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TOO SOON TO SAY, BETTER BEHAVE

Lando Norris told his family he had a girlfriend. The only problem? He didn’t. With his brother’s wedding coming up, he asked you, his neighbor, to pretend for the week—but fake dating got complicated the moment it started feeling real.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. romance, humor, fake dating, forced proximity, implied smut, 11,9k words. profanity, light jealousy, the norris family <3, alcohol use, pet names (babe, darling), title from/based on private by the neighbourhood.

LANDO NORRIS HAD A REPUTATION FOR TWO THINGS: making reckless decisions and coming up with truly terrible ideas. Well—three things, if you were being generous. His driving talent was undeniable, but if you asked anyone who actually spent time with him, they’d say the first two showed up far more often than the third.

He also had another unfortunate skill, one that tended to appear exactly when it shouldn’t: he panicked, and then he lied. Instinctively. Effortlessly. Like his brain hit a big red button labeled make it worse.

And this time, he’d really done it.

Because Lando had told his entire family that he had a girlfriend.

The only issue?

He absolutely did not.

With Oliver’s wedding only four days away, the lie had grown teeth. The whole Norris family would be there—parents, siblings, cousins, and probably a handful of distant relatives who still pinched his cheeks and called him “Lando-bear.”

Every single one of them would be bringing a plus one.

Everyone except Lando.

It had been a running joke in the Norris family for as long as he could remember. His parents loved bragging about their children’s accomplishments, his siblings took every opportunity to tease him about his chaotic (and scandalous) dating life, and somehow every family gathering—birthdays, holidays, even Sunday lunches—ended with the same question: why Lando never seemed to have a serious girlfriend.

Usually he brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, some half‑hearted joke about being too busy or too picky. It never bothered him enough to do anything about it.

But this time, when the question came up again—“So, Lando, are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”—something in his brain simply… snapped. Short‑circuited. Went offline.

And before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice answering.

Yes.

Yes, he was bringing someone.

Not just anyone, either. He’d doubled down, told them he had a normal, stable girlfriend. Someone grounded. Someone real. Someone who absolutely did not exist.

Now there were less than four days until Oliver’s wedding.

And Lando Norris still didn’t have a girlfriend.

Lando sat at the table in his apartment, staring at the wall like it might suddenly offer him a miracle. His brain was running laps, trying to find a way out of the mess he’d created, but every possible solution felt dumber than the one before it.

There had to be something.

Some kind of brilliant, last‑minute, save‑your-own-ass idea.

Except… nothing he came up with even came close.

For a brief, unhinged moment, he wondered if he could convince Oscar to throw on a wig and pretend to be his date.

Yeah. No. Absolutely not. Oscar’s girlfriend would murder him before they even reached the venue.

He let out a long, miserable groan and dragged both hands down his face.

Okay. New idea.

Maybe he could just tell his family that his girlfriend—his very real, very fictional girlfriend—had suddenly fallen ill and couldn’t make it. That sounded believable enough… in theory.

But in practice? His mum would immediately start asking for her address so she could send homemade soup. His sisters would demand details. His dad would suggest rescheduling the introduction for the next family gathering.

Which meant he’d still be trapped in the same problem, just with more lies stacked on top of the original one.

And the truth was painfully simple: girlfriends were not something you could conjure out of thin air, no matter how desperately you needed one. Not even when you were the Lando Norris.

He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling now, wishing the universe would hand him a solution.

Or a person.

Preferably both.

But then—

Yes.

God, yes.

The idea hit him so hard he actually sat up straighter, eyes going wide, lighting up like someone had plugged him directly into a power outlet. It was brilliant. Completely ridiculous. Potentially life‑saving. And, most importantly… actually possible.

Because as he sat there, staring at the blank stretch of wall in front of him, he finally remembered who lived on the other side of it.

You.

You, with your soft smile and your quiet kindness. You, who he wasn’t close to—not really. You weren’t friends, you weren’t even acquaintances. You were neighbors in the most literal sense. Sometimes you shared an elevator. Sometimes you exchanged a polite “hi.” Sometimes you held the door for him when his hands were full.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that suggested you were about to become the answer to the stupidest problem he’d ever created.

And yet… in the middle of his panic, you suddenly seemed like the perfect solution.

Of course, that led him straight into the next problem—one he faced every time he stumbled onto an actually good idea: how the hell was he supposed to ask you? What if you laughed? What if you slammed the door in his face? What if you said no and he had to return to his table, sit back down, and accept that he was still girlfriend‑less with a wedding in four days?

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

What were his other options? Post an Instagram story asking for volunteers? Hold open auditions in his living room? Pray someone magically appeared on his doorstep?

No. Obviously not.

You were the only choice he had.

And now he just had to hope you didn’t think he was completely insane.

Lando paced his apartment for a grand total of three and a half minutes before reaching a very scientific conclusion: pacing solved absolutely nothing. All it did was make him more aware of how sweaty his palms were and how loudly his heart was trying to escape his chest.

So the next step became painfully, horrifyingly clear. He had to go ask you. In person. At your door. With his whole panicked, malfunctioning self on display.

He grabbed his keys like they might give him courage and muttered under his breath, “This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing terrifying happening here.” It sounded unconvincing even to him.

By the time he reached your door, whatever flimsy confidence he’d managed to build had dissolved completely, leaving him standing there like a man about to face a firing squad. He knocked once. Then twice. Then, because he was Lando and panic was his brand, he knocked three more times in a frantic burst.

“Too much. Too much,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and praying the universe would show him mercy.

The door opened.

And there you were—looking perfectly normal, perfectly calm, perfectly unaware that your evening was about to take a dramatic turn.

“Hey,” you said, head tilted, curiosity softening your expression.

“Hi,” Lando managed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to keep his head attached. He looked like a lost puppy who’d wandered too far from home. Mostly because he was one.

“You need something?” you asked, giving him a quick once-over. “You don’t look great. You’re really pale. Come in, sit down.” You stepped aside, warm and worried and gentle in a way that made his stomach twist.

Lando swallowed hard and perched on the very edge of your couch, like sitting normally might somehow make this whole thing worse. His knee bounced, his fingers twisted together, and he looked one deep breath away from passing out. “Right… so… um…”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him fidget like a kid who’d been caught doing something he absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.

“I know this is gonna sound completely insane,” Lando said, voice wobbling in a way you had never heard from him. “I… I need a—big. Huge. Gigantic favor, Y/n.”

Your confusion only grew. This was Lando Norris—confident, charming, annoyingly magnetic Lando—now sitting on your couch like a drenched stray dog someone had forgotten to bring inside. He couldn’t seem to look at you for more than half a second, and his hands were practically tying themselves into knots.

“Lando?” you said softly, nudging his knee with yours. “Just talk. You’re scaring me a little.”

Lando’s hands wouldn’t stay still. They fidgeted in his lap, fingers tapping against each other like he was trying to summon courage through sheer friction. “Okay… so… this is gonna sound completely ridiculous, but just—just hear me out,” he said, his voice pitching upward in panic.

“My… my brother—Oliver—he’s getting married in, uh… four days. Four days, Y/n. And… um… well… I kinda… told my family I had a girlfriend.”

You stared at him, confusion knitting your brows. “And…? What does that have to do with me?”

“Well—I don’t have one!” Lando blurted, the words bursting out like they’d been trapped in his chest.

You blinked. Hard. Because… what? Lando Norris didn’t have a girlfriend? Lando Norris, who always seemed to have someone on his arm, someone texting him, someone laughing at his jokes?

“You don’t have a girlfriend?” you repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “You always have someone around.”

“Ha. Ha. Not helpful,” he muttered, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes darted everywhere—your bookshelf, the floor, the ceiling—anywhere except your face, like looking at you might make this whole thing even more humiliating.

His knee bounced. His throat bobbed. And for the first time since you’d met him, Lando Norris looked genuinely, painfully out of his depth.

Lando threw his hands up, breath coming too fast, like his brain had officially abandoned ship. “I lied! They’re always making fun of me for being the only sibling without a ‘stable love life’!” His gestures got bigger, more frantic. “So I lied! I told them I finally have a normal girlfriend! I told them she’s the right—”

You cut in before he could spiral any further. The amount of information he’d just dumped on you was… a lot. Especially coming from someone you’d only ever exchanged elevator small talk with. “Lando… breathe. You’re kind of having a panic attack.”

