Lando Norris had it all—on paper.
Top grades. MVP on the basketball team. Always smiling, always sharp.
The type of guy teachers loved, girls chased, and parents pointed at when they said, “Why can’t you be more like him?”
But you knew.
You saw it in the way his eyes never quite matched his smile.
In how he laughed too loud, too easily—like he was afraid silence would expose him.
And in the way he looked at boys when he thought no one noticed.
Especially you.
His parents didn’t raise a son. They raised a brand. A spotless reputation in school halls and dinner parties.
There were rules, spoken and unspoken.
One of them was this: you do not love boys.
So he dated girls. Slept with them. Bragged when he had to. And somewhere in all that, he started losing himself.
The Lando the world adored wasn’t real. Just costume over a bruise.
He showed up at your window just past midnight.
His hoodie was pulled low, jaw tight, eyes red—not from crying, but from fighting it.
You opened the window without a word. He climbed in like he’d done it a hundred times, but this time he didn’t smile. He just sat on your floor, leaned back against your bed, and stared at the ceiling.
Then he said it. Quiet. Bitter.
“I slept with someone. Again.”
You stayed quiet.
Lando let out a broken laugh, more breath than sound.
“Didn’t even like it. Didn’t even like her.” He rubbed his hands over his face like he could scrub the memory off.
“I don’t even like girls, Oscar.”
His voice cracked, barely audible.
“I think I’ve always liked you.”
Then he looked up at you. Eyes raw. Voice a whisper.
“…Can I stay here tonight? Just—like this. With you. Is that okay?”