vivianne @18lovers - Tumblr Blog

EVERYTHING IS EMBARRASSING

Oscar and you reconnect after years of being apart. Loneliness has been the common theme of your life until Oscar brings you out of your shell. You flourish in all aspects, except romantically. Oscar makes it his mission to help you find a boyfriend, but a couple of blind dates reveal emotions you would rather not address.

★ pairing: oscar piastri x childhood friend!f!reader

★word count: 10.8k (part 1)

★tags: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, blind dates, romance, fluff, angst, suggestive content, jealousy, we love a man who supports and a woman who discovers her autonomy for the first time, oscar is emotionally locked IN on reader tho, lando/maxf/grid mentions, title from sky ferreira's everything is embarrasing

★warnings: emotionally hurtful parents, reader is anxious and self critical (but she is so dear to me, this story is about her <3), the narrative voice (which is readers) is at times harsh towards the reader, mentions of a bad relationship, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, satc carrie showing up at bigs door reference

★a/n: this is the first full length fic im revealing to the world... i hope you like it, ive had a lot of fun writing it. ive been reading and interacting with a lot of authors in the f1 rpf community without ever really posting anything of my own. so this will be my contribution. this fic is NOT accurate to the real life f1 lore whatsoever for narrative reasons. i am not including names of actual girlfriends of the drivers as i do want to respect their privacy as individuals (esp oscars gf). im taking any suggestions criticisms and comments with open arms <3

ao3

part 2

The air is simmering, unpleasant noises pierce your ears even underneath the orange headset, and it feels like every person in the garage reeks of gasoline and sweat. The grandstands roar with cheers. The sun flares through the window, blinding you even through your massive sunglasses. You're positively overwhelmed. There's a bottle of champagne sweating in a bucket next to you. You grab the bottle neck and pour a hefty amount into your flute. You've gone through this charade a million times before, but it never gets easier.

You've known the Piastri family for a long time. Your parents have been friends for nearly a lifetime, meaning you've grown up alongside the Piastri siblings, namely Oscar. Their household displays framed photos of memories you can no longer remember, Oscar and you at birthday parties and get-togethers. The same pictures are mirrored in your own home, above the fireplace or in the foyer. Every day, you pass by the photograph of you bawling your eyes out as Oscar dumps your own pink birthday cake on your head.

It is difficult to say you know him, though, as even when you were kids, you thought he preferred to be by himself rather than with you. Both of your parents tried to get you to become closer, organising playdates and enrolling you in the same extracurriculars. He despised your gymnastics classes, and you always cried at his karting rings. You quickly drifted apart as your parents learned their lessons. You grew up, buried yourself in schoolwork, and he flew across the world to pursue his motorsport career. In your teenage years, you did not exchange a single word with Oscar. At Christmas parties and July barbecues, when he would come back from the UK, he was always the centre of attention, whether he wanted to be or not. You learned that staying in the shadows when Oscar was around was the best way to avoid your family's questioning gaze.

You weren't childhood friends. Hell, you were never even close to friends.

When Oscar joined F3, then F2, then F1, his absence at family gatherings was more common. However, even if he was not there in the flesh, the topic of conversation often reverted to him and his career. Your parents thought it was stupid at first. You remember doing your homework at the dining room table when your mother brought it up. A subtle sense of pride had risen in your chest to find out he was really doing it. Pursuing his dreams. Then your father laughed. A sick, mocking laugh. Your mother parroted it back, and they spent the night gossiping about how reckless the Piastri's were. You spent the rest of that night in your room.

However, Oscar got better and better, and with each new contract he signed, the more your parents tried to impress him. They asked him for tickets for every Grand Prix his own parents were attending, dragging you across the world to sit in the scorching sun and watch cars drive in a circle. The initial awe of the motorsport world faded quickly with each new race you attended, with every scene of your parents trying to suck up to a boy your own age, with each stale conversation you held with him just to pass the time.

Out of the entire Piastri family, you feel the most familiarity with their mother, Nicole.

As if sensing your thoughts, Nicole turns with a warm smile and holds out her hand for you to grasp, ''My beautiful girl. You grin back, ''Are you having fun today?''

You shrug, ''I'm having enough fun. It's always the same, but the alcohol makes up for it.'' Your mother shoots you a sharp glare that she covers with a laugh as Nicole turns to her.

''Our daughters just like to tag along for the food and drinks, huh?'' She laughs kindly. Hattie sits next to you, texting vigorously. The TV in the corner of the room starts up with a broadcast of the qualifying.

Hattie pipes up, ''I'm sorry, guys, my boyfriend just arrived and the security won't let him in.'' She rolls her eyes, ''I'm going to get him.'' She grabs her purse and bounds out of the room.

Nicole follows her retreating figure, then turns to you, ''Why don't you bring anyone to the races, sweetie? I'm sure you would have much more fun.'' You tense, the smile you held comfortably now unnaturally frozen in place.

Your mother rests her hand on your forearm, ''Oh, she just loves hanging out with her parents, don't you, love?'' You nod quickly.

You bring the flute up to your lips once more and rest your sunglasses atop your head. The commentators gather your attention to the screen, where Oscar is putting in his lap for Q2. He looks very fast, even to you. You're listening to the commentators with one ear and your parents talking to Nicole with the other. The speakers crackle from the volume of the TV. The champagne slides down your throat and settles heavily in your chest. There is a slight burn that distracts you as Lando takes the fastest lap time from Oscar. Shame.

''How are you settling in, Y/N?'', Nicole pulls your attention.

''It's been good. I'm a bit overwhelmed with everything, I mean, it's so different from Melbourne.'' You laugh nervously, ''But I've been settling in fine. The paperwork is all done and the apartment is furnished, so it's been good.''

Nicole purses her lips, ''How's the social life though? Have you made friends from work at least?''

The intention is thinly veiled. It has been obvious to everyone in your family and the Piastri's that you aren't necessarily sociable. You understand their concern, but sometimes, it feels less like understanding and more like condescension most of the time.

The commentators on the TV pipe back up as Q3 starts. You turn your head quickly to see that Oscar passed through easily. Nicole touches your hand gently.

''I haven't had that much time to socialise. I mean, I just moved and the people are a bit different from back home.'' You don't take your gaze off the TV as a Mercedes sets the first lap time. ''Don't worry, though, I'll be fine.'' You squeeze her hand.

Nicole's eyes light up, ''Well, Oscar is closer to you now, I'll make sure he checks up on you regularly. Maybe he can introduce you to Lando, he's in London fairly often.'' You smile slightly, but don't respond.

