing new.
Still—
He turns it over in his hand, thumb brushing the edge of the screen like he’s considering something.
Max notices, because Max always notices.
“Bored?” he asks, tone light.
Lando shakes his head. “Nah.”
“Liar.”
A pause.
Then Lando exhales, small but honest. “Just… done, I think.”
Max nods once, no pushback. “Fair.”
There’s no argument when he stands.
No teasing.
Just a couple of half-hearted protests that don’t go anywhere.
“Text when you get back,” someone says.
“Yeah,” Lando replies.
He slips out without ceremony.
—
Outside, the night feels different.
Still warm. Still heavy with humidity.
But quieter.
The bass fades with every step he takes, replaced by the low hum of the city and the distant sound of waves somewhere beyond the buildings.
He walks.
Doesn’t rush it.
Lets the night settle back into something that feels more like himself.
His phone is already in his hand by the time he reaches the corner.
He hesitates for a second.
Then he types.
Lando:
Club was… fine.
Missed you.
Sorry if that’s weird.
Hope you’re still riding the Disney high 💙
He sends it, pockets the phone, and finally breathes properly.
By the time he's back at the hotel, there’s a reply waiting.
Louise:
It’s not weird.
I missed you too.
Also yes—still riding the high. Still sugar-powered. Still very happy.
I saved you a churro-shaped memory.
He laughs softly to himself.
The night didn’t give him what his friends thought it would.
But it didn’t take anything from him either.
And that feels like choosing the right thing—over and over again—until it stops being a choice at all.
⸻
The next day, the call comes just as Louise is dropping her bag by the door in L.A, shoes kicked off, Akira already circling her legs like she’s afraid Louise might vanish again.
Her phone lights up on the counter.
Lando.
She smiles before she answers.
His face fills the screen a second later—Aylesbury behind him. Their kitchen. Their windows. The familiar slant of evening light falling across the counter like it already knows them.
“You’re there,” she says softly.
“Just got in,” he replies. “House didn’t explode without you, good news.”
She laughs, perching on a stool. “Disappointing.”
He tilts the phone slightly as he walks, giving her a slow tour she didn’t ask for but absolutely wants. The couch. The hallway. The empty space beside the door where her boots usually live.
“Okay,” he says, stopping in the kitchen. He scratches the back of his neck—the tell. “I’ve been thinking.”
Her smile turns curious. “That sentence always leads somewhere.”
He exhales, then looks straight at the camera. “Would you… consider bringing Akira next time?”
She blinks. Once.
“…What?”
He rushes in immediately, words tumbling over each other. “Only if you want to. And if it makes sense. And if she’s okay with it. I know she’s your shadow and I don’t want to mess with that, but—”
“Lando,” she interrupts gently.
He stops.
She’s smiling so wide it almost hurts.
“You want me to bring my dog.”
He nods, suddenly earnest. “Yeah. I do.”
Her voice softens. “Why?”
“Because you miss her when you’re gone,” he says simply. “And because I miss you when you’re gone, and she feels like… a piece of you that could be here.”
That lands right in her chest.
He keeps going, clearly prepared. “Also, I found this really good dog hotel nearby. Like—not sketchy. Actual fields. Trainers. Cameras. They do enrichment and everything. We could drop her off when we’re both traveling.”
Louise watches him, eyes warm, heart a little undone.
“And,” he adds quickly, “I’ll help. Like—properly help. I’ll pick up all her poop. Religiously.”
She snorts. “That’s a bold promise.”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “I’ll take her on runs. I’ll shower her. I’ll brush her. I’ll give her those ridiculous cuddles she likes where she pretends she doesn’t but absolutely does.”
Akira, as if summoned by her name, pops into frame and sniffs the phone.
Lando’s face lights up instantly. “Hi,” he says, softer. “Hi, Akira.”
Louise tilts the phone down so he can see her properly. “She’s listening.”
“I know,” he says. “I feel judged.”
Akira huffs.
Louise laughs, then grows quiet for a second. “You’d really be okay with it?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I want her here.”
She leans her cheek into her palm, watching him in their kitchen, in their house, offering to take on something that matters to her without being asked.
“You always wanted a dog,” she says gently.
He grins, caught. “Yeah. But I didn’t know it would be… yours.”
Her throat tightens just a little.
“Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll bring her.”
His smile breaks open, bright and unguarded. “Really?”
“Really.”
He lets out a laugh that sounds like relief. “I’m going to be so good at this.”
“You’re going to be tackled,” she warns.
“Worth it.”
Akira barks, sharp and approving.
Louise lifts the phone again, meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making room,” she says.
He softens. “That’s what this is. Right?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
They stay on the call longer than planned—talking about logistics, about leashes and runs and where Akira’s bed will go.
When they finally hang up, Louise looks down at her dog, who’s wagging like she already knows.
“Guess what,” Louise murmurs.
Akira barks again.
Across the ocean, in Aylesbury, Lando opens the door to an empty house and grins to himself.
Not for long.
⸻
Aylesbury is quiet when Louise arrives.
Not the empty kind of quiet—just the settled kind. The kind that smells like cut grass and damp earth and something baking somewhere down the road. The house lights are already on when she pulls in, warm squares against the early evening gray.
Lando’s outside before she even turns the engine off.
He doesn’t wait. He never does.
He opens her door like it’s instinct, leans in to kiss her before she can say hi properly, hands already finding her waist.
“You’re home,” he says, like it’s a fact and a victory all at once.
She exhales against his shoulder. “Hi to you too.”
They stand there for a second longer than necessary, foreheads pressed together, the world narrowing back down to something manageable.
Lando takes her bag without asking. Akira’s leash is looped over her shoulder.
He notices immediately.
His eyebrows lift. “You brought her.”
Louise smiles. “You asked.”
He hesitates—just a flicker of uncertainty. “Are you sure? I mean, I know she’s your shadow, I just—”
Louise stopped beside the crate in the boot and raised an eyebrow.
“I trust you,” she says simply.
That still stops him sometimes.
Louise reached for the crate latch.
The second the lock clicked open, Akira exploded forward.
The dog landed on the gravel, spotted Lando, and immediately made her decision.
Lando barely had enough time to laugh.
“Oh, h—”
Akira hit him like a freight train.
One enormous leap.
Front paws straight onto his shoulders.
Nearly fifty kilos of pure affection crashed into him.
Lando stumbled backward.
“Jesus Christ!”
Louise burst out laughing.
Akira’s tail whipped through the air like a weapon.
Lando managed two unsteady steps before losing the battle entirely.
The dog immediately began licking his face.
Louise leaned against the car, laughing so hard her stomach hurt.
Lando pointed accusingly at her while attempting to fend off another enthusiastic lick.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Lando finally managed to get one arm around Akira’s shoulders.
The Rottweiler immediately melted into him.
All seventy-five percent muscle and twenty-five percent stubbornness suddenly transforming into something soft.
Something affectionate.
Something absurdly gentle.
Her massive head rested against his chest.
The change was instant.
Louise watched it happen.
The way Akira settled.
The way Lando’s expression softened.
The way his hand automatically moved behind her ears.
Finding exactly the spot she liked.
Akira practically vibrated.
“Oh, traitor,” Louise said.
Lando looked up.
“What?”
“She never falls in love with people this quickly.”
“That’s because she has excellent taste.”
Akira’s tail wagged.
Lando couldn’t stop smiling.
Neither could Louise.
“Lou?”
“What?”
His smile softened.
“I’m really glad you brought her.”
—
They fall back into each other the way they always do—not dramatically, just naturally.
Bags get unpacked together. Akira inspects every room like she’s conducting an audit. Lando insists on taking her out on a run the next morning and Louise watches from the doorway, arms crossed, amused and soft as she sees him jogging down the lane with a dog that already thinks he’s hers.
More moments stack up.
Quiet dinners they don’t cook.
Late showers where they talk through the steam.
Louise stretches on the living room floor while Lando half-watches a replay, half-watches her.
It’s one of those mornings where the light is too gentle to rush.
Louise has a marker in her hand—one of the many she uses on the whiteboard calendar that’s become their shared brain. She draws a line. Then another. Stops.
She doesn’t turn around when she speaks.
“Sometimes I look back and realize how crazy we are.”
Lando pauses mid-sip of water. “This feels like the start of something dangerous.”
She smiles a little. “We’ve known each other… what, just over two years?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve been dating barely more than one.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And we’re standing face to face in a house we bought together,” she says, finally turning. “With a dog.”
