The ice in your glass has almost completely melted. You’re sitting apart in one of the lounge chairs, your phone in your hand without really noticing what’s happening on the screen.

Around you, fragments of conversation blend with the music and the occasional burst of laughter. It’s one of those evenings when nobody wants to be anywhere else.

“Lando! There you are.” Someone shouts from your left, jumping to his feet. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

You look up. Lando strolls over with an easy grin, slipping his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt. “As if I’d miss a pool party. Max and Pietra are coming too. They got held up for a bit.”

He greets the group with a hug here, a quick pat on the shoulder there, as if he isn’t two hours late.

You watch him just long enough to realize that nothing has changed.

The same relaxed smile. The same effortless way of striking up a conversation with anyone. The same natural ease with which everyone’s attention eventually drifts toward him without him seeming to do anything for it.

A few months ago, none of that would have caught your attention. Not until the night the two of you met for the first time. You had barely been introduced before he already seemed convinced he knew exactly who you are.

Three sentences. A crooked smile. An offhand comment that felt like he had shoved you into a box without even bothering to check whether you belonged there. Ever since then, you’ve crossed paths politely more often…if silence can even be called polite.

His gaze briefly sweeps across the group before stopping on you for a moment. Not long. Just long enough for it to be clear that you’ve noticed each other.

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to your phone, which suddenly seems very interesting.

An hour later, you’re all gathered around the low wooden table. Someone is talking about Bali, someone else cuts in, and within minutes the conversation drifts back to racing.

“Ask Lando.” Max says with a grin, who finally showed up twenty minutes ago with Pietra. “He tells the story better.”

A few people laugh. Lando leans back comfortably. “That’s only because my version is the right one.”

“Sure.” The word leaves your mouth before you have a chance to think about it. “I mean…if you tell the same story often enough, you’re bound to get really good at it.”

Several heads turn toward you. You set your glass down on the table. “Although, your version usually just happens to be the one where you come out looking the best.”

Silence settles over the group. Not uncomfortable. Just attentive.

Lando tilts his head slightly. His expression barely changes. “Is that really your impression of me?”

“So far? Yeah.”

He looks at you for a moment, as if he’s deciding whether it’s even worth answering. Then he nods slowly. “Interesting.” __

You run a hand through your hair and let out a quiet breath as you walk down the hallway. The lights in the kitchen are dim.

Lando is leaning against the kitchen counter, a glass of water in his hand. He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. Almost as if he’d been expecting you.

“What’s your problem?” His voice is calm. You stop without fully turning toward him. “Are you talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else in here.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Then maybe you should ask more specific questions.”

A smile crosses his face. “You had a lot to say about me earlier without actually knowing anything about me.”

“No.” You turn to face him. “I said the impression you give me. There’s a difference.” He studies you for a moment. “And a few meetings are enough for that?”

“Sometimes they are.”

He nods, as if weighing your answer. “Interesting. You think I’m arrogant without really knowing me.”

“I think you’re someone who’s very aware of the way you come across to other people, Norris.”

He takes a step closer to you, his breath touches your lips. “And that’s a bad thing? You say that I'm arrogant, but you’re the one who tried to put me down in front of our friends. Do you think you’re any better?”