It happens every summer.

Same house. Same driveway lined with pale gravel. Same big place by the water that somehow feels frozen in time, like nothing bad could ever reach it here.

Except it’s not your house.

It’s his.

Lando’s mum owns it. And every year, without fail, your family gets invited to stay the entire summer. It’s been like that since you were kids — your parents close, your lives tangled together by tradition more than anything else.

You grew up inside these summers.

Inside salt air and sunburns. Inside late-night laughter drifting through open windows. Inside the constant sound of waves that never really let you forget where you were.

And you grew up a little behind everyone else.

You had an older brother. And he and Lando were always the pair. The loud ones. The competitive ones. Wrestling in the grass. Racing down the beach. Acting like the world belonged to them.

You were the extra.

The little sister tagging along. The one they teased. The one they’d roll their eyes at when you tried to keep up.

Lando used to ruffle your hair like it was a reflex. Call you “kid.” Tell you to stop following them. And then, somehow, you always ended up right there anyway.

That’s just how it was.

The car rolls to a stop in the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Your brother’s already halfway out before the engine fully cuts, stretching like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all year.

The front door swings open before you even grab your bag.

Lando’s mum steps out first, arms wide, smiling like summer has officially started now that you’re here. Your parents greet her like nothing’s changed, like no time has passed since last August.

And then—

“Mate!”

Your brother’s voice carries across the yard.

Lando comes jogging around the side of the house, grin already forming. He and your brother collide in one of those half-hugs, half-shoulder-shoves that boys pretend isn’t affectionate.

“How’s it going?” “Same as always, you?” “Better now.”

They fall right back into it instantly. Like the year between didn’t happen. Like they’re still fifteen and untouchable.

You step out of the car last.

Sunlight hits you first. Then the breeze. Then the familiar scent of chlorine and ocean mixed together.

Lando’s still laughing at something your brother says when his eyes drift past him.

And land on you.

It’s subtle. Just a second too long.

You’re not eight anymore. Not twelve. Not trailing behind them trying to be included.

You meet his gaze.

He straightens slightly.

“…Hey.”

Not “kid.” Not teasing.

Just hey.

Your brother turns, notices the look, and smirks like he hasn’t missed a single thing.

“Oh no,” he says, already backing up toward the house. “We’re not skipping tradition.”

Lando’s grin spreads instantly.

You know that look.

Every summer. First day. No matter what.

Before you can even process it, they’re both moving.

“Wait— no, seriously—”

Too late.

Your brother grabs one arm. Lando grabs the other. Familiar hands, familiar chaos, familiar laughter ringing in your ears as they haul you across the warm patio toward the pool.

“You’re evil!” you shout, trying not to laugh.

“First day!” your brother argues.

“Has to be done,” Lando adds, almost apologetic — almost.

They swing you once.

Twice.

And then—

The world flips into blue.

Cold water crashes over you, shock stealing your breath for half a second before you surface, gasping, hair slicked back, heart racing.

They’re both standing at the edge of the pool, laughing like they’ve won something.

But Lando’s not laughing as hard anymore.

He’s looking at you.

Like he’s trying to figure something out.

Summer has officially started.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel exactly the same.