I hated how you looked at me that night. It was the kind of look that made everything feel too real. I didn’t want to care about it, but I did. And I hated that even more.

You were sitting across from me, talking about something I wasn’t really paying attention to. I was too busy trying to figure out why I was so damn nervous. Every time our hands brushed by accident, my heart skipped a beat. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

“Lando,” you said, pulling me out of my thoughts, “you’re barely listening. You okay?”

I gave you a forced smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, like you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, voice a little softer this time. Almost like you actually cared.

I couldn’t look at you then. Because I knew if I did, I’d say something I’d regret.

“Nothing important,” I said, trying to brush it off.

“Lando,” you said, your voice low, almost playful. “You’re being weird. What’s going on?”

I wanted to laugh it off, to act like it was nothing. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what was going on anymore. I didn’t know why every time I saw you, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not weird,” I finally said, my voice coming out a little more defensive than I meant it to. “Just… thinking.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just kept staring at me, waiting for me to crack. Maybe I was cracking right in front of you.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter. “You’re lying,” you said simply.

And it hit me. You were right. I was lying to you, and I was lying to myself.

“You’re right,” I said, finally looking up at you. “I’m just… trying to figure it out.”

You didn’t say anything more. You just sat there, watching me. And for the first time, I didn’t hate how close we were. I didn’t hate the way you made everything feel so complicated.

“Figure what out?” you asked.

I took a breath. And then, before I could stop myself, I said the words I didn’t want to say.

“You. Us.”