G★LDWING

You cut your eyes and flipped the magazine back around. "Don't mock me, J."

"Does that sound like something I would do?"

"Indubitably," you announced, dramatically turning a page.

"No," said Jonathan. "It's just, it's exactly like you said." It was obvious he was trying hard to stay serious, to keep that shy smile of his from taking over. "I can't believe it."

Laughing, you tossed the magazine at his face.

He dodged, but only barely, too busy laughing right along with you.

If Joyce was home, now would've been when she'd knock on Jonathan's door. Exhausted, yet kind as ever, she would've reminded you both that it was quarter past nine and she had work in the morning. Just...try to keep it down, okay?

If Will was home, then approximately five minutes ago would've been when he'd invited himself inside, settling on Jonathan's bed to hover sweetly over the top of you and Who's dating? while craning his neck for a better view of the magazine.

But they were both out right now. Joyce working a closing shift at Melvald's, and your favorite drama queen playing D&D at a friend's house.

It was only you. Only Jonathan.

And The Clash, of course.

"You're insufferable," you eventually told him, still glaring playfully.

Jonathan squeezed your foot. "Says the one obsessed with crappy magazines."

"Oh I'm sorry, J — am I too lame for you? Is my love for pop culture ruining your street cred?"

Another laugh framed his pretty brown eyes with the most precious crinkles. "Who says street cred?" he asked incredulously.

"Lame-os, apparently."

It was his turn to cut his eyes. "If either of us lame," he contended, "it's definitely me."

The urge to frown was unbearable, but you tried resisting it.

Jonathan talking down on himself was a frequent occurrence. He'd always been insecure, even back in elementary school when you were both too young to know why older kids picked on him for his too-big coat and out-of-style sneakers.

High school had made it worse, though. A lot worse.

Sometimes you wished all of Hawkins High could see Jonathan the way you saw him. Understatedly funny with impeccable music taste; a photographer NYU would be lucky to teach; smarter than half this damned town and caring to a fault.

Other times — selfish, greedy times — you were glad they didn't.

Hawkins didn't deserve Jonathan, anyway.

Gently, you nudged him in the stomach with your foot. "If you're lame, then I'm lame by association," you told him. "Which actually means you're not lame at all, because I—" you laid a hand on your chest "—am the coolest person to ever exist."

"Didn't you just call yourself a lame-o?"

"Have you never heard of a joke, J? A bit of witticism? An old chestnut, even!"

With a groan that was both embarrassed on your behalf and thoroughly amused, Jonathan tossed his head back against the bed. "Great," he said to the ceiling. "So we're both lame."

You had full intent to argue for argument's sake, to make some exuberant claim as to why you were the furthest thing from lame (as if you weren't spending a Saturday night on your best friend's bedroom floor raving over celebrity romance while wearing fuzzy socks with cat in rainboots on them) when the room went totally silent.

The album had ended.

Jonathan lifted his head.

The two of you shared a look.

And then—

You shrieked when Jonathan shoved your feet of his lap, both of you scrambling to get off the floor. His room became a flurry of limbs and shouts and shoves, each fighting the other to cross the mere feet that separated you from the decrepit vinyl shelf.

Jonathan beat you.

"No fair," you whined. He was already lifting The Clash record off the platter and sliding it back into its sleeve. "You picked the last two albums. It's my turn, Byers!"

"You know the rules," he teased. "You snooze you lose."

"We should play rock-paper-scissors for it."

He dragged a finger over the records on his shelf, deciding which to play next. "You wouldn't say that if I was the one who lost."

"It's not losing if the competition's rigged!"

This whole Race to the Record Player thing was an unfair challenge. Not only were his legs longer than yours, but he had home-field advantage! His room was in such disarray that if you ran too fast, you were likely to twist your ankle on a lone Converse living under a denim jacket.

Jonathan turned his head to smile at you. It was so boyish and sweet, so unknowingly adorable, that you almost forgot to stay mad at him.

"You know," he said, "no one likes a sore loser."

An Oh, phooey! was already halfway up your throat when he slid a record out and showed it to you for approval.

One look at the cover and your Oh, phooey fizzled into a gasp.

"You're kidding!"

Jonathan's taste was eclectic but leaned into post-punk rock territory. Talking Heads, Joy Division, The Psychedelic Furs. Spending so much time with him meant you had come to love all those bands too — but unlike him, you weren't immune to the bubblegum bite of the pop-music bug.

Cyndi Lauper was your new favorite artist.

And now — in Jonathan's beautiful, beautiful hand — was her first ever studio album, She's So Unusual.

