VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 144

for the hardcore readers in chat

listen to — loml by Taylor Swift

(if u dont ur not an alpha)

AND GUYS. DONT SKIM-READ.
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[POV: Narrator]

She pushed the door open slowly, careful not to let it click against the frame. The room was dim except for the thin strip of city light seeping through the curtains, casting a slanted glow across it. Oscar was already there, facing away, covers drawn halfway up, one arm bent beneath his head.

The sound of his breathing was coming from his side of the bed.

His side.

He won't be here to fill it, she thought, stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle, heart thudding so hard she could hear it. The thought was almost as ugly as it sounded, but not nearly enough to stop her.

Any hope for them was pointless now.

She wasn't sure she'd ever had any.

He looked so small from here. Not physically — he was all long limbs and soft edges — but small in the way people look when they've been worn down by something they don't understand.

Her throat burned. She blinked quickly and wiped her face with the heel of her hand.

The skin around her eyes still stung.

Then, she thought about hotel bookings. A stupid thing to think about. Small in the grand scheme of things, but— she thought about how she'd have to start getting singles now. Not doubles. From now on she'd have to fight the muscle memory; to get used to not clicking that option.

That'll be cheaper, won't it?

Sure, but not easier.

Andi crossed the room quietly, the carpet pressing rough against her toes, stepping over the pile of his clothes on the floor and over the shoes he hadn't bothered to line up. She crouched to pick up the jumper he'd thrown on before he left, thumb brushing the fabric before she folded it neatly and set it on the armchair. Her fingers trembled the whole time.

Then she climbed in.

The mattress dipped under her weight, and he shifted slightly— just enough to make her slow down, and pay close attention to how he moved.

He didn't wake. Or, if he did, he didn't let her know.

She lay there for a long time, staring at the back of his neck, watching the way the light caught in the curve of his shoulder. Her eyes tracked the rise and fall of his breathing.

Goosebumps rose on her skin that had nothing to do with the chill in the room, and when she reached out, she did it slowly; She meant to go quicker, but she was shaking too much. Her fingers brushed his shoulder tentatively. His skin was warm, like it always was. She gave the smallest pull— a heart-led decision— urging him to turn toward her.

He did.

Slowly, like he wasn't doing it consciously, his body rolled towards hers, eyes still closed. He settled into the pillow again, his face angled down at her, close enough that she could see his annoyingly long lashes brushing his cheeks, as well as the few freckles he had dotted around them, too.

She started to count them; the scattered, faded dots that lined his nose. She'd never done that before. She figured she should now.

She counted his freckles on his face the same way she did the bathroom tiles to stop from passing out.