Lando stirred awake in the quiet hotel room, the cold emptiness of the space a stark reminder that you weren’t there. He reached for his phone instinctively, only to pause, his hand hovering over the screen. The silence between you two had stretched into something unbearable, yet neither of you had broken it. The argument still loomed over him, the weight of your words making his chest feel heavy.

“Why doesn’t she ever give in first?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the blank screen, hoping for some sign from you. He hated this — this distance, this lingering anger. He knew you were just as stubborn as he was, and that only made the chasm feel wider.

The fight had been a storm, sharp words cutting deep, leaving both of you wounded. When you’d asked him to leave, your voice trembling with hurt, he’d gone, though every fiber of his being had screamed to stay. And now, alone in a city that felt emptier without you, he couldn’t shake the thought: should he be the one to reach out first, or would the silence consume what was left of you both?