crashing quietly | c.l.

Lando's POV

The thing about working with your best friends, your almost-something, and two of the most chaotic women on Earth?

Is that nothing gets done normally.

Also: everything ends up on your camera roll.

Lando didn't mean to become the unofficial documentarian of the Soleil x FIA collab. But the second Cara muttered, "we need behind-the-scenes content," and Daniel yelled "you mean chaos reels?" — it was game over.

He had hours of footage already.
He also hadn't slept in three days.
But the vibe? Immaculate.

⸻

The café wasn't even technically open.

Which meant it was, naturally, fuller than ever.

George was reorganizing hoodie stacks for the fifth time. Carmen was labelling packaging like it was luxury luggage. Clémence and Alba were arguing over what type of string felt "emotionally Parisian."

And Daniel?
Daniel had climbed into a merch box and refused to come out.

"It's called science," he mumbled from inside.

Cara, near the counter, was sipping espresso like it was a coping mechanism. Her hair was in a bun. Her eyes were equal parts genius and tired. Her voice was calm, but that terrifying kind of calm that meant she was two seconds from throwing a tote bag across the room.

"Where is Lando?"

And right on cue—

"HELLO!"

He kicked the door open like a Disney prince who also did brand strategy.
Behind him: Max Fretwell. Tall. Calm. Box of coffee beans in one hand. Laptop bag in the other.

"Everyone, this is Max," Lando said proudly. "Not Verstappen. Fretwell. Creative wizard. Digital sorcerer. Savior of our merch timeline."

Max (smiling like this wasn't his personal hell already):
"Hi. No magic. Just very organized Google Sheets."

Cara blinked.
"You made him sound like he walked here from Hogwarts."

"He basically did," Lando said. "You'll love him. He color-codes stress."

Clémence (to Carlos):
"That might be the most attractive sentence I've ever heard."

⸻

The drivers already knew Max.
George fist-bumped him.
Charles clapped him on the shoulder.
Carlos nodded like finally, someone with a functioning brain.
Max Verstappen walked in, stole a croissant, and said, "good luck babysitting them."

And just like that, Max Fretwell became one of them.

No questions. No preamble.
Just a new piece of the family.

⸻

Two Weeks Later — Planning Mode Activated

The café's back room became command central.

Posters, mock-ups, fabric swatches, whiteboards, and one timeline with color-coded stickers, including:
    •    "Drop Ready"
    •    "Shoot Day"
    •    "Carlos Panic #3"
    •    "Lando Meltdown?"
    •    "Max saves us all (again)"

"That last one's preventative," Max said, deadpan.

⸻

The Hoodie. And the Cap.

This is when it happened.

Charles was in full hoodie-gremlin mode, trying on sample after sample like a couture model with heartbreak in his eyes.