Lando had seen it all. The tears, the 2AM drunk calls, the “do you think he meant it when he said he loved me?” breakdowns. Every heartbreak, every stupid boy who got the best of you and gave you nothing back.

He never said much. Just held you, let you cry into his hoodie, and always—always—picked you up when you didn’t know how to stand.

Tonight was no different. You were curled up on his couch, mascara smudged, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Another breakup. Another waste of time. You weren’t even crying anymore—just staring blankly at your phone like maybe the silence would hurt less if you stared hard enough.

Lando sat beside you, quiet for a long time.

Then, softly—too softly—you whispered, “Maybe I am asking for too much.”

He turned to you. “No.”

You didn’t look at him. “I just want someone who texts back, and stays, and doesn’t make me feel like a chore.”

“You weren’t asking for too much,” he said, voice suddenly steady. Sure. “You were just asking the wrong person.”

You finally glanced at him. He was already looking at you—eyes burning, jaw tight.

“Ask again,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “This time, ask me.”