He froze mid‑wave, arms suspended awkwardly in the air. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes wide and unfocused, like a startled animal trying to decide whether to bolt or faint.

And something in you softened.

Before you could overthink it, the words slipped out. “I can do it. I can pretend to be your girlfriend—if that’s what you need.”

Lando blinked at you, stunned into silence. For a moment he just stared, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

Then his whole face lit up, relief crashing over him so visibly it was almost endearing. “Really?!” he burst out, voice cracking with disbelief and something dangerously close to joy, like you’d just handed him the winning ticket to his own rescue.

“Yes,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your mouth. “You don’t deserve to be humiliated by your entire family. Not this week, at least.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious,” he muttered, but the grateful smile pulling at his lips gave him away. “But seriously… thank you. Jesus, Y/n, you’re actually saving my life here. What do I owe you?”

You lifted a brow, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe start by not panicking every two seconds?”

He nodded so fast it was almost comical. “Right. Yeah. I can do that. I’ll try.”

And then—naturally—he let out a loud, shaky exhale, his fingers immediately twisting together again, looking like a man who was absolutely not succeeding at the whole “not panicking” thing.

It made you smile, just a little, because for all his charm and confidence, Lando Norris was clearly a disaster in need of rescuing.

────────────

You and Lando sat at your dining table, both of you silently questioning every decision that had led to this exact moment. Well… you were. Lando looked like he was still trying to remember how to breathe. You had just agreed to pretend to be the girlfriend of a man known across Formula 1 for his charm, his speed, and—most famously—his impressive track record of short-lived romances.

“So,” you said, aiming for calm even though your pulse was doing laps, “if I’m going to fake-date my neighbor—who I barely know—I think we need some rules.”

“Rules?” Lando repeated, brows lifting, confusion flickering across his face. For once, he didn’t look cocky or confident. He looked… unsure. Almost nervous.

“Yes. Rules,” you said, holding up three fingers. “Only three. I promise they’re not complicated.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and mild panic—like a student bracing for a pop quiz he definitely hadn’t studied for. “Okay. Tell me,” he said quickly, already trying to memorize them before you’d even opened your mouth.

His eagerness made you smile despite yourself.

“Rule number one: no disgusting pet names. Like… honey, light of my life, or whatever. I hate those. Babe, darling, and love are fine,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as you could.

Lando nodded immediately. “Yeah, no, same. Anything too cheesy makes my skin crawl.”

“Rule number two: no hooking up. No sex.” You said it firmly, maybe a little too quickly. It was mostly for your own safety—your heart’s safety. You’d heard the stories. You’d seen the headlines. And you had absolutely no intention of becoming another one of Lando Norris’s charming little footnotes. (Not that you weren’t already halfway there.)

Lando blinked at you, eyes widening in a mix of shock and exaggerated offense. “I would never.”

You gave him a look that said please, I know exactly who you are.

He cleared his throat.

You continued, “and the most important, absolutely non-negotiable rule: no falling in love.”

“Right,” Lando said, nodding like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Simple.”

But the way his knee bounced under the table, the way his eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second, the way your stomach twisted at the thought of just hearing him say love—you both knew it wasn’t going to be simple at all.

Not even close.

Lando looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had been on the verge of a full emotional collapse less than twenty‑four hours ago.

“Do we even have a solid backstory?” you asked, giving him a look that said you already doubted the answer.

“Oh, we do,” he said, leaning back in his chair with the smug confidence of a man who absolutely should not have any.

You narrowed your eyes, waiting.

He lifted his hands in surrender, grinning. “Okay, fine, I just came up with it. But don’t worry—it’s a good one.”

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Alright, genius. Let’s hear it.”

“We met in the elevator,” he announced instantly. “Which is technically not a lie.”

You stared at him. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? They’ll never buy that.”

Lando looked genuinely offended, like you’d just criticized a work of art he’d spent years perfecting.

“Hey, it’s realistic,” he insisted, chin lifting. “People meet in elevators all the time.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, giving him a look that could only be described as are you hearing yourself right now? “And then they say hello, maybe smile awkwardly, and go to their own apartments. They don’t magically start dating.”

Lando waved a hand like you were being dramatic. “Details.”

You leaned back in your chair, trying to piece together something that didn’t sound like it had been written by a twelve‑year‑old. “Okay, so maybe I dropped something and didn’t notice when I left the elevator. You picked it up and returned it to me later—”

“We got stuck together in the elevator!” Lando declared, pointing at you with the enthusiasm of a man who believed he had just cracked the Da Vinci code.

You stared at him. Blinked once. Twice.

“Lando.”

“What?!” He threw his hands up like you’d personally offended him. “You’d be surprised how often elevators get stuck in this building!”

“It happened, like, twice,” you said, crossing your arms. “And I live next door, remember? I think I’d know.”

“And it happened to me both times!” Lando shot back, jabbing a finger at his own chest as if that somehow strengthened his argument. “Suspicious, right?!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

Because you remembered. Oh, you remembered exactly how that last incident went. The entire building had known within minutes that Lando Norris was trapped in the elevator. Neighbors had gathered in the hallway. The building manager had been sweating bullets. And Lando—poor, panicking Lando—had been shouting through the metal doors that he was “perfectly calm,” while sounding anything but.

Honestly? The story was ridiculous.

But believable.

Painfully, hilariously believable.

“Right. So… we were stuck, and then what? Fell in love while panicking?” you asked, skeptical.

“We talked,” Lando said with a grin, leaning back casually. “Found out we’re neighbors, started seeing each other more, and realized we’re both charming, funny, and attractive people.”

“Funny?”

“Absolutely.”

You grabbed the nearest napkin from the table and tossed it at him.

Lando laughed, easily dodging it. “See? Perfect. The chemistry is already there.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Your poor family.”

“My family will love you,” he said confidently. “You’re kind, you’re funny, and you already tolerate me—which is honestly the hardest part.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward anyway. Just a little.

────────────

Warm air wrapped around you the moment you and Lando stepped out of the airport in Sicily, the kind of soft heat that made your shoulders drop and your lungs loosen. It felt like the whole island exhaled around you. Thank God it was Sicily—you’d spent the entire flight quietly panicking that he might’ve dragged you to rainy England instead. At least here, if everything went horribly wrong, you’d have sunshine.

“My brother’s gonna pick us up,” Lando said, tugging his suitcase behind him as he wove through the crowd with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times.

You hurried after him, trying to match his long, impatient strides. Your heart was already beating too fast, and not just from the travel. “Wait—what are your parents’ names? You haven’t even told me!”

Lando barely slowed down. “My mum’s Cisca, my dad’s Adam. My brother is Oliver, and his fiancée is Sav. My sisters are Flo and also Cisca.”

You blinked, your brain scrambling to keep up. The names felt like someone had thrown a handful of puzzle pieces at you and expected you to assemble them mid‑run.

“That’s… a lot of names,” you said, breath catching a little. You were suddenly very aware that you were about to meet all these people—people who believed you were dating their son. People who probably asked a lot of questions.

Lando shrugged like this was all perfectly reasonable, even though your pulse had started doing gymnastics. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is when I’ve met exactly zero of them,” you shot back. “And in, what, ten minutes? I’m supposed to convincingly pretend I’m dating you in front of your entire family.”

“Relax,” he said, dragging his suitcase along like he wasn’t dragging you straight into chaos. “My family is nice. A bit chaotic, but mostly nice.”

“Chaotic?” you repeated, the word landing in your stomach like a stone.

“They’ll probably ask a lot of questions,” he added casually, like he was telling you the weather forecast.

Your heart dropped.

Questions.

Of course they’d ask questions.

You’d known Lando for—what—three days? Four? And that was being generous. Sure, he’d lived next door for years, but elevator small talk and awkward hallway smiles did not prepare you to play his girlfriend in front of people who had known him his entire life.

“Not helping, Lando,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to keep up with him through the crowd.

Then another thought hit you so hard you actually stopped walking.

“What if they ask how long we’ve been dating?!”

Lando turned around and stepped closer, the warm Sicilian breeze ruffling his curls as if even the weather was more relaxed than you were.

“Five months, babe.”

Your eyes narrowed so fast he actually flinched.

Too soon. Way too soon for that word.

“Don’t call me that,” you warned. “Yet.”

