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It's a random Tuesday, bits of the news on your socials are still filled with the most recent Grand Prix, various short articles being recommended as you scroll under the search 'Lando Norris' to find the perfect photo to show to him.
Lando himself sits at the edge of his seat, saying something about hurrying up as you fetch a picture of him in his driver wear.
You huff, but spare him a small smile. He's wearing a simple hoodie right now, black and blocky but still seemingly bringing out the white teeth grin he has on, shaking his head.
"I don't get it," He says for the sixth time, leaning a hand on the table, eyes creasing with the way his cheeks are pushed up with his bright smile. "I'm not a fruit, mate."
"Wait," You repeat, clicking your screen, eyes flicking up to him. "Wait and you'll see."
He looks around, like there might be a camera capturing the bounce of his curls and the tilt of his head, making you bite the inside of your lip as you remember to look away from him, to not stare, even if it feels like you could just watch him for a while, all light and lively.
But there are no cameras, just the muted grey walls of the living room inside some random hotel Lando's staying at, every bit of furniture attempting to look as sleek and modern as possible, making Lando pop out like a big stain on a fancy white shirt.
It's inevitable, with his silly neon green windbreaker he wore yesterday, the backdrop only consisting of shades of grey with a piercing white, all bland compared to the person he is.
But it works, the hotel is fine, and it's currently just the two of you, sitting at a table positioned between the small, incredibly cramped kitchen and the living room.
That fact never fails to twist your stomach, tightening and tugging. Being alone with Lando has always effected you, no matter how much he barks out a ridiculous laugh or ducks away when either of you say certain things.
You've even enjoyed the times where the two of you sit side by side, on your phones or something other, or when you both go about tasks around each other, proximity always close.
He's just great to be around. Wonderful, even.
And the orange he wears for his Formula One team is the same shade as a papaya, which you finally prove to him by turning your phone towards him, the pictures of half the fruit and him in his wear sitting on screen next to each other.
"See?" You urge. "You look like a papaya."
An expression flashes across his face, a look of realization, the 'Oh that's the fruit I've been called' written crystal clear on his forehead down to the quirk of his lips, but then he squints his eyes with disproval, shaking his head.
"No. Not fair." He keeps set on his opinion, leaning back as he crosses his arms over his chest, unhappy with the comparison. "I don't look like that."
"The color is close though, yeah?"
He purses his lips, then scoffs, "Nope."
You furrow your brows, glancing down at your phone and back at him. "What? How? Why not?"
Three whole questions and he shoots an odd look your way, like he's wincing, then dares to take another peek at your phone as he gestures towards your screen. "That- it looks weird. I don't necessarily want to be compared to it."
"It's a fruit, Lando," You say with a laugh.
He waves you off, repeating you in a mocking manner that has you swatting at his arm, resulting in a silly squak leaving his mouth as he ducks away.
"Don't copy me."
He nearly falls off his seat, but you decide to mercifully draw your hands back to your side, picking up the forgotten phone laying on the table. He frowns dramatically. "Don't make fun of my suit."
"Suit?"
"Yeah, like, my Mclaren outfit or whatever," Lando says defensively, but he half shrugs as if he's still thinking, shoulders raised. "It's very cool."
You smile fondly at Lando, a giggle faintly escaping your throat as you nod. "Sure, cool's one way to describe it."
He gasps, offended, leaning in. "What?" He looks around, a laugh following his breathes because it's always just that easy for him to laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?" He asks, nearly whining it out like a kid on the verge of tears. Always one for cameras and big faces and emotions.
To be fair, if you answer him honestly words with the same taste as 'pretty' or 'cute' would follow, but even the cheerful openness in his eyes, inviting and warm, isn't enough to convince you to risk it and head down that road. No matter how much you want to. Instead, all of that gets tucked away between the space of your heart and head as you hum, pretending to think before dismissively looking away from Lando.
"It means you look funny when you wear it."
"No," He disagrees, trying to persuade you with a tilt of his head. "No. I look great."
He does, you think. Lando does look great in it, no matter how well he races, no matter how well the team performs. He just manages to pull of their ridiculous orange and just barely faded black, decorated with sponsors and letters your eyes have scanned over countless of times. It's unfair how Lando effortlessly beams in it, smile never losing it's shine whenever you look at him, or his concentration you can practically see through his helmets, or how the suit frames his body. So, yeah, he's fully correct when he says he looks great.
But you bite your lip and hold your breath until it comes out through your nose in a huff and you roll your eyes. "If that's what you believe."
Lando frowns, arms crossing over his chest. "You hurt me."
