the morning is quiet, but not the comforting kind. it’s the kind of quiet that feels like punishment.

you stand at the kitchen counter, pretending to be interested in spreading butter on a toast you don’t want. lando sits at the table across from you, staring at his phone. the easy jokes, the lazy smiles, the “good morning” muttered with sleep, are nowhere to be found.

the fight wasn’t just a disagreement. it was sharp, cruel in the way only people who love each other too much can be. there were words that didn’t need to be said, but still were. things that you can’t take back.

now, it’s like neither of you knows how to speak.

lando sips his coffee and doesn’t look at you. you hear the clink of his mug hitting the table again, the rustle of him adjusting in his seat… but nothing else.

you steal a glance at him. his jaw is tight, his brow furrowed like he’s replaying everything over and over again. you want to ask him what he’s thinking, to tell him that you didn’t mean all of it. that you were tired, angry, and hurt.

but your lips stay shut. you chew your toast to have something to do. when he speaks, his voice is low.

“i have training at ten.” “okay.”

that’s all. not good luck, not drive safe. just okay.

he stands and walks past you without brushing your arm like he normally would. no kiss on the temple, no soft squeeze of your hand… just distance.

he grabs his jacket and hesitates near the door. for a second, you swear he might turn around to say something, anything to make up.

but instead, he opens the door.

“i’ll see you later.” he says, barely above a whisper.

you nod again, even though he’s already gone. the door shuts with a soft click, and suddenly, the silence feels louder than any yelling ever did.