𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠; oscar piastri ✔

PART TEN

Don't say I don't reward you guys <3

Word count; 2,361

Mirabella

Oscar left shortly after that, a day filled with work and other committments - which I didn't blame him for. As was the custom on such days, I journeyed to the pool, hoping that lying on a sunbed all day would bring my thoughts away from the night before.

I didn't know what was worse: the fact we slept together, or the fact that I couldn't remember. It would be a lie to say I hadn't thought of it - most of my dreams consisted of us two, what could've been (which was now a reality, at least in part). Such a vulnerable moment gone to waste. I hated myself for it. If and when it happened, I wanted to savour each moment. It might as well have never happened.

A figure appeared above me, blocking the sunlight, and I squinted beneath my sunglasses, surprised to see curly brown hair.

"Hello." Lando said, like a giddy child.

I sighed, propping my glasses on top of my head, sitting up ever so slowly; the headache spawned earlier that morning had only worsened, adding onto the regret of the former night. Lando sat on the sunbed beside me, also moving with a sense of fragility.

"How can I help you?" I stretched my arms.

He leaned on his knees with his elbows, "Seen Oscar?"

I looked away, even the mention of his name sending a flutter through my veins. "Training."

"He isn't answering his phone."

I bobbed my head gently, expecting him to leave.

"I'll wait here." He exhaled, sparing a smirk - like me, any sort of mobility hurt his head.

I scoffed a chuckle, "How much did you have last night?"

"Well," He clicked his tongue, "I woke up in a dress, on George's sofa. I don't know how or why."

I spat out a laugh, only to grimace at the way my temple throbbed from the movement.

"Not that much worse than you, it seems." He narrated.

I tilted my head, meaning, something like that.

"Oh no," He smirked. "That isn't a good look."

I mingled my hands together, rubbing my fingertips over my nails. He would find out one way or another; the fact he had shared waking up in a dress, of all things, clearly meant a foundation of trust between us. I liked to think so, at least.

"Well," I parroted him. "I woke up wearing nothing, in Oscar's bed. I don't know how or why."

His jaw dropped and I dragged my palms over my face, the words a reminder of the conflict in my mind.

"Oh shit." His smile faltered. "Is that bad?"

"I don't know how I could be so reckless!" I blurted out. "I can't remember any of it."

He hesitated, brows furrowing, "So you do like him?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, burying my head in my palms briefly. "I mean, not a lot, but he's nice and sweet and he's become one of my closest friends."

He chuckled, "So what's the issue?"

"We're keeping it casual."

One of his brows raised.

"We're staying friends," I explained awkwardly. "But we're also..."

His jaw dropped again, astonished.