'he's my best friend, stop acting so weird.'
arden kennedy and lando norris have known each other for...well, for ages. best friends since day one, through thick and thin, always together. but is there something there? something more?
standalone st...
The next morning, I wake up drenched in sweat. The cause of my discomfort has got both arms around my waist, holding me close to his furnace-like chest as he continues on sleeping.
Not wanting to get out of bed quite yet, I stretch out to grab my phone off the bedside table.
It's instinct, snapping a photo of Lando's head on my chest before opening up Instagram and switching to my private account. The post is made without thought, the caption cheeky as usual. It's still early enough in the morning that it doesn't get much attention, other than from Quincy (who I assume is downstairs after her morning run) but I don't bother going down to see her quite yet.
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liked by quinzee
welcome2ardennys stage four clinger, send help
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quinzee ew ↳ welcome2ardennys you caused this ↳ quinzee i did NOT ↳ welcome2ardennys you did tho
A notification in my messages draws me away, the username glaring at me from where it sits.
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I never fucking blocked him on my private. Fuck. Which means he's been watching as I post photo after photo with Lando, sitting in on a private part of my life that I no longer wanted him to see, not after what he did.
The option to ignore his message is right there. I could delete it, block him, report him for being an utter douche (if that's even a thing you can do on Instagram), but I know that wouldn't be the end of it. He knows where I live. He knows my family. He knows my schedule. He knows everything.
The response is typed out before I can reconsider. And then I'm peeling Lando off of me and headed for the shower, washing the sweat from my body, dreading what I've just agreed to but knowing it needs to be done. I need to stand my ground. And I need Trevor to be gone. For good.
Lando and Max have a joint stream planned today, Quincy's got work, everyone's busy except for me.
As I step out of the shower, my mind races. What've I just gotten myself into? The hot water did little to ease my anxiety, much to my annoyance, and I hastily dry off, unsuccessful in my attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling that's settled in the pit of my stomach.