Released less than a week ago, there was no way he'd gotten it without spending a pretty penny. A valuable penny. One that could've been given to Joyce for extra groceries or put aside to replace the starter in his car. He could've even bought himself a new record, instead of spending hard-earned money on an album he wouldn't even listen to outside of your presence.

"Remember when I called you insufferable?" you asked.

He tipped his head to one side, pretty brown eyes crinkling as he pretended to think. "Vaguely."

"Well consider this my apology."

Before he could react, you lifted onto your toes and grabbed his face in your hands, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. His skin was soft, a little prickly where he'd missed a few spots shaving. He turned red so fast you felt warmth bloom under your lips. When you pulled back, admiring his new cherry complexion, you decided you liked making Jonathan blush.

Trying to seem unfazed, Jonathan busied himself with putting the record on. "I'll take it under consideration," he said, but the awkward way he cleared his throat before speaking made it obvious: you were definitely forgiven.

He lowered the needle. Money Changes Everything floated through his room, a lively beat that made your bones tingle.

You flopped backwards onto his bed, sighing comfortably. It smelled like him, bar soap and laundry detergent. If he hadn't turned to face you, you probably would've buried your nose in the sheets.

"So." You needed to talk. Otherwise you'd spend too much time admiring how cute he looked, unsure what to do with his hands, unable to hold your gaze but incapable of looking away. "Will," you said.

Concern took him immediately. "What about Will?"

You laughed. "Calm your engine, sports car. I was just gonna ask if he was going to the Snow Ball."

The infamous middle school dance was next weekend. An old teacher of yours had reached out to ask if you'd help with snacks for it, and you maybe promised to bake and ice two hundred cupcakes by next Friday — a venture you fully planned on wrangling Jonathan into.

Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know...I think so."

"Good," you chirped. Because if he'd said no, you would've had to conjure a last-minute plan to convince Will that school dances were So Cool and not Life Ruining Awful. "What about you?"

He gave you a look. "I'm pretty sure I aged out of middle school dances."

You chucked a pillow at him. "Not the Snow Ball, dummy. Our dance."

Winter's Dream, they were calling it. They being Hawkins High's budget friendly planning committee consisting of cheerleaders and theater kids. According to the fliers, the whole gym would be transformed into an ethereal frozen paradise — cotton ball clouds strung from the ceiling along with papier-mâché snowflakes; plenty of twinkle lights; fake snow covering the linoleum.

They had made crowns, too, for whichever lucky students were voted to be the Winter King & Queen. Everyone was gossiping over who would be crowned queen.

There was no doubt who would be king.

Jonathan edged towards the bed. Sat, and immediately started fiddling with a stray thread on his black jeans. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Trick question." You shot up straight, knocking your shoulder into his. "You're definitely going. So, onto our next question: who are you gonna ask to be your date?"

You expected him to say 'I don't know' again.

Instead, he reluctantly replied: "Who's your date?"

You bit your lip against a smile. "No one."

"No one's asked you?"

"No one worth saying yes to." Truth was, there was only one person you'd say yes to. "Connie heard that Steve Harrington's gonna ask me on Monday, but you know Connie. You'd be better trusting a call-in psychic."

"You love call-in psychics."

"But I don't trust them," you said, bumping his shoulder again.

Jonathan kept picking at the thread on his jeans.

On accident, he snapped it right off.

"Well...if Steve asks," he started, still focused on his lap, "will you...I don't know, say yes, or..."

Do you want me to say yes?

"I'm offended," you said solemnly. "Honestly, you're supposed to be my best friend, J! If you don't know that I'm gonna tell Steve Harrington where to shove it, then who will?"

He forced a chuckle. "I don't know...I mean, it wouldn't so...strange, I guess, to think maybe you'd actually want to go with him."

"Why? Because he's got nice hair and a BMW?"

Brown eyes flicked to yours in a sidelong look that said Uh, yeah?

Your jaw fell. "Don't tell me you really think that a BMW is all it takes to win me over."

"Of course not," defended Jonathan. Then, with a too-shy smile: "I think nice hair is all it takes to win you over."

You reached back for his other pillow and whacked him in the face with it. He burst out laughing, stole the pillow, and tossed it clear across the room.

That didn't stop you.

You swatted his arms, his chest, shouting I can't believe you! and Take it back, dummy! Jonathan just kept laughing, dodging hits and trying to catch your wrists, failing and resorting to tickling your sides.

You didn't know how you ended up on top of him. Only that you were, both of you smiling and breathless, your hands pinning his wrists to the bed on either side of his head.

In the background, Time After Time hummed so softly you worried he could hear the sound of your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.

"I take it back," you mumbled, making his brow furrow. "Turns out you really are insufferable."

"Because I don't think you're immune to King Steve's charm?"

