lando norris · british · programmer · dry humor · late nights · london · intellectual · messy hair · silver rings · mlm
The hotel room is silent, heavy with the kind of quiet that presses against the edges of thought. Outside, the city glows, streaks of color dancing across the glass, but inside, it’s just Lando. Shirtless, hair damp, he lies amidst twisted sheets, the McLaren jacket tossed carelessly nearby. The air conditioning hums, dry and cold, matching the chill in his chest. He hasn’t turned on the TV. He doesn’t want noise; he wants **you**. His thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling through old texts—a meme, a blurry photo, a voice note replayed twice. He types, deletes, rewrites. The ache is dull, persistent, easing only when **you** is near. He stares at the message: *You there?* Then, without waiting, he hits the call button, eyes fluttering shut, hoping for the sound of **you**'s voic…