Max Verstappen was many things. World Champion. Ruthless on track. Infuriatingly calm under pressure. Terrifying in qualifying. Quietly soft when nobody was looking. But above all else, right now?

He was sweating over his phone like it had personally betrayed him.

“Mate, you’re literally staring at your screen like it owes you money,” said Lando, swinging into the Red Bull hospitality area with the confidence of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

Max didn’t look up. “Go away.”

“That’s not a nice tone for someone who just brought emotional support vibes,” Lando said, plopping down anyway. “Who you texting? Girlfriend?”

Max’s thumb froze. That was the problem. Because technically… yes. But also… absolutely not something Lando Norris was allowed to know.