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you'll like me eventually (oscar piastri x reader)

🏁 pairing: oscar piastri x f!reader. 🏁 word count: 11.3k 🏁 genres/warnings: alternative universe: university. frenemies (??) to lovers. oscar is the uk equivalent to a frat boy and reader thinks hes the most annoying person in the world. they're both down bad for each other. he fell first, she realised second type vibe. mild swearing and false rumours of a hookup. mentions of alcohol, being drunk and throwing up so warning. reader insert but no use of y/n. 🏁summary: you've spent two years calling it hatred. oscar has spent those same two years calling it flirting. 🏁 author notes: the idea of oscar in a backwards cap is the main reason for this fic so please excuse. super geeked to say this is in the same universe as my dearest @verstarris 's fic 'dirty little secret', please check it out bara is a phenomenal writer !!!!! hope you enjoy <3

“I mean, just look at him,” you muttered, your nose wrinkling as you looked across the makeshift dancefloor. “Who does he think he is?”

Your eyes found him with embarrassing ease, cutting through the blur of moving bodies, sticky floors and the cloud of cherry-scented vape smoke hanging over the living room.

Oscar Piastri. Of course it was Oscar Piastri.

He was leaning against the wall like he hadn't a care in the world, one hand wrapped loosely around a red cup filled with something that almost definitely tasted horrific. His other hand rested against his hip as he laughed at something the girl in front of him had said, his head tipping back ever so slightly.

God, he looked pleased with himself.

She was twirling a strand of hair around her finger, smiling up at him through fluttering eyelashes and leaning in far closer than was remotely necessary.

It wasn't even that loud in here.

“Yeah,” Alex replied dryly from beside you, following your line of sight before looking back at you. “Absolutely criminal. He's talking to a pretty girl who's giving him attention. Someone should call the police.”

You tore your eyes away from Oscar long enough to shoot her a glare.

“Stop trying to make it something it isn't,” you lifted your drink to your lips, taking another sip as the alcohol settled warmly in your chest. It softened the edges of the room, blurred the music into a pleasant hum.

Yet somehow Oscar remained in perfect focus. “I just mean,” you continued, waving your cup vaguely in his direction, “he walks around like he's God's gift to humanity,” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Which is annoying.”

“Mm,” she nodded thoughtfully, though the smile threatening at the corners of her mouth suggested she wasn't taking you remotely seriously.

You huffed. “He's just... so...” you searched for the right word before settling on the only one that really fit. “Oscar.”

Alex barked out a laugh. “You need another shot if you're going to spend the whole night giving us an Oscar report.”

Before you could argue, she'd caught hold of your wrist and started weaving the two of you through the crowd towards the kitchen. “Alex,” you complained, stumbling after her. “I'm not giving anyone an Oscar report.”

“No?” She glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “You've only been staring at him for the last ten minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You've looked at him more than you've looked at me.”

You scoffed, taking another sip of your drink. “I was people watching.”

“Interesting,” Alex hummed. “Considering the only person you've watched all evening has been him.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but the words dissolved the second the two of you passed him.

You felt it before you even looked. His attention shifting. Like he'd sensed you nearby.

Against your better judgement, your eyes flicked towards him. He wasn't looking at the girl anymore. Somewhere between one step and the next, she'd become background noise. His eyes had found yours instead.

His smile widened the second they did. Not smug. Not victorious. Just pleased. Like seeing you was somehow the best thing that had happened to him all evening.

You looked away first. Of course you did.

“See?” Alex murmured quietly as she nudged your shoulder. “He literally stops talking to anyone every time you walk into a room.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost hurt. “He's insufferable.”

Alex snorted. “Sure.”

The kitchen island was already crowded by the time Alex pulled you over, littered with abandoned cups, half-empty bottles of pop and enough questionable alcohol to make tomorrow morning thoroughly unpleasant.

The rest of your friends all stood around it in various stages of conversation, none of them paying much attention until Alex announced your arrival.

"Someone get her another shot," she sighed dramatically, dropping her head onto Lily's shoulder. "I'm so bored of hearing about Oscar."

You froze. "I do not talk about him that much."

Seven pairs of eyes landed on you. Then, almost in perfect sync, every single one of them rolled their eyes.

"See?" George said, gesturing lazily towards you. "That's exactly what someone who talks about Oscar too much would say."

"Honestly," Max muttered, taking another sip of his drink, "I don't even think he needs to be here anymore. You'd still find a way to mention him."

"That's not true."

"You mentioned him before you'd even said hello," Charles pointed out with a grin.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Lando laughed under his breath as he reached for the bottle of tequila sitting on the counter. He held an empty cup up to the light, inspected it briefly before deciding it was clean enough, then filled it with a generous amount. "Here," he said, passing it over. "Drink this before you embarrass yourself any further."

You accepted it with a dramatic sigh. "I'm not obsessed with him."

"Didn't say you were," Lando replied innocently.

You narrowed your eyes. "You literally did last week."

He shrugged. "Yeah, maybe I was right."

George snorted into his drink. "The sooner you admit it, the sooner we can all move on with our lives."

"Move on?" you echoed. "You lot are the ones obsessed with this narrative."

"Narrative?" Lily laughed. "It's been two years."

Alex nodded solemnly. "We've accepted you're going to end up together. We're just getting bored waiting."

Laughter erupted around the kitchen. You tipped the tequila back in one go, grimacing as it burned all the way down. "You're all unbelievable."

Lando reached over immediately, replacing your empty shot cup with a fresh drink before you'd even asked.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating anyway?" George asked. "Didn't you absolutely smash your psychology exam?"

You wrapped your fingers around the new cup, grateful for the change in subject.

"Exactly," Alex agreed. "I thought tonight was supposed to be about you."

"It is."

"Yet somehow we've spent ten minutes discussing Oscar."

You looked around the circle in disbelief. "Because you lot keep bringing him up!"

Max blinked. "I literally opened the door to you moaning about him."

Silence. You pointed accusingly around the kitchen. "You're all incredibly annoying."

George grinned. "And yet somehow not as annoying as Oscar."

"Exactly," you exclaimed, grateful that someone had finally made sense.

George's grin widened. "Which is impressive, considering you've spent two years giving him your undivided attention."

You groaned loudly enough that a couple of people turned to look.

