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Lando and Charles had been friends since they were 3 years old. Charles moved to England years ago when he had just turned two, and obviously Lando was born here. They met at the playground when they were three. Yes, three. Because Lando's dad had enough of Lando ruining his house, so he put Lando in the car, got in, and started driving to the nearest park just so his kid would go to sleep. It might have been eight at night, but he was done. He was tired of his child wreaking havoc upon the household. He thought, my other kids were never this bad. They were never this bored.
And then there was another kid at the park, just one, and the lady looked so tired. She looked so unbelievably done. There was this two-year-old, three-year-old boy running around the park, shouting in French. And she was like, “shh, shh, shh,” just constantly trying to calm him down. And he was like, she knows what I'm going for.
He let Lando out, and Lando just sprinted into the park. “Oh my God, a swing!” he shouted. He started yelling about the swings. “Oh my God, there’s a swing!”
And then the boy who was shouting in French stopped for a second, looked over, and they made eye contact. Lando went over to him.
“Do you want to be my friend?” Lando asked excitedly.
And the other boy said, “Yes.”
And the lady on the bench looked like, oh thank God.
And Lando’s dad walked over to the lady on the bench and said, “Hi, that’s my child.” He paused. “He’s a handful.”
And she nodded. “Yeah, mine won’t go to bed either.”
He sighed. “Yeah… I get it.” Lando and Charles just started running around the park with each other, completely locked in like they’d known each other forever.
They didn’t really need words after that. Just pointing, laughing, chasing, circling the swings, then sprinting in random directions for no reason other than it felt important at the time. Every so often one of them would stop, shout something in their own language, and the other would copy the tone even if he didn’t understand a single word.
The two parents sat on the bench in exhausted silence, just watching them go in increasingly chaotic loops.
“They’re going to crash soon,” one of them said.
“Yeah,” the other replied. “Question is whether we survive it.”
And eventually, they did crash.
It didn’t happen dramatically. No warning, no slow fade—just a sudden stop, like someone had pulled the plug out of both of them at the same time. Lando slowed first, then Charles, and they just stood there for a second in the middle of the grass like they’d forgotten what they were doing.
Then Lando turned and pointed vaguely toward his dad.
“Home?”
Charles nodded like that was the most obvious idea in the world.
And just like that, they both trudged back across the park, small and silent now, all the energy gone at once. No more shouting, no more running—just two exhausted little boys wobbling back to their parents.
They reached them, climbed straight into their arms without a word, and within seconds both were completely asleep, heavy and warm and totally done with the world.
And for once, the park was quiet. The two boys were already asleep, slumped against their parents’ shoulders, still a little warm from running around the park. Lando’s dad adjusted his grip slightly, careful not to wake him, while Charles’s mum brushed a bit of grass off her son’s sleeve.
For a moment, neither of the adults moved. Just quiet, tired relief.
Then Charles’s mum glanced over.
“Hey,” she said, nodding slightly toward the two of them. “What’s your number?”
Lando’s dad blinked. “My number?”
She gave a small smile. “Yeah. I feel like… we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. These two are basically inseparable already.”
He looked down at Lando, who had his face buried into his shoulder, completely out cold.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
He shifted a bit, reaching for his phone. “Here—just give me yours too.”
She did, quickly, like it was already decided before either of them said it out loud.
And as they stood there exchanging numbers in the fading light of the park, both of them still holding a sleeping child, it didn’t really feel like the start of a plan.
It just felt like something that was obviously going to happen from now on. Lando’s dad took him to the car, buckled him in, and slowly drove away, deliberately taking the longer route because the shorter one had bumps, and he was so unbelievably done with his child. He wasn’t risking waking him up, so he went the long way home.
When he got there, he carefully lifted him out of the car, carried him inside, closed the door quietly behind him, and locked it. He walked upstairs, opened his son’s bedroom, and gently laid him down in bed. He kissed his head.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he said softly.
Then he slowly crept out of the room, closed the door, and made his way to his own bedroom.
Charles’s mum, on the other hand, gently put her son in the backseat and drove away, taking the short way home because when her son was down, there was nothing waking him up. She got home, opened the back door, unbuckled him, and lifted him carefully into her arms. She closed the car door, walked to the house, unlocked it, and went inside.
She carried on past the kitchen, turned left into her son’s bedroom, and laid him down gently on the bed.
“Good night, darling,” she said, kissing him on the head.
She left the room, went upstairs, and went straight to bed.
