Thanks to Norris

part 76- you know?

The room was still, humming with the kind of silence that only comes after adrenaline burns out completely. The city below flickered through the curtains, a restless pulse beneath your calm.

Lando lay beside you, arm slung across your waist, fingers tracing gentle lines on your skin like he didn't know how to stop touching you — or didn't want to.

Then he paused.

His hand had found the faint scar beneath your ribs. Barely visible, but his thumb brushed it again, slower this time.

"What's this?"

You stayed quiet for a second too long.

He shifted, just enough to look at you properly. "I've never seen this before."

You looked away. "It's nothing."

His touch didn't leave. "Doesn't look like nothing."

You swallowed, kept your gaze fixed on the ceiling. "It was from a crash. A long time ago."

He didn't speak right away, and when he did, his voice was quieter. "When?"

You hesitated again.

He watched you.

And then — realization flickered across his face. His lips parted just slightly.

"That karting final," he said slowly. "Back then."

You didn't confirm it. But your eyes gave you away. The same way they always did when you didn't want to lie to him.

Lando sat up slightly, still staring at the scar like it had no right to exist without him knowing.

"That last corner... I thought I clipped you, but they said you just lost grip." His voice cracked a little. "You let me through."

Your jaw tightened. "It was your championship. You deserved it."

"No," he said, voice low. "I didn't. You were faster. You always were."

You looked away again, suddenly hating the coldness of the sheets, the way your chest ached.

"I didn't want to take that from you," you said softly. "I thought... maybe if I let you win, we'd still be okay."

He exhaled hard, like the memory physically hit him. "But we weren't."

You nodded once. "You stopped talking to me after that. Like winning it made me disposable."

Lando's hand gripped the sheet. "No. I stopped talking to you because I knew. I knew you let me have it. And I couldn't deal with it. I couldn't even look at you without feeling like a fraud."

You turned to face him then, the anger and the ache finally surfacing. "So you punished me for it? For trying to protect you?"

"I was fifteen," he whispered. "And stupid. And proud. And I hated that the person I wanted to beat the most... was also the only one I didn't want to lose."

The silence hung again. Heavy. Honest.

Your fingers found his, gently lacing them together.

"It still hurt," you said. "More than the crash ever did."

His eyes met yours — raw, real, and shining with something he couldn't hide anymore.

"I never stopped thinking about it," he said. "About you."

You didn't answer. Just leaned forward, resting your forehead to his, breathing in the quiet forgiveness neither of you knew you needed.

Eventually, the weight of the day caught up to you. You melted into him again, into the space between regret and something like healing.