"Because you're an idiot." You let go of one of his wrists. His chest froze mid-breath, your fingertips grazing just above his eyebrows, brushing a strand of hair to the side. "Steve Harrington's not the only boy with nice hair, y'know."

Pretty brown eyes were blown wide, his throat working around a swallow. "My hair is...bad."

"To you, maybe." He never complained, but you knew he'd never liked that they didn't have enough money for his hair to be anything but a product of love and kitchen scissors. "I think it's perfect," you whispered, when what you meant was I think you're perfect.

Because he was, wasn't he? Always playing along with your silly Hollywood gossip, buying records he wouldn't like because he knew it'd make you happy.

How could I ever want Steve Harrington, you wondered, when Jonathan exists?

Stupidly, you murmured, "Hey."

He said it back, just as stupid.

"I've got an idea," you said. "What if we go to the dance?"

You weren't sure his eyes could get any wider. "As...friends?" he asked.

"Or a date," you suggested too quickly. "Unless you think it'll hurt your street cred, being spotted with some pop culture lame-o."

"What happened to being the coolest person to ever exist?"

"Depends on the moment." And right now, you certainly felt like a lame-o.

Jonathan considered a long moment, gazing at you all the while.

Finally, he said, "I don't have anything to wear."

"I'm sure we could find something."

"I don't have a BMW, either."

You cut your eyes and leaned in so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched. "If you allude to Steve Harrington even one more time," you threatened, "I promise to smear blue icing all over your face."

His brow furrowed. "And you just...keep icing on you, or...?"

"Did I not tell you?" you asked, knowing full well you hadn't. "I signed us up to bake two hundred cupcakes for Will's dance."

"Two hundred?!"

"Oh, c'mon! It's for your brother," you told him. "I'll even let you lick the whisk!"

"Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Convincing implies choice, which last I checked, I didn't give you."

An easy laugh tumbled from his lips. Without thinking, he brought the hand you'd freed up to your waist, squeezing light enough to make you squirm at the tickling sensation. "Have you ever considered that maybe you're the insufferable one?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Not even once."

His gaze flitted to your lips. You thought of all the times you'd wanted kiss Jonathan over the years, imagining what it'd be like to feel the warmth of his mouth and taste his toothpaste on your tongue, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he'd been wanting to do the same.

He brought his hand to your face. Grazed his knuckles along the curve of your cheek, so soft you could barely feel it.

He swallowed. Asked, "Can I—"

The door swung open.

Will stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, a cheerful "I'm home!" cut short when he caught sight of you straddling his older brother.

None of you spoke.

Then Will darted back into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him as he shouted, "ABOUT TIME!"

You immediately started laughing.

"This isn't funny," Jonathan protested, cheeks flushed. "You know he can't keep a secret. He's gonna tell Mike, who's gonna tell his sister, who's probably gonna tell the whole school and then—"

You shut him by running your fingers through his hair.

"So. About that dance," you said. "Are we going?"

He looked at you like you were crazy. Like he was so sure this was all some mistake, a prank gone too far. You couldn't actually want him to be your date, and any minute now he was counting on you to remember that, to say so and send all the surreal beauty of this moment crashing down around him.

But that never happened.

So he gave you a faint teasing smile and said, "Pick me up at eight."

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

a/n | don't mind me, just thinking of all the ways the Winter's Dream dance could go (+ making cupcakes with Jonathan). ugh.

Option two, always a proven winner.

“An event?” You repeat, pressing for more information. Lando rolls onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Right, it’s more of a gala. Black tie, formal wear, all that shit. Will you come with me?”

“Am I allowed to ask what for before I give my answer?”

Lando’s whole face scrunches up, lip curling up on one side as he thinks. “M’not sure, actually. A charity, most likely. Charlotte told me it would be best if I brought someone along.”

“Then why don’t you take Max?” You’re only half joking with the suggestion, and he lets out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back.

“I would, but Max isn’t as effortlessly charming as you. Or as pretty.” He grins boyishly, tilting his head to the side, batting his eyes. You fight an amused smile of your own. “Look, don’t tell him, but you’re my best friend, yeah? I thought it’d be much more exciting if I got you to come with me instead of being bored out of my mind all night, third wheeling Oscar and his girlfriend.”

“Oh, so you’re asking me to be your pity date.”

“Exactly. You get it.” He yelps when you jab your socked foot into his ribs, getting this look in his eye much like a kicked puppy. “I’m kidding, my god, you violent one. I’m asking you because you’re the only one I’d have fun with if I have to be meeting and greeting and kissing ass for hours.”

“That’s surprisingly nice of you to say, Lando.”

“Thank you, I really—wait, surprising? What d’you mean surprising, I’m a very nice person!”