He lifted both hands in surrender, though the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He was enjoying this way too much for someone who had begged you for help less than four days ago.

“We’ve been dating for five months,” he said, slipping back into that calm, annoyingly confident tone. “Long enough for it to seem serious, but short enough to explain why they’ve never met you.”

You let that settle in your mind. Five months. Not too long, not too short. Enough time to know each other, but not enough time for family introductions. It actually… made sense.

“…Okay,” you admitted slowly. “That’s not terrible.”

But then something clicked. The way he said it. The ease. The certainty. The fact that he hadn’t even hesitated.

You looked at him again, suspicion creeping in. “Wait—you already thought about this?”

Lando’s smirk widened, soft but undeniably smug, like he’d been waiting for you to catch up.

“Of course I did.”

And for a moment—just a moment—you saw the truth behind the grin:

he’d been thinking about this way before you ever agreed.

The car behind you honked—sharp, impatient—and you jolted like someone had poked you with a live wire.

“That must be Oliver,” Lando said, already turning toward the parking area with that casual confidence you absolutely did not feel.

You followed his gaze and spotted a dark car rolling up to the curb, sunlight bouncing off the windshield. The driver leaned out just enough for you to see him squinting through the Sicilian glare.

“Lando!” he called out.

“Yep. That’s him,” Lando confirmed, far too calm for someone about to introduce his fake girlfriend to his real brother.

Your stomach tightened.

This was it.

The first test.

The first family member.

The first person who could look at you and immediately think, Nope. She’s not his type.

“Just greet him,” Lando murmured quietly, noticing how stiff you’d gone. His voice dropped, softer than usual. “You don’t have to say much.”

Oliver climbed out of the car with an easy, warm smile—the kind of smile that made you understand instantly why people liked him. He had that same Norris charm, just steadier, more grounded. Older brother energy radiated off him.

“Finally,” Oliver said, pulling Lando into a quick hug. “You’re late.”

“Blame the airport!” Lando shot back, grinning like he hadn’t been panicking for days.

Then Oliver’s gaze shifted to you.

And suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything—your hair, your clothes, your posture, the way your hands were awkwardly gripping your suitcase handle.

“You must be Y/n,” he said warmly.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you replied, smiling even though your heart was thudding against your ribs.

“I’m Oliver,” he said, offering his hand.

“I’m Y/n… but you already know that,” you added with a small laugh. The words came out a little too confident, and you immediately prayed it sounded playful instead of arrogant.

Oliver chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/n.”

And just like that, some of the tension in your chest loosened. He didn’t look suspicious. He didn’t look confused. He didn’t look like he was about to interrogate you.

He just looked… kind.

Which, honestly, was almost worse—because kindness made it harder to lie.

Oliver drove with the kind of calm confidence that made you wish you felt even half as steady. Warm Sicilian sunlight spilled through the windows, turning the dashboard gold. Outside, the world looked soft and bright and easy.

Inside the car, Lando was talking like he’d been plugged into a power source.

He and Oliver were deep in race talk—corner speeds, tire degradation, strategy calls—Lando gesturing wildly, Oliver chiming in with that older‑brother mix of teasing and genuine interest. It was like watching two people speak a language you’d only ever heard in passing.

“You saw that last corner from Russell, right?” Oliver asked, glancing at Lando with a grin. “Absolutely insane overtaking maneuver.”

“Yes!” Lando lit up instantly. “But the tires, the line he took—it was borderline genius. I mean, I would’ve done it slightly differently, obviously.”

You sat in the back, hands folded tightly in your lap, nodding along like you understood even a fraction of what they were saying. You caught words—Monza, grip, strategy—but they floated past you like puzzle pieces from the wrong box.

Then Oliver’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror.

“What about you, Y/n? What did you think of the race?”

Your brain blanked.

Completely.

Utterly.

“It… uh…” You tried to sound thoughtful, like you were recalling something meaningful. “I thought it was… exciting?”

Lando snorted under his breath. “She’s very diplomatic.”

Oliver laughed, warm and easy. “Fair enough. Hard to argue with that.”

You sank back into your seat, cheeks warm, trying not to overthink the fact that you were already improvising. Already lying. Already pretending to be someone who fit into this world.

And Lando—of course—kept glancing back at you with these tiny, amused smiles. Like he could see every thought running through your head. Like he knew exactly how flustered you were and found it… cute.

You weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.

The car wound through the narrow Sicilian roads, sunlight flickering across your lap, and with every turn your nerves pulled tighter—like someone was slowly winding a string inside your chest. This was only the warm‑up. The easy part. The real performance waited at the end of the driveway, where an entire family believed you were in love with their son.

Oliver parked smoothly and stepped out, probably to gather the rest of the Norris clan. The moment the door shut behind him, the car felt too quiet, too warm, too full of everything you were suddenly terrified of messing up.

“Relax,” Lando said, glancing over at you with a half‑smile. “You look like you’re about to meet the mafia.”

“I kind of am,” you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. “Did I say something bad? About the race? I feel like I said something bad.”

Lando laughed softly, leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. His grin was easy, warm, annoyingly reassuring. “Calm down. You were fine.”

You followed his gaze out the windshield—and your stomach dropped.

The whole family was already gathered at the end of the driveway. Talking. Laughing. Waiting. A cluster of people who knew each other inside out… and were about to meet the stranger pretending to be part of their world.

Your breath caught.

Lando noticed. Of course he did.

He reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch so light it barely registered—except it did. It settled something in you. Or maybe it unsettled everything. Hard to tell.

“You’ve got this,” he said, voice low, teasing, but steady in a way that made your pulse slow just a little.

You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. Trying to believe yourself.

Then the car door opened, warm air rushing in, and there was no more time to think.

It was showtime.

Lando’s arm slid around your waist like it had always belonged there—easy, natural, practiced in a way that made your breath catch for half a second. It wasn’t tight, just enough pressure to say mine without actually saying it. Enough to make you look like a couple. Enough to make your heart do something stupid.

“My dearest family! Your best son is back! Even with a girlfriend!” Lando announced, laughing like this was all a big joke he’d been waiting to deliver.

“Move, Lando, I want to see your lovely girl,” his mum, Cisca, said, gently shoving him aside with the confidence of a woman who’d been doing it his whole life.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. Lando pretended to be offended, hand over his heart, but then shot you a mischievous smirk—like he was enjoying this way too much.

Cisca stepped closer, warm and bright, the kind of person who made you feel welcome before you even spoke. “Y/n, I’m Cisca, and this is my husband, Adam. My daughters, Flo and Cisca, my soon‑to‑be daughter‑in‑law, Sav, and my sons, Oliver and… well, you know, Lando.”

She reintroduced everyone as if Lando hadn’t rattled off their names in the car, but you smiled anyway, greeting each of them—twice, just to be safe. Your cheeks were warm, but no one looked suspicious. If anything, they looked excited. Curious. Happy to meet you.

“Lando told me a lot about you,” you said, smiling—and immediately realized how that could sound. “Only the best things, of course.” You let out a nervous laugh, hoping it landed somewhere between charming and believable.

“See?” Lando said, his smirk widening into something almost proud. “Perfect son—and now boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a tiny spark of warmth in your chest at how confidently he said it. Like he’d imagined this moment before. Like he’d rehearsed it. Like he’d been waiting for you to step into this role long before you agreed.

And that thought… well, that was dangerous.

Lando’s arm stayed around your waist as Sav led you down the hallway, her voice bright and cheerful, completely unaware that your heart was doing somersaults. You and Lando exchanged a quick look—yours full of are you kidding me?, his full of that infuriating, smug confidence he wore like a second skin.

“C’mon, lovebirds, I’ll show you your room,” Sav said, swinging open a door with a flourish.

You stepped inside, taking in the soft lighting, the open window, the warm Sicilian breeze drifting through the curtains. It was a beautiful room—cozy, airy, romantic in a way that made your stomach twist.

And then your eyes landed on the bed.

One bed.

A big one, sure. But still one.

Sav didn’t seem to notice your internal meltdown. “Dinner’s at six! Don’t be late,” she chirped before disappearing down the hall.

The door clicked shut.

You turned slowly toward Lando, raising an eyebrow so high it practically left your face. “There’s only one bed.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t even pretend to be surprised. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“We are a couple, remember?” he said, voice low and annoyingly smooth.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Right. Almost forgot.”