Pascale Leclerc was not having it that morning.
She messaged Lando’s dad at four a.m. because Charles had already been up for a few minutes, fully committed to the idea that sleep was a suggestion and not a rule.
“I want to go outside,” he announced immediately.
His mum didn’t even look up properly. “You can’t go outside. It is four in the morning. I’ll take you at seven.”
That was apparently the wrong answer.
“No,” Charles said, with full conviction. “I don’t want that. I want to go now. Now.”
And once a toddler locks into an idea like that, there is no negotiation, no compromise, just repetition at increasing volume.
“I want to go outside. I want to go outside. I want to go outside.”
Pascale stood there for a moment, hair slightly messy, already exhausted in advance of the day, and just stared at the ceiling like she was asking the universe what she did to deserve this specific early-morning crisis.
Then she picked up her phone and messaged Lando’s dad:
“Are you awake?”
A pause.
Then another message:
“Actually, never mind. Is there any chance Lando is awake and can go to the park.”
Because at this point, it wasn’t even a question of parenting strategy anymore.
It was logistics.
Adam Norris was already having a bad morning.
At the same time, his son was also in a full scream-match about one thing and one thing only:
“I want to go outside. I want to go outside. I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE.”
There was no negotiation. No reasoning. Just repetition, louder each time, until it became less of a request and more of a weather event inside the house.
He’d already woken his sister, and that alone was enough to escalate things further. Lando’s mum appeared in the doorway, took one look at the situation, and said to Adam, very calmly:
“If you don’t get him out of this house right now, we’re going to have a long discussion about you sleeping on the couch tonight.”
Adam just stood there for a second.
His son, mid-scream, paused just long enough to look at him like he was awaiting judgement.
“…oh man,” Adam muttered.
And then, like divine timing, his phone pinged.
Four in the morning. Who on earth—
Pascale Leclerc.
He almost laughed out loud.
“Oh my God,” he said under his breath. “Yes.”
He opened it like it was a lifeline.
“Are you awake?”
Then a second message:
“Actually, never mind. Is there any chance Lando is awake and can go to the park?”
Adam visibly lit up.
“Oh my God. Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
He didn’t even hesitate. His thumbs were moving before his brain caught up.
“Yes. We are awake. We are suffering. We are available.”
Then, immediately after:
“When are we going? Now? Five seconds? Two minutes? Half an hour? Just say the word. I will pack snacks in under 30 seconds.”
He looked over at Lando, still mid-spiral, and for the first time that morning, actually smiled.
Because apparently, salvation had arrived in the form of another exhausted parent with the exact same problem. They both agreed that four was too early, so they decided on five.
Five was the official time. The only time. The sacred time.
Not four, because apparently nobody on earth was emotionally prepared for four. Five just sounded nicer. More reasonable. More acceptable to the toddler brain council that now appeared to be running both households.
Adam had basically given up at that point.
There is no arguing with a five-year-old or a three-year-old about what number “feels better.” There’s no logic, no persuasion. Just vibes and repetition.
Pascale Leclerc was staring at the situation like it was some kind of shared delusion.
“What is wrong with you people?” she said at one point, mostly to herself.
But even she conceded defeat.
“Fine. Five.”
Then came the next battle.
“Okay, we’ll get you ready at half four.”
“No,” Charles said immediately. “I want dressed now.”
“Charles—no, we go at five.”
“I want clothes NOW.”
And somehow, that was another round she did not win.
So the agreement stood: five o’clock, everyone goes to the park.
By the time Lando Norris and Adam Norris were in the car, both of them were already halfway to exhaustion again. Lando was in the back, completely committed to the idea of the park.
“I want park. I want park. I want park.”
“We’re going to the park,” Adam kept repeating, like a broken record.
“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Adam was on the edge of his patience.
“Lando, we are literally in the car going to the park.”
Across town, Charles Leclerc was having his own journey.
He was mostly quiet, which should have been a blessing, but instead he had taken to rhythmically kicking the back of Pascale’s seat every few seconds.
“Charles,” she said firmly, “if you don’t stop that right now, we are turning this car around.”
The kicking got harder.
“Charles.”
Harder again.
She exhaled slowly, turned the radio on, and chose peace over victory.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Music. We survive.”
And so both cars drove through the early morning, headed to the same park, full of tired parents and entirely undefeated children.
And Pascale Leclerc was absolutely not having a good morning
When they finally, finally got to the park, Lando had already managed to undo his seatbelt in his booster seat.