He considers that. “When you say it like that, it does sound suspicious.”
She walks closer, still holding the marker like it’s a confession stick.
“And it gets crazier if you think about racing. Like—how would the world react if they knew that a rookie in Formula Two was spending nights texting a Formula One driver, playing the thirty-six questions game?”
Lando laughs softly. “You cheated on question twenty-seven.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
She ignores him, momentum building. “Or the fact that two rivals for the Formula One championship were spending time together in a private room in a BDSM club in Monaco.”
He winces. “That one would haunt us.”
They share a look—fond, amused, unashamed.
“I’m not saying this to scare us,” she continues, quieter now. “Or because I think we should change anything. Quite the opposite, actually.”
She taps the marker against her palm.
“You know I’m violently against taking things seriously.”
“That’s one of my favorite things about you,” he says immediately.
“It’s just…” She shrugs. “It’s crazy. But it’s our crazy. And for me—it feels perfect.”
Lando slips into her space, gently takes the marker from her hand, sets it aside.
“Lou,” he says, low and steady. “If crazy means choosing you every day—then I’m fine with that.”
She searches his face, finds no hesitation there.
“Good,” she murmurs. “Because I don’t know how to do this any other way.”
He kisses her then—not rushed, not dramatic. Just certain.
From the hallway, Akira thumps her tail against the wall like punctuation.
Lando pulls back, smiling. “See? Even she agrees.”
Louise laughs, resting her forehead against his. Outside, the fields stay quiet. Inside, everything fits.
“You know what’s funny?” Lando says eventually.
“What?”
“A year ago, if somebody had told me we’d be here—”
He gestures vaguely around the kitchen.
“The house?”
“The house.”
“The dog?”
“The dog.”
“The aggressively color-coded calendar?”
“Definitely the calendar.”
Louise nods.
“Fair.”
“I would’ve believed the dog before I believed the calendar.”
She laughs.
“Honestly? Same.”
Lando reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
His gaze stays there.
Steady.
Warm.
“I don’t really care what it ends up looking like.” he says quietly,
Louise’s eyebrows lift.
“The future?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugs.
“As long as we’re still making it together.”
Louise leans forward until her forehead rests against his chest.
“I can work with that.”
“Good.”
“I think I’d like a few more dogs, though.”
Lando groans immediately.
“There it is.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Akira is already the size of a horse.”
“She needs friends.”
“She has friends.”
“Not enough.”
He sighs dramatically toward the ceiling.
“See? This is how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“The future.”
Louise smiles.
⸻
They go to the pet store on a quiet weekday morning, the kind with wide aisles and soft music and employees who greet you like they already love your dog more than you do.
Louise pushes the cart with purpose.
List open on her phone. Sleeves rolled. Game face on.
“Okay,” she says, turning into the first aisle. “Basics first.”
Lando nods seriously, hands on the cart like he’s been briefed for a mission.
Beds go in first.
One large, orthopedic-looking one for the living room.
One softer, round one for the bedroom.
One smaller one “just in case she wants options,” which Louise pretends is for the guest room but everyone knows is for wherever Akira decides she owns next.
Food and water bowls—stainless steel, non-slip.
Training treats. Her regular food. A few different snack textures because Akira is dramatic.
Louise checks items off efficiently, barely slowing down.
Lando lasts exactly three aisles.
Akira stops in front of a bin of plush toys and lowers her head.
Sniff.
Her tail gives a single, decisive wag.
Lando freezes.
Louise keeps walking.
“Lou,” he says quietly.
No response.
“Louise.”
She turns around. “What?”
He gestures down at Akira, who is now very politely holding eye contact with a stuffed octopus.
“She likes it.”
“She sniffed it,” Louise says. “She sniffs everything.”
Akira presses her nose into the toy again, then looks up at Lando.
He melts instantly.
“…Okay but look at her.”
Louise narrows her eyes. “Lando.”
“She chose it.”
“She sniffed it.”
He gently lifts the octopus and drops it into the cart.
Akira wags harder.
Louise stares at the cart. “That’s one.”
“I know,” he says, already backing away. “I’m being restrained.”
Three minutes later, Akira stops in front of a rope toy.
Sniff.
Lando reaches automatically.
“No,” Louise says flatly.