But the truth was, your pulse had picked up. Just a little. Because the room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. And Lando—smirking, relaxed, completely unfazed—looked far too comfortable standing there like he belonged in this space with you.

You still stood there, arms crossed, staring at the bed like it had personally wronged you. It sat in the middle of the room—big, soft, innocent—and yet somehow the most stressful piece of furniture you’d ever encountered.

Meanwhile, Lando looked like he’d just walked into a hotel suite he’d booked himself. He pushed off the doorway, wandered in, and dropped his bag by a chair with the ease of someone who had absolutely no shame.

“You’re overreacting,” he said, tone maddeningly casual.

You turned your head slowly, like a horror movie character realizing the killer was behind them. “Overreacting? Lando, there is one bed.”

He glanced at it, then back at you, completely unfazed. “Yeah. I can see that.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And where exactly do you plan on sleeping?”

He shrugged, all innocence. “In the bed?”

The pillow was in your hand before you even thought about it. You launched it at him. He caught it mid‑air, laughing like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

“Relax, I’m kidding—kind of.”

“‘Kind of’ is not reassuring,” you snapped, brushing past him to your suitcase because you needed to move before you strangled him.

Lando watched you for a beat, then let out a dramatic sigh worthy of an Oscar. “Fine. We’ll figure something out. I’m a gentleman.”

You paused, turned, and raised one eyebrow. “You?”

He clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him. “Wow. That hurt.”

“Good.”

────────────

You stepped out of the bathroom for what felt like the third time, maybe the tenth, maybe the hundredth—time had stopped meaning anything somewhere between outfit number four and the moment you realized Lando was absolutely no help at all.

He was sprawled across the bed like a cat in a sunbeam, scrolling through his phone, not a single worry in sight. Meanwhile, you were one bad outfit away from a full emotional collapse.

“What about this?” you asked, voice tight with the kind of stress only family dinners and fake‑dating could create.

Lando looked up.

And for a moment—just a heartbeat—he didn’t move. His eyes dragged over you slowly, like his brain had forgotten how to function. You shifted under his stare, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of fabric on your body.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered.

He blinked, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Hot.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly. “Lando.”

He sat up a little too fast, rubbing the back of his neck, that small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. It softened him in a way you weren’t prepared for. “I mean—you look nice. Really nice. That’s all.”

The words hung in the air, warm and a little dangerous. And even though you rolled your eyes, you felt your stomach flip, just once, like it was testing the waters.

Lando definitely noticed how stiff you were, how your fingers kept twisting together like you were trying to wring the nerves out of them. He sat up a little, the teasing fading from his face, replaced by something softer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low in a way that made it hard to pretend you were fine.

“Just… stressed,” you said with a shrug, trying to make it sound small even though it felt huge in your chest.

“Hey,” Lando said, pushing himself off the bed so quickly it almost startled you. “Stop stressing, Y/n. They already love you.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “They don’t even know me.”

“They don’t need to,” he said, stepping closer like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re kind, you’re funny, you didn’t run away the second you met my family—honestly, that’s already impressive.”

A tiny laugh escaped you, but your shoulders stayed tight, your pulse still too fast. And of course he noticed. He always noticed.

“Come here,” he said suddenly.

You frowned. “What?”

“Come here,” he repeated, gentler this time, like he wasn’t asking—just quietly waiting.

You hesitated, then stepped closer.

He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your hair as he tucked a strand behind your ear. Then he smoothed it down, slow and careful, like he’d done it a hundred times before. His touch was warm, steady, nothing like the loud, chaotic version of him everyone else saw.

“There,” he murmured, eyes lingering on you for a beat too long. “Perfect.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it, a tiny hitch you hoped he didn’t hear.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips before you could hide it.

“At fake dating?” he asked, eyebrow lifting in that way that always made him look like he was two seconds from trouble.

“At not being a completely insufferable asshole,” you shot back—though the laugh that slipped out ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed.

Lando let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Wow. I’m really raising the bar here, aren’t I?”

“Bare minimum,” you teased.

“Rude.”

“But accurate.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the warmth of him, his voice dropping into something lower, softer—something that felt like it was meant only for you.

“And yet,” he murmured, a hint of a smirk curling at his mouth, “you still agreed to be my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away. If anything, your feet stayed rooted, your pulse doing that stupid fluttery thing again. “Fake girlfriend.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes lingering on yours. “Keep telling yourself that.”

For a second, neither of you moved. The air felt thick, warm, charged with something you weren’t ready to name. His hand was still close to yours. Too close. Close enough that if either of you breathed wrong, your fingers might brush.

Then reality snapped back into place.

You cleared your throat, stepping back just enough to break the moment. “Come on. Your family’s waiting.”

Lando grinned, falling into step beside you like nothing had happened—except his eyes were brighter, and his smile was a little too pleased.

“Let’s go, babe.”

You shot him a look.

“…We said that one was allowed,” he added quickly, hands raised in mock innocence.

You didn’t reply—just shook your head and walked out of the room with him, your hand still resting lightly on his arm. It felt steady there, even though nothing inside you felt steady at all.

The closer you got to the dining area, the louder everything became. Laughter spilling over laughter. Voices overlapping. Cutlery clinking. Chairs scraping. A whole family in full motion.

Chaos.

Warm, loud, overwhelming chaos.

You slowed down without meaning to.

Lando noticed instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear him. “Breathe, remember?”

“I am breathing,” you whispered back.

“Barely.”

You shot him a look—half glare, half panic—but before you could argue, you stepped into the dining room.

And immediately—

Every head turned.

“Oh, there they are!” someone called—Flo, you were pretty sure.

“What took you so long?” Sav added, wearing a smirk that said she absolutely thought she knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “It takes him forever to get ready,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Lando.

The table erupted with laughter.

And for the first time since you’d arrived, the tension in your chest loosened. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the noise. Maybe it was the way this whole thing was starting to feel… weirdly doable.

“Oh?” Lando turned to you, smirking, clearly not expecting you to fire back so quickly. “That’s interesting, considering you changed your outfit, what—four times, love?”

You rolled your eyes again, but there was no heat behind it. Just a spark of something lighter.

“Dinner’s getting cold! Sit, sit,” Cisca urged, waving you both toward the table with the kind of warmth that made it impossible not to smile.

You slid into your seat, Lando taking the chair beside you like he’d been doing it for years. His knee brushed yours under the table—light, accidental, but steady enough to make your pulse jump. You didn’t move it away. Maybe you couldn’t.

Adam reached for the wine bottle. “Wine?”

“Yes, please,” you said a little too fast, and Lando’s quiet laugh beside you didn’t help.

Glasses filled, plates passed around, and for a few minutes everything felt almost… normal. You smiled, nodded, laughed when everyone else did. You were doing it. You were blending in. You were surviving.

Then Sav leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “So. Tell us everything. How did you two meet?”

There it was. The question. The one you’d been dreading since the airport.

You glanced at Lando for half a second—barely long enough for anyone else to notice, but he caught it instantly.

“We got stuck together in the elevator,” he said smoothly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.

You exhaled quietly, picking up the thread. “For two hours,” you added with a small laugh. “Very, very long two hours of my life.”

“Speak for yourself, darlin’,” Lando cut in, not missing a beat. “Best two hours of mine.”

The table erupted with laughter—Flo snorting, Sav shaking her head, Cisca smiling like this was the cutest thing she’d ever heard.

And you… you felt your face warm, but not from embarrassment. More from the way Lando said it—light, teasing, but with a softness underneath that wasn’t entirely fake.

Cisca leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity. “So what happened after? You got out and just… what? Went on a date?”

You froze for half a second.

Lando didn’t.

“I asked for her number,” he said smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your head snapped toward him.

Oh.

That was new.

And dangerously believable.

“And I said no,” you added quickly, because your brain clearly decided honesty‑but‑not‑really was safer than silence.

Lando looked at you, eyebrows lifting. “You did not.”

“I absolutely did.”

“You hesitated,” he corrected, pointing at you with his fork. “And then gave it to me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh slipping out. “I didn’t trust you.”

Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “Smart girl.”

The table laughed, the moment loosening—until Lando spoke again, his voice dipping just slightly, the teasing softening around the edges.

“But,” he said, glancing at you, “she eventually said yes.”