Adam turned around mid-drive.
“What are you doing? Put that back on. The car hasn’t even stopped yet.”
They were still a good few minutes away from the park, not quite there-there, but close enough that stopping the argument felt more urgent than the rules.
Lando, completely unbothered, shook his head.
“No. That’s not the option today. I’m taking it off now.”
Adam immediately pressed his foot lightly on the brake like his soul had briefly left his body.
“Lando—what are you doing?”
He pulled over properly, took a breath, and leaned back.
“Lando,” he said, very slowly, “put it back on.”
There was a pause.
Then, reluctantly, the buckle clicked again.
Adam exhaled.
“It is too early for this,” he muttered. “It is genuinely too early for this.”
He stared forward for a second like the universe might respond if he looked hard enough.
“Please,” he added quietly. “Just… please.”
Across town, Pascale Leclerc was also having her own version of the same morning.
Charles, still strapped in, had decided that silence was not an option and had instead begun singing. Very loudly.
Not cute singing. Not soft humming. Full-volume, off-key, emotionally committed noise that seemed to bounce off every surface in the car.
And somehow, the radio—that exact song—was the trigger.
If Pascale could have gone back in time, she would’ve told herself one thing:
Buy headphones. Invest early. Don’t ask questions.
By the time both cars finally pulled into the park car park, the parents just sat there for a second.
Two exhausted adults. Two deeply chaotic children. One shared understanding that this was simply their life now.
“They’ll burn it off,” Adam said.
Pascale nodded slowly. “They better.”
They got out, unbuckled, gathered bags, took a breath they both immediately regretted needing.
And the moment the car doors opened properly—
Charles and Lando bolted.
No warning. No hesitation. No goodbye.
Just pure, unfiltered sprinting energy straight into the park, like the world itself was chasing them and the swings were the only safe place left. They got to the park at five.
Five a.m., because toddler logic had decided that four was unacceptable and six was too far away. Five was the only correct answer. Five was “an adult time,” apparently, as if the number itself had authority.
So Adam Norris and Pascale Leclerc ended up sitting on a bench together, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this was their life now.
They talked about everything and nothing at the same time—half conversations, half survival commentary, the kind of talking adults do when they’re too tired to properly think but too awake to stop.
And they stayed.
Not for an hour.
Not for two.
Five hours.
By the time other parents started drifting into the park, they were already there. Sun higher in the sky, coffee long gone, energy replaced entirely by resignation.
“Morning,” someone would say.
“Oh, not long,” Adam would reply automatically.
“Yeah, just got here,” Pascale would add.
Neither of them corrected the other. Neither of them had the strength to explain that just got here actually meant we have lived here for five hours and have mentally accepted residency.
And every so often another parent would glance at them, glance at the children still sprinting like they had been powered by something unholy, and ask the polite question:
“How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” they’d say again.
And then, under their breath, the truth would sit there anyway.
Five hours.
The same thought kept looping in both their heads, like a mantra they were trying to make real:
They’re only three. They’re only three. They’re only three.
As if repetition alone could accelerate time.
But it didn’t.
Lando and Charles were in their own world entirely.
Monkey bars. Running up hills. Rolling down grass slopes like it was a competitive sport. Jumping between those little painted lines on the ground like they were lava bridges. No fear, no fatigue, no awareness that time existed differently for adults.
At some point Adam stared out at them and said quietly, “What even is that called again?”
Pascale didn’t look up. “I don’t know anymore.”
And that felt important, somehow. Like naming things required energy neither of them had left.
They kept talking anyway. About school. About nothing. About surviving the next hour that somehow turned into another hour.
Every so often one of them would laugh at something so small it barely counted as funny.
And then silence would settle again.
Because underneath all of it—under the tired jokes and the shared suffering and the pretending—they both knew the same thing.
It wasn’t getting easier yet.
But for now, the kids were happy.
And for now, that was enough.
By around ten, the park had properly filled up. More kids. More noise. More parents slowly settling into benches with the same “we will be here a while” expression that Adam Norris and Pascale Leclerc now wore like a shared identity.
Lando and Charles still had energy, but it was different now. Less explosive. More… fraying at the edges. Like it was slowly leaking out of them instead of burning.
They drifted into the new crowd like they belonged there.
That’s when Lando walked straight up to a boy.
“You are my friend,” he declared.
The boy blinked. “What?”
Charles appeared instantly beside him, like backup had been pre-planned.
“No,” Charles said confidently. “We are friends now.”