He hesitates. “But what if she needs it for dental health.”
“She has bones.”
“This is different.”
Another sniff.
The rope goes into the cart.
Louise pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re not allowed to be alone with her in here.”
They turn the corner.
Akira discovers the squeaky toys.
Chaos.
She noses one. Then another. Then grabs one gently in her mouth and immediately drops it, startled by the noise.
Lando laughs out loud. “Oh my god.”
“No,” Louise says again, already too late.
He’s crouched now, fully engaged. “Which one do you like, huh? The duck? The dinosaur? The inexplicable banana?”
Louise watches him, arms crossed, trying very hard not to smile.
The cart fills.
Duck.
Dinosaur.
Banana.
A tennis ball that lights up.
A puzzle feeder he swears is “mentally enriching.”
“Lando,” she says, exasperated but fond. “She is one dog.”
“She’s our dog,” he corrects.
That stops her.
She exhales, softens. “…Okay. One more.”
He beams. “Really?”
“One.”
He considers the remaining options like it’s a championship decision.
Finally, he chooses a simple plush star.
Drops it into the cart with reverence.
At checkout, the employee scans item after item, eyebrows climbing higher each time.
“Big day?” she asks.
Louise smiles politely. “Moving in.”
Lando looks at Akira. “Clearly.”
As they load the bags into the car, Akira already chewing on her new rope toy, Louise bumps her shoulder into his.
“She’s going to destroy all of these in like 20 minutes.”
“I know,” he says cheerfully. “I can’t wait.”
She laughs, watching him open the back door for Akira like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
For the first time, the house waiting for them doesn’t just feel shared.
It feels full.
⸻
They tell themselves it’s just another day at the MTC.
That’s the lie.
The truth announces itself the moment Louise walks into the endurance wing and sees the space reconfigured—whiteboards pushed aside, cones on the floor, a suspicious number of foam props stacked near the wall, and Jenson Button standing in the middle of it all with his arms crossed and a grin that says I have plans.
Lando slows beside her. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be embarrassed professionally?”
Mick squints. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be embarrassed physically?”
Jenson claps his hands once. “Morning, team.”
Too cheerful. Immediately suspicious.
“We’ve got sim work later,” he continues, “but before that, we’re doing something far more important.”
Lando groans. “Please don’t say trust falls.”
“No trust falls,” Jenson says. “You’re endurance drivers. If you can’t trust each other already, we’re doomed.”
Louise relaxes a fraction.
“Today,” Jenson adds, “is team-building.”
That fraction evaporates.
—
Exercise One:
Jenson leads them into a side room that looks less like a training facility and more like someone emptied three different escape rooms onto a single table.
There are blocks in clashing colors, wires coiled like nervous snakes, metal sliders, numbered tiles, and a laminated instruction card conspicuously turned face-down. A digital timer blinks 10:00 in red.
Lando stops short. “Why does this look like it could explode?”
“It won’t,” Jenson says. Then, after a beat, “Probably.”
Mick exhales through his nose. “Fantastic.”
Jenson gestures to the table. “Exercise One. Problem-solving under pressure.”
Then he turns to Louise.
“Louise, you’re leading.”
She blinks. Once. “Excuse me?”
“You instruct,” he says evenly. “They solve. You’re not allowed to touch anything.”
Lando’s grin spreads instantly, feral and delighted. “Oh, this is going to be great.”
Mick cracks his neck. “I regret every choice that led me here.”
Louise steps closer to the table anyway, gaze sharpening as she takes everything in at once. Her brain shifts gears—you can almost hear it click. Patterns. Symmetry. Constraints. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t hesitate either.
“Okay,” she says, calm as if she’s calling a grocery list. “Lando, stop touching things randomly.”
“I’m assessing,” he protests, fingers hovering over a yellow tile.
“You’re panicking.”
“I am strategizing.”
“Strategize quieter,” she says without looking at him. Then, already moving on, “Mick, rotate the blue piece ninety degrees.”
Mick reaches for a blue block.
“No,” Louise adds immediately. “The other blue one. The trapezoid. Yes. That one.”
Mick rotates it without question.
A soft click sounds.
“Oh,” Lando mutters. “She’s terrifying.”
“Thank you,” Louise says sweetly. “Now, Lando, connect the red wire to the left terminal.”