They had no idea what they were talking about. Oscar Piastri had simply mastered the art of being irritating.

You'd met him during your third week at university after Lando had dragged you along to one of the cricket team's sports socials, proudly insisting you "needed to meet the idiots I spent all my time with."

He hadn't been exaggerating.

Somewhere in amongst all of that chaos, Lando had introduced you to Oscar.

You'd expected someone easy-going. Humble, maybe. Instead, Oscar had smiled at you like he'd known you forever before announcing, with complete confidence, that you'd definitely like him eventually.

You'd decided almost instantly that he was insufferable.

Unfortunately, he'd never stopped proving you right.

Every conversation ended with him grinning while you rolled your eyes. Every party somehow ended with the two of you arguing about something completely pointless. He'd steal chips off your plate. Sit in your seat whenever you got up. Lean on your shoulder simply because he knew it annoyed you.

You'd even met his sister somewhere along the way, usually whenever she wandered onto campus looking for Oscar or Lando, somehow fitting into the group as naturally as everyone else. It wasn't unusual. Half the time it felt like Oscar and Lando shared a family anyway.

The worst part wasn't even that he was cocky.

It was that he somehow got away with it.

Everyone adored him. He was captain of the cricket team. Clever. Funny. Ridiculously handsome, which was deeply unfortunate.

You hated that you'd noticed the way he'd grown his hair out over the last year. Hated that you'd realised he smiled differently when he was genuinely laughing. Hated that you knew exactly what colour his eyes looked in the sun. Hated that, once, you'd caught yourself wondering what his hair might feel like threaded through your fingers.

You hated all of it.

Obviously.

You felt him before you saw him, as though he'd heard you thinking about him. A familiar warmth settled at your back. Broad shoulders. A chest brushing lightly against you. Then two arms draped comfortably over yours, his forearms resting across your collarbones like they belonged there.

Finally, a firm chin came to rest on the top of your head. "Talking about me again?" Oscar's voice rumbled beside your ear, amusement woven through every word.

A shiver darted down your spine before you could stop it. You blamed the tequila. "You're delirious," you muttered, driving your elbow backwards into his ribs.

It connected with solid muscle. Oscar barely reacted. If anything, he laughed. "That's not a no."

You wriggled free with an exaggerated sigh, smoothing your dress down as though he'd somehow managed to wrinkle your entire evening. "Do you ever get bored of winding me up?"

"Not once."

The answer came so quickly it almost caught you off guard.

You finally looked up at him. Big mistake. He was smiling. Not the cocky grin he flashed at everyone else. Something quieter. Warmer. Like he'd been waiting for you to notice him all evening.

It was deeply irritating.

"You need a new hobby."

Oscar shrugged, slipping one hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I've got one."

You frowned. "Annoying me isn't a hobby."

"Sure it is."

Lando wandered over, reaching straight past Oscar to steal the bottle he'd only just opened. "We've been trying to tell her that for two years," he said before taking a sip.

Oscar frowned. "You know that's mine."

"Our drink," Lando corrected without missing a beat.

"You bought one crate."

"We,” Lando grinned. “Bought one crate."

Oscar barked out a laugh. "That was because you forgot your wallet."

Lando shoved Oscar's shoulder as the two of them laughed, the exchange so practised it felt less like an argument and more like muscle memory.

George watched them with a sigh. "You two are actually exhausting."

"We've heard that before," Lando replied cheerfully.

Oscar finally looked back at you. "It's still my favourite hobby."

Heat climbed stubbornly into your cheeks. "You're unbelievable."

"I've been called worse."

George pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically. "Can one of you just kiss the other so the rest of us can move on?"

Alex nodded immediately. "Please. I'm actually begging."

You looked between your friends in complete disbelief. "You all need psychiatric evaluations."

"You're literally the psychology student," Charles pointed out.

"Great," Max lifted his bottle towards you. "Diagnose yourself."

Laughter rippled around the kitchen. You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. "You're all idiots."

Oscar's grin only widened. "You forgot devastatingly handsome."

You groaned loudly. "See?" You gestured wildly in his direction. "This. This is exactly what I mean."

"What?"

"You just..." You waved your hands helplessly. "You think you're God's gift."

Oscar tilted his head thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. "I don't think that."

You folded your arms. "No?"

"No." His smile grew. "But my mum does."

The kitchen erupted into groans.

Lando physically turned away. "For God's sake." George muttered something remarkably similar.

Before you could stop yourself, a laugh escaped your lips.

Oscar's eyes found yours instantly. Like he'd been waiting for it. His smile softened almost imperceptibly.

You stopped laughing immediately. Absolutely not. "You're still annoying."

"Yeah?" Oscar asked, completely unfazed.

"Mm."

"See you on the dancefloor in five?"

You stared at him. "I'd rather walk home barefoot."

"So..." Oscar nodded thoughtfully. "Ten minutes then?"

You threw your hands into the air. "You're impossible."

Without waiting for another response, you grabbed Alex and Lily by their wrists, ignoring both of their protests as you dragged them back towards the living room. "Come on."

Lily barely managed to keep hold of her drink as she stumbled after you. "You know," she called over the music, "for someone who can't stand him, you two have remarkably good chemistry."

"Lily."

"I'm just saying."

"Don't."

She only smiled to herself.

You disappeared back into the crowd, determined to lose yourself amongst the music, flashing lights and bodies packed shoulder to shoulder across the dancefloor.

Determined not to think about Oscar Piastri for the rest of the evening.

Behind you, back in the kitchen, Oscar's eyes followed you until you vanished into the crowd.

Lando caught him watching and let out a long, tired sigh, bumping his shoulder against Oscar's. "Mate," he muttered, "you're never beating the allegations."

Oscar didn't even pretend to deny it. He simply smiled into his drink. "I know.”

By the time you finally let Alex and Lily convince you to take a break from dancing, the alcohol had settled deep into your bloodstream, leaving your limbs pleasantly heavy and your thoughts wrapped in a warm haze.

You stumbled as the three of you pushed through the crowd, laughing as Alex caught you under one arm while Lily steadied you on the other side.

"Careful," Lily laughed, tightening her grip around your waist. "I'd rather not explain to A&E that you broke your ankle attempting to dance to Pitbull."