The boy—Max, apparently, Max something, Max-amillion or something like that, but everyone just called him Max—looked between them completely lost.
“I don’t think that’s how—”
“Yeah it is,” Lando interrupted.
“No it’s not,” Max said, already backing away.
And just like that, he left.
Lando and Charles stood there in silence for a second.
“…that’s not how it’s supposed to work,” Charles said.
Lando nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
Then, without missing a beat, they moved on.
New strategy.
They found two girls nearby.
Lando pointed at all of them—himself, Charles, and the girls.
“Hide and seek,” he announced.
The girls looked at each other, then shrugged.
“Okay.”
And suddenly it was a full group game. Running, shouting, hiding behind slides, counting badly, laughing loudly. The rules changed every thirty seconds and nobody cared.
For a while, it worked perfectly.
Then hunger hit.
Hard.
The game basically stopped mid-run.
Lando and Charles marched straight back to their parents like it was a mission.
“We’re hungry,” Lando said.
“We want food,” Charles added.
“Now,” Lando repeated.
“Now,” Charles echoed.
“Now.”
“Now.”
“Now.”
Like two tiny seagulls circling a chip shop.
Adam blinked slowly. “Okay. Okay, Jesus.”
Pascale rubbed her forehead. “Right. Food. Yes.”
Adam sighed, already defeated. “Where are we thinking?”
“Burger King?” Pascale suggested.
“No,” both boys said instantly.
“McDonald’s?” Adam tried.
“YES!” they both shouted.
Then Lando paused.
“It has to have a play place.”
Adam looked at him. “Burger King’s play place is better, though.”
Lando hesitated.
“…that’s true.”
Charles leaned in. “Then Burger King.”
Another pause.
“No,” Lando corrected himself. “McDonald’s. But the one with the big play place.”
“Absolutely,” Charles agreed.
And somehow, that became law.
Within minutes, both families were packed into their cars again, children still buzzing with leftover energy, parents running purely on instinct and survival mode, heading off in search of the sacred place:
the McDonald’s with the good play area.
McDonald’s was quiet. The kind of quiet that feels almost unnatural for 10 a.m.—a few early breakfasts, a couple of coffees, the soft hum of machines, and not much else.
Adam Norris and Pascale Leclerc walked in like they were entering shelter.
They found a table, dropped their things, and exhaled at the same time without meaning to.
Lando turned immediately to his dad.
“I want nuggets.”
Adam nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“The good nuggets.”
“What do you mean ‘the good nuggets’? They’re all the same.”
“No,” Lando said firmly. “The good ones. You know.”
“I really don’t.”
“The ones like last time.”
“You had a burger last time.”
“…yeah. Nugget.”
“That’s not a nugget.”
“Yes it is.”
Adam stared at him for a second, then gave up in real time.
“You want a nugget with cheese then?”
“Yes,” Lando said instantly. “Yes I do.”
Across the table, Charles had already locked in.
“I want a burger with chips,” he told Pascale. Then he paused. “And a toy.”
Lando’s head snapped up.
“Oh yeah. I want a toy too.”
Then, quieter, almost chanting it to himself like a spell:
“I want a toy. I want a toy. I want a toy.”
Charles, slightly more formal, nodded at his mum.
“Yes. Burger, chips, and toy please.”
Pascale blinked once. Then nodded. “Okay. Fine. That I can do.”
So Adam and Pascale went up to the counter, ordered, and came back looking like they had just completed a difficult negotiation rather than bought breakfast.
They sat down again and finally, properly breathed.
Only then did they notice the cold properly—the way their hands tingled slightly, how early it still felt, how strange it was to be indoors after hours outside without really registering the temperature at all.
“Did it always feel this cold?” Adam asked quietly.
Pascale shook her head. “No idea. I think we just stopped noticing.”
And for a moment, it was calm.
Then—
Lando and Charles saw the play area.
That was it.
They were gone.
No shoes off. No hesitation. Just pure sprinting energy straight into the soft play like it had been calling them personally.
“Parkour thingy!” Adam muttered after them.
Pascale didn’t even correct him. “Yeah. That.”
They disappeared into tunnels, slides, and climbing frames, immediately timing themselves like it was an Olympic event no one else knew existed.
For a while, Adam and Pascale just watched.
Then slowly, quietly, they sank back into their seats again.
Because this was the deal now.
Chaos, then food.
Food, then chaos.
And somehow, in between all of it, two very small boys were having the best day of their lives.