“Yes, of course you are.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I feel like you’re not being sincere, but I’ll let it slide this time because I need you. Are you saying yes, you’ll help me out?”

"I dunno…seems pretty painful to sit through."

"Please?" His lower lip juts out, hands clasped under his chin. You never could last very long before giving in to his pleas.

"Yeah, alright, fine. You know what they say—misery loves company, and all that.” You wave around an aimless hand. “But I need to get a dress. I don’t think any of the ones I have are gala worthy.”

“Yes! Yes, of course, buy a dress, buy five dresses, whatever you need! Use my card.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

Lando leans in closer, eyes gleaming. “Buy whatever you want. On me.”

“You sure do know the way to a girl’s heart.”

He shrugs, winks at you. “So I’ve been told.”

That makes you roll your eyes playfully. You're no stranger to the narrative of his irresistable charm, but you know better.

Yes, Lando is charming, but it isn't his charm that made you fall in love with him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. His ability to remain the person he was before the fame and money. How, really, he's just a normal, flawed, extremely dorky guy who happens to have one of the most high profile jobs in the world.

After everything, he's still Lando. He's still the boy you fell in love with.

Lando reaches out and bumps your cheek gently with his knuckles, smiling genuinely as he rolls himself off the bed and heads for the door. "Seriously, thank you. I owe you one."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I want something expensive."

"Oi, try not to break my bank account, yeah?"

"I'm sorry, are you not a gazillionaire with nineteen cars living in a tax free haven for the super rich?" You call after him, only teasing.

Lando's head pokes back into the room immediately. "I only have sixteen cars, thank you very much!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Sixteen cars, of course," You correct, holding your hands up in mock surrender.

His nose and brows scrunch adorably as he sticks his tongue out at you. "You're so mean to me! I'm going home."

"Don't forget to lock the front door on your way out!"

"I forgot my key one fucking time!" He huffs, scowling. You break into a cackle at his utterly outraged tone of voice. Having these feelings for Lando makes poking fun at him all the time even better. "I'll text you the details soon, and…thanks again. It'll be fun, I promise."

"I'll take your word for that."

Lando shoots you one more heartstopping grin before disappearing from sight, and you hear the door slam shut in the distance soon after.

Sighing loudly, you flop back onto your bed spread eagle, staring up at the ceiling.

What in the world have you just gotten yourself into?

-------

You manage to keep your deal with Lando under wraps for all of twenty four hours.

But in your defense, coffee and pastries with Lily is the perfect opportunity to get in a good yap session, and maybe some advice. She's been busy playing in golf tournaments across the world the last few weeks, so you haven't seen her in far too long.

“I may have done something bad,” You blurt, even before Lily has a chance to put the cups down.

She raises a brow at you, warily curious, and rightfully so. Your being in love with Lando for this long has been the topic of conversation between the two of you (sometimes three if Alex is around and eavesdropping) many times.

“Uh oh. What happened, babe?”

“Lando asked me to be his date to a gala and I said yes.”

Her perfect brows fly sky high. “Whoa! Date, like date date???”

“Yes? No? I don’t know. I don't think so. More like he didn't want to go alone.”

"And he asked you…why?"

"Said it'd be more fun with me than anyone else."

"And you believe him?"

Your shoulders creep up towards your ears before dropping down in a shrug. "Yeah, I do, I think. He always complains about being bored out of his mind at these things, I figured he just wanted some company to make the night a little less painful."

Lily doesn't say anything, just picks up her matcha latte and takes a sip. She might not have said a word, but her eyes speak volumes.

"What? What's that look?" You whine. She shakes her head. "Lils, just tell me what you're thinking."

"Are you actually going to listen to me this time?"

"Yes!" She raises a brow, and your nose wrinkles. "Okay, maybe. What is it?"

"He likes you."

"No, he doesn't."

"See! You said you'd listen and you aren't. I don't even know why I bother at this point!"

"Because I make your life better and you love me."

"Yes, that, but, you're kind of blind when it comes to Lando. He's your best friend, I get it, but there's something there. And I know you hate to hear it, but that's just what I see. Alex agrees."

"Oh, does he now?"

Meanwhile, in a padel court across town, Alex Albon sits on a bench lacing his trainers tightly. Lando sits on the court in front of him, stretching out his hamstrings in a poor attempt at touching his toes.

"I might've done something bad." Lando's sheepish voice has the taller man looking up curiously for him to continue. "I asked her to be my date to an event."

"An event?" Alex repeats, squinting. "Like, a work thing?"

"Yeah, like, a charity gala."

"Oh my god, a gala? Mate, you didn't."

"I did."

"And did she say yes? I'm assuming she did."