You do not want Oscar to check up on you. He does not owe you friendship because you're lonely. You're not lonely, you're just alone more often. That's fine. Besides, you prefer being alone, you tell yourself as you watch Oscar pull away from the pits with new softs.

He sends it. With the timer ticking off its last seconds, the McLaren flies over the finish line. Purple, green, purple. The room is silent as Max Verstappen takes his last attempt. Oscar is on provisional pole. You clasp your flute tighter, with the uncomfortable grip of hope circling itself around your chest, lungs, throat. Max is a few hundredths off. Oscar takes pole position. His first career pole. You release a breath and laugh with your family at your table. You watch everybody in the room shake hands and exchange hugs as you smile into the tip of your flute and down the last of your champagne.

Race day was uneventful. Oscar won. You stayed at the same table as the day before and sipped a mojito. Your parents huddle near the railing to catch a glimpse of Oscar accepting his trophy. Hattie and Edie sit with you at the table and chat about something you lost track of a while ago.

You keep your eyes on the television and watch as some important man gives out the trophies. Oscar is standing on the top step, glistening with sweat, eyes squinted and lips pursed because of the sun getting in his eyes. You wish the TV were closer, more defined, to see Oscar properly. As Oscar receives the first-place trophy, he admires the piece for a split second as an uncontrollable smile takes over his face. He lifts it with one hand, and the camera pans to the McLaren team celebrating in parc fermé.

Oscar hated attention. You knew that, so you wondered how he could be so carefree on that top step, knowing everyone was watching. You feel as if he was always stronger than you. He's out in the sun, getting sprayed by champagne, while you sit at a table talking to none of the souls that surround you. He's relishing in the glory, you're disappearing in your own skin. You take a sip of your mojito, Oscar wipes champagne from his eyes, and laughs. He's completely drenched, you notice, beads of sweat and champagne dripping down his lips and neck, gathering in his race suit. You grip your glass tighter.

You order another cocktail, one you haven't heard of, with more alcohol in it, and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You pause in front of the mirror above the sink. The sunglasses atop your head are slightly crooked, your hair peeking out in curious directions. Feeling it does not flatter you, you tuck your sunglasses in the collar of your shirt and rake your fingers through the strands. You catch your own eyes in the mirror, bright and wide with innocence, but also tired. The concealer under your eyes barely covers the dark circles that dim your eyes. The corners of your lips are pulled down subtly. Not pouty, not sad, just… there. You look exhausted. You look old.

Splashing your face with a bit of water, then regretting it immediately because of your makeup, you tidy yourself up and slap on a sunnier expression. As you make your way out of the bathroom, you crash into a taller figure. You turn to apologise, when you realise the person was soaked and now your clothes are slightly damp and sticky.

''I'm sorry, are you okay?'' Oscar asks with genuine concern, one hand reaching out for your shoulder while the other grips the trophy.

'''M fine.'' You murmur, eyes transfixed on the shiny thing. It really is beautiful. It exudes glory, and Oscar looks so natural with it.

You snap your eyes up, meeting his own with a new sense of urgency. His were already looking at you. They're crinkled at the edges, you note, as a small smile graces his soft features. His bunny teeth peak out. The hand resting on your shoulder is heavy and reassuring.

''Congratulations! That was incredible, Oscar. I'm really proud of you.'' You beam up at him, the words spilling out easily. You were proud of him. He does deserve all the praise.

You feel some uncontainable glee take over you, and you launch yourself at him without thinking, enveloping his shoulders in a tight embrace. He laughs a bit, part shocked, part happy. A moment later, you do feel embarrassment crawling up your ears, and you let him go, smiling sheepishly at him. His hand stays on your forearm.

''Thank you. I'm happy you came and watched this one. The last one was really tough.'' He sighs. You couldn't make it to the Australian Grand Prix before this one. However, you know he was referencing his mistake that cost him the podium. How could you not know? ''How was the move, by the way?''

''It was okay. I'm still settling in, y'know.'' You turn your gaze to the floor. ''About Australia, I get it. You made up for it in the best way, though.'' You punch his shoulder lightly, ''You should go celebrate with your team, I don't want to keep you with mindless small talk.''

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, which is sticky from champagne now. You notice his trophy has fingerprint stains on it already. Oscar smiles kindly at you. ''I enjoy talking to you. I just wanted to say hi to my mom and sisters. And you, too.''

He ushers both of you into the hospitality room. He keeps a hand at the small of your back as you walk. It's warm.

When they see Oscar, the patrons immediately break into cheering and clapping, which Oscar takes in stride. He smiles shyly, but you can see he's glowing from the appreciation. His mom makes his way over to him first, then grabs his cheeks to pull him down and kiss his forehead. You take the opportunity to stalk away from the man of honour and make your way to your table, where your cocktail is waiting for you. Your parents brush past you towards Oscar and shout compliments his way. His sisters are no longer at your table, and you see them slowly walking from the balcony to greet their brother. Your side of the room is empty, as everyone huddles closer to pat him on the shoulder, muss his hair, and congratulate him. You sit down and sip your cocktail. His eyes meet yours across the room, and he gives you a small smile. You see his mother making him lean down to whisper something in his ear, pointing not so subtly at you. His eyes widen, and he nods slowly, taking his eyes off of you quickly.

The entire interaction makes you squeamish. Uncomfortable in your own skin. Frustrated. You choose to make your way over to the balcony alone and watch as the sun slowly sets. You hug yourself, try to make yourself as small as possible. Unnoticable. The noise from the room slowly dies down. You feel a presence beside you.

''Hey'', Oscar whispers.

''Hi.'' You whisper back. ''What did your mom put you up to now?''

Oscar sighs, clenches his jaw and runs a hand through his damp hair. You have to tear your eyes away from the sight. ''She wants me to bring you to the McLaren party tonight. Introduce you to Lando and the others.'' You hug yourself tighter. ''I don't think it's such a bad idea.'' You turn to him incredulously.

''Wh-Wh-uhh… Huh? Why would it be a good idea?'' You laugh nervously.

''Well, everyone can see you're bored out of your mind here with your family,'' he says matter-of-factly. ''And she said you haven't really met anyone in England yet. This could be a start.''

You pointedly keep your eyes away from him.

''And… we never hang out anymore.'' He says quietly. You tense. ''It could be fun.''

You're slightly confused because Oscar… didn't really like you, not when you were kids. You turn to look at him and see him staring at you with those wide, hopeful eyes. You sigh, defeated.

''Fine.''

The club is loud.