A giggle bubbled out of you before you could stop it. Somewhere between the dancefloor and your fourth, maybe fifth shot, you'd completely lost count. Your arms had spent most of the evening waving through the air, your voice disappearing into whatever song happened to be playing, and despite every promise you'd made to yourself—

You'd still caught yourself looking for Oscar. Constantly. You knew, without even turning around, that if you looked now, he'd probably be looking straight back.

He always was. It didn't matter how many people packed into a room or how chaotic a party became. Somehow, Oscar always found you.

His eyes would catch yours across the room as though there wasn't another person there. It was infuriating.

Mostly because you could never seem to stop looking back.

You blamed curiosity. Everyone else seemed convinced it was something else entirely.

A groan escaped your lips. You came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the hallway, forcing both Alex and Lily to stop with you.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked, turning towards you with a crease between her brows.

You sighed dramatically. "Did I ever tell you about the time Oscar..." a hiccup interrupted your sentence, making you screw your face up. "...Oscar..."

Lily let out the biggest sigh of the evening. "For the love of God," she groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. "If you're still refusing to admit you fancy him, could you at least stop bringing him up every ten minutes?"

Alex dissolved into laughter beside you, the force of it making her stumble into your shoulder. "Congratulations," she managed between giggles. "You nearly made it an hour this time."

You frowned. "I don't bring him up that much."

Lily simply stared at you. "You literally started this conversation."

You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it again. "...That doesn't count."

Neither of them even bothered responding. They just exchanged a look over your head. The traitors.

You couldn't help laughing anyway.

The movement, unfortunately, made the room tilt. Your stomach lurched violently. The smile vanished from your face. "Oh no."

Both girls recognised the look immediately.

"Oh no," Alex echoed, grabbing your arm.

You slapped a hand over your mouth. "Bathroom," you mumbled through your fingers before wrenching yourself free and stumbling through the house.

Thankfully, this wasn't your first party here. You knew exactly where you were going. You shoved the bathroom door open with far more force than necessary, relief washing over you when you found it empty.

Barely making it to the toilet in time, you dropped to your knees. The evening made a swift and rather unpleasant reappearance.

The door burst open moments later. "She's in here," Alex called over the music as she hurried inside.

Lily wasn't far behind. Without a word, she gathered your hair away from your face while Alex crouched beside you, rubbing slow circles across your back.

Neither of them said, I told you so. Which, honestly, felt like real friendship.

By the time the nausea finally eased, every muscle in your body felt heavy. You leaned back against the wall with a tired groan, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth before immediately regretting how disgusting that felt.

"I think," Alex started carefully, glancing towards Lily before looking back at you, "We should probably get you home."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Home sounded incredible. Your own bed sounded even better.

The bass from the living room vibrated through the wall beside you while one of them took your hand, their thumb absently stroking across your knuckles.

For a few minutes, nobody spoke.

You just sat there, letting the room slowly stop spinning.

"I'm blaming Lando," you mumbled eventually, raking a hand through your hair. "And his stupid tequila."

Lily smiled softly before reaching for a glass waiting beside the sink. "Here," she said, holding it towards you. "Just water. I promise."

You accepted it gratefully, taking careful sips. The room still tilted every now and then. But at least your throat no longer felt like sandpaper.

The bathroom door creaked open again. Footsteps crossed the tiled floor.

"How's she doing?" came a familiar voice. You recognised it immediately. Even through the alcohol. Even with your eyes closed.

"She's exhausted," Alex whispered quietly. "I think she just needs to sleep but apparently Liam’s forgotten his promise."

There was a brief silence. Then—

"I'll sort it."

Oscar.

You frowned faintly but couldn't quite summon the energy to open your eyes.

You felt Alex's arm tighten around your shoulders. "Babe listen, the thing is," she said gently, smoothing your hair back from your forehead, "I've completely lost our designated driver, and an Uber's showing nearly an hour."

You let out a pitiful groan, dropping your forehead against her shoulder. Home suddenly felt impossibly far away.

"But," Lily added quickly, exchanging a glance you couldn’t see with Oscar, "There's a spare bed upstairs. Someone's said you're more than welcome to use it."

If you'd been even remotely sober, alarm bells would've started ringing. Whose bed? Since when? Why?

Instead, your brain simply accepted the information with a sleepy hum. "...Kay."

The glass slipped gently from your fingers before someone carefully took it from you.

A moment later, another pair of hands slid beneath your knees and around your back.

You barely had time to register what was happening before your feet left the floor.

Instinctively, you curled towards the warmth. Your cheek settled against a broad chest.

Bergamot. Mint. The familiar scent wrapped around you as securely as the arms holding you.

A soft sigh escaped before you could stop it.

Whoever was carrying you adjusted their grip ever so slightly, one hand pressing a little more firmly against the small of your back as though terrified you might slip.

It wasn't possessive. It was careful.

You'd never realised how different those two things could feel.

The music swelled around you as you were carried back through the party before fading again with every step upstairs. Your fingers curled lazily into the soft cotton beneath your palm.

Beneath your cheek, a steady heartbeat pulsed against your skin. Slow. Unhurried. Without even thinking about it, your own breathing seemed to fall into rhythm with it.

You felt a rough thumb brush absentmindedly across the bare skin of your knee, barely more than a reassuring sweep to steady you, yet the touch lingered long after it had gone.

The other hand remained splayed securely across your back. Strong enough that you knew they wouldn't let you fall. Gentle enough that, before you realised what you were doing, you'd tucked your face a little deeper into the warmth of their neck.

The thought should have embarrassed you. Instead, it simply felt safe.

By the time you were lowered onto something soft, the room had stopped spinning quite so violently.

A mattress dipped beneath your weight. A lamp clicked on somewhere nearby, bathing the room in a warm amber glow.

You blinked slowly. Everything remained slightly blurry.

Except… Baby blue. The cotton shirt stretched comfortably across broad shoulders as someone leaned over the bedside table, rummaging through a drawer.

Oscar.

Of course it was Oscar.

"What," you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. "are you doing here?"

Oscar glanced over his shoulder before letting out a quiet laugh. "Funny," he said, pulling a maroon T-shirt from the drawer. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

You frowned at him. "Not funny."

"Little bit funny," he crossed the room, stopping beside the bed before holding the shirt out towards you. "Here," he said softly. "You'll be more comfortable in this."