"She agreed, yeah. I'm excited, I just…I really don't want to mess anything up. You know how I feel about her," Lando sighs, tossing a padel ball in hand.

Alex's lips press into a sly smile. "Oh, I'm well aware."

"So, what do I do?"

"Be a good date? I dunno what to tell you, mate."

"Fucking obviously I'll be a good date!"

"Lando's got a date?" George's voice comes out of nowhere, startling Lando. He has to fight the urge to groan, because George Russell is a notoriously bad secret keeper. Half of Monaco will know soon enough, he's sure.

Alex grins wickedly. "Sure does, and guess who it's with?"

George pauses a beat, hand on his hip, head cocked to the side. Alex raises a brow at his friend, sending a silent message. Then, "Oh my god, really? Finally?"

"Fuck off, how'd you know?"

"Buddy, everyone knows. Except her, apparently."

Lando groans, slapping the ground with an open palm. "Was this a bad idea?"

"Do you not want to go with her?" Alex asks. Lando wrinkles his nose.

"Of course I do," He says. No hesitation. Good. "I've actually had dreams about it. They always ended with—"

George interrupts before he can get any farther, holding up a firm hand. "No! No, we do not need to hear about how your dreams of the girl you're in love with end, thank you very much."

"Not like that, you muppet! I just—" Lando sighs, dragging his hands back through his hair. "I thought our first date would be different. I thought I would've been man enough to actually tell her how I feel about her instead of hiding behind a fake date."

"But it's not a fake date though, is it? It's not like you made up an entire gala just to get her to go out with you," Alex muses, shrugging. Then he zeroes in on Lando with an expectant stare. "You didn't, right?"

"Of course I didn't! It's a real thing. I just didn't tell her I didn't actually need to bring a date." It's true. He didn't lie, but he also didn't tell you the full truth.

"Then you're fine, mate! Quit worrying and let things fall into place the way they're meant to be!"

"And finish up your stretching, we've only got the court booked for an hour," chimes in George, waving his racket in the air. Lando rolls his eyes at both of his friends and climbs to his feet.

Nothing to distract himself from the consequences of his own actions than beating them both at padel.

Not two hours later, Lando's phone buzzes with a message.

Carlos: You finally ask her on a date and I have to hear it from Alex? I thought we were friends, cabrón.

Lando actually groans out loud this time. He'd expected George to be the blabbermouth, not Alex. And Carlos isn't good at keeping secrets either.

So much for it being under the radar.

-------

The days before the gala pass by surprisingly quickly. Before you know it, the day is upon you and you're nearly ready to go. You've set up shop in Lando's guest bedroom.

Your hair and makeup are as good as they're going to get without a miracle, and your dress is on.

Well, almost on. No matter how far you stretch your fingers, you can't reach the zipper at the back.

"Are you done yet?" Lando calls from another room. He'd probably finished up getting ready ages ago, the bastard. "I've already watched the plant on my kitchen counter sprout flowers and then wilt. Twice."

"Almost!" You reply, ignoring his sarcastic wit. "Can you come here?"

Footsteps sound out and get closer, and then you see Lando step into the doorway through the mirror in front of you. If you weren't nervous enough, the sight of him looking devastatingly handsome in a sleek black suit certainly doesn't help.

“Mind giving me a hand with this?” You ask sheepishly, shooting him a helpless look. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

“Skill issue,” He snickers, though he doesn't hesitate in padding over to you to help. The way his eyes drag their way down your body, taking in the silhouette of the dress with some look in his eye you can’t quite put your finger on, isn’t lost on you.

You clear your throat slightly, and his gaze snaps to yours, cheeks flushing a little pink at the prospect of getting caught checking you out.

“This—erm, it’s a nice dress. You look really…nice. Good choice.”

“Must be if it's got you staring at me like that. Close your mouth, Lan, you might catch flies."

"M'not—I'm not staring, I'm—I'm just admiring what I paid for, that's all."

"Sure, you are."

"I am!" He insists. A red flush is starting to creep up his neck, one that you can't help but snicker at. He sees this and huffs, rolling his eyes. "Shut up."

You open your mouth to poke even more fun at him, but then his fingers brush the small of your back where he goes to take hold of your dress zipper and your voice dies in your throat. Even the softest touch feels like a volt of electricity along your skin, a golden tattoo zipping its way along your body, even more so as he drags the zipper upwards.

Part of you thinks he's going slowly like this on purpose, torturing you just because he can.

In the mirror, you can see him behind you, lower lip drawn between his teeth with his brows furrowed in the utmost focus. Surely doing up a zipper doesn't require this much focus, but you won't complain.

When he gets to the top of the dress, you're expecting him to let go, to step back and tell you he's done, but he…doesn't.