Your eyes met his.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for something warm to settle low in your chest, something you weren’t prepared for.

“…Eventually,” you echoed, quieter than you meant to.

And the strange part?

It didn’t feel like a story anymore.

Not a script.

Not a lie you were both juggling.

It felt like something that could’ve happened.

Something that almost did.

Lando looked away first, but not before you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—soft, knowing, like he’d just read your mind and liked what he found.

You talked for another three hours, and somehow—it was suspiciously easy.

No interrogation. No awkward pauses. No slip‑ups. No one trying to poke holes in your very real, very not‑real relationship. If anything, they just… welcomed you. Laughed with you. Pulled you into conversations like you’d always been there.

And that almost made it worse—because it felt natural. Too natural. Like you weren’t pretending at all.

Eventually, plates were empty, wine glasses half‑full, and the warm Sicilian night hummed softly through the open windows.

“I think we’re gonna head to our room,” Lando said casually, stretching an arm around your shoulders like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. “Y’know, get some rest.”

Damn.

He was good at this. Too good. The kind of good that made your stomach flip, because he didn’t even have to think about it—his voice warm, his touch easy, his smile soft enough to sell the whole thing without trying.

And the worst part?

For a split second, you didn’t feel like you were acting either.

As you stood, his hand slid down your arm, fingers brushing yours in a way that felt almost accidental—except it wasn’t. Not with the way he glanced at you, just briefly, like he was checking if you were still okay… or maybe checking something else entirely.

You stepped into the room and the door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the noise from downstairs like someone had dropped a blanket over the world.

Silence settled—thick, warm, a little too intimate.

Your eyes drifted immediately to the bed.

One bed.

Again.

You turned slowly toward Lando.

He was already staring at it too, hands in his pockets, jaw shifting like he was trying not to laugh.

“…Right,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

A beat.

Another beat.

The kind of beat where you could practically hear both of your brains screaming.

“You’re not seriously telling me this is becoming a pattern,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

You didn’t even bother hiding the disbelief in your voice.

“We are dating, babe.”

“Fake dating, babe.”

“Still counts for logistics.”

“There are two chairs,” you said, pointing at them like you’d just discovered a legal loophole.

Lando didn’t even look. “You want one of us to sleep on a chair?”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “This is insane.”

Lando flopped back onto the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just detonated your entire nervous system for the day. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s literally one bed.”

“And?” he asked, glancing up at you with that maddeningly calm expression.

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

Then, slowly—dangerously—that familiar smirk crept in. “We behaved perfectly fine tonight, didn’t we?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, voice infuriatingly casual, “if we can survive interrogation over dinner, we can survive sleeping in the same bed.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It kind of is.”

You stared at the bed like it might magically split in half if you glared hard enough.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if you’re snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

“I don’t snore,” Lando said instantly—way too instantly.

You turned your head slowly.

He blinked.

“…I don’t,” he repeated, much quieter now.

You raised an eyebrow. “That was way too fast for someone telling the truth.”

He scoffed, kicking off his shoes like he lived here. “I’m an athlete. I’m basically engineered for optimal sleep conditions.”

“Sure,” you nodded, deadpan. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

Lando grinned, grabbing his suitcase. “Well, Your Majesty, feel free to take the left side of the bed.”

“There are sides now?”

“There are always sides.”

You hesitated for half a second, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. It dipped under your weight, soft and warm, and you watched him move around the room—unpacking, stretching, tossing his hoodie onto a chair—like he’d done this a thousand times.

Like he belonged here.

Which was the annoying part.

He made everything feel… normal. Easy. Like sharing a room, sharing a bed, sharing this whole ridiculous lie wasn’t a big deal at all.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you muttered.

Lando glanced over his shoulder, smirk already forming. “Too late.”

────────────

The washed dishes weren’t even dry yet when the Norris family was already on their feet again, buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only they could produce. Someone— definitely Sav—clapped her hands together like she was kicking off a national broadcast.

“Okay! We’re playing How Well Do You Know Your Partner!”

Instant groans. Instant cheers. A chorus of excitement and dread rolled across the terrace.

You slowly turned your head toward Lando.

“…We are fucked,” you mouthed.

Lando didn’t even blink.

He gave you a calm, reassuring nod that was so painfully unconvincing it almost made you laugh.

“We’ll be fine,” he mouthed back.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Liar.

Because even as he said it, his mouth twitched—just a tiny, traitorous twitch—like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

Around you, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone moved back toward the table. Pens appeared, paper was handed out, and suddenly it looked way too official for something that was supposed to be “just a game.”

Flo was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in her seat like she’d been waiting all night for this exact moment.

“First question!” she announced, pausing dramatically like a game‑show host.

Everyone leaned in.

You braced yourself.

“What is your partner’s biggest pet peeve?”

Of course.

Of course that was the first question.

Lando immediately bent over his card, writing like this was the easiest thing he’d done all day. No hesitation, no thinking, no panic—just pure, irritating confidence. He even tapped his pen against the table afterward, relaxed, smug, like he already knew he’d get it right.

You stared down at your blank paper.

Biggest pet peeve.

You barely knew your own biggest pet peeve, let alone his. Your mind went completely empty, like someone had unplugged your brain and walked away with the cable.

You risked a sideways glance.

Lando was done.

Done.

Already leaning back in his chair, looking like he was waiting for the rest of the class to catch up.

Show‑off.

You sighed quietly and wrote the first thing that made sense: people driving too slowly.

It wasn’t a wild guess. More like a logical conclusion. He drove fast cars for a living, lived fast, talked fast—slow drivers probably felt like a personal attack on his soul.

Hopefully.

You set your pen down, trying to look confident.

You absolutely did not feel confident.

And beside you, Lando’s knee brushed yours under the table—light, steady, like he was silently saying we’ve got this.

Flo practically vibrated with excitement. “Ready?”

Everyone flipped their papers.

Lando’s answer: cheesy nicknames.

You blinked.

Right.

That one barely counted—he only knew because you’d ranted about it earlier. Still, Sav burst into laughter.

“You hate nicknames, Y/n?”

“Hate,” you said instantly, no hesitation at all.

“Especially ‘light of my life,’ right, Y/n?” Lando added, laughing like he wasn’t actively trying to get himself murdered.

You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“Don’t push it.”

He only grinned wider, the menace.

Then his eyes dropped to your board.

He read it.

And his whole expression shifted—slowly, deliberately—into a smug, satisfied smirk that told you he was about to be insufferable.

“Oh,” he said, dragging the word out like he was unwrapping a present.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

He leaned in just a little, enough to make it feel like he was invading your personal space on purpose. “Not bad.”

You glanced down at your own paper.

people who drive too slowly.

Lando let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head like he was both impressed and personally offended.

“That’s actually kind of good,” he admitted, still smirking. “Like… annoyingly accurate.”

You shrugged, trying to look casual even though your stomach did a tiny, traitorous flip. “At least I didn’t embarrass us.”

He nudged your knee under the table—light, warm, intentional.

“You could never embarrass us, darling.”

That nickname sent shivers down your spine.

And the worst part?

The part you refused to acknowledge?

For a moment, you almost believed him.

Flo clapped her hands again, absolutely delighted with the chaos she was creating. She looked like someone who’d been waiting her whole life to host this exact moment.

“Okay! Next question!”

She paused dramatically, eyes sparkling.

“What is your partner’s most annoying habit?”

You felt Lando shift beside you immediately—pen already in hand, posture straightening like he was preparing for a qualifying lap. He didn’t even hesitate. He just started writing, confident and focused, like he had a whole list ready to go.

Meanwhile, you stared at that damn paper again.

Most annoying habit.

Where were you even supposed to begin?

He had so many.

You risked a glance at him.

He looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made you want to throw your pen at him. Of course he was confident. Of course he thought he knew exactly what you’d write. He lived for this.

You exhaled slowly and wrote the first thing that felt right: leaving cabinets open.

It was oddly specific, but it fit him. He had that chaotic energy, the kind that probably left a trail of half‑open cupboards behind him like breadcrumbs.

“Ready!” Sav announced.

Everyone flipped their papers.

There was a half‑second of silence.

Then—

Cisca gasped, pointing at your answer like she’d just discovered buried treasure. “Yes! Y/n! Thank you—finally! That has driven me mad ever since he was a kid!”

The table erupted into laughter.