You took it obediently, pushing yourself upright. Then immediately reached for the straps of your dress.

Oscar's eyes widened. "Whoa," he spun around so quickly you almost laughed. "Wait until I've turned around first."

You blinked slowly at his back. It was… Very broad. Very, very broad. Drunk-you found this incredibly fascinating.

With an absent-minded shrug, you let your dress slide to the floor before tugging the oversized T-shirt over your head.

The soft cotton settled around your thighs. It smelled exactly like him. Bergamot. Mint. Clean washing powder. Home.

You frowned slightly. Since when had Oscar smelled like home?

"Done," you announced proudly.

Oscar stayed facing the wall for another second. "Promise?"

A giggle escaped you. "Promise."

Only then did he turn back around.

Even now, his eyes only flicked towards you for the briefest second before politely settling somewhere around your shoulder instead. Like he was making a conscious effort not to look.

You weren't entirely sure why that made your chest feel strangely warm.

He crossed the room slowly. Gentle fingers wrapped around the tops of your arms as he guided you back down onto the mattress, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

"There we go," he murmured.

You let him. Far too willingly, really.

His hands slipped away almost as quickly as they'd arrived before moving to your ankles, lifting your feet one at a time onto the bed.

The duvet had twisted beneath you in your determined effort to get changed. Oscar shook his head with the ghost of a smile before pulling it free and tucking it carefully around your legs, smoothing it over you with absent-minded precision.

Like he'd done this a hundred times before.

You watched him through heavy eyelids. Every brush of his fingertips left warmth lingering beneath your skin long after he'd pulled away.

It was ridiculous. You'd spent two years insisting Oscar was the most infuriating man you'd ever met. So why… Why did every touch feel so gentle?

Your thoughts felt thick. Slow. Something sat stubbornly on the tip of your tongue, battering against the inside of your skull, desperate to be let out.

You couldn't quite catch it.

Not until Oscar looked back up at you.

"Am I..." you asked quietly, tilting your head as you studied him, "not good enough for you to look at naked?"

Oscar blinked. Then laughed. A proper laugh. Not at you. Just surprised.

He crouched beside the bed instead of towering over you, one forearm resting lightly against the mattress as he looked at you with unmistakable fondness. "It's not that."

You waited. So did he. His fingers lingered on the edge of the duvet, absent-mindedly smoothing a crease from the fabric before his eyes dropped to his hands.

"I'd just..." he cleared his throat softly. "I'd always want your permission first."

The room fell strangely quiet. Even in your drunken haze, something about the way he'd said it settled heavily inside your chest. Not rehearsed. Not flirtatious. Just true.

You stared at him. Really stared. His hair had curled slightly from the heat downstairs, brushing softly against the nape of his neck.

You'd wondered before what it might feel like beneath your fingers. You'd always dismissed it as idle curiosity. Looking at him now you weren't quite so sure.

The lamplight caught the sharp line of his jaw. It looked tense. Held carefully in place, as though he was trying very hard not to say something he couldn't take back.

Tiny moles freckled across pale skin. Without meaning to, your eyes traced each one. Like they were a map you'd somehow already memorised.

And then… His eyes. They'd always been brown. You'd never realised how many shades of brown there actually were. Amber where the lamplight caught them. Honey around the edges. Warm enough that looking away suddenly felt impossible.

They weren't teasing you. They weren't laughing at you. They were simply looking. Like you were something precious. Something worth being careful with.

Your chest tightened.

"You know..." you murmured eventually, burrowing a little deeper beneath the duvet. "You've got a serious problem."

One corner of Oscar's mouth twitched. "Do I?"

You nodded solemnly. "You're,” you squinted at him as though trying to solve the world's greatest mystery. "Too handsome," Oscar blinked. You lifted a finger vaguely in his direction. "It's really annoying."

For a second, he simply stared. Then he laughed again. The sound filled the room, rich and warm and completely unguarded. "That's my biggest character flaw?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Yep."

"I'll have to work on that."

You hummed approvingly. "Please do."

"I'll see what I can manage."

Satisfied with that answer, you sank a little further beneath the duvet, your eyes already beginning to drift closed.

Oscar smiled to himself before reaching across to place a bottle of water and two paracetamol carefully on the bedside table. He tapped the wood lightly beside them. "Take those when you wake up."

You answered with something that sounded vaguely like agreement. Whether it actually was, neither of you could really tell.

Your eyelids grew heavier. The room softened around the edges. Just before sleep claimed you completely, you thought you felt gentle fingers brush a loose strand of hair away from your face.

The touch was so light you almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, "Goodnight.”

The bedroom door clicked softly shut. For a moment, Oscar didn't move. He stood with one hand still resting on the handle, listening.

Silence.

Then, your breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm. Only then did he finally let out the breath he'd been holding. He leaned back against the closed door, rubbing both hands over his face before letting his head fall gently against the wood.

A helpless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Too handsome," he muttered to himself, a quiet laugh escaping before he could stop it. "I'll take that."

He stayed there for another second. Just one. As though committing the moment to memory.

Not even a minute later, hurried footsteps echoed up the staircase. Oscar looked up just as a mop of curly hair appeared over the top step. "Cap," the younger boy called, slightly out of breath. "George said you were looking for me?"

Oscar pushed himself away from the door. "Kimi," the first-year student straightened instinctively. "Got a job for you."

Kimi's face lit up immediately. "Is this like my final initiation thing?"

Oscar nodded once. "Something like that."

"I knew it," Kimi grinned. "George said it'd be important."

"It is," Oscar reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet before counting out a few notes. "There'll be fifty quid in it for you as well."

Kimi's eyes widened. "Fifty?" Oscar held the money out. Kimi took it slowly, turning the notes over in his hands like they might disappear. "So," he said carefully. "What's the job?"

Oscar tipped his head towards the closed bedroom door. "No one goes in there, all night."

Kimi looked at the door. Then back at Oscar. "Right."

"No one."

"Okay?"

Oscar pointed downstairs. "Unless it's Alex or Lily, you know them right?"

Kimi frowned. "So," he glanced between Oscar and the bedroom again. "You want me to be a bouncer?"

Oscar ignored him. "If she wakes up, come and find me," Kimi blinked. "If she needs water, there's some on the bedside table," Another blink. "If anyone else tries to go in..."

"They don't."

"Exactly."

