THE END | Oscar Piastri

38. begin again

Sav's pov

"You're just allowed to leave? Don't they have stuff you need to do before qualifying?" I ask Oscar, the two of us walking out of the paddock together, on our way to lunch.

He nods, an explanation following shortly after the action. "Andrea said I'm good to go, I just need to be back in time to prep for quali." His hands fidget with his keys, fingers repeatedly running along the jagged edges of them as if trying to memorize their shapes.

I don't ask him about the action, because maybe he didn't actually want to have lunch with me, maybe in his tired haze he conjured up the idea and now deeply regrets it. I can't tell if that truth would hurt my feelings or not, so I keep my observations to myself.

When we got into his car, he tried handing me the aux cord, but I quickly declined and handed it back to him. "You're the guest." Was his reasoning. "And you're the driver." Was mine.

The argument went back and forth for another minute. Well, it wasn't really an argument. The both of us were laughing the entire time while insisting the other should control the music.

I eventually gave up, hungry for food and realizing he wasn't going to drop it.

Even if I'm controlling the music, I still go searching for that conjoined playlist we made years ago, hoping his taste hasn't changed too much since then.

I hit shuffle and one of his songs is the first to play. From my peripheral vision, I can see a smile appear on his face. Turning to him, I can see the smile on his face is more of a shy one. Or it might just be the effect of his rosy, cold chilled cheeks creating the illusion.

"I thought we were supposed to be listening to your music." He says, putting emphasis on the 'your' part of his sentence. His fingers still tap along to the music on the steering wheel despite his words.

I shake my head confidently. "You only said I had to choose the music, you never specified what I had to play." Oscar gives off a short laugh. His smile has widened, and he glances over at me.

"You're still so stubborn."

I don't have a rebuttal, I don't think one is necessary. I didn't find his words insulting in the slightest, and no hint of an insult was found in his tone. I can't pinpoint exactly what his tone was, though.

"I'm not stubborn, I just know what I want." I say it like it's more of a fact than the unserious comment that it really was. "You're so right. I don't know what I was thinking." He plays into my joke, causing the both of us to laugh.

It goes silent after that, apart from the music. It's a comfortable silence, and for once I don't feel like I have to make conversation.

It feels like it used to. We feel like we used to. Joking, laughing, enjoying the others company. It feels like nothing ever happened between us, like the last two years were a fabrication of my imagination.

I'd been so caught up in my mind I hadn't even noticed the car stopped moving until I realized Oscar was standing outside and holding my door open, a confused expression on his face. "Thanks." I mutter while exiting the car.

The place he chose isn't far from the strip, which is surprising given the size and vibe of the restaurant.

Oscar starts walking off, glancing back at me to see if I'm following. I was.

The restaurant is large, not too fancy but not a fast food place either. And it's not the kind of place you would find a lot of people on a Friday night in Vegas, so it was relatively empty. "For two, under Piastri." He tells the hostess, who scans her tablet, picks up to menus, and motions for us to follow her.