Lando whipped around to his mum, offended. “Traitor!”

“I’m sorry,” she said through her laughter. “It’s true!”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. And as the noise settled, you felt Lando nudge your knee under the table, a tiny, wordless I can’t believe you just exposed me like that.

You didn’t look at him.

But you smiled.

You looked at Lando’s board.

overthinking and stressing over everything.

You blinked.

Oh.

For a moment, the laughter around the table dimmed, like someone had quietly turned the volume down. The terrace was still full of noise and warmth and clinking glasses, but it all felt a little distant—like you’d stepped half a beat out of sync with the room.

Because that answer…

That wasn’t a joke.

That wasn’t a throwaway guess.

That was painfully, uncomfortably accurate.

Your eyes lifted to him.

He wasn’t smirking this time. No teasing, no smugness, no dramatic flourish. Just Lando watching you with this quiet, steady kind of awareness that made your chest tighten. Like he’d seen it. Not just tonight, but before. Like he’d been paying attention in ways you hadn’t realized.

You let out a small breath, something caught between a laugh and disbelief. “Okay… that’s a bit too accurate.”

Lando shrugged lightly, but there was something softer in his expression now—something that didn’t belong to the game or the performance or the lie you were both maintaining. “You make it kind of obvious.”

The words weren’t mocking. They weren’t even teasing. They were gentle, almost careful, like he was trying not to push too hard.

And for a second, you felt it again—that strange, unsettling shift.

The one where the line between fake and real blurred just enough to make your heart stumble.

A few hours later, the noise from inside had finally faded, replaced by the soft hum of the evening—warm air brushing against your skin, distant laughter drifting from somewhere down the hill, the faint rhythm of waves rolling in and out like the night was breathing with you.

You leaned against the balcony railing, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all day. It had been… a lot. Fun, chaotic, terrifying, weirdly comforting—a mess of emotions you hadn’t sorted yet and weren’t sure you wanted to.

“Enjoying your victory?” a familiar voice drawled behind you.

You didn’t even turn. “We did not win.”

“Debatable,” Lando said, stepping out onto the balcony like he belonged there, like he’d been waiting for this quiet moment.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “We survived. Barely.”

He came to stand beside you, leaning his elbows on the railing, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You were good.”

You let out a soft snort. “I guessed half of it.”

“And still got it right,” he pointed out, like that settled the matter.

You shook your head, staring out at the dark horizon. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that made everything feel softer, slower. “That’s not the point.”

You looked at him now, really looked, the balcony light catching the edges of his face in that soft, golden way that made everything feel a little too intimate.

“You, on the other hand… what was that?”

Lando blinked, all faux‑innocence. “What was what?”

“That whole ‘overthinking and stressing over everything’ thing?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Bit personal, don’t you think?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, he gave a small shrug, gaze drifting out toward the dark horizon for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“It’s true.”

You crossed your arms, partly defensive, partly trying to keep your heartbeat from doing something stupid. “You don’t even know me.”

He turned his head then, slow and deliberate, meeting your eyes with a steadiness that made your breath catch.

“I know enough.”

It wasn’t flirtatious.

It wasn’t teasing.

It was quiet, honest, and it hit you harder than you expected.

You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the waves you couldn’t actually see. “You got lucky.”

“Twice?” he said, the teasing finally slipping back into his voice.

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get cocky.”

He smiled to himself, that small, private kind of smile that told you he was enjoying this far more than he should.

After a moment, he nudged your arm lightly with his elbow. “You were good too, by the way. The cabinet thing? My mum’s never going to let that go now.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “I take pride in that.”

“You should,” he said, turning back toward the view. “You’ve officially turned my family against me.”

“Part of the job,” you replied, but your voice softened without your permission.

And for a moment, the two of you just stood there—side by side, warm air brushing past, the night settling around you—feeling something that didn’t quite fit the definition of fake anymore.

There was a brief pause—one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt suspended in warm night air. Comfortable. Too comfortable. The kind of comfort that made you forget, for a second, that none of this was real.

Then, almost at the same time, your eyes drifted downward toward the garden.

And froze.

His entire family was there—clustered in little groups, pretending to chat, pretending to admire the flowers, pretending to do anything other than stare directly up at the balcony. Sav was leaning against a tree like she was undercover. Adam had his hands on his hips. Flo was perched on a lounge chair, chin in her hands. Cisca was the only one trying to look subtle, which somehow made it worse.

They were all waiting.

Watching.

Expectant.

“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, heat rushing to your face.

Lando followed your gaze, and the moment he saw them, his shoulders dropped in exhausted disbelief.

“…They’re insane,” he said quietly, like he was afraid they’d hear him.

“They’re waiting,” you whispered, because there was no denying it. They were practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I can see that,” he murmured, jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh or scream.

A beat passed.

Then another.

The kind of beat where your heart started doing something stupid in your chest.

Lando shifted closer—just a small movement, but enough that his shoulder brushed yours, warm and steady. When he spoke, his voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the night.

“Can I kiss you, please?”

Your breath caught before you could stop it.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and for the first time all night there was no smirk waiting for you, no teasing spark, no playful challenge. Just something softer. Something careful. Something that made your chest feel too tight.

“You’re asking?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the warm night air.

“Figured I should,” he murmured back, his tone low and steady. “Consent and all that.”

Despite everything—your nerves, the audience below, the fact that this was supposed to be fake—a small smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t help it.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. “But can I?”

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want to. Not because you were scared of the kiss itself. But because suddenly, terrifyingly, it didn’t feel like part of the act anymore. It felt like something else entirely—something real, something fragile, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.

Still, you nodded.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t rush. He didn’t joke. He didn’t turn it into a performance for the garden below. He just leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His hand brushed your arm, light and warm, like he was checking—are you sure, are you sure, are you sure?

You didn’t move.

And then—

His lips met yours.

Soft. Careful. Warm.

It was meant to be quick, just enough to convince the family watching from below. Just enough to sell the story.

But neither of you pulled away right away.

Not even close.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the quiet press of his mouth against yours, the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hand still resting against your arm. Everything else—the balcony, the night, the family waiting below—faded into a blur.

And all you could think was:

This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

────────────

The pre-wedding party was… a lot. The kind of “a lot” that filled every corner of the villa with noise and warmth and movement. Music spilled across the garden in waves, loud and bright, mixing with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter that rose and fell like the night had its own heartbeat. Fairy lights stretched overhead, soft and golden, blurring slightly at the edges—or maybe that was just the alcohol. Hard to tell anymore.

Still, even with all the warmth and noise and celebration, something felt a little off.

Everyone here seemed to have their place. Their people. Their easy conversations and inside jokes and familiar rhythms. Sav floated from group to group with the kind of glow only a bride‑to‑be could pull off. Flo was dancing with someone’s aunt. Cisca was deep in conversation with a cluster of relatives you couldn’t keep straight. Everywhere you looked, there was a sense of belonging—woven into the air, into the laughter, into the way people leaned into each other without thinking.

And you… well. You were here. Present, technically. But not quite part of the current.

You took another sip of your drink, leaning against the bar, letting the cool glass steady you. Fourth drink? Fifth? You’d lost track somewhere between the speeches and the second round of music. It didn’t matter. The night was warm, the lights were soft, and the alcohol made everything feel a little easier to float through.

Across the garden, Lando was surrounded by his cousins, animatedly talking about F1, hands moving as he laughed at something one of them said. He looked completely at ease—comfortable in a way that made sense. This was his world. His people. His history.

He looked at home.

And you—

You just stood there, watching him for a moment longer than you meant to, feeling that small, quiet ache of being close to something without quite belonging to it.

You were still leaning against the bar, letting the music and chatter blur into a soft background hum, when someone stepped into your space from the side—close enough that you felt the shift of air before you heard the voice.

“Hey.”

You turned slightly.

One of Lando’s cousins stood there with an easy smile. Will—probably. Or Ben. Honestly, after your fourth drink, all the cousins had started blending into one tall, friendly blur of Norrises.

He offered his hand like you were meeting at a business conference instead of a pre-wedding party. “Will.”

“Y/n,” you replied, shaking it briefly.

He didn’t let go right away.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he said with a small smirk, finally releasing your hand but not stepping back. “You’re kind of the main topic of conversation.”

Your brows lifted, a mix of amusement and mild alarm. “That’s concerning, considering this is Sav and Oliver’s wedding.”