A long silence settled between them. Finally, Kimi tucked the money into his pocket. "Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that it?"

Oscar looked at him as though the answer was painfully obvious. "That's it."

Kimi looked at the bedroom door again. Then at the staircase leading back down to the party. "Where do I sleep?"

Oscar had already started walking away. "Here."

Kimi stared after him. "What? On the floor?"

Oscar kept walking. "You wanted to join the team."

"I did."

"You still do?"

"Yes?"

"Good," Oscar reached the top of the stairs before pausing. "Oh," he glanced back over his shoulder. "And Kimi?"

"Yeah?"

"The floor's surprisingly comfortable, don’t worry."

With that, he disappeared downstairs, the music swallowing him almost instantly.

Kimi stood alone in the hallway. He looked at the closed bedroom door. Looked at the fifty pounds in his hand. Looked down at the wooden floor.

"This," he sighed to himself as he slowly lowered himself to sit against the wall, "is the weirdest initiation ever."

He pulled out his phone, made sure the money was tucked safely into his pocket and settled in for the night.

From somewhere downstairs came the roar of another drinking game. Kimi glanced once more at the bedroom door. "Hope you're worth fifty quid."

The hallway fell quiet.

The first thing you became aware of as your eyes reluctantly fluttered open was the dryness coating your mouth.

The second was that your head was pounding so violently you briefly considered closing your eyes again and pretending consciousness had been a terrible mistake.

A groan escaped your lips as you burrowed deeper beneath the duvet, pressing your face into the pillow beneath you.

It smelled… Familiar. Not your washing powder. Not your room. Something cleaner.

Bergamot. Mint.

You frowned. Slowly, painfully, you cracked one eye open. The room that greeted you definitely wasn't yours. "Oh no."

You squeezed your eyes shut again, rubbing both hands over your face as though sheer determination might erase the hangover currently drilling into your skull.

It didn't.

After another minute spent feeling deeply sorry for yourself, you finally forced yourself upright, wincing as the room swayed slightly.

Your gaze drifted slowly around the bedroom.

It was tidy. Suspiciously tidy for a university student.

A cricket bat rested neatly against the wall beside the wardrobe, a couple of medals hanging from one of the bedposts. Textbooks sat in surprisingly organised piles across the desk beside a laptop and a stack of neatly annotated lecture notes. A pale blue hoodie had been tossed over the back of the desk chair, the only real sign that someone actually lived here.

A framed photograph sat tucked into the corner of the desk. You recognised them all immediately.

Oscar stood in the middle, one arm slung around Lando's shoulders, the other wrapped around his sister as all three of them laughed at something just beyond the camera. You'd met her more times than you could count over the years. The resemblance between the siblings had always been obvious whenever they smiled.

Your lips twitched before you could stop them. It looked comfortably him.

You weren't entirely sure what you'd expected Oscar's room to look like. Clothes strewn across the floor, maybe. Empty bottles shoved under the bed. Some sort of organised chaos.

Instead, it was warm. Orderly. Comfortable. It suited him far more than you wanted to admit.

"Brilliant," you muttered to yourself, although there wasn't nearly as much conviction behind the word as there should have been.

Your phone rested on the bedside table beside a half-empty bottle of water and two untouched paracetamol.

A hazy memory drifted to the surface. Take those when you wake up. His voice. Gentle.

The memory came with flashes rather than anything whole. Strong arms carrying you upstairs. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath your cheek. Warm hands tucking the duvet around you. Him turning his back the second you'd reached for the straps of your dress.

Before you realised what you were doing, a small smile had begun to curl at your lips. You caught it almost immediately. Absolutely not.

The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

You swallowed, dragging your eyes away from the bedside table. No. You weren't thinking about that yet.

Instead, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it, squinting against the brightness.

The group chat had several unread messages.

[from: Alex] Let us know when you're alive xx

[from: Lily] Drink water before coffee.

[from: Alex] Actually drink water before anything.

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

You quickly replied that you were awake before locking your phone again.

Your eyes drifted to the maroon T-shirt you'd slept in. Oscar's. You reached down, catching the soft fabric between your fingers. For just a second, you stared at it.

Then, before your brain could wander somewhere thoroughly unhelpful, you peeled it over your head and carefully folded it.

Only after placing it neatly on the pillow did you realise what you'd done. "Whatever."

You grabbed your dress from the floor instead, pulling it back on before slipping your shoes over aching feet.

Coffee. You needed coffee. And preferably an explanation.

Taking one last look around the room, you quietly opened the bedroom door. You barely managed half a step before nearly tripping over the body stretched across the hallway carpet.

"What the—" A startled yelp escaped you. The mop of curly hair immediately shot upright.

Kimi blinked at you blearily, his face creased from where he'd apparently been sleeping on the floor. "Morning," he mumbled.

You stared. He stared back. "Kimi," your voice cracked painfully, sounding more like sandpaper than words. You cleared your throat before trying again. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He rubbed both hands over his face with an enormous yawn. "Oh," he looked suddenly very awake. "You're up."

"I gathered."

He nodded seriously. "I've got to tell Oscar."

You frowned. "Why?"

"He told me to," Kimi shrugged as though that explained absolutely everything. "If you woke up, I was supposed to find him."

You blinked. "You slept out here all night?"

Another shrug. "Apparently."

Silence. You looked at him. He looked back at you. Neither of you seemed entirely convinced this had been a sensible plan.

"Please don't go and get him," you said eventually, rubbing at your temple.

Kimi hesitated. "He did say—"

"I'm leaving."

"Oh,” he looked genuinely conflicted. “Do you think he’ll still let me keep the fifty quid?"

You stared at him. "The what?"

Kimi's eyes widened. "Nothing."

He very deliberately looked away. Your head hurt far too much to investigate whatever on earth that meant. Instead, you simply stepped over him. "You're all weird."

"I've been told that before," Kimi called after you as you wandered down the hallway.

The house was unusually quiet.

Gone was the music that had rattled the walls only a few hours earlier, replaced instead by the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant hum of someone snoring somewhere upstairs.

Alex and George's bedroom doors remained firmly shut as you padded down the hallway. Still asleep. Charles was probably back at yours by now. Lucky bastard.

The only bedroom door sitting slightly ajar belonged to Lando. You paused outside it. Maybe he was awake. Maybe he had coffee.

