VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 89

[POV: Narrator]

The afterparty was in full-swing, and Max leaned on the glass balcony rail, a floor above it all, swirling the last of his drink. Lando joined him, adjusting the collar of his half-undone suit jacket with a huff. "This music is killing me."

"Do you just hate any DJ that isn't you?" Max replied.

"Funny." Lando muttered. He rested his forearms on the ledge. "This DJ is ass, though. I'd rather be locked in a room full of fish than listen to his awful transitions."

Max turned to look at him. "What is your deal with fish?"

"I've told you, they're weird. They're slippery, stinky, and the gills—" Lando sniffed and looked away; his face dropped the second he saw something below them.

Max followed his gaze — and immediately caught sight of what had pulled Lando's attention away.

Down on the floor, near the bar, Andi stood with Pecco and Marco. She tilted her head back laughing, the wind catching at the hem of her dress. She looked happy again. She always did around them. A minute later, Charles appeared, walking up behind her with something casual in his step that didn't quite match the way Pecco and Marco peeled off and left them alone.

Andi turned, surprised but not unfriendly.

Charles said something.

Then—he opened his arms.

Lando straightened instinctively.

Andi didn't hesitate. She stepped into the hug.

Neither of them pulled away quickly. Charles's hand rested against the small of her back, his chin lowering briefly to her shoulder. Andi's eyes closed for half a second.

They looked, from up where Max and Lando were stood, comfortable.

Max nodded toward them. "It's nice. That they're close again."

Lando made a noncommittal sound, too quick to be thoughtful. "Sure. Friends. I'm happy they're friends again."

Max turned, picking up on Lando's tone. He watched the way Charles leaned back, said something that made Andi look down and smile, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"You remember what she used to be like around him?" Max asked, voice low, casual only on the surface.

Lando didn't answer.

Max kept going. "She had it bad. Like, bad-bad."

"She was nineteen," Lando muttered.

"She's not nineteen now."

"No."

"So, when do you think that ended?" Max asked, almost teasing, but there was something else in it too. Not cruel—just curious.

Lando's jaw flexed.

Max nodded toward the pair again. "Or did it ever?"

And then—so softly Lando almost didn't catch it:

"It's always gonna be him."