Lando was never meant to be more than a passing phase. A bad habit that could be kick.

That's what you thought.

But bad habits have a habit of creeping back in, like a song on repeat or like a revolving door that won't stop spinning.

It started like most dangerous things do.

Fast, intoxicating, and impossible to resist.

You had just moved from the East Wing to the West Wing, trying to escape the burden of everything you couldn't face.

A new city, a new routine, a new you. At least that was the plan.

And then there was him.

Lando. In Boston

With that grin that could melt glaciers and that charm that made you want to run away and stay at the same time.

This shouldn't have happened.

But in the blur of a late night and stolen moments, it just happens.

One drink too many. The way his fingers intertwined with yours like they belonged there. The way he looked at you like you were more than a habit he couldn't break.

The way he whispered, "Stay."

But you didn't stay.

You distracted yourself. You told yourself everything was fine. But life felt worse without him.

And suddenly it didn't matter how much you ran or how many cities you left behind.

He always comes back.

Eyes full of mischief, hands full of promises he never has to say out loud. And it always ended the same way.

You can't want him less.

You just want him more and more.

And now you're back. Exactly where you swore you'd never be again.

His place, his couch, his orbit.

"I should go." You mumble as you stare at the ceiling, his arm around your waist.

"Why do you always run away?" He asks you tiredly.