favourite / lando norris

four

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and Lando passed out at the foot of my bed. Which isn't entirely surprising, considering how drunk we got last night.

No. How drunk I got. Lando's only got another week until summer break ends and he's already gone back to training.

"Bubba, you're on my foot," I groan, roughly rubbing at my eyes and trying to kick at the lean mass spread across my duvet like a dog. As he starts to wake up, he grabs at my ankle through the blankets, pulling himself up the bed until he's laid completely on top of me.

He pushes my hands away as I bat at him, reaching partially over me to grab something on my dresser. It's one of those long strawed drinks he uses on track when out of the car and very clearly something he wants me to drink.

My nose scrunches up as I take the first sip, recognizing it as a combination of electrolytes, sugar, and iced water. "Ew," I complain around the straw, gnawing at it purely because I know it pisses him off.

Lando bops me on the head in response, slowly counting down until I've had a sufficient amount of sips. "Tradesies?"

I sigh, finally pushing him off me and immediately getting out of bed. Lando flops down into my spot on the bed, grinning up at me as I stare him down from my dresser. Since year three, we've had a tradesies policy. A one-for-one open question policy where we're both required to be completely honest in our answers.

"How long have you and Quincy been talking about my relationship behind my back?"

Offer and acceptance.

"Since Christmas." Lando props his arms up behind his back, not looking too put out by having to admit that. And that tells me whatever he's got to ask isn't going to be a free point. "Why do you let him treat you like that?"

Him, in this situation, is Trevor. His questions are almost always about Trevor these days. "I'm not letting him do anything, Lando."

"Okay, when did we start lying during tradesies?" When I laugh, he's sitting up in my bed and staring me down like I'm some kind of idiot. "Smoosh, come on!"

"Don't call me that. You're not supposed to call me that."

Lando throws his hands up in the air before raking them down his face, "Oh, right, because the shitty boyfriend doesn't like your childhood nickname!"

"Right because all your girlfriends just love it when I call you Bubba?"

"They don't care! No one cares about any of that except for fucking Trevor!"

I don't know why I say it, especially considering how mean it is, but I'm hungover and tired and I just want to cry some more without Lando practically singing 'I told you so'...."Well, considering the fact he's the only one that sticks around all year, I'd say fucking Trevor's opinion is pretty important."

"That's not fair," Lando stands from the bed, wavering in place as he considers his next move. I almost dare him to step closer, desperate to see what he'll do. He's been on eggshells for months. When he takes a step to the side, moving around the perimeter of the bed til he's just a few feet from the door to my room. "You can't blame me for that."

"Watch me." I turn away, stepping into my en suite bathroom and slamming the door as I hear Lando step closer.

It's only as I flip the lock that I realise I left my phone in my room somewhere. And I need that to know when Lando's gone.

My eyes drag down just as Lando pushes my phone into the bathroom through the space at the bottom of the door. "Filming's at noon."

Right. Filming. For a company Lando owns. That I work for. Great.