You wore the least respectful thing you packed, which was a strapless black dress you felt pretty in. Armed with a sweaty gin tonic in hand, you lean against the bar while you watch Oscar talk to some engineers. Pretty girls were coming up to him the entire night, and you watched him turn them away with an easy smile. You know he has a girlfriend, some British girl he met a while ago. You've never met her, as he never brought her to any family gatherings. You wonder how they met, if he had the same easy smile he has now, if she was charmed by his laugh, if she knows he's got scars on his knees from falling over his bike all the time. You wonder if he pursued her or if she pursued him. Did she bat her eyelashes and twirl her hair? Was it natural to her? Was she sweet, funny, mean, boring? Did she nurse gin tonics in the club and feel lonely, too?

You turn away from Oscar and order another drink. The bartender serves you with a smile and turns to talk to two other girls who've been chatting him up all night. As you pick up your drink, a shot glass filled with something clear enters your viewpoint. A warm hand circles your shoulders and squeezes you tightly, coming face to face with Lando Norris.

''Hey, beautiful, what do you say to a couple of shots with your new neighbour?'' Lando is not your neighbour, hell, he's in Monaco most of the time too. However, his easy smile and cheerful eyes are enough to make you laugh at his joke and clink your shot glass with his. You down the liquid, a burning minty sensation rolling over you as you slam the glass down on the bar. Lando laughs with you and orders another pair.

You met Lando in Oscar's first season with McLaren. He is joy and sunshine and spice and everything nice. He greets you, remembers your name and buys you glasses of champagne when he passes your part of the paddock. That's the extent of your relationship. However, when he learned that you had moved to London, his face split with a smile and promises of hangouts, outings to his favourite places and so on. You knew half of it would not come true, but you were content either way. As Oscar was whisked away by his bosses, sponsors, managers, and the like you could not name, Lando made sure to introduce you to each of them and get you drunk enough to let loose. You think he knew how out of place you felt and put in double the effort to make you feel welcome.

He probably put in double the money, too, as the shots kept coming at a speed that broke the passage of time. With each shot, time started passing slower and faster at the same time. Lando and you are laughing at his senior managers dancing to a dubstep remix of a Dua Lipa song, slowly joining them on the dance floor.

The songs kept coming and going, as did the gin tonics in your hand that were replaced so quickly they didn't even have time to gather condensation on their surface. You felt freer than you have before. None of these people really knew you, and you could laugh as loudly as you wanted, swing your hands and toss your hair wildly at Lando, who only smiled with mirth.

''Are you willing to bet that Will busts out another Moet later?'' Lando points to his race engineer, who's got his hands around Zak Brown, singing earnestly to the Pussycat Dolls song that's playing. Zak is equally as enthused, but clumsier in his steps and, obviously, has never heard of this song before.

''Why would I take that bet if I know I'm losing?'' You smirk, spinning Lando around jokingly. At that moment, Will yells out orders for more champagne, and bartenders come carrying buckets of ice with the bottles inside, sparklers sticking out from the side and lighting up the dim club.

You both bound from the dancefloor to the McLaren crew table, slipping over wet spots and bumping into people. Will greets you with a smile and gives you two flutes he poured. You aren't even sure which glass you're in as the music changes from easy pop songs to hard-hitting bass notes and sultry vocals, but you know you're in deep.

And you're so happy. Oscar is still being showered with congratulations somewhere in the club. You're proud you made a friend, as you look at Lando's side profile while he tells you the story of his first win in Miami. The night is still young at those small hours, the club is bumping, and you're ready to keep going. You're filled with a warm sense of content, and you look out at the floor with wonder. You feel welcomed.

At that moment, a young guy with brown hair comes up to Lando and they greet each other with a familiarity only possible from years of friendship. They launch into their own conversation easily.

''Yo, man, sorry I'm late, the girlfriend wanted to get dinner at this fancy restaurant in town. It lasted 5 fucking hours, like who does that? I get they have a Michelin star and all, maybe I would enjoy it if I didn't have to get to my boy over here.'' He lightly hits Lando in the abdomen. ''P2 is mega, by the way.''

''Thanks, Max. At least you're here now, and the party can really start!'' They hug each other around the shoulders and stalk off together.

He left without a glance over his shoulder.

The club suddenly feels louder and colder and dimmer from where you're standing. Alone. In the middle of the dance floor.

You suddenly feel exposed in your dress. It's ridiculous. You look ridiculous. Why did you ever think you could fit in? You're wearing ballet flats when everyone is wearing Manolos.

You felt pretty. Now, you feel so fucking stupid. You can't even blame any of them, especially not Lando. They have each other and their friends, with whom they would rather hang out. This is their night, they won, they have a double podium to celebrate and not to entertain a lonely little girl who isn't even interesting or smart or pretty or-

You don't even fucking know what fucking mega means, and Oscar kept saying it and Lando, and you keep hearing it from your coworkers, and you will never understand because you can never fit in and-

A calloused hand grasps your shoulder, pulling you away from the dance floor. You feel the world crumbling underneath your feet, your head spinning, your vision betraying you. The lights start strobing, and the bass amplifies the heartbeat drumming in your ears. Another hand rests at your waist, as the other moves from your shoulder to your cheek. You don't hear anything. Your vision is blurry.

''Y/N? Are you okay? Where's Lando? I'm sorry I got caught up, I wanted to hang out with you guys, but I couldn't shake them off. I'm so sorry. Y/N? Y/N!'' Oscar shakes you slightly.

You focus on his face. You try to ground yourself. He looks so concerned. So sweet. His eyebrows are furrowed. His lips are pink and wet from whatever he had been drinking. His breath fans your face, and you can almost taste the Grey Goose on his tongue. His hair is messed up and slightly damp. He's a little sweaty, but still smells sweet. One strand hangs loose above his eyes and frames his face prettily. His eyes, oh, preciously brown, focusing on you, crinkled in worry. Oh, why is he so worried, what is bothering him-

You finally feel the ground settle beneath you. His hand stays on your cheek, warm and heavy and manly and large. You blink, a lone tear falls down your cheek, onto his hand. It rolls over his knuckles and falls to the floor. Your head keeps spinning. It's so heavy, you lean your cheek deeper into his hand. His other hand tightens around your waist.

''Why doesn't he want me?''

Your earnestness surprises you. An emotion you did not wish to place, coming out in a string of sorrowful words, softened by the gin coating your tongue. Oscar pulls back slightly, his eyes widened.

''What do you mean?'' He tucks a loose strand behind your ear.

You pick your head up and look him directly in the eyes.

''No one wants me here. You barely want me here; your mother had to beg you to hang out with me.'' He shakes his head resolutely. ''Lando was nice until he found something better. Someone better. Of course, he doesn't want me. No one ever wanted me. I brought my hopes up for any kind of romance. God, we're in a fucking club, why wouldn't he at least kiss me?''

