VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 135

[POV: Narrator]

That night, Andi did what Lando told her to, however begrudgingly.

Piece by piece, she put her stuff back where it had been before; The suitcase shoved back under the bed, empty this time. Like it hadn't nearly been wheeled out the door.

All while Oscar slept, knocked-out and oblivious.

She'd slipped his shoes off and lined them up neatly, right beside her own. His jacket she'd folded and placed on the dresser, smoothing it down like it mattered that it looked tidy.

Now she was putting the last few things away.

She was sliding the last drawer shut, as quietly as she possibly could, when she heard him stir. The sound of movement made her chest tighten, and she froze for a second, like maybe if she didn't move he'd fall back asleep. But then—

"Where'd you go?"

His voice sounded rough, drowsy, still slurring at the edges.

Andi didn't turn right away. Guilt was burning at the back of her neck.

"I... got caught up. Left early."

Then he shifted again, she heard it — that he was pushing himself up onto his elbows from where he lay. "I couldn't find you... for ages. Were you mad?" he asked, a crooked grin tugging his lips like he knew that if she was, she wouldn't be for much longer.

Finally turning, Andi forced her face neutral, walking a few steps toward him. When she saw him starting to sit up properly, she quickened, half-raising a hand like she was about to push him back down. "Don't— you don't have to get up," she muttered.

But he did anyway — the work of a stubborn drunk — and she reached him, he reached right back, catching her wrist and tugging lightly until she was perched on the edge of the bed. He was upright too now, messy hair, tie half-loosened, eyes hazy but intent as they focused only on her.

They were eye to eye.

"I wasn't mad. I'm not mad."

He tilted his head. "You didn't like my speech? Was that it?" He nudged her knee with his.

"No, I..." she tried to smile, but it landed crooked. "I did like it."

He smirked. "Really? 'Cause... I thought it was quite good. Personally. Straight off the dome, too. All freestyle." He tapped his temple, very proud of himself. "It beat Lando's anyway, which wasn't hard."

That got the tiniest laugh out of her, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not discrediting it. It was good. A little cheesy, though."

He blinked. "What?"

"Slightly corny in places," she teased, braver now. "The whole 'I could never have done this without you' was bullshit. You'd have done better without me distracting you." She shoved him with her elbow.

He grinned, leaning into it. "Maybe I was a little too nice in places. How about the anecdote?"

"The story about you being on drugs? I think only Lando enjoyed that."

"Mm, probably," he agreed, grabbing at her side.

"Hey—" she jerked back, laughing only because he began to tickle her. It spiralled into a flurry of pokes and elbows and her clumsy attempt to tickle him back. His hands weren't quick or precise, though— more sloppy grabs and lazy swipes that made him miss half the time.

He was still a little heavy with drink, and she could smell it on him when she got close; She easily dodged his sluggish aim, until she was the one tickling him back. He was useless against it, squirming, laughing in a half-drunk, too-loud way, and by the time it ended, she was half on top of him, worn out and pinning him to the mattress while he kept her wrists trapped above his head.