I should hate you - gracie abrams "I would bend back to you if you left the door open, I know that I should hate you"
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"Ready or not, here I come!" A muffled shout echoes from downstairs, faint yet familiar, filling me with a rush of excitement.
I bury myself deeper beneath the clean, fresh sheets, their scent crisp and comforting. They shield me, keeping me hidden. I can feel my pulse quickening, a nervous giggle threatening to escape my lips.
Hide and seek—our favorite game.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echo down the hall, drawing closer. My heart races as I clamp my hand over my mouth, stifling my laughter.
"I know you're in here, Ri," comes his voice again, teasing yet determined. That nickname—Ri. It feels strange hearing it now. I haven't been called that in years.
The door creaks open, and my body goes rigid. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to melt into the mattress, willing myself to disappear.
There's a pause, followed by a soft laugh—one I could recognize anywhere. His laugh.
Then the sheets are pulled back, the sudden flood of light making me blink as I'm found.
___________________
I blink again, this time into the dim, warm light of the private jet. The dream dissolves as reality takes its place. I'm no longer a kid hiding from Lando. Instead, I'm sprawled out in a luxurious leather chair, the cool material sticking to my skin. My eyes adjust to the warm, amber glow of the sunset casting long shadows across the cabin.
Lando is sitting directly opposite me, his headphones in, eyes fixed on something outside the window. The soft hum of the plane's engines fills the silence between us, making the air feel thick, like there's something we're both trying not to say.
I stretch, yawning as I try to shake off the remnants of sleep. My movements are slow and heavy, like waking from a dream that I didn't want to leave. Just as my arms fall back to my sides, I catch Lando's eyes on me—those sharp blue eyes, flecked with gold in the fading light.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I quickly turn to the window, pretending the view outside is more interesting than it actually is.
The truth is, it feels like I don't know him anymore. We've barely spoken since we signed the contract. There was a brief moment when we were almost... friendly, but now? He's cold, distant, detached—like someone flipped a switch inside him. Did something happen while we were apart? I have no idea, and he sure as hell isn't going to tell me.
The orange glow of the setting sun bathes the interior of the jet, softening the hard lines of the sleek leather seats and gleaming surfaces. It's all so modern, so expensive—yet I feel a strange discomfort being here.