You nudged the door open with two fingers. "...Lando?" No answer. Only a loud snore.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim room. Lando was starfished across the mattress, still wearing yesterday's clothes, one arm hanging dramatically off the side of the bed while he'd somehow managed to steal almost the entire duvet.

A smile tugged at your lips. Typical. Then your eyes drifted to the sliver of mattress Lando had graciously left behind.

Oscar was somehow balancing on the very edge of the mattress.

One leg hung halfway off the side, one arm trapped awkwardly beneath his head while Lando monopolised not only the duvet but what appeared to be three quarters of the bed.

He looked uncomfortable.

Your brow furrowed.

The memories returned slowly now, no longer scattered fragments but moments beginning to stitch themselves together. Oscar carrying you upstairs. Oscar turning around the second you'd reached for the straps of your dress. Oscar giving you his shirt.

The water. The paracetamol. The duvet tucked carefully beneath your chin. Kimi. Sleeping outside the bedroom door.

Your gaze flicked between the room behind you and the bed in front of you. He'd given you his room.

The realisation settled quietly somewhere beneath your ribs. Warm. Confusing. Entirely unwelcome.

You'd expected him to tease you relentlessly afterwards. To hold it over your head for the next six months. Instead, he'd quietly slept half off Lando's bed so you could have somewhere comfortable to sleep.

Your eyes lingered on him for another second. It was annoyingly easy to forget, looking at him like this, that he was supposed to be infuriating.

He wasn't smirking. Wasn't making some smart remark that would have you rolling your eyes.

He was just asleep. The morning light spilled through the gap in the curtains, catching the unruly strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead.

He looked younger somehow. Softer.

You thought, fleetingly, about waking him. Just to… You weren't entirely sure. To say thank you. To see if he'd smile like he had the night before. To have a moment that belonged only to the two of you before everyone else woke up.

The thought hit you like a bucket of cold water. Absolutely not.

You frowned at yourself. God, this was exactly why you didn't let yourself think about Oscar for too long. Because every now and then your brain came up with something utterly ridiculous.

Like wanting to watch him wake up.

Gross.

Your phone buzzed against your palm, pulling you sharply back to reality.

[From: Alex] Outside x

You glanced back towards Oscar one last time. He hadn't moved.

One arm was still tucked awkwardly beneath his head, his face half-hidden by the pillow as Lando continued to wage war against the duvet beside him.

For the first time since you'd met him, he didn't look like the confident captain of the cricket team. Or the cocky idiot who somehow always knew exactly which buttons to press.

He just looked peaceful. And, irritatingly kind.

Your chest tightened.

You remembered, suddenly, the first time you'd completely bombed a pop quiz in first year. You'd been convinced nobody had noticed until Oscar had quietly appeared beside you after the seminar, slid a chocolate bar onto your notebook and told you, with the same stupid grin he always wore, that statistically someone had to finish below average and at least you'd increased everyone else's chances.

You'd rolled your eyes so hard they'd nearly fallen out of your head. Then you'd eaten the chocolate anyway.

Maybe… Maybe there had always been moments like that. You'd just never let yourself keep hold of them.

With a quiet shake of your head, you pulled the bedroom door almost closed again. "Thanks," you murmured, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You weren't entirely sure who you were saying it to.

Oscar. Lando. Kimi. The universe.

Whoever had stopped you spending the night wrapped around a toilet bowl.

It didn't matter.

By the time you reached the front door, you'd already convinced yourself you hadn't meant it at all.

Monday arrived far too quickly.

Thankfully, your hangover had disappeared sometime between Sunday afternoon and collapsing into bed that evening, leaving behind nothing more than a lingering embarrassment every time you remembered whose room you'd woken up in.

Which, annoyingly, was more often than you'd have liked.

By lunchtime, you, Alex and Lily had claimed your usual table outside, half-heartedly picking at your food while Lily filled you in on the lecture she’d thankfully managed not to miss.

You were only half listening.

All morning you'd been catching people looking at you. Every time you glanced up, someone else's head seemed to snap away. Whispers drifted across lecture theatres. People smiled when they walked past. One group by the library had actually laughed before quickly pretending they hadn't.

It was beginning to drive you mad.

You caught another pair of students staring from two tables away. The second they realised you'd noticed, they immediately looked back down at their lunches.

You let your fork clatter onto your tray. "Right."

Alex looked up. "What?"

"What," you repeated, gesturing vaguely around the courtyard, "is everyone's problem?"

Lily frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They keep looking at me."

You leaned back in your chair with a groan. "Have I got something on my face? Did I make a complete idiot of myself on Saturday? Did I throw up on someone?"

Alex and Lily exchanged a glance. It lasted barely a second. Long enough.

"What?" you asked, pointing accusingly between them. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Alex replied a little too innocently.

"The look."

"What look?"

"The one you just did."

Neither of them answered. Instead, Alex stabbed absentmindedly at her chips before speaking. "Have you not heard?"

Your stomach sank. "Heard what?"

Another look. This time Lily sighed. "There's... kind of a rumour."

"A rumour?" you repeated slowly. "About me?"

Lily nodded. "About you and Oscar."

Your fork slipped from your fingers. "What?"

Alex rushed in before your brain could completely short-circuit. "People saw him carrying you upstairs."

"And into his room," Lily added gently.

"And..." Alex winced, "People have sort of filled in the blanks."

You stared at them. "You're joking," neither of them smiled. "I was wasted."

"I know."

"I could barely stand."

"I know."

"So why would anyone—" you stopped yourself. Actually, university students. Of course they would. Heat rushed into your cheeks anyway.

For one utterly traitorous second, your imagination supplied an image entirely uninvited.

Oscar. Close enough to touch. One hand resting against your waist. His mouth brushing your neck.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Absolutely not. "What the fuck?" you muttered, although at this point you weren't entirely sure whether you were talking about the rumour or your own brain.

"It's alright," Alex said quickly, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "It's already starting to die down."

You looked up. "Why?"

This time it was Lily who answered. "Because Oscar's been shutting it down."

You blinked. "What?"

"He hasn't let anyone get away with it," she explained. "Someone made a joke after training this morning."

Alex nodded. "George said Oscar shut it down immediately."

"What did he say?"

