Misscommunication||LANDO NORRIS

8

Lando Norris

"I know you, Lizzie. More than you know yourself."

God, what am I even saying? I mentally smack myself. Whenever I'm around Lizzie, I manage to pull out the dumbest, most cringe-worthy lines, like a walking meme. I try to play it cool but probably just look like I'm auditioning for a rom-com blooper reel. Classic me.

I turn toward her, catching that little crease in her brow—the one that's basically screaming what the hell is going on?And her eyes? They're packed with stuff she won't say out loud, not here, not now. It's like trying to read a locked diary, and trust me, I want to. Trying to switch gears before I embarrass myself further, I nod at the bartender. "Hey, can I buy the bottle?" I point to the litre of vodka sitting smugly on the shelf, because honestly, nothing solves existential crises like a big, plastic bottle of regret. Bartender just shrugs and slides it over like this is a regular Tuesday. Which, honestly, it kind of is. I glance back at Lizzie, who's still looking all kinds of confused, like she's trying to figure out if I'm about to kidnap her or just be my usual chaotic self.

"Feel like getting pissed somewhere else? I know a place," I say, voice low but maybe a little too hopeful.

She blinks. Then she says, "Please."

And just like that, we're walking out the door, vodka in hand, two damaged idiots making questionable life choices. But hey, maybe that's exactly what we need right now.

5 years ago

We end up outside in a quiet park after darting hand in hand across the street, the world around us muffled except for the distant hum of late-night traffic. The streetlights cast a soft, golden glow, illuminating Lizzie's face like she's some kind of movie star—my movie star. I sigh, feeling a mix of something I don't want to name just yet. Then, suddenly, a cold drop hits my forehead.

Rain.

I lift my hand, catching the slow fall of droplets, the first gentle patter turning into a steady drizzle. Lizzie spins around on the wet grass, laughing like a child, completely untethered. Her hair clings to her damp cheeks, and she's soaking, but she doesn't care. Neither do I. I rush to catch her before she falls but end up tripping myself, pulling us both down onto the wet ground. She lands on top of me, her small frame soaked and soft against my chest. I freeze for a second, my heart doing this stupid, desperate flip. I look into her eyes and see pure joy sparkling even through the rain and the dark. She laughs and rolls off me onto the grass, still smiling, and I can't help but laugh too — really laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your throat go dry. We're the only two people in this little world right now.

"This is what I want to feel like every day, Lando," she says, breathless and glowing under the streetlights. She's so beautiful I almost can't breathe.

"How I feel when I'm with you."

Her words hit me harder than the rain. I swallow the lump in my throat, the words burning on my tongue. I'm in love with her.

"Is th—this how you feel?" she asks, voice small and unsure.

I can't stop myself. I'm spilling all my guts now.

"I'm in love with you, Lizzie Jones."

She doesn't say anything. Just looks at me, eyes wide and searching.

Then she starts to stand, slow and deliberate. I scramble up too, panic clutching my chest.

"Lizzie—"