You and Lando have never needed labels.

You’ve just… always been there. Same friend group. Same routines. Late-night drives when neither of you could sleep. Random takeout on his couch. Comfortable silence that doesn’t need filling. People have assumed things before, but nothing ever changed.

It’s easier not to question it.

Valentine’s Day shows up loud and unavoidable. Red hearts in shop windows. Couples posting plans. Reservations selling out days in advance. You pretend it doesn’t bother you.

By the time you’re sitting at his place that evening, legs tucked under you on the couch while he scrolls through something on his phone, you’re quieter than usual.

He notices.

“You’ve been staring at that blank screen for ten minutes,” he says.

You sigh, finally giving in. “I just hate this day.”

He glances over. “Why?”

“It makes everything feel highlighted,” you explain, not looking at him. “Like if you don’t have someone, it’s obvious. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens.

“I don’t even care about the whole big romantic thing,” you continue. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m the only one sitting around doing nothing.”

There’s a small pause.

He nods once, thoughtful. “Right.”

You shake it off with a small laugh. “Anyway. Ignore me. I’m being dramatic.”

He doesn’t argue with that, but he doesn’t tease you either.

A few minutes later he stands, grabs his jacket from the chair.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“Out,” he says simply. “Be back in a bit.”

You don’t think much of it. He does that sometimes — disappears when he needs air or wants to clear his head.

The apartment feels quieter after he leaves.

You scroll again. Toss your phone aside. Turn on the TV but don’t really watch it. Outside, the sky shifts into that early evening blue, the kind that makes the city feel smaller.

About forty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

You frown. He has keys.

When you open it, he’s standing there.

Hair slightly wind-tousled. Cheeks a little pink from the cold. And in his hand — flowers. Nothing over-the-top. Just simple. Thoughtful.

You blink at him. “What are you doing?”

He exhales like he’s already decided this and there’s no backing out now.

“You said you didn’t want to sit around doing nothing,” he says, holding your gaze a second longer than usual. “So don’t.”

There’s something steadier in his voice than before. Less casual.

You glance at the flowers, then back at him.

“Lando…”

He shifts his weight, suddenly not as effortless as he usually is.

“Come out with me,” he says.

Not joking. Not dramatic. Just… honest.

“For Valentine’s Day.”