He freezes. “There are three left terminals.”
“The one that isn’t wrong.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It is if you think harder.”
Jenson glances at the timer. 8:42.
Mick is already sliding a metal rail into place. “This one lines up with the numbers.”
“Good,” Louise says. “Lock it. Don’t push it.”
Lando squints at the terminals. “Okay, hypothetically—”
“No hypotheticals,” she cuts in gently. “Commit.”
He does. The wire snaps into place.
Another click.
The timer jumps to 5:00.
“What did that do?” Lando asks.
“It unlocked the next stage,” Louise says. “Mick, the green square is a decoy. Ignore it.”
“How do you know?” Mick asks.
“Because it wants your attention,” she replies.
He laughs under his breath but obeys.
Jenson shifts his weight, arms folding tighter—not to intervene, but because he’s impressed and doesn’t want to show it.
The final mechanism is a sliding sequence. Lando reaches—
“Don’t,” Louise says.
He stops mid-motion. “I didn’t even touch it.”
“You were about to,” she replies. “Slide the yellow tile first. Then the black. Then press down.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, it resets.”
“How do you—”
“Now,” she says.
They do it.
The timer freezes at 2:11.
A green light blinks on.
Solved.
Silence hangs for half a second.
Louise steps back from the table, hands clasped behind her. “Done.”
Lando stares at the setup like it personally betrayed him. “I feel like I just got coached through a championship lap.”
Mick nods slowly. “She didn’t raise her voice once.”
Louise smiles, small and precise. “I didn’t need to.”
Jenson finally clears his throat, making a note on his clipboard.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s keep going.”
Lando looks at Louise, eyes bright now—not amused, not teasing.
Impressed.
“Remind me,” he says, “never to underestimate you.”
She meets his gaze, calm and steady.
“You already know better than that.”
—
Exercise Two:
Jenson doesn’t preface it. He just hands Lando the controller like it weighs something.
“Your turn,” he says mildly. “You’re guiding them through a mission. They can’t see the map.”
The screen behind him flickers to life—an overhead schematic of a dimly lit compound. Red dots pulsing. Patrol routes looping like bad habits. Timers ticking down in the corner.
Louise drops to the floor immediately, cross-legged, back straight, hands resting loosely on her knees like she’s settling in to meditate rather than survive a virtual infiltration. Mick crouches beside her, one knee up, already scanning the blank wall in front of them as if it might betray secrets out of spite.
Lando swallows.
He takes a breath the same way he does before a start—deep, deliberate, like he’s convincing his nervous system to behave.
“Okay,” he says, trying for calm. “We’re infiltrating a base. Stealth is… encouraged.”
Jenson hums noncommittally.
“Louise,” Lando continues, eyes locked on the screen, “take three steps forward.”
She does. Precisely. Measured. Perfect.
“Good. Now—no, wait—turn left.”
She turns right.
Lando blinks. “Why did you—”
“I turned my left,” she says flatly.
“That is not how directions work.”
“That is exactly how bodies work.”
Mick snorts, hand over his mouth.
“Okay,” Lando says quickly. “Reset. Reset. Stop moving.”
Both of them freeze.
“Good. Mick, crouch.”
“Louise, duck.”
Lando stares at the screen. Stares at the controller. Stares at Jenson, who is absolutely not helping.
“That’s—” he exhales, rubbing his face. “That’s perfect. Stay like that. Don’t move. Nobody move.”
On screen, a patrol sweeps past. A cone of light glides dangerously close to their avatars.
Mick whispers, “If we die, I’m blaming you.”
“You won’t die,” Lando says, voice climbing half an octave. “You’ll be fine. Just—Louise, inch forward. Tiny steps. Like… suspiciously tiny.”
She moves exactly one inch.
“Okay, great, now stop.”
She stops.
A beat.
An alarm starts blaring.
“Why is it beeping?” Mick asks.
Lando stares in horror. “Because—because I think I clipped a laser.”
“I didn’t see a laser,” Louise says.
“That’s because you can’t see the map,” Lando snaps, immediately regretting his tone. “Sorry. Sorry. That’s on me.”
A guard appears on screen.
“Grenade?” Mick suggests helpfully.
“No grenades,” Lando says firmly. “No explosions. Stealth.”
An explosion goes off.