Oscar is shocked. You've never spoken so openly to him.

You're shocked. You've never been so honest with your feelings to anyone, not even yourself.

''You like Lando?''

''Yes. No. I don't even know.'' You drop your head in shame. Another tear catches in your eyelashes. ''I think I just want him to want me. Anyone. I want to feel loved for once, Oscar. For god's sake, I just want to feel welcomed somewhere for once.''

He brings his other hand to your other cheek. He wipes his thumb under your eye, then he lifts your head.

''I want you here. I will make you feel welcome everywhere from now on, always.''

You shake your head. ''You can't keep that promise.''

He smiles sadly and drops his hands to his sides.

''I missed you a lot.'' You frown. ''I miss us from when we were kids.''

You furrow your brow. ''What did you miss? We weren't even friends.''

''Yes, we were. We hung out every week.'' He looks hurt. ''Your parents would come hang out at my house and we would play games for hours. Then you would do homework, while I played racing games, and then we would have dinner.''

You completely forgot. To you, it had always felt like Oscar was just hanging out with you because he had to. You started doing your homework because you felt bad for him, for putting up with you for his parents. You wanted to give him some rest from you.

''Then you just stopped coming with your parents when we were like 12. I thought I did something for the longest time, I didn't want to bother you when we would see each other at, like, Christmas or something.''

Your eyes well up with more tears. ''I stopped coming because I thought I bothered you.'' You sniff. ''Then you moved for karting.''

He nodded sadly. ''I always regretted never asking you why.''

''Oscar…'' You sigh. ''I don't know how to be a good friend. To you or to anyone. I'm sorry. I thought you never liked me.'' A pause. ''I've never even had true friends, really. Except you.'' You smile sadly. ''But I bungled that affair, didn't I?''

''We can be friends now.'' He smiles down at you. His eyes were hopeful. God, those eyes.

''I would like that a lot.'' You smile at him. He envelopes your shoulders in a hug that you can only describe as coming home. Welcoming.

At that moment, you hear Lando calling both of your names from the bar. You untangle yourself from Oscar to see him and his friend, Max, hopping toward you. Both of them are carrying two glasses of champagne.

''I was wondering where you went, neighbour.'' Lando looks at you kindly, then he hands you a flute of champagne. ''I wanted to introduce you to my best mate.'' He gestures to Max.

''Max Fewtrell, nice to meet you, love.'' He holds his hand out for you to shake.

''Hi.'' You answer shyly. Oscar squeezes your shoulder reassuringly.

''She was Osc's best mate growing up.'' Lando gestures to you while talking to Max. Then he turns to you, ''Max here lives in London full time. I was just telling him how he would love you.''

You feel stupid again. In a nice, warm way. Stupid, because you do feel welcomed. They do want you here. This might be the start of something new, you think, as you look at Oscar and Lando and Max. Oscar gives you a beaming smile, you can tell he is bursting with happiness, and you can't help but return the same. Your cheeks hurt.

You turn to Lando and ask, ''What the fuck does mega mean?''

The next morning is awful, but it also isn't. Your head is pounding beyond belief. You feel cold and sweaty at the same time. However, you're spread out on a deckchair near the hotel pool with Oscar and Lando. Lando bought all of you fancy croissants and is currently half asleep on his chair. You're nursing your second iced coffee of that morning, because it's the only thing that makes you feel okay. Oscar, who's sitting right next to you, is drinking orange juice because he hates coffee.

''I can't believe you drink that shit, the Y/N I know wouldn't do me like this.'' Oscar laments, slurping his orange juice loudly.

You keep your eyes closed and reach your hand out to swat his arm. ''The Y/N you know is 12.'' Opening your eyes, you turn to him, already looking at you. ''This is the new and improved version.''

He smiles lightly. ''Can't wait to know her.'' Then he turns on his back and puts his sunglasses on. ''Unless she has more god-awful takes.''

You laugh sunnily, putting your own sunglasses on and relaxing.

You feel welcome.

You're basking in the sun with your eyes closed when you feel a shadow blocking the warmth. You open your eyes and raise your sunglasses to see your mother, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips.

''Y/N, you need to pack. Your flight is in a few hours, and you do not want to miss it. I will not be buying you another ticket.'' She scolds you. Then she turns to Oscar and slaps on her saccharine smile, the one she saves for him. ''Hello there, I hope my daughter wasn't bothering you too much. Thank you, Oscar, for taking care of her, you're such a sweet boy.'' She pinches his cheeks. He frowns.

Your smile drops, and you put your sunglasses back on. ''Just a moment longer, mother. I want to finish my coffee first.''

Your mother looks at you disprovingly, ''Very well, Y/N. If you miss your flight, it's your fault.'' She turns on her heel and leaves the rooftop.

You gaze off at the pool and sip your coffee.

''Well, she's kind of a bitch.'' Lando pipes up. His entire face is covered with a straw hat he was wearing earlier. You thought he was dead asleep; he hadn't said anything in half an hour. The comment catches you off guard, as does the fact that Lando is awake. The shock tears a throaty laugh out of you. Lando lifts the hat slightly to meet your eyes and winks.

''She is kind of bitch.'' You agree. There's a small smile playing on your lips. That's the first time you admitted it out loud. Oscar laughs beside you.

''I never really got why my mom hangs out with her.'' Oscar meets your eyes.' You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, but don't press. You're starting to feel uncomfortable talking about your mother in that way.

Lando seems to sense your mood and changes the topic quickly. You spend the rest of the morning in easy conversation, munching on buttery croissants and lamenting the weather that's preventing you from taking a dip in the pool. It is early April, and the sky is a sunny grey.

Oscar had too much sugar and was animatedly talking to Lando about Australian cricket. You observe him closely. His hands are waving through the air. They're big. He has pale, soft hands that are adorned in places with thick calluses from his steering wheel. You notice his nails are slightly longer, which reminds you of his karting days. If Nicole cut his nails too short, he would lose each time. His bunny teeth are poking out from his lips, which are pulled into an excited smile. His hair is a bit greasy, and you notice it's longer than the last time you saw him. You pull your gaze away and stare at the ice melting in your glass.

''So, Y/N, have you got any special boy in your life?'' Lando asks suddenly, looking at you expectantly, sipping on his espresso. They're both staring at you with curious eyes, waiting for your response. You feel smaller than usual.

''Er, not really.'' You answer. ''I haven't really got any dating experience at all.'' You add quietly. Oscar's eyebrows shoot up.

Lando slips his sunglasses off just enough to stare at you with his uncanny eyes. ''Really?! I would think guys would be crawling all over you.'' You feel yourself blush. In response, you laugh quietly and wave him off. You can feel Oscar's eyes on you.

