VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 101

OFFICIALLY IN THE HUNDREDS PEOPLE 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

REJOICE 🎉🎉🎉
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[POV: Oscar Piastri]

I'd been awake for a while.

Couldn't say how long, exactly. Long enough for the light to change — long enough to think about last night, which I had been. Too much. Mostly, though, I was watching the shape of her beside me in the half-light.

She kept doing this weird twitchy-shiver thing.

I assumed it was because she was dreaming about something. Something odd, probably. Something vivid and specific, because she had that kind of brain, even in sleep. Whatever it was, I hoped it was something good. Or at least not something that ended with her waking up pissed off at me again.

Other than that, she looked pretty peaceful.

...Mainly the pretty.

Even if her mouth was slightly open, and her face was half-buried in the pillow, and her hair was an absolute disaster — splayed everywhere, heat-induced curls sticking to her cheek. She probably didn't even realize she'd fallen asleep with only one sock on.

I probably should've woken her.

But, I'd learned pretty quickly that Andi didn't do peaceful unless she was unconscious so I tried to savour the quiet.

Most nights, unbeknownst to her, obviously, on account of being asleep, she rolled away from me or stretched too far and I'd have to either move me or her to get her back again. Once she tried kicking off the covers but kicked me instead. Hard. She's a talker, too. But last night, and now, still — after everything — she'd curled into me, and I hadn't moved since.

It felt like when a cat who's usually a pain in the ass chooses you out of everyone to sleep on for the first time ever, and so you say to yourself, don't move, don't you dare move. So you don't. Even when your legs cramp up.

I really should've woken her, though.

She needed to drink something. And take the painkillers. I needed to check her wrist, too — redo the bandage, and make sure it wasn't worse this morning.

Still, I didn't.

She was warm under the hoodie— mine —draped too big over her shoulders and hitched awkwardly up one thigh. I ran my thumb lightly along her hipbone, just under the fabric and I thought, again, about what she'd said last night.

About how she'd questioned if I meant what I said. About how she'd understand if I didn't.

Because she's too much.

About how I'd wanted to say that that wasn't. possible. Because she could never be too much for someone who can't get enough of her.

About how she'd said this wasn't my home.

I knew she didn't mean it. Even if she didn't say she took it back right away.

But I didn't mind.

Because she hadn't been wrong. Technically.

She was talking about her apartment — the one we were in now, the one I almost didn't come back to. I'd stood outside the front door for too long, keys in my hand, her voice still echoing in my head — this isn't your home. I'd stared at the little doormat and the hallway light and thought, yeah. Of course it isn't.

For half a second, I'd actually considered going to Lando's. Thank God I didn't. Can you imagine the superiority trip he'd go on? Or worse — he'd call it a best friend sleepover and make me help build a blanket fort.