All three of them stare at the screen.
Lando winces. “That was… a misclick.”
Jenson clears his throat. Writes something down.
The mission descends into chaos.
Lando starts talking faster—directions stacking on top of each other.
“Okay, Louise, forward—no, pause—Mick, left—other left—Louise, don’t turn—why are you turning—”
“Because you said left,” she replies calmly, doing the opposite of whatever he just asked.
Mick is laughing now. Full-on, shoulders shaking.
“Focus!” Lando says. “This is a team exercise.”
Somehow—through a combination of luck, Louise’s unnerving calm, and Mick’s instinctive timing—they make it to the extraction point with two seconds left on the clock.
The screen flashes MISSION COMPLETE.
Silence.
Then Louise looks up at Lando, serene as ever. “You get louder when you’re stressed.”
He scoffs. “That’s rich. You get scarier when you’re calm.”
Mick nods. “Terrifying, actually.”
Jenson finally looks up from his clipboard, lips twitching despite himself. He scribbles one last note.
“Noted,” he says. “Next time, we work on tone modulation. And directional clarity.”
He pauses, glancing at the still-flashing COMPLETE on the screen.
“But,” he adds, “you finished. Under pressure. With imperfect information.”
Louise smiles faintly. Mick stretches his legs. Lando exhales like he’s just climbed out of the car after a wet qualifying lap.
Jenson sets the clipboard aside.
“Congratulations,” he says. “You passed.”
Lando groans. “That was passing?”
Jenson’s smile turns dangerous.
—
Exercise Three:
Jenson doesn’t bother explaining it much. He just leads them out of the briefing space and into a side room lined wall-to-wall with thick foam mats, the kind that immediately promise humility.
“Right,” he says, clapping his hands once. “Physical trust. Controlled resistance. Mick’s in charge.”
Mick exhales like he’s been waiting for this. He steps forward, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck once in a way that’s just this side of theatrical.
“Okay,” he says, already slipping into instructor mode. “This is not about winning. It’s about listening with your body.”
Lando squints. “That sounds like something you say right before I get hurt.”
“You’ll be fine,” Mick says cheerfully. “Probably.”
Jenson gestures. “Start with demonstration.”
Mick turns to Lando first.
“Come here.”
Lando hesitates. “Why do I feel like prey?”
“Because you are,” Louise says helpfully, settling onto the mat nearby, legs folded, watching with open interest.
Mick positions Lando carefully—hands here, stance wider, weight centered.
“Relax,” Mick says. “You’re fighting the idea already.”
“I don’t like grappling,” Lando mutters. “There are too many limbs.”
“Use that,” Mick replies. “Okay—grab my sleeve.”
Lando does, awkwardly.
Mick moves smoothly—no force, no rush. He shifts his hips, redirects Lando’s momentum, steps through with calm precision. In less than a second, Lando is gently but undeniably guided off-balance and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
There’s a beat.
“…Huh,” Lando says.
Mick offers him a hand up. “See? Not violent. Just physics.”
Lando takes it, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hate physics.”
Mick turns. “Louise.”
She rises immediately.
And mirrors his movements.
Perfectly.
Her posture settles without adjustment. Her feet place themselves exactly where they should be. Her grip is firm but relaxed, like it’s been waiting for this moment.
Mick goes down.
“Oh,” he says.
Louise tilts her head. “What?”
“You’ve done this before.”
She shrugs lightly. “I’m a black belt in judo.”
Silence drops into the room like something fragile.
Jenson blinks.
Lando’s jaw actually drops.
“…You’re what?”
She looks genuinely puzzled by the reaction. “My father said I needed to learn self-defense skills from an early age.”
“You could have told this,” Lando says faintly. “At any point. Ever.”
“I thought it was obvious.”
“When,” he asks weakly, “would that have been obvious?”
Mick laughs outright. “That explains so much.”
Jason clears his throat. “Okay. Pair up.”
Mick’s grin turns dangerous. “One v one.”
Lando looks between them. “Hang on. Surely I should get, like… a waiver?”
Too late.
They square off on the mat.
Louise waits. Calm. Balanced. Still.
Lando circles, uncertain, hands half-raised like he’s approaching a wild animal he’s hoping is friendly.
“Be gentle,” he says.
She smiles. “I will.”