''I'm serious.'' He continues. ''I know about 10 guys who would love to go out with you in London. I could set you up.''

You raise your hands in front of you and start shaking your head. ''Please, I'm content being by myself. You really do not have to go out of your way. I do not want to put you out.''

''Oh, really, it's nothing-''

''Really, it's fine.'' You beg. ''Please.''

Lando looks like he's going to add something, but then his phone rings loudly. He excuses himself, saying it's his girlfriend. He leaves you and Oscar alone by the pool. ''So,…'' He starts, awkwardly. ''Have you really never had a boyfriend?'' You're stunned, Oscar's the last person you would think cared. He must've seen the look on your face, so he added, ''Or girlfriend? Maybe.''

You laugh at his nervous expression. ''No girlfriends. '' You grin, before becoming serious. ''I've had kisses and dates with guys before, but nothing really stuck. No one really liked me that much, I think.''

''Then they're idiots.'' Oscar responds defiantly. ''So, do you like being single?''

''Not really.'' You laugh.

''Why did you turn Lando down then?''

This catches you off guard. Because you don't really know why.

''I just didn't want to be indebted to him. Or if it went wrong, I don't want him to dislike me because of that.'' You answer honestly. ''I would love to have a relationship. It sounds really nice to have someone who's just always there for you.''

Oscar is listening intently. The seriousness of his gaze makes you nervous.

''I've never really had close friends.'' You add quietly. ''I had people whom I hung out with. None of them really stuck around past high school or past university. They were just… situational friendships. I never wanted to ask them for anything because I felt like they would stop hanging out with me if I asked for too much.''

Oscar sits up and leans over the table between you. He's looking intensely in your eyes, with barely concealed indignation.

''If anyone refuses to be your friend because you reach out or ask for anything, they're assholes who do not deserve to even be near you.'' He says slowly, as if he wants you to memorise each word. Your throat tightens. ''You have me now, you had me before, but now I won't let you push me away. You can ask me anything. I will travel across the world if you ask me to bandage your papercut.''

''That's a bit extreme, isn't it?'' You joke quietly. He smiles.

''Nothing is too extreme.''

You beam and say nothing. The silence spreads between you and folds his words into convictions you memorise faithfully.

You pick up your coffee once more when Oscar adds, ''So do you want me to set you up with someone?''

You pause. ''Why?''

''Because you obviously want to. Lando may not know you that well, but I do. I can vet each date for you beforehand. I'm an excellent judge of character.'' He smirks.

You ponder his offer. It sounds a bit ludicrous, but you've been alone for so long. The more you think, the prospect of having someone to watch stupid shows with, to kiss and cuddle, to try new things with, to support you. And you're so lonely. So, you nod at Oscar and he beams.

''I'll give you three dates to find me my future husband. '' You joke. He nods seriously.

You pause. ''I really hope you know what you're doing.''

''Don't worry, you're in good hands.'' He smirks. ''I'll get Olivia to vet for me when you meet her.''

You smile, but you can't ignore the tightness in your chest. Probably because you're nervous about the dates. Right?

The first date comes when you least expect it.

You're having drinks with some of your coworkers. Oscar has inspired you to branch out and actually try to make friends at your new job. The girls you share your office with extended their kindness to you, which you took with gratitude. All of you ordered the same martinis to gossip over. Andie checks out every guy who passes through the door and asks you both if you approve. Miranda is career-focused and serious, but Andie brings out the silliest side of her. When an older man in a suit offers to buy you a drink, Miranda notes that something must be wrong with him if he's still single. You vehemently agree, simply because you didn't want to branch out that much, while Andie pouts. They're fun. They're sweet and kind, like helping you with the printer at work you cannot seem to figure out, or like going with you to pick out new cutlery at Ikea. You're supremely grateful for the two of them.

They've met Oscar, and they cannot stop teasing you about him. You roll your eyes each time and revert to teasing Andie's newest conquest. So when your phone lights up with a text message next to Miranda's pack of Marlboro Reds, both of their eyes zero in on the contact name.

''Ooo, it's Mr. Loverboy, what's he up to now?'' Miranda starts.

''I'm guessing he was getting hot and heavy in the car, thinking about our sexy girl here.'' Andie continues.

You giggle and roll your eyes, looking over the text message: I found the perfect guy. Get ready, Saturday at 20h. You blink.

It's been months since you've talked about him setting you up on dates. Honestly, you've forgotten about it. You've been so satisfied with your life right now that adding romance seems like overkill.

Oscar and you have been hanging out every time you're both not busy. You're binging Sex and the City because you couldn't believe he'd never heard of it. You've taken to exploring England together on free weekends, as Oscar never had time to in boarding school. Your friendship is stronger than ever, even in the quiet, dull moments or the moments you're far apart. Max and Pietra, his girlfriend, take you out to brunch on Sunday mornings. Lando and you have a long-standing thread of TikToks you send each day that you do not watch, but when you meet up, you go through them all. Miranda and Andie added the perfect cherry atop the cake of your new life.

You're happy, you're content. You're hesitating about going on this date.

''You turned white. What does it say?'' Andie takes the phone out of your hand and reads the message out loud.

Miranda snorts, ''Are you actually dating? I didn't take you for a homewrecker.''

You glare at her and take your phone back. ''It's not with him, you muppet. It's for a blind date. I don't know if I should go.'' You tell them about the entire conversation on the plane.

''Why wouldn't you go?'' Andie questions, pushing her blonde curly hair from her angelic face.

''I agree, you have nothing to lose.'' Miranda adds.

You look at them both, so gorgeous and smart and kind. Miranda is opening a pocket mirror to reapply her red lipstick and fixing the fringe of her pixie cut. Andie is taking the olive out of her martini and nibbling on it. You wonder if they ever had issues in their love life. You sigh.

''I just… I don't want to be disappointed again.''

''The only way you're not going to get disappointed is by doing nothing.'' Miranda says sharply, closing the mirror with a click. ''And that's no way to live.''

Andie nods in response, and then a mischievous glint finds itself in her doe eyes. ''Unless our girl has a different person in mind…''

''You gotta stop with the Oscar agenda, I'm begging you.'' You roll your eyes. They both giggle, and Miranda adds, ''How did you know she was talking about Oscar?''

They fall into a fit of giggles, and a smile pulls on your lips against yourself. You open your phone and type a quick message: Alright.

You meet Oscar at his Woking apartment on Saturday for lunch. You cook, he cleans. Then you sit down on his couch and watch a few episodes of Sex and the City. It's how you like it. You're happiest when you simply exist with him, like you couldn't when you were kids, your mother always breathing down your neck, making sure you didn't bother him.