You ignore his antics, even with the blush creeping up on your cheeks as you gaze at him, great soft looking lips and great soft looking hair just barely curling over his forehead, one strand reaching down towards his eyebrows as much as it can.
That feeling of want returns, just like it has been whenever you look or talk to Lando for however long, it makes your throat swell, teeth biting at your bottom lip as you force yourself with the most strength you have left to avert your gaze elsewhere.
"God, you're so dramatic," You say, mainly out of sarcasm, placing your elbows on the table. "All because you're trying to fish for compliments."
"So you have some?" He asks and you almost don't know what he's referring to. The compliments, you realize, stupidly so.
"Maybe." You don't dare to look at him, not with the way wantonness fills your chest up, pulling unforgivably at strings you can't see, only feel, only feeling yourself being pulled towards him.
Lando seems to find some sense of equilibrium in that, completely even and pleasant you can almost hear a light, content smile throagh his voice. "Oh. Do share."
This is so stupid. It is extremely dumb. Yet you find yourself blushing about it as you swallow, hands covering your cheeks as you attempt to appear accompanied with a great look of nonchalance with the way you shrug.
"Perhaps you do look kind of great," You say, shoving down any embarrassment. "Or whatnot."
Lando laughs, lighthearted and playful and you can't just not look over at him to watch his eyes turn into crescents, his sleeve moving away from his face to reveal a toothy smile. "I knew it. Knew I looked great."
Your not even close to being able to stop the way you smile, hands dropping at your sides. "Yeah? Knew how cute you looked?"
It's out before you can shut it down, and you silently tense up as Lando leans his head back, laughing before he's folded over, his regular ridiculous sounding squaks of laughter fizzling out into little giggles spaced out as you nervously wait for him to realize it's not just some joke.
But instead he peeks up at you, your heart pounding as he sighs. "Stop it, I can feel myself blushing." He nearly sqeaks, placing his palms up against his cheeks, and you are far to conflicted to mentally say something about the hint of the smile on his face. "Nooo." He drags out, hiding his face away as he brings up his knees and you swallow. "Oh my god, my cheeks are so warm because of you. Evil."
You can't help but sort of laugh. "Evil?"
He waves his hands around, searching for words and they land on his thighs with defeat as he sits back properly in his seat. "I dunno- agh- it-" He sighs, and you can actually see he is not joking about blushing now, his face is actually pink. It makes your heart flip as he slightly shrinks in on himself. "It was smooth, you know? Like- it was pretty smooth. I guess."
"Oh wow, so I've flattered you?"
He blows out a breath of air, and you pause as he nervously laughs, shoulders rising. "Ha-yeah. A lot."
Your face heats up, almost uncomfortably so, and you smile. "I said, like, one thing."
"Yeah but I-" Lando's quick to defend himself just as quickly as he zips his mouth, brows furrowing as he seemingly contemplates saying something, biting his cheek, and ultimately deciding it's worth it as he sighs. "But I like you so it's sort of more effective," He rushes out, ducking away with a weird noise influenced by embarrassment as he hides his face away and your breath catches in your throat to give way for your thumping heart.
"You like me?" You ask, dumbfounded like you barely even understood the english language, heat prickling underneath your skin, throat sore, chest pulsing with your heart, loud and in disbelief. "Like more than friends?"
Hesitantly, he glances at you, still shying away. "Yeah?"
Oh my god you both are idiots, it seems. You've spent weeks holding back because you were so confident he didn't think of you as anything more than a friend.
"Lando, dumbass, I like you," You breath, earning a slight caught off guard jerk of his head, then a second of seriousness, then a bashful smile.
"Wait, actually?" You nod at him, he sits up. "Are you serious?"
"Lando," You complain, still, you smile at him, any previous uncertainty washed over with excitement. "I seriously like you."
He huffs out a laugh, meeting your gaze and it's almost sweet until he smugly smiles. "Can I seriously kiss you?" He asks, and it's incredibly stupid but you nod anyway.
"Yes."
So he does, leaning in and for the first time it's his lips against yours, and they are soft. Of course you can feel him smiling into the kiss, neck craned as he sets on hand firmly on the table and the other gingerly reaches for the side of your face like he's a tiny bit unsure of himself.
But you try to convince him he's doing it all right by holding onto his shoulders and kissing him back, kissing him harder, nerves melting with all of this warmth, the back of your neck practically in flames as he makes the smallest noise of surprise, then returns your energy.
And it doesn't really matter how long the two of you sit there, stealing the others breath and giggling like fools with hazy smiles, like it's all new and you guys can't get enough.
What matters is that, like Lando in his ridiculous Mclaren racing outfit, it's pretty great.