He laughed softly, shoulders relaxing. “Fair point.”

Only then did he give you a little more space—though not much. Just enough to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Relax,” he added, tone light. “It’s all good things.”

You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He grinned, hands sliding into his pockets. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. They like you.”

“That’s better,” you said, though you weren’t sure if the warmth in your chest was the alcohol or the words.

Either way, it was nice to hear.

Will’s smile lingered a little longer than it should have, the kind of smile that tried to look casual but didn’t quite land that way.

“You know,” he said, leaning one elbow against the bar so he was angled toward you, “I’m still trying to figure out how someone like you ended up with him.”

You let out a small laugh, swirling what was left of your drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass. “Wow. Straight to insulting him. Nice.”

“I’m not insulting him,” he said quickly, hands lifting in a harmless gesture. “Just… surprised.”

“Because?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your tone stayed light.

He shrugged, eyes flicking over you in a way that felt a little too assessing. “He’s Lando. And you seem… normal.”

That actually made you snort. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said, and this time his gaze lingered a beat too long. “I just mean—you could do better.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and awkward, settling between you like something you didn’t want to touch. You opened your mouth—ready to defend Lando, or correct him, or shut the whole thing down before it got any weirder—

“Hey, babe. Is everything okay?”

Lando’s voice cut cleanly through the moment.

Before you could even turn, his hand slid around your waist, warm and steady, pulling you gently but unmistakably toward him. The movement was instinctive, protective, and just a little too sure of itself.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by how close he suddenly was.

But he didn’t look at you first.

His eyes were locked on Will—calm, unreadable, but with an edge underneath that you hadn’t heard in his voice all night. Or ever.

Will straightened immediately, hands dropping from the bar like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah, just talking.”

Lando hummed once—a low, controlled sound that wasn’t quite agreement. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. Like he had a sharper response sitting on the tip of his tongue and was choosing, very deliberately, not to use it. His jaw tightened for a second before he smoothed it over, the kind of restraint that said more than any raised voice could.

Then he finally looked down at you.

“You okay?”

There was something in his tone—lighter than the look in his eyes, softer than the tension in his shoulders. It was a question meant for you, not for the audience around you. A check‑in, not a performance.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

A small beat passed.

His hand was still at your waist, warm and steady, fingers resting just firmly enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go until you told him to. And without thinking, your own hand had settled against him too, holding on like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good,” he said simply.

Then his gaze slid back to Will.

“Not sorry, Will,” Lando said, voice calm, almost casual—but with a quiet edge underneath. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

The emphasis was subtle, but unmistakable. A line drawn. A boundary set.

Will blinked once, caught between surprise and a laugh he didn’t quite commit to. “Yeah, alright.”

He lifted his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it, man.”

“Cool,” Lando replied, smooth and final.

No warmth. No invitation to keep talking. Just a clean end to the conversation.

Then, without another word, he guided you away from the bar. His hand stayed firm at your waist, steering you through the garden, past the clusters of people, past the fairy lights and music and noise. You didn’t resist. You didn’t even think about resisting. You just let him lead you, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way the alcohol never could.

He didn’t loosen his grip once.

Only when you were finally inside the villa—away from the crowd, away from Will, away from the eyes and the noise—did he slow down. His steps eased, his hand softened, and the air between you shifted into something quieter, heavier, waiting.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, the noise of the party vanished like someone had cut the power. No music, no laughter, no clinking glasses—just silence. Thick, heavy, the kind that settled over your skin and made the room feel smaller than it was.

Lando finally let go of your waist, but only so he could turn toward you fully. His movements were sharp, controlled, like he’d been holding something in since the moment he saw you at the bar.

“What was that?” he asked immediately.

You blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “What was what?”

“That guy,” he said, jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “The way he was talking to you.”

You scoffed, trying to brush it off, trying to keep the moment light. “It’s literally your cousin. He was just talking.”

“He is the biggest idiot of all of them,” Lando shot back, voice low, “and he was not just talking.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed once, shaking your head, trying to defuse the tension. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

And that—more than anything—made you stop.

He wasn’t teasing.

He wasn’t playing the part.

He wasn’t performing for anyone.

He was actually annoyed.

“You’re overreacting,” you said, quieter now, because suddenly the space between you felt charged in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

“I’m not,” he replied, and there was no hesitation, no doubt.

A beat passed—quiet, heavy, stretching just long enough to make your pulse stumble.

Then Lando stepped closer again, closing the space you’d tried to keep between you. His voice dropped, low and rough around the edges. “I didn’t like it.”

Your breath caught, sharp and involuntary.

“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered, even though the words didn’t come out nearly as steady as you wanted them to.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s fake,” you reminded him, but your voice wavered, softening at the end like even you didn’t fully believe it anymore.

The word fake landed between you like something sharp. Something that should have pushed him back.

It didn’t.

Lando looked at you for a long second—long enough that you felt it everywhere. Like he wanted to argue, like he had a dozen things he wanted to throw back at you, but none of them made it out fast enough.

“Right, fake.” Lando laughed, but it was dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. “You looked like you didn’t want me there,” he said finally, quieter now, but somehow more honest.

The words hit harder than they should have. Harder than you were prepared for.

“I did,” you shot back, heat rising in your chest. “I just didn’t need you to—”

“To what?” he cut in, stepping closer again. “To act like I care?”

Silence.

Thick. Electric. Unavoidable.

Your chest tightened, breath catching somewhere high in your throat.

“Lando…” you warned softly, but it didn’t come out like a warning. It came out like something fragile. Something unsure.

And he was already too close again—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, close enough that stepping back didn’t even cross your mind.

This time, you didn’t move at all.

“I care,” he said, and the words were so quiet, so steady, so painfully real that they seemed to settle right under your skin.

That changed everything.

Your breath stuttered, catching somewhere high in your chest. For a moment neither of you moved, like the air between you had turned solid.

Then—

Something in you snapped.

You grabbed the front of his shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric, and pushed him backward. He didn’t resist. He barely even blinked. He just let you guide him until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto it with a soft thud, eyes wide, breath unsteady.

You climbed over him before he could say a word.

And kissed him.

Not careful this time. Not soft. Not measured.

This kiss was messy, urgent, horny, full of everything you’d been holding back. No hesitation. No pretending. No audience to perform for. Just heat and frustration and something that had been building for far too long.

Lando’s hands were on you instantly—gripping, grounding, pulling you closer like he needed you right there, right then. His breath was warm against your mouth as he managed a half‑laugh, half‑groan.

“…So that’s how we’re resolving things now?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled against his lips, refusing to pull away.

He did, just barely, just enough to look up at you with that infuriating, familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened to rule number two, darling?” he teased, voice low, eyes bright with something that made your pulse jump.

You didn’t even think.

“Fuck rule number two.”

His smile widened—slow, wicked, knowing.

And then he pulled you back down.

────────────

The wedding had been beautiful.

Perfect, actually—the kind of perfect that made your chest ache a little if you thought about it for too long. Everything glowed. The flowers, the lights, the people. Sav looked like she’d stepped out of a dream, and everyone cried at least once. Even you, even though you barely knew half the people in the crowd. Oliver was nervous in a sweet way, stumbling over his vows, and Lando… well. Lando was the prettiest best man anyone had ever seen, all soft smiles and quiet pride, looking like he belonged in every photo taken that day.

But you hadn’t really been thinking about the wedding.

Not the ceremony.

Not the speeches.

Not the dancing.

You’d been thinking about last night.

About the way he’d looked at you.

About the way he’d said I care.

About the way you’d grabbed him, kissed him, lost yourself in something that wasn’t supposed to be real.

Which was exactly why you’d spent the entire day avoiding him.

You kept yourself busy—helping Sav, talking to Flo, pretending to be deeply invested in the seating chart, slipping away whenever you felt his eyes on you. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t graceful. But it was the only thing you could manage, because every time you caught even a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the memory of his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his breath against your mouth.

You weren’t ready to face him.

Not yet.

Not when everything inside you still felt unsteady.

So you smiled, you mingled, you clapped during the speeches, you danced when someone pulled you in—but underneath all of it, there was this constant hum in your chest.

A reminder. A question.

And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you could feel him somewhere in the crowd, watching you like he was waiting for you to stop running.