This Saturday, though, you barely get through the first episode when his doorbell rings. He hops from the couch and makes his way to the door. You don't see who it is, you just hear faint conversation from your position on the couch.

You keep your attention on the show as Oscar comes back, with an unfamiliar girl in tow. She has the brightest smile on her face, showing a perfect row of teeth. Her hair is long and curly, framing her slender face and accentuating her green eyes. She's a bit shorter than Oscar, but still tall and lean. Simply put, she's gorgeous.

She holds her hand out for you excitedly, ''Hi, Y/N! Oscar's been telling me so much about you, it's as if you're my best friend too.''

You connect the dots. Olivia. You shake her outstretched hand and return her smile. ''Oh, Oscar's probably exaggerating it. It's very nice to meet you, Olivia.''

''You're watching Sex and the City? I love this show. I tried getting Oscar to watch it last year.'' She pouts for a moment, but it's quickly replaced by that same blinding smile she sported before. You gesture for her to sit down next to you, and you continue watching. You're both laughing at Carrie when she shows up with a pizza at Big's door, when Oscar clears his throat and looks pointedly at Olivia.

''Oh yes, I haven't explained why I'm here.'' Olivia turns to face you and gathers your hands in hers. ''Oscar told me he's trying to set you up with someone, and I knew the perfect guy.'' You feel nerves starting to kick in. You forgot about the date.

''He's from Woking, so I organised the date here, at this gorgeous Italian restaurant. He's handsome, smart and works as a book reviewer for the newspaper I work for. I think he's just on the right side of dreamy without being intimidating.'' She looks to Oscar for approval, but to her dismay, he's scrolling on his phone.

''Oh.. That all sounds great, but how am I getting home?'' Woking isn't far from your neighbourhood in London, but it isn't close either, especially late at night.

''You'll sleep here. In the guest bedroom.'' Oscar pipes up, not taking his eyes off the phone.

You're relieved, ''That sounds great, thank you, Osc.''

''Maybe, you'll get lucky and won't have to sleep here.'' Olivia winks suggestively. You smile nervously. Oscar scoffs.

''She's not doing that, Olivia.'' She frowns.

The restaurant Olivia picked really was beautiful. You arrived a couple of minutes early, too jittery to wait around any longer. She dolled you up in a red dress she had at Oscar's apartment and did your hair and makeup. Oscar spent most of that time stuck on his sim racing rig in another room. You try not to pry into his personal relationships, but the entire afternoon felt… off.

A warm voice pulls you out of your thoughts. The waiter brought you your red wine, which you accepted readily. You notice a man making his way through the restaurant, seemingly coming to your table.

''Hi there, I'm David, Olivia's friend.'' He introduces himself, slightly nervous, which calms you down a bit. You smile kindly at him and introduce yourself as well. The rest of the evening is spent in pleasant chatter, nothing too engaging, but nothing too concerning either. He teases you for your accent in a good-natured way, and you respond with an exaggerated pronunciation of ''bottle of water'' right back at him. You try each other's dishes and share a bottle of wine. The night seems to be coming to its natural conclusion as you both finish off dessert and fall into silence.

''Would you like to continue this date elsewhere?'' David asks, noticing the staff clearing the tables, as the restaurant seems to be closing down. You check your watch. It's late.

''Perhaps it's better to save that for a second date.'' You respond sweetly. ''I should get going before Oscar and Olivia fall asleep.''

You both get up, and he grabs your arm. ''Come on, sweetheart. Just one more drink. Maybe at my place.'' He smirks down at you.

''Really, thank you for dinner, but I think I just want some sleep.'' You pull your arm away from his grasp. His smile falls, and he runs a hand through his hair.

''God, if I had known you were a prude, I wouldn't have agreed to this.'' He mutters to himself, looking away from you. He probably did not mean for you to hear that, but why even say it out loud then? You heard him clearly.

''What did you say?''

''Nothing, hey, let's just save drinks for tomorrow, yeah?'' He tries to grab your hand once more, but you flinch away immediately.

''I was offering you a second date, but now I think we're done here.'' You frown and gather your things. ''Lose my number.''

''I knew you were a bitch!'' David calls after you as you leave the restaurant. "You're an ugly whore! No wonder no one wants you, you had to get your friend's girlfriend to set you up.''

You saunter down the street, trying to look as confident as you aren't until you get behind a street corner. There, you let the shaky breath leave your lips, and your shoulders sag, folding in on yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the outside world. It's cold, and you feel the wind blowing against your bare legs. You pull out your phone and call the only person who could make you feel safe.

''Hello…?'' You can hear his croaky, deep voice crackle through the speaker. You woke him up. Guilt weasels its way up your throat, but you swallow it down. You know you can rely on Oscar. You should never feel guilty for it. Nothing is too extreme.

''Hey, Osc… The date is over. He turned out to be a creep. I'm at a corner near the restaurant. Could you pick me up?'' You force your breath to steady. ''Please?''

''I'm coming, stay safe.'' You hear the rustle of sheets through the speaker and the clinking of keys as he, presumably, makes his way to his car.

''Thank you.'' You whisper.

''Always, Y/N. Don't thank me.'' He ends the call.

A couple of minutes later, a slick McLaren pulls up next to you. You're shaking, arms pulled against yourself. Oscar opens the door from the inside, and you slide in without a word. He starts the car up again and pulls away from the street.

''Could we drive around for a bit?'' You ask.

Oscar glances at you, eyebrows pulled together in concern. You hate it when he looks at you with that worried look. You hate making him worried. God, you're so grateful for him. How can he care so much?

''Yeah, sure… Do you want to talk about it?''

You shake your head at first. Then Oscar's hand finds your own resting in your lap. He squeezes it once. It's a familiar gesture. The ground settles beneath you once more, and you feel as if the wind quiets down outside the car.

Oscar's grip on the steering wheel gets tighter and tighter as you relay the events of the night. His jaw is clenched, and you have to look away from the sight.

''He's an ass.''

''Please don't blame Olivia for this.'' You plead. ''It's not her fault, she didn't know. Hell, I didn't know until after dessert.''

''She put you in this situation.'' A pause. ''But you're right.'' He purses his lips and loosens his hand on the steering wheel a fraction. ''How do you feel?''

You wind and unwind your fingers in your laps. ''Pretty awful.''

''What he said to you,'' Oscar urges, ''it doesn't mean anything. He said it in anger. You're beautiful, smart, and wonderful. Any guy would be lucky to have you.''

''I think I believe you.'' You whisper, insecure. ''But it's hard to feel that way right now.''

''I know. I'm sorry.'' He sighs. He releases the wheel from his grip and rests his forearms on his thighs, controlling the wheel with his fingertips. ''Let's go home.''

