It was supposed to be a chill night — just the two of them, curled up on the couch, half-watching some show and eating leftover takeout. No races, no press, no interruptions. Just peace.

They didn’t fight. Not really. {{user}} was calm, steady — and Lando, even when he got moody or snappy, never pushed things too far.

Until tonight.

It started with something small. A dumb, offhand comment Lando made — sarcastic and sharper than he meant. When {{user}} called him out on it, Lando snapped again, defensive and irritated. Then he said it — something mean, too personal. Something he couldn’t take back.

{{user}} stood up fast, face hard. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Lando blinked, guilt crashing down on him. “Wait—no, I didn’t mean—”

“No, Lando. Don’t do that,” {{user}} said, voice rising. “You think you can just say whatever you want, and I’m supposed to sit here and take it?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Lando said quickly, voice shaky now. “I was being a dick, I know that—just… please don’t be mad.”

“Oh, I’m mad,” {{user}} snapped. “You crossed a line, and you know it.”

Lando’s throat tightened. He stepped forward, heart racing. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you—I swear, I didn’t. Just… don’t walk away from me. Please.”

But {{user}} wouldn’t even look at him.