Mick nods. “Go.”
Lando lunges with enthusiasm and very little technique.
Louise steps inside his movement, pivots smoothly, and uses his momentum like it’s a suggestion rather than a threat.
The flip is clean. Controlled. Almost kind.
Lando hits the mat with a soft thump and an undignified noise.
He lies there, staring at the ceiling.
Breathing.
Re-evaluating.
“…I’m reassessing all my life choices.”
Louise kneels beside him and offers a hand. “You’ll survive.”
He takes it, still dazed.
Mick wipes at his eyes. “I’m crying. This is beautiful.”
Jenson clears his throat sharply. “Alright. Last activity.”
All three of them groan in perfect unison.
Jenson smiles like a man who has planned this very carefully.
—
Karting
The track announces itself before they even see it.
Hot rubber. Fuel. The sharp, electric tang of something that’s been pushed hard and recently. Floodlights cut through the dusk, throwing white arcs across asphalt already scarred with black lines—evidence of bad decisions and very good ones.
Louise’s shoulders loosen the second she steps closer.
“Oh no,” Lando says, clocking it immediately. “She’s smiling.”
Mick grins. “That’s the dangerous smile.”
Helmets are handed out. Suits zipped. Gloves pulled tight.
Louise climbs into her kart with practiced ease, adjusting the seat without looking, feet finding the pedals like muscle memory never left. Lando watches, suspicious.
“It’s not fair,” he says, pointing at her.
She looks up, amused. “What isn’t?”
“You’re half our size,” Mick adds, already strapping himself in. “And half our weight.”
Louise snaps her visor down with a decisive click. “All I hear are excuses.”
Jenson, leaning against the pit wall with his arms crossed, laughs under his breath. “You two did this to yourselves.”
The marshal raises a hand.
Engines bark to life—high-pitched, impatient, vibrating straight through bone.
The lights go out.
Louise is gone.
Not a hesitation. Not a buildup. Just clean launch, perfect traction, the kart leaping forward like it’s been waiting for her.
“Jesus—” Lando blurts into his helmet as he floors it after her.
Mick’s already alongside him, elbows out. “Get her!”
They funnel into Turn 1 three-wide and Louise somehow threads the needle, slipping through a gap that should not exist. Her kart snaps left, then right, weight transferring smoothly, tires biting hard.
By lap two, she’s already building a gap.
“She’s braking where?” Lando laughs incredulously as she sends it impossibly late into a hairpin, rear stepping out just enough to rotate.
Mick swears in German, voice crackling through comms as he nearly mirrors the move and regrets it instantly.
“She drives this like it personally offended her,” he says.
Lap after lap, the chase tightens.
Lando starts to get into rhythm—trail braking deeper, leaning harder on the throttle, finding speed in places he didn’t think to look. Mick is relentless, aggressive, pushing the kart to its limit, rear hopping over curbs.
But Louise is untouchable.
She takes lines that feel more like suggestions than rules. Cuts apexes so tight her tires kiss the paint. Lets the kart breathe on corner exit, trusting momentum instead of forcing it.
By the final laps, Lando is laughing inside his helmet.
Not mocking. Not frustrated.
Delighted.
“This is unreal,” he says aloud to no one. “This is actually unreal.”
Mick is still swearing, but there’s laughter buried in it now. “I hate this. I love this. I hate that I love this.”
The track lights hum overhead as dusk deepens into night. Shadows stretch longer across the asphalt. The engines scream, then—slowly—start to change pitch.
One by one, the karts begin to sputter.
Louise feels it first. A slight hesitation on throttle. A cough.
She eases off instinctively, coasting through the final corner just as the kart behind her wheezes and dies completely.
By the time they roll across the line, engines are stuttering, fuel tanks finally empty after hours of punishment.
Louise lifts her hands in mock victory as she coasts into pit lane, kart humming weakly beneath her.
Lando pulls in behind her, engine cutting out with a sad little whine.
Mick rolls to a stop last, ripping his helmet off dramatically. “I demand a rematch with more fuel and less… whatever thatwas.”
Louise flips her visor up, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “Skill?”
Jenson pushes off the wall, shaking his head, smiling like he’s just watched gravity do what gravity always does.
“This,” he says, voice warm with certainty, “is going to work.”