Oscar drives you back to his apartment, where Olivia is waiting for you on the couch. As Oscar explains the situation to her, her eyes widen with horror, and she apologises profusely to you. She makes you tea and hugs you tightly, apologising once more.

She's wonderful, you think, with her arms wrapped securely around you.

You reassure her you don't blame her and make your way to bed. You spend enough time at Oscar's apartment to consider the spare bedroom practically your own.

As your eyelids get heavier, you hear noises from the room next to yours. Oscar's.

A laugh. Soft and sweet, not the kind you share with a friend, but the one you reserve for private moments. It carries through the wall and settles over your head. Next, Oscar's voice. Softer than you've heard it. Fonder. He's not whispering, but speaking so gently as if not to disturb the air around them. You feel as if you're imposing. There's a rustle of sheets as Olivia answers, barely audible. You can almost imagine her fingers running through his hair, or his hand around her waist. Tender. The air around you is heavy, your own breath filling the room, and the deafening silence weighing down your throat.

Then you hear it, barely perceptible, but obvious. An 'I love you'. Olivia's.

Suddenly, there is a crushing weight on your chest, making it harder to breathe in that suffocating room. You're encroaching on a private moment you could never call yours. Will you ever share such loving moments? Will you only meet men who call you a bitch, until you just settle for the least objectionable one? Is Oscar the only kind man you'll ever meet, and he could never be yours?

You shake your head. Oscar's your friend. Olivia is almost your friend.

You're lonely. Another laugh echoes through the walls. You want what they have. You want the comfort of hearing the voice of the person you love, right before you sleep. You want to wake up to that voice. You want to giggle and share 'I love you's. The weight gets heavier. You want to turn on your side, but you can't. Your body is so heavy, your head is spinning, there is no air, you can't breathe, you can't hear anything-

They haven't said anything for a while.

The weight lifts. You turn on your side and screw your eyes shut.

Then, a moan. An unmistakable sound of a kiss. Oscar sighs.

Oh, God. You twist your eyes tighter.

You can hear the sheets rustling. Something hits the floor.

You toss the blanket over your head and curl into yourself.

Oscar's voice, deeper than usual. He groans. Oscar sighs, muffled, probably against her skin. You hear skin, Oscar's skin, his hands, his thighs. He gets louder. Oh, Oscar is saying something. He's saying 'baby'. He calls her his baby. He moans, unrestricted, louder. The bed is creaking, it's creaking under Oscar's weight. He sighs shakily.

You press the palms of your hands against your eyes. You squeeze your legs tighter.

A high-pitched response. Olivia.

Then Oscar whimpers. Oh god, a pathetic, little, quiet whimper. You can hear his mouth press into something as he gets louder, more muffled.

Then, it stops. You hear footsteps in the bathroom. You hear Oscar sighing in the bedroom, the bed creaking as he gets off and paces around the room. He makes his way to the kitchen.

Your eyes are wet. Your throat is tight. There's an ache deep within you that fills you with guilt. You let out a quiet whimper. Somehow, you fall asleep.

The second date comes quickly enough.

This time, Oscar tells you it's with an old friend of his from boarding school. He's an engineer, working at some British automobile company. Oscar and Andrew attended his karting races together, as Andrew interned for some obscure Eurocup team.

You meet at a food truck festival in Regent Park. He wore a blue button-down shirt, and you matched the shade exactly with your sundress. You laugh about it and move on to explore the festival. Andrew had floppy light brown hair and soft eyes. He smiled shyly. Once in a while, when you were really funny, he smiled a sunnier grin, revealing two crooked front teeth. Like a little bunny.

You bonded over your shared love of gimmicky desserts at the festival and split a monstrously large waffle ice cream concoction. He told you about his time travelling for motorsport and how he grew overly stressed because of it. He chose a stable job in London for which he was still very passionate. You listened intently and shared your own impressions from your travels with your parents.

You had your reservations about this date, considering how the last one went. It took some persistence from Miranda over drinks, but in the end, you agreed to go out with Andrew.

There were no regrets, as you were enjoying this date thoroughly. He was kind, attentive, and interesting. A perfectly perfect date.

''So, why did you choose that major?'' He asked, genuine interest shining through his expression. He leans in, chin resting in his hands.

''Well, my parents urged me into that path.'' You fidget with a loose string of your skirt. ''But I found myself becoming really passionate about it. I love my work, I think it's really meaningful, actually.''

Andrew nods, fully engaged. ''It is really cool. I feel the same way about engineering.''

You beam up at him. You're walking around the park, a sensible foot between you. He swings his hands on his side, and you keep yours crossed and tucked on your chest.

''Oscar once told me, when we were kids, that mechanical engineers were the smartest people around.'' You reminisce fondly. ''He said, any other job is worthless in comparison.''

He laughed. ''He certainly grew out of that. I can't imagine Oscar being anything but polite. To anybody, really.''

''Oscar's really special, yeah.'' You gaze up at the sky, sunshine pouring through the blossoming trees above your heads. Clouds are strung across the blue, webbed through the space. Oscar's off racing, somewhere across the world. You hope the sky is just as beautiful there.

Andrew swings his hand closer to yours. You notice his nails are slightly longer than you would expect. His hands are soft and pale, with little calluses on his knuckles. You uncross your arms and let them swing between you. They brush, shyly, sweetly. You're giddy with possibilities. You stare up at him, strong neck and soft features. You see yourself sitting on your couch, eating dinner and watching some show. You get in bed, lying side by side and retell your day to each other. You, maybe, whisper a soft 'I love you' into the air and let it settle over you.

He grasps your hand, just firmly enough that you can let go easily. You slip your fingers between his. The sun shines down as you make your way out of the park. Maybe, just maybe. This could be it.

Later, you sit with Miranda and Andie at your favourite bar. The walls are velvety and dark: the chatter is lively, but low; drinks are flowing, and there's cigarette smoke twirling through the air. Miranda takes a drag from her Marlboro Red, the filter stained with her signature lipstick, and stares you down intensely.

''So you're telling me, you think this guy's the one? After one date?''

''Not the one, Miranda. I'm just saying, I see myself actually having a relationship with Andrew.'' You answer, surprisingly defensive. You take a sip of your wine, the liquor coating your tongue.

Andie chimes in, staring at her perfectly pink manicure. ''He happens to work in the same field as Oscar?''

You're confused. ''Yeah? They're friends.''

She tears her gaze from her hand and eyes you suspiciously. ''Can you show me the picture again?'' You roll your eyes, but comply. You open up Andrew's social media profile, and the picture shows his side profile. You scroll through some posts with her, mostly at the gym or from work. It's polished and professional. He looks handsome.