After the ceremony, everyone drifted inside, swept up in dancing and champagne and the kind of joy that filled every corner of the villa. Music echoed off the walls, laughter spilled across the room, and the whole place felt warm and alive in a way that should have pulled you in.

But instead, you found yourself outside, sitting at the edge of the pool with your legs tucked close, staring at the water like it might offer some kind of clarity.

It didn’t.

Obviously.

The surface just rippled gently, reflecting the lights strung above you, turning everything into soft, shifting colors. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful compared to the noise inside. And maybe that was why you stayed out here—because the quiet made it easier to breathe, even if it also made it harder to ignore the thoughts you’d been trying to outrun all day.

You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Of course you did. You always knew when he was close, even when you didn’t want to.

“Here,” Lando’s voice said gently.

You didn’t turn around.

“I brought you water,” he added after a second, like he wasn’t sure if you’d accept it.

A small sigh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Thanks,” you said, finally glancing over your shoulder.

He was standing there like he hadn’t been the reason you hadn’t slept properly, eaten properly, or thought about anything else properly since last night. Casual. Too casual. Like he hadn’t been in your head every hour of the day.

He sat down beside you—not too close, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. He placed the bottle next to you instead of handing it over, giving you space you weren’t sure you wanted.

Silence stretched between you.

Comfortable for him.

Unbearable for you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but certain.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Have I?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes still on the water. “You have.”

And there it was—the thing you’d been trying so hard not to face.

You kept your eyes on the pool, tracing the slow, gentle movement of light across the surface. The water shimmered in soft blues and golds, shifting every time the breeze touched it. It was easier to look at that than at him. Easier to pretend you were calm. Easier to pretend you weren’t unraveling a little.

“…I’m not avoiding you,” you said finally, though the words felt thin, like they didn’t quite hold their own weight.

Lando let out a quiet breath—one of those soft, almost-sighs that told you he didn’t believe you but wasn’t ready to push too hard. Not yet. He sat there with his hands loosely clasped, shoulders relaxed, but there was something in the way he watched the water that gave him away. He was waiting. He was listening.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then what are you doing?”

The question landed heavier than it should have, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You swallowed, eyes still fixed on the ripples in front of you.

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he muttered under his breath.

Despite everything—despite the tension, despite the nerves, despite the way your heart had been doing somersaults since last night—your lips twitched. Just a little. Just enough to betray you.

Another pause stretched between you. Not the comfortable kind from earlier. This one felt more honest, more fragile, like the air between you had thinned and you were both trying not to break it.

You hugged your knees closer, pulling them tight to your chest. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

That made him turn his head toward you. Slowly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t sure what you were about to say but knew it mattered.

“Like what?”

You hesitated, because there were too many answers. Too many feelings you didn’t have names for yet. Too many moments from last night still echoing in your head.

“Complicated,” you said at last, the word slipping out on a breath.

A beat passed.

Then he nodded, slow and thoughtful, like that made sense to him too. Like he’d been carrying the same word around all day.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Same.”

It was full of everything neither of you were saying out loud—heavy, warm, impossible to ignore. The kind of silence that pressed against your ribs and made your pulse feel too loud in your own ears.

You picked at the hem of your sleeve, eyes still on the water. “We were supposed to be fake dating,” you said quietly, almost like saying it again might rewind everything, might pull you both back to the safe version of this. The version with rules. The version where your heart wasn’t involved.

Lando let out a short laugh—soft, breathless, almost disbelieving. “We were really bad at that.”

The corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it. A small smile, but a real one.

“…Yeah,” you admitted.

Another pause settled between you, heavier this time, like the night itself was leaning in to listen.

Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement through the air. “Do you regret it?” he asked again, but this time his voice was quieter, stripped of all the bravado he usually carried so easily.

You frowned a little, turning your head toward him. “What?”

He hesitated—actually hesitated—and that alone made something tighten low in your stomach. Lando never hesitated. Not with you. Not with anyone.

“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “Last night. Us. Sleeping together.”

Oh.

Right.

Your fingers went still against your sleeve. The world seemed to narrow to the space between you, to the way he was looking at you now—no smirk, no teasing, no easy confidence. Just Lando. Waiting. The real version of him, the one he didn’t show to many people.

You looked at him properly then, really looked, and your breath came out slower than you expected.

“I don’t think I do,” you said quietly.

A beat passed, soft and fragile.

Then, even softer—almost like you were testing the truth of it as you spoke—

“I don’t think I regret it at all.”

The words hung there between you, warm and terrifying and honest.

Lando looked at you for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to read the truth behind your words, trying to see if you meant it the same way he did. Something in his expression softened—barely, but enough.

“Same,” he said quietly.

A beat passed, stretching out between you like a held breath.

You let out a nervous exhale, trying to steady whatever was spinning too fast inside your chest. “Let’s not break rule number three, Lando,” you said, aiming for lightness, but your voice didn’t quite make it there.

His mouth twitched, but it didn’t turn into a smile. Not really. “You’re making it very hard,” he admitted.

That made you glance at him again, your pulse skipping. “Hard how?” you asked, careful, cautious, like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

Lando exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the water before lifting back to you. “Pretending this is just… nothing,” he said. “Pretending it was just a mistake we can laugh off in the morning.”

Silence settled over you—thick, heavy, honest. The villa noise felt distant now, like it belonged to another world entirely.

You swallowed. “We agreed on no falling in love.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then he shook his head slightly, like he was frustrated with himself, like he’d been fighting something he’d already lost. “That rule’s kind of pointless now,” he said softly.

Your breath caught.

“Lando—”

But he didn’t let you finish.

He turned toward you fully, closer than before, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even with the space still between you. His voice was quieter now, but steady in a way that made your heart stutter.

“I think I’m already there,” he said.

Everything in you stopped.

The pool light rippled across his face, catching in his eyes, making them look impossibly open, impossibly vulnerable. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or bravado. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t pretending.

He was just telling you the truth.

And then, like it was the simplest thing in the world—even though you could hear the fear tucked beneath it—

“I love you,” he added.

The words hung in the air between you like they had weight.

I love you.

No jokes followed.

No smirk.

No quick escape route disguised as humor.

Just silence.

Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, like your body was trying to catch up to what he’d just said. You searched his face, hoping—maybe—that you’d find some hint of exaggeration, some playful twist you could latch onto and turn this into something lighter. Something easier to handle.

But there wasn’t anything like that.

Lando didn’t look away.

He just waited.

And for once, he didn’t look like he was performing anything at all. He looked real. Open. A little scared. A lot sincere.

Your throat tightened.

“I—” you started, but the word broke apart before you could finish it. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of the way everything inside you felt like it was shifting at once.

This was supposed to be fake.

This was supposed to be simple.

This was supposed to be safe.

You swallowed hard.

“I didn’t plan for this,” you admitted quietly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.

A small, almost sad smile flickered across his face. “Neither did I.”

Something in your chest loosened at that—just a little, just enough to breathe again. You looked back at the water, watching the lights ripple across the surface, but it didn’t help. It didn’t make anything clearer.

Because the truth wasn’t complicated.

It was just terrifying.

“…I think I do too,” you said finally, the words soft but steady.

Lando went completely still.

You turned your head toward him again, your voice gentler now, more certain even if your hands weren’t. “I think I’ve been trying not to say it all day,” you added. A breath. “Probably longer than that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore.

It felt different.

Settled.

Like something had finally clicked into place.

Lando exhaled slowly, almost like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until that moment. “Yeah?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small, nervous nod. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

Then he let out a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe either of you. “We are so bad at rules.”

That pulled a laugh out of you too—quiet, shaky, but real. You wiped at your face quickly, as if that would fix anything, as if that would make you feel less exposed.

“Awful at them,” you agreed, laughing.

babsie radio ! heyy….. how are you….long time no see….sorry if this is bad, i tried to overcome my writers block somehow… also I (re)discovered bella kay’s iloveitiloveitiloveit and sombr’s canal street so im in mood for some angst….

taglist. @haniette @amyelevenn @clovermoters @giesoule @zariacore @darling-suee @wwwynette @landosaints @piestri @plantlover28 @lgl2003 @gripitlikelando @jenxjar @gossenabitur @basicchelsea @ohwhoisyou-rubyjane @biscuitjuice @keepyoureyesonmeboy @filmleclerc @taetae-armyyyyy @jewelsm481 @kissatelier

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