You’ve been lying in bed for days without moving. The curtains are closed, and the room sits in that dull gray light.

Your ankle throbs dully beneath the thick bandage as you stare up at the ceiling.

Figure skating had always been everything to you. Every spin, every jump, every competition. And now…now you don’t even know if you’ll ever stand on the ice again.

Since the accident, you’ve shut yourself away. Ignored messages, declined calls, you even sent your coach away.

A week ago, Lando left for the race in Australia. You still remember how he stood in the doorway, looking at you with concern before he left.

You told him not to worry. A lie.

Suddenly you hear footsteps in the apartment. Then the front door shuts and your heart begins to beat faster.

A few minutes later, your bedroom door is pushed open without a knock. You turn your head toward the door.

Lando leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. You blink in confusion.

His hair is messy, like he came straight from the plane. Which he probably did. His eyes scan the room slowly, the closed curtains, the unopened water bottle on the bedside table, you in bed.

“You look like you’ve decided to slowly rot in here.”

You roll your eyes, though even that feels exhausting. “Hello to you too.” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. His movements are calm, but firm.

Finally he stops beside your bed and looks down at you. “I’m not tolerating this anymore. You’re pushing everyone away who cares about you.”

You stay silent.

His patience snaps. “Your coach, your friends, me.” His eyes are serious, but beneath that there’s something else.

Concern.

“When was the last time you got up?”

You shrug, playing with your fingers. His gaze sharpens. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question."

You sigh. “A few days.”

“A few days?” His eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re telling me you’ve just been lying here and…waiting for what exactly?”

“Maybe for my life to be over.” The sentence slips out before you can stop it.

For a moment, it’s silent.

Then Lando runs a frustrated hand through his hair and starts pacing the room. “Unbelievable.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.”

“No!” He turns toward you. “You don’t get sympathy from me. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve worked your ass off for years to get where you are. You’ve fallen a thousand times and every single time you got back up.”

His eyes find yours. “And now you want to give up because of one accident?”

You swallow. “You don’t understand.”

“I do.” His voice suddenly softens. “I know exactly what it’s like when everything depends on one thing. When you think that without it..you’re nothing.”

His shoulders drop slightly, the harsh edge leaves his voice. “But you’re more than just figure skating.”

You laugh dryly. “Says the Formula 1 driver.”

A small smile flickers across his face. “Fair." Then he carefully sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Listen." His voice is calm now, almost gentle. “Maybe it’ll take months. Maybe longer, maybe it’ll be different than before. But you’re not alone.”

You look at him, really look at him. His eyes are serious, honest, tired, like he’s been worrying too much.

“What are you even doing here? Weren’t you supposed to come back on Wednesday?” You ask quietly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re more important than that.”

The words come so naturally that your breath catches for a second. He seems to realize what he just said only afterward.

His gaze shifts away briefly. “I mean, uh in a best friends way and all that.”

You smile faintly. He clears his throat and lightly taps the blanket. “Come on.”

You look at him in confusion. “What?”

“You’re getting up.”

“No chance."

“Yes.” He nods firmly, stands up and pulls the curtains open. You shake you head. “Forget it. My ankle is broken.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs the crutches leaning against the bed and holds them out to you. “That’s exactly what these genius things were invented for.” He says with a grin.