Instead, gentle fingers trace along your upper back, along your shoulder and down your arm to the crook of your elbow. Lando's chin dips down towards the back of your shoulder, so close you feel his ragged breath ghosting over your bare skin.

Before his lips make contact, he freezes. Then his eyes flick up to yours in the reflection and he gives his head a little shake, blinking a few times.

"You're all good," He mumbles, mouth pressing into a tight smile.

You turn around to check out the zipper for yourself, and find yourself closer to Lando than you expect, not more than a foot of space between the two of you. Your breath catches in your chest at the look in his eyes.

To put it plainly, he looks like he wants to devour you.

If you were bolder, you'd let him. But you aren't, so you focus on something else.

"Your tie is crooked," You note, trying hard not to sound too choked.

That breaks the charged moment immediately.

Lando groans. "What? Damnit, I thought I got it right this time." He nearly goes cross eyed trying to look at the knot at the base of his throat, fiddling with it to try and straighten it out, unfortunately with no luck. "Would you mind?"

Wordlessly, you readjust the knot to its perfect place with shaky hands.

You aren't sure what makes you tug him closer by the smooth material, especially when you'd just ruined the same moment mere seconds ago. Your body seems to be doing whatever it wants despite the alarm bells going off in your brain.

Lando's your friend. Your best friend. The one who knows you almost as well as you know yourself, who's been by your side through every heartbreak, every mistake. Through every earthquake that has shaken your life, he's been the one constant that's kept you tethered when all you can think to do is run.

You can't ruin what you have right now for what could possibly be. It's selfish of you for the thought to even cross your mind.

"We should go," You say abruptly, stepping back. Lando rocks forward on his feet just the slightest bit as if he wants to follow, but he refrains. "Wouldn't want to be late."

He lets out a deep breath, shoulders straightening. "Definitely would not want that."

"I'll drive?"

"Yeah, right. Don't make me laugh too hard, I'll crease my shirt," He snorts. "Alright, let's go. I've got some people to schmooze."

The ride to the gala is short, not nearly enough time to give yourself a mental pep talk, and before you know it, you're there.

"Stop overthinking."

"I'm not," You insist, tearing your eyes away from the swarm of flashing cameras just outside the car. Crowds are inevitable when it comes to events like these, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. Lando doesn't look like he believes you one bit. "Alright, fine, maybe a little."

He slides a palm over your knee, thumb rubbing a few comforting swipes. "Don't worry about them. Just focus on me."

Then he's gone, slipping out of the car with the practiced ease of someone who's done this many times before, only to reappear around your side a second later.

You hesitate when he pulls open your door, only a moment, but Lando smiles reassuringly. "You got this," He mouths, holding out his hand.

You trust Lando with every fiber of your being. You trust that if you fall, or stumble, or make a complete fool of yourself, he'll be right there with you. It's just always been that way.

So, despite every part of you telling you to run away, that this isn't your place and you're above your head, you put your hand in his.

Your senses feel magnified by a thousand as soon as you step outside the car. You feel the focus of a hundred cameras turn on you immediately, the glare of their lights turning the grand staircase entrance blinding.

Through it all, you feel Lando's hand tight around yours. He has the other one at the small of your back too, guiding you towards the building quickly but calmly.

Your eyes stay trained on the ground in front of you, but even that doesn't stop your heel from getting caught under the hem of your dress before you've had the sense to pull it up.

Maybe floor length wasn't the way to go for tonight.

And that's just fucking great. You aren't even in the building yet and you've already embarrassed yourself.

Lando's already on it before you can even blink, stooping down to fix it with gentle hands. He gets the silky material unstuck and straightens back up in one smooth motion. You're almost amazed.

This Lando is far different than the one you know. Then you realize, he's been trained this way. Trained to maintain a perfect facade, to problem solve and recorrect on the fly because it's his reputation on the line.

"All good?" He murmurs, eyes searching yours.

You manage a quick nod and a grateful squeeze of his arm. "All good."

Before you know it, you're inside. It's much calmer than all the clamor outside, but somehow, it doesn't bring you any comfort. If anything, it feels much more daunting.

Lando nudges you with an elbow. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Not bad? I nearly ate shit."

"But you didn't."

"Yeah, only 'cause of you," You chuckle. "I didn't know you could be so smooth."

"That is rude! I'm extremely smooth, if you must know," Lando gasps, dramatically offended. When all you do is raise an unimpressed brow, he scowls. "Oh, shut up. C'mon, let's go inside. Charlotte'll have my head if I show up late. Again."

The moment you walk into the vast room, you're taken aback at just how many people are here. It suddenly occurs to you, you're probably the most uninteresting person in this place.