Louise meets Lando’s eyes across the pit lane.
He grins at her, wide and unguarded.
Yeah.
It really is.
⸻
McLaren doesn’t drop everything at once.
They’re smarter than that.
The first clip goes up the morning after the MTC session, posted quietly, almost casually—no announcement, no explanation.
Just… a test balloon.
Post 1 – Leadership
The video opens with Louise standing over the puzzle table, arms folded, eyes sharp.
Cut to Lando fumbling with a piece.
Cut to Mick glancing up at her like he’s waiting for permission.
Louise’s voice is calm, precise.
“No, not that one. Rotate it. Yes. That’s it.”
The puzzle clicks into place.
Lando exhales loudly. “I feel judged.”
Louise smiles. “Good.”
Caption:
Exercise 1: Leadership under pressure.
The comments don’t trickle.
They flood.
@.papayarules: Why does Louise sound like she’s coaching a championship lap??
@.enduranceinsider: This is exactly how endurance teams should operate.
@.lando4ever: Lando getting bossed around is my favorite genre.
@.schumi_fan: Mick looks locked in. This trio might be scary.
@.f1strategybrain: Notice how they don’t talk over each other. That’s huge.
The clip hits motorsport Twitter by lunchtime.
By evening, it’s on LinkedIn with captions about “elite leadership dynamics.”
Zak pretends not to check the engagement numbers.
He checks them every ten minutes.
Post 2 – Communication
Two days later.
This one is louder.
The clip opens with Lando holding a controller, pacing slightly as alarms blare from the game audio.
“Okay—okay—Louise, forward. No,
Louise turns the wrong way.
Mick laughs.
“STOP—don’t move—duck—”
“I’m already sitting.”
The mission ends in chaotic success.
Lando collapses onto the couch, breathless.
Caption:
Exercise 2: Communication when everything goes wrong.
The reactions are immediate—and feral.
@.quadrantviewer: LANDO SOUNDS LIKE HE’S CALLING A QUALI LAP 😭
@.gridchaos: Why does Louise still sound calm during fake explosions???
@.endurancefan: This is actually impressive. Stress communication matters.
@.paddockwhispers: Notice how Mick adapts instantly? Underrated.
Someone edits the clip with dramatic music.
Someone else overlays radio-style captions.
It hits TikTok.
It’s over.
Post 3 – Physical Trust
This one drops without warning on a Friday afternoon.
The clip opens with Mick demonstrating a jiu-jitsu hold.
Then Louise steps in.
Then she executes it perfectly.
Mick pauses.
“You’ve done this before.”
“I’m a black belt in judo.”
Cut to Lando’s jaw physically dropping.
Cut to Louise flipping Lando onto the mat.
Caption:
Exercise 3: Trust. Also… surprise skills.
The internet combusts.
@.motorsportchaos: SHE’S A WHAT???
@.f1girls: Louise casually collecting talents like infinity stones.
@.lando_defense: Someone check on Lando 😭
@.jiujitsuworld: Her form is CLEAN.
@.endurancewatch: Physical awareness like that matters over 24 hours.
Post 4 – Karting
This one is the crescendo.
Helmet cams. Tire squeal. Laughter in the background.
Louise rockets past the camera.
Lando’s voice, half-laughing, half-dying:
“It’s not fair—she’s half our size!”
“All I hear are excuses.”
She crosses the line first.
Again.
Caption:
Final exercise: reality check.
The comments feel less like reactions and more like realization.
@.lemanslegend: Yeah. This team is dangerous.
@.papayasponsor: Where do we sign?
@.oldschoolendurance: This feels… right.
@.f1stats: Weight advantage or not, racecraft is racecraft.
@.neweybrain: Illegal levels of synergy.
Zak finally stops pretending.
By the end of the week, sponsors are calling—not asking if they’re in, but how.
Jenson watches the numbers climb and leans back in his chair, satisfied.
“Good,” he says. “They’re starting to see it.”
—
Back in Aylesbury, Louise scrolls through the posts from the couch, feet tucked under Lando’s thigh.
“They’re having fun with it,” she says.
Lando glances at the screen, then at her.
“Yeah,” he replies softly. “But they’re not wrong.”
Because beneath the jokes, the memes, the chaos—
There’s something undeniable taking shape.
And the world is beginning to notice.
