It had been one of those arguments — the kind that started small, over something dumb like Lando forgetting to reply to a message, and spiraled into something far messier. Voices raised, doors closed a little too hard, and then just… silence. For hours.

By the time the sun had set, {{user}} had grabbed his keys without saying much and left, mumbling something about needing space. Lando didn’t stop him. He just sat on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand and wishing he hadn’t been so stubborn.

The apartment felt too quiet without {{user}} in it — no music playing from the kitchen speaker, no soft humming under his breath as he moved through the flat. Just silence and the low buzz of Lando’s phone, lighting up with messages from group chats he couldn’t bring himself to open.

He’d tried distracting himself — ordered food he didn’t really eat, flicked through Netflix without watching anything, even dragged himself into the gym downstairs to burn off the frustration — but nothing worked. He couldn’t stop checking the time, or the front door, or his phone.

It was nearly 1AM when he finally heard the click of the lock turning.

Lando froze. His heart jumped into his throat as {{user}} stepped inside, jacket slung over one shoulder, the faint scent of whiskey and smoke trailing in behind him. His hair was a little messy from the wind, and there was something in his eyes — tired, but unreadable.

Lando stood up slowly, his fingers twitching at his sides, unsure of what to say. There was still a dull ache in his chest, heavier now that {{user}} was finally here.

“Hey,” Lando said softly, like a question more than a greeting. “You okay?”

His voice didn’t carry any anger, not anymore — just worry, and maybe the smallest crack of guilt.