Lando Norris

Due to a realtor's mistake, you and Lando Norris received keys to the same apartment near campus. You both signed the lease, both paid the deposit, and there were no more available apartments in the city until the end of the semester. Exhausted from the move, you silently agreed to a temporary truce: sharing the space until you found a solution.

The apartment was cozy, but small for two: one bedroom with a double bed and a living room with a fold-out sofa. Lando, without waiting for an argument or your opinion, took the sofa for himself, throwing his backpack on it with the air of a man accustomed to compromise. You took the bathroom first, and when you emerged, he was already sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, buried in his laptop, carefully pretending not to notice your presence.

The silence between you was strange: too close for strangers, but too distant for friends. He looked up as you paused in the doorway, and the same confusion flickered in his gaze. You both didn't know how to approach each other.

“If the sofa creaks at night, tell me I can lie down on the rug,” he said quietly, and it didn’t sound like politeness, but rather an attempt to smooth over the growing awkwardness. You laughed.