Lando stumbles into first period with a bandaid on his jaw and his hoodie half inside-out.

Again.

You raise an eyebrow from your seat. "Let me guess. Skateboarding accident?"

He slumps into the desk beside you like he just fought a war. "Tripped over my own greatness."

"You limped in."

He shoots you a lopsided grin, pulling a notebook from his backpack. "Exactly."

You want to laugh, but you're too busy looking. His knuckles are scraped, his lip's a little swollen, and there's that familiar red mark on his neck again-like someone grabbed him hard. But you don't ask. You never do.

Because Lando Norris is weird.

Not bad weird. Just... secretive weird. Disappears during lunch weird. Misses entire field trips weird. Shows up with bruises and shrugs like it's no big deal weird.

And still—he always sits beside you. Always brings gum. Always slides you his notes like he somehow does pay attention even when his eyes are somewhere else.

Today, he whispers, "You doing anything after school?"

You glance at him. "Are you?"

He pauses. Hesitates. Then: "Not if you say yes."

You blink, heartbeat skipping. He's still smiling, still bruised, still acting like the world's not sitting on his shoulders.

And for a second, you forget that he's probably hiding a thousand things. Because when he looks at you like that-like you're the only thing that makes sense-nothing else matters.

Outside, New York is burning again. Somewhere, a villain is plotting something insane. In his backpack, buried beneath homework and crumpled worksheets, his Spider-M@n suit is still damp-still smelling like smoke. But right now, in this dumb classroom with the broken projector, Lando's tapping his pencil against your desk, waiting for your answer