''And you're attracted to him?'' Miranda asks, after glancing down at the phone across from her. You feel slightly attacked, as if they're both judging you.

''Yeah. I wouldn't be considering starting a relationship with him if I didn't. I mean, look at him.'' You shove the bright screen at Miranda's face. She flinches back and scrunches her nose at you. She flicks her cigarette in the ashtray.

''I'm not saying he isn't objectively handsome, I just want to make sure you really like him. I think Glen Powell is attractive, but I don't find him hot, personally.'' She elaborates. You really don't get her point. ''What specifically do you like about Andrew?''

You ponder. ''I like his hair. It's soft and kind of floppy, if you get what I mean.'' You trace your finger above the screen to emphasise your point. ''He has really cute teeth. They're a bit crooked, but in a good way.''

Andie suddenly gets an alarmed expression. You ignore her.

''And I like the way he's passionate about his work. I don't really get cars, but I can appreciate his enthusiasm. It's not as entertaining as when Oscar talks about his car, but it's still fairly interesting.'' Miranda and Andie both light up at your words. You think you've finally convinced them. Of what exactly, you're not sure yet. A breath releases itself from your lungs, one you didn't know you were holding. Why do you feel so defensive over Andrew?

''And… I think he actually likes me.'' You finish.

''Oh, sweetie.'' Andie reaches for your hand resting on the table. She covers it with her own, stroking the skin with her thumb. There's concern floating in her eyes, one you don't completely understand. Does she pity you? You take your hand back and fold it into your lap.

Miranda crushes her cigarette in the ashtray, the last of the smoke dissipating above your heads. ''What does Oscar say about this?''

''I… I haven't talked to him yet. He would probably approve, he's the one who set me up with Andrew.'' Something across the bar catches your attention. Miranda's eyes are too knowing. A chill passes through your spine. You can't bring yourself to meet her gaze.

Andie and Miranda share a knowing look and order another round of drinks. Something stronger. You keep your eyes away from them.

Andie clears her throat and gently rests her hand on your shoulder. ''Baby, I think you're rushing into this thing with Andrew.''

''Why?'' You're really confused at this point. You take a swig of your new drink, tequila.

''The things you mentioned about Andrew sound really familiar.'' Miranda adds, gently.

''I don't get it.''

Andie hesitates. ''It sounds like Andrew is pretty similar to…'' She takes a breath. ''Oscar.''

Miranda gingerly takes your hand underneath the table. She isn't one for physical affection, so this means she's equally concerned.

You're angry. No, actually, you're fucking seething. You can't believe that they've turned your innocent, hopeful giddiness over Andrew into this pathetic pity party, one where you're the guest of honour.

''Why do you guys always bring up Oscar? Can't I have one fucking thing that isn't about Oscar?'' You down the tequila quickly. ''I don't fucking like him. He has a girlfriend, and he's setting me up on these dates. Olivia's wonderful, and he's really happy with her.''

Memories of the night after your disastrous date come flashing back. The tenderness between them, the way Oscar laughed with her, how she whispered sweet nothings to him. How he sounded when he was vulnerable, how it reverberated in your ribs, how desperately you needed to hear more of him. The whimpers, the groans, the sighs. How you wished it was your neck he pressed his lips against. How you ached within.

How he came to you after the date. How softly he held your hand in the car. How angry he was, on your behalf. You remember the night in the club, where he pressed his palm against your cheek and brought you back from your spiral. You remember the dinners at his house, when you were kids, when he saved an extra serving of your favourite dessert. Just for you. He's always been just for you. Your person. He's everything. You're just… you.

''There's no way he would ever like me…'' You trail off. ''Back.''

And you've ruined it, again.

God, you realise with a sinking hole in your stomach, you liked Andrew only in the ways he reminded you of Oscar. Unattainable, unavailable, wonderful, beautiful, kind Oscar. Who could never like you back. Andrew was a lens of Oscar, only in a way that held up a mirror to your own feelings.

You've ruined it again.

Last time, you thought it was because Oscar didn't like you. Now, you realise it's because you love him.

You can't possibly expect him to tolerate you now, not when you want him. Oscar probably finds you repulsive, like a little sister, who, oh dear lord, listened to him have sex with his girlfriend, who he loves much more than he could ever love you. He would never extend his kindness again. He would never love you in the same way, he would never care for you again, he would never find your hand again, he would never even touch you again-

Not when you-

Not when you love him.

Another tequila finds itself in front of you. Urgently, you knock the shot back. You slam the glass on the table.

Warm, reassuring hands wrap themselves around you. Andie's blonde curls tickle your chin as Miranda rests her head on your own. They bring you back down. You're back in that dark room, with the lively chatter swinging back into your ears. You're okay. Nothing's happened yet. Your girls are holding you tightly, stroking your back, gently caressing your hair.

''We thought you knew.'' Miranda whispers.

You shake your head, suddenly unable to form any words. There's a thick lump stuck in your throat. Pressure is building behind your eyelids. You close them, wet tears clinging to your eyelashes.

''No.'' You croak. ''I didn't.''

Andie raises her head from your chest and presses her palm against your cheek. You lean your head into her hand, suddenly remembering how Oscar's hand felt in that same position. Tears spill forward. Andie wipes them off softly.

''You're okay. We've got you.''

You open your eyes to meet her blue ones. They're slightly crinkled on the edges, downturned and sad.

You laugh wetly. ''God, we look insane right now.''

Your girls return the laugh. They untangle from you, settling back into their seats. Miranda takes another cigarette out of the pack and lights it. She offers you a drag and you take it.

''How am I going to face him again?''

''Andrew or Oscar?'' Andie asks.

''I think Andrew doesn't deserve to deal with my feelings. Or wait until I sort myself out.'' You conclude sadly. ''Oscar… How do I face him after this?''

''As every other brokenhearted girl does.'' Miranda says matter-of-factly. ''You move on.''

''He's my best friend.'' You protest, wetness returning to your eyes.

''I know.'' She answers sympathetically. ''You have to be brave. Either tell him or push it down.''

Andie chimes in. ''You can't tell him. What about his girlfriend? That's not fair to her.''

''Andie's right.'' You sniffle. ''I just have to… bottle it up.''

The rest of the night is spent by Miranda and Andie sharing their stories of heartbreak. You always thought they had it easier; they're beautiful and kind and smart, but they didn't. They hype you up, buy you more drinks, and you end the night by sharing gas station chocolates at the steps to your apartment building. You're bruised and confused and sad, but they held you together. You're okay.

You haven't lost him yet. You can't lose Oscar again.

part 2

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