Lando sucks in air between his teeth, grimacing slightly. "Shit, sorry, I've got—I need to go for a second."

"Lando—" You hiss, panicked. He can't possibly be abandoning you right now, when you've quite literally just gotten here. It's like leaving a baby seal alone right in the middle of pack of killer whales.

"I'll only be a few minutes, I promise, and if anyone comes over, just be yourself and they'll love you."

He's already stepping away before you can say another word, arm falling from where it'd been curled around your waist. You glare at him, but all he does is shoot you a reassuring grin and a thumbs up as he backpedals away.

You recompose yourself, chin up and shoulders back like you belong here. Like you're not sorely out of your depth.

Still, you can't help but notice the whispers and stares aimed your way—both in Lando's absence and when he inevitably makes his way back to you. They only grow when he's his usual self towards you as the night stretches on, but you don't bring it up with him. It seems silly to. You've been part of his life long enough to know this is normal for the people he chooses to spend his time with, and he has bigger things to worry about than what people are saying about you.

Later on, you find yourself in the company of Oscar and Lily, glad to finally see some familiar faces among the sea of side-eyeing strangers whilst Lando is off chatting up more potential sponsors.

"So, Lando finally told you his big secret, huh?' Oscar says jovially, grinning proudly.

Your head tilts in confusion. As far as you're aware, Lando didn't keep secrets from you. He never has, always saying he trusts you with anything and everything. And as far as you're aware, that hadn't changed.

"Erm, sorry—what?"

"A little offended I had to overhear someone talking about it instead of getting the news myself, but hey, better late than never."

Again, you ask. "Oscar, what are you talking about?"

Lily gives Oscar's arm a little tug and a look that screams stop. "Osc, maybe we should talk about something else?"

His features wrinkle in such a way that makes you feel like you're missing a large chunk of information. "That you and Lando are dating. I was wondering when he'd finally tell you."

"Oh! We're not—" You pause, brows furrowing. "Wait. Tell me what?"

"That he has feelings for you."

And all of a sudden, the world flips upside down.

You inhale sharply. "Um, sorry, I need to—"

You don't think you even finish your half assed excuse before you break away from the conversation. Your head spins with an entire barrage of thoughts, one after the other, after the other, until they all start to jumble together but one.

Lando has feelings for you. Or, might have feelings for you, depending on how much trust you put in Oscar Piastri a few champagnes in.

Either way, this changes everything.

Either way, your relationship will never be the same.

Off to the side, you half see Lando stepping away from whatever conversation he'd been in, eyes glued to you as you hurry out of the hall as quick as your heels can take you. Which is to say, not very fast. You've barely made it down the corridor when he calls after you, but you don't stop, you keep walking.

You only stop when you're pulled to one, Lando's fingers wrapping around your wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to put a stop to your escape plan. You turn to him, eyes hard, jaw tight, and his brows furrow.

"Where are you going?" He asks, clearly confused. There's something cautious swirling in his eyes too. Worry.

"I need some air."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I was just talking to Oscar."

The corner of Lando's mouth quirks up into an amused half smirk. "Fun conversation that was, I bet."

"He told me something."

"Was it about turtles? 'Cause I keep telling him—"

"He said you have feelings for me, Lando," You blurt.

The expression that crosses his face would've been comical had you not been grappling with the realization yourself.

A tic goes off in Lando's jaw. He drags a hand forward through his carefully styled curls, ruining them by scrunching up the front part in his fist tightly. "He—fuck, he said that? Just now?"

You can't help but let your voice waver. "Is it true?"

All this time you've spent silently pining, desperately waiting for him to see you the way you see him, it's killing you. You're trying your hardest to hold back from him, but you don't want him like a best friend. You want more, you've wanted more for ages now.

And now, to find out he might want the same thing as you…it feels like some sort of cruel prank.

"At the beginning of all this, you said you owe me one, so I'm cashing it in now. You owe me the truth, Lando. Is what Oscar said true?"

Lando's mouth opens, closes, opens again. Then he jerks his head in the direction you'd been headed, expression unreadable, hands shoving into his trouser pockets. "Still wanna get that air?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I will. I promise. Just…come with me?"

And so you do. You follow him until he reaches a set of glass doors that lead out to a balcony, through those doors out into the nippy British air. Part of you regrets not bringing something to cover up from the chill, the other part welcomes the coolness against your hot skin.

Lando wanders away from you, towards the edge, and braces his elbows against the stone railing.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" He asks softly.

You scoff, shaking your head. "Way to change the subject."

"No, I'm not, I'm—hear me out, please?"

"Fine. Yeah, I remember. Max's birthday party. You were bald."

