A month of lingering looks. Inside jokes. Him always finding you first at parties, always making sure you got home safe. You thought it might fade—that weird atmosphere between you. But no. It’s worse now.

And tonight? You’re alone again.

Not in your room this time, but in the kitchen. Everyone left an hour ago. Your brother passed out facedown on the couch. The house smells like takeout and cheap beer, and the only light is the glow from the fridge as you stand there, eating cold noodles straight from the box.

Then the door creaks.

You don’t even have to look.

Lando.

He’s in grey sweats, hoodie loose, barefoot. His curls are still damp from the shower, like he’s been here the whole time.

You pause mid-bite. “If you want leftovers, you’re too late”

He smirks. Walks right over and steals a forkful anyway.

“Rude” you mumble.

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. His eyes scan your face-slow, unreadable. You hate how good he looks this comfortable. You hate that your stomach flips every time he’s close.

“You’ve been quiet lately” he says.

You blink. “I’ve been tired”

He nods slowly. “You sure that’s it?”

The air goes tight. You know what he’s asking. And you know the answer.

But you play dumb. “You want to talk about it now? In front of the lo mein?”

His lips twitch, but he’s not smiling. He takes a step closer, then another. Suddenly you’re back against the counter, cold Tupperware pressed to your back.

“It’s not just me, right?” he says, voice low now. “This… whatever this is. You feel it too.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

He leans in just slightly, eyes flicking to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “And I will.”

You’re frozen.

Because no part of you wants him to stop.

But right as you open your mouth, Max coughs loudly from the living room.

You both flinch.

Lando pulls back, jaw clenched, eyes shutting for a beat. When he opens them again, he’s already taking a step away.

“Of course” he mutters under his breath. “He’d pick now to wake up.”

You’re still frozen, still clutching onto the the counter like it’s gonna save you from the fact that your brothers best friend almost kissed you in your kitchen.

He rakes a hand through his curls, turns toward the hallway—but not before glancing back at you.

“Let me know when you’re ready.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving you there, heart pounding, mind spinning, already wishing you’d stopped him.