The two girls exchanged another glance. Lily shrugged. "He told them," she paused, trying to remember the exact words. "'You were drunk. And to leave you alone.'"

Alex picked up where she left off. "And when someone kept laughing, he basically told him to shut his mouth before he said something he'd regret."

"He nearly swung for one of the second years," Lily added. "Apparently George had to drag him away."

Silence settled over the table. You looked down at your lunch, suddenly finding it very difficult to concentrate on anything Alex was saying. He'd done all that? For you?

The thought settled somewhere quietly inside your chest. Warm. Confusing. Entirely unhelpful.

"Why?" you heard yourself ask.

Neither Alex nor Lily answered.

Across the courtyard, laughter carried through the afternoon air. Almost instinctively, your head turned towards the sound.

Oscar. Walking beside Lando, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie as he laughed at something Lando had said.

He looked exactly like he always did. Easy-going. Confident. Completely unaware that your entire opinion of him seemed to be quietly rearranging itself.

As though sensing your eyes on him, his head turned. Of course it did.

Somehow… He always found you.

His gaze met yours across the courtyard. The grin he'd worn a second ago softened. It wasn't the cocky smile he usually flashed after winding you up. Nor the smug one he wore whenever he won an argument.

This one was smaller. Quieter. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Then he gave the slightest nod before turning back to Lando, the two of them disappearing towards their afternoon lecture.

You watched him go.

"He's still annoying," you muttered eventually.

Alex smiled into her drink. "Course he is."

Neither of you sounded particularly convinced.

The rest of the week passed in a strange blur.

Oscar hadn't changed. Not really. He was still cocky. Still appeared beside you whenever you least expected him. Still somehow managed to wind you up within thirty seconds of every conversation.

The only difference was… You couldn't quite convince yourself you hated it anymore.

Ever since Saturday, little things kept catching your attention. The way his eyes lit up whenever someone made him laugh. The way he always turned fully towards whoever was speaking, listening as though they were the only person in the room. The way he somehow remembered everyone's deadlines, training schedules and birthdays without anyone ever asking him to.

It was irritating. Deeply irritating. Because it didn't fit the version of Oscar Piastri you'd spent two years building inside your head.

You tried not to think about Saturday. About the water on the bedside table. About the paracetamol. About the fact he'd slept squeezed onto the edge of Lando's bed without mentioning it once.

Most of all, you tried not to think about the rumours.

You'd expected him to tease you relentlessly. Instead, he'd barely mentioned them. He’d barely mentioned anything from that night. If anything, he'd been softer. The usual teasing never quite disappeared, but there was something gentler beneath it now. Every time he nudged your shoulder or stole food from your plate, it almost felt careful.

Which was deeply inconvenient.

Because pretending to hate him had suddenly become much harder.

By Friday evening, your entire group had migrated to the local student bar.

The boys had disappeared almost immediately, lured away by a dartboard and what sounded suspiciously like a tournament none of them had been invited to.

You, Alex and Lily claimed a corner near the bar instead, drinks in hand while the conversation drifted between coursework, weekend plans and George's truly horrific fashion choices.

Charles appeared halfway through, flashing Alex a grin before stealing her away for a game of pool.

"Wish me luck," Alex sighed dramatically as she was dragged backwards across the room.

"You'll need it," you called after her.

She responded by sticking her tongue out. Typical.

You smiled into your drink before turning back towards Lily. Except, your attention never quite made it back to the conversation. Instead, it snagged somewhere across the room.

Oscar. Of course. He was leaning against the old jukebox, a bottle dangling loosely from his fingers while a girl stood beside him.

She was pretty. Very pretty. She laughed at something he'd said, resting a hand lightly against his arm.

The room suddenly felt far too warm. You took a long sip of your vodka, hoping it might somehow wash away the uncomfortable knot tightening beneath your ribs.

It didn't.

Beside you, Lily quietly followed your line of sight. Then she smiled. "You know," she said, nudging your elbow gently with hers, "if you keep glaring at them like that, one of them might actually burst into flames."

You looked away far too quickly. "I wasn't glaring."

"No?"

"No."

Lily took a thoughtful sip of her drink. "Could've fooled me."

You sighed. "I just don't get him."

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"This whole week," you shook your head, searching for the words. "He's been different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know,” you frowned into your drink. "He hasn't been…” you paused. "As annoying."

Lily actually laughed. "That's your compliment?"

"It's not a compliment."

She smiled into her glass. "Sure."

You groaned. "You know what I mean."

"I do,” Lily looked back towards Oscar. "I just don't think you do."

Your eyes followed hers despite yourself. The girl was saying something now, smiling up at him. Oscar smiled politely. But then, almost automatically, his eyes lifted.

Straight to you.

Your stomach flipped. He held your gaze for barely a second before glancing back towards the girl. She was still talking. He wasn't really listening anymore.

"You know what's funny?" Lily asked quietly.

"What?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you jealous before."

You almost choked on your drink. "I'm not jealous," Lily looked at you. Didn't say a word. Just looked. "I'm not."

She laughed softly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You opened your mouth to argue again. Nothing came out.

Because the truth had finally forced its way to the surface, lodging itself stubbornly somewhere beneath your ribs.

You weren't angry because Oscar flirted. Oscar flirted with everyone. You were angry because, for the first time in two years, it wasn't with you.

The realisation stole the air from your lungs.

Saturday had cracked something open. Whatever you'd spent the last two years calling annoyance, irritation, hatred… It had never been any of those things.

You'd simply given it a safer name. Something easier to carry. Something that didn't require you to admit why your eyes always found him first in a crowded room. Why every joke he made landed differently when it was aimed at you. Why every party somehow ended with the two of you orbiting each other, pulled together by something neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

The box you'd shoved those feelings into had finally split open. Now they were spilling out faster than you could force them back in.

Across the room, the girl stepped closer. Her hand slid easily from Oscar's forearm to his bicep as she leaned up to whisper something into his ear.

Your grip tightened around your glass until your knuckles ached.

Oscar didn't move. He didn't smile. He didn't lean in. Instead his eyes found yours.

Not for a passing glance. Not accidentally. He held your gaze. One eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. Almost expectantly. Like he was waiting.

The room seemed to disappear. The music. The conversations. The clatter of glasses behind the bar.

None of it reached you anymore. There was only him. Watching. Waiting.