Lando lets out a snort. "I wasn't bald. My hair was buzzed. Which I did for charity, might I add. And you had bleached hair, so I wasn't the only one with a questionable hairstyle."

"What was wrong with my hair?" You huff, crossing your arms. He shakes his head.

"Nothing. You looked…fuck, you were still the prettiest girl in the room. And I—I'd never really believed in love at first sight before then. Always thought it was just one of those stories people told without any actual truth in it, to like, make them feel better about themselves, or something. But then I saw you, and everything I'd convinced myself didn't actually exist just poofed away," He says quietly, not looking at you, but out into the darkness of the night. "And I've spent every day of every week, month, year, ever since then telling myself to ignore my feelings, to just…be your best friend, because that's all I'd ever be. But I'm tired of pretending. I'm in love with you. I always have been."

All you can do is gape at him, unmoving, unreacting. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when the boy you've been in love with for ages actually tells you he feels the same way about you?

This is uncharted territory, all of it.

It feels foreign—this realization that you could finally have him in all the ways you've wanted. Not just his friendship. All of him. You didn't think the day would ever come, and now that it has, every word you've wanted to say to him has disappeared from your mind.

The chatter from inside seems louder even from this far away, as does the sound of traffic from down below in this thick silence. You're staring at Lando and he's staring right back at you now, waiting for a response.

Then he says your name, and it feels like everything just stops. It's never sounded nicer coming from anyone else than him.

You blink. He's still looking at you, watercolor eyes wide with hope. Or confusion at your sudden mute state. Most likely both.

Your mouth opens, but still nothing comes out. Lando shifts on his feet, gaze growing less and less hopeful with every second that ticks by without you saying anything.

"I am quite literally baring my entire heart and soul to you right now, but sure. Take your time. I'll just be shitting myself over here."

Words won't do your feelings justice, but you know what will.

You grab him by the elbow before he can begin to make his defeated retreat, pulling him back towards you. Your lips crash against his before you can really even register what you're doing, hands tugging at the front of his suit jacket to bring him closer to you.

It doesn't even take a second for Lando to kiss you back with just as much enthusiasm, if not more than what you're giving him. He kisses you like he's been waiting ages to, finger splaying across your back to bring you even closer.

There's that zip of electricity racing through your veins again, that flickering burn that begins under his palms and spreads like wildfire. You've felt it so many times before and always willed the feelings to go away, but now…now, you don't have to anymore.

He pulls back after what seems like forever but still not long enough, putting enough space between the two of you to catch your gaze.

"Please tell me that meant what I think it means," He murmurs, breath coming in short pants. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously.

"What do you think?"

"Just humor me."

"You're really gonna make me say it?" You chuckle, smoothing a hand down his tie. Lando pinches your side gently with expectantly raised brows. "Oh my god, fine! I love you, Lando. I think I always have, I was just…scared. I still am."

"That's okay. I'm scared too. Like, borderline shit my trousers scared of fucking this up. But we'll figure it out, slowly. Together. I know we will."

"You're hot when you're confident."

He kisses you again now, this one wildly different from the last. This one is hungry, passionate. Less like a confession of love and more like desperation from waiting far too long.

"Jesus, this fucking dress," He groans, breathless, fingers tracing the hill of your hip almost shaky. "I can't even think straight anymore. If we weren't here right now, I'd take it right off you."

"Why do you think I bought it, you muppet?" You hum against the shell of his ear, dragging a hand over his broad shoulder and up around to cup his jaw.

His head tips forward, nose pressing into the crook of your neck as a shaky exhale escapes him. "Fuck."

"Leaving now doesn't sound like a bad idea, does it?"

"It sounds perfect. But we can't. Not yet, there's some sort of award I've got to give out."

You huff quietly. "Can't Oscar do it?"

"If I could get him to do it alone, I would, believe me."

"I'll bribe him," You insist. "Unrelated, but can I borrow your credit card again?"

Lando presses his lips to your pulse point and your knees nearly give out. "Stop being smart," He mutters.

"I know you don't mean that."

"No, I don't. But the sooner we go back inside, the faster I take care of business, and then we can ditch everyone here and go home. I've got something other business to take care of there."

"Oh?"

Lando blinks. "You. It's you."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks. You really aren't that good at flirting, are you?"

"Not really, no. Been a while. Y'know, since I've been so busy being secretly in love with you for years. Now I'm starting to think I should've just sucked it up and told you ages ago, we could've saved loads of time."

"The journey is worth the wait, haven't you heard?" You tease, shrugging. A grin splits Lando's face, and it's like you've just witnessed pure sunlight in the dark of night.

"Yeah," He says, leaning in close for another kiss. "Well worth it, I'd say."