The girl's lips curved into a smile before she hooked her thumb towards the corridor leading to the toilets. Oscar's eyes flicked in that direction for barely a heartbeat.

Then they were back on you.

Still waiting. Still asking.

Your pulse thudded painfully against your ribs.

Say something. Walk over. Tell him to stop looking at her. Tell him to come back. Tell him anything.

Instead, you stood rooted to the spot. Pride held your feet where your heart desperately wanted to move.

If he wanted you, he could come to you.

Across the room, Oscar's jaw shifted. Almost imperceptibly. Like he was reaching the exact same conclusion.

His shoulders rose with a slow breath before he gave the faintest nod to himself. A decision. He said something quietly to the girl that you couldn't hear.

She smiled and started towards the corridor. Oscar followed a couple of paces behind.

Once. Just once. He looked back.

Not at the room. Not at the bar. At you. His eyes lingered for the briefest second. Questioning. Almost pleading.

Like he was giving you one last chance to stop him.

You didn't. You couldn't.

"What the fuck..." you whispered, the words barely audible beneath the music. Something inside your chest twisted so sharply it almost hurt. He was really going.

Just walking away. With someone else.

You'd spent two years pretending you wanted Oscar Piastri as far away from you as possible. Now, as you watched him disappear down the corridor, all you wanted was for him to turn around.

To walk back. To look at you the way he always did. Like you were the only person in the room.

And he didn't.

Before you could lose your composure in the middle of a bar full of your peers, you set your glass down on the counter with a little more force than necessary.

"I'll see you later," you muttered.

Whether Lily heard you over the music, you had no idea. Your jacket was already over your shoulders before you'd consciously decided to leave.

Then you walked. Out through the front doors. Away from the music. Away from your friends. Away from him.

The cool night air wrapped around your flushed skin as you stepped outside, filling your lungs with a sharp breath that should have settled the storm inside your chest.

It didn't. If anything, it made everything louder. Your heart. Your thoughts. The ache spreading relentlessly beneath your ribs.

You knew exactly what this feeling was now. You just refused to give it a name. Because the second you admitted it, everything else would unravel with it.

Every eye roll. Every sarcastic comment. Every excuse. Every time you'd told yourself you hated Oscar because it was easier than admitting you wanted every bit of attention he threw your way.

You'd spent two years pretending you wanted him to leave you alone. Now, all you could think about was the fact he'd looked at someone else.

You shoved your hands deep into your jacket pockets and kept walking. The pavement was quiet this far from the bar, broken only by distant laughter spilling through the open doors behind you.

You'd almost reached the narrow alley beside the building when a familiar voice drifted through the darkness. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"

You stopped walking.

Of course.

Slowly, you turned around. Oscar was leaning casually against the brick wall at the mouth of the alley, hands tucked into the pockets of his denim jacket.

Like he'd known you'd come this way. Like he'd been waiting. The sight of him sent your pulse skittering wildly before you ruthlessly shoved it back down.

"I'm going home." You hated how flat your voice sounded.

Oscar tilted his head. "So early?"

"You'll survive without me."

"I wasn't worried about me," he pushed himself away from the wall. One slow step. "I was asking about you."

Your eyes dropped instinctively to the pavement. "I'm just tired."

Another step. "Is that really why you're leaving?"

You let out a slow, frustrated breath. "Oscar..."

"I'm asking."

"I know."

You rubbed a hand over your forehead before finally looking back at him. "I'm really not in the mood tonight."

Something softened across his face. The teasing smile eased into something quieter. "Okay," the single word caught you off guard. He watched you for another moment. Then spoke again, his voice noticeably gentler. "So tell me."

"What?"

"Why are you leaving?"

You laughed once. Short. Humourless. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"No," he nodded immediately. "You don't." Silence settled between you. Somewhere behind you, the bar doors opened and closed again before the sounds disappeared into the night.

Oscar broke the quiet first. "I just don't like seeing you upset."

Your heart stumbled painfully. "I'm not upset."

"You left without saying goodbye."

You blinked. The audacity. You actually laughed. "Are you joking? You've spent the last two years deliberately winding me up every chance you've had," you shook your head, disbelief bubbling beneath every word. "You flirt with me until I don't know whether I want to kiss you or throttle you..." your voice caught. "Then disappear after another girl and you’re saying I didn't say goodbye?."

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Silence. Your eyes widened.

Oh. God. You hadn't meant to say that part.

Oscar stared at you. Not smug. Not victorious. Just looking at you like you'd handed him the final piece of a puzzle he'd been trying to solve for years.

Heat rushed violently into your cheeks. "I..." you looked away immediately. "Forget I said anything," you turned sharply, already starting to walk again. "I just want to go home."

You'd barely made it three steps before his voice reached you once more. "This was about that girl?"

You stopped. Very slowly, you looked back over your shoulder. "What girl?"

Oscar couldn't quite hide the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth. "Don’t act dumb, the one you just mentioned, the one you've been trying to set on fire with your eyes for the last twenty minutes."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"No?" He folded his arms. "I think your face might disagree."

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You are unbelievable."

"You looked like you were mentally planning her funeral."

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escaped. It disappeared almost immediately. You sighed, looking away again. "Just go back inside."

Oscar frowned. "Why?"

You swallowed. "She's probably wondering where you've gone."

"Who?"

You hated how quiet your voice became. "Your girl," Oscar blinked. "The one you were about to disappear into the bathroom with."

For a heartbeat he simply stared. Then, very slowly, a smile spread across his face. Not cocky. Not triumphant. Almost wonderstruck. "My girl?" he repeated softly.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Oh God."

"So you were jealous."

"I wasn't jealous."

"You called her my girl."

You buried your face in your hands. "I know, alright?"

Oscar actually laughed. Not at you. Just with complete, unfiltered delight. Like this was the best thing he'd heard all week. "I don't even know her," he said, still smiling.

You frowned. "What?"

"I asked her where the toilets were."

You blinked. "What?"

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, another quiet laugh escaping him. "She'd only been in the bar about five minutes," he shook his head, almost in disbelief. "But you thought..." his smile softened. "You thought I was leaving with her."

You folded your arms tightly across your chest, trying desperately to gather what little dignity you still had. "I didn't think anything."

"You stormed out. And you've never voluntarily left before midnight."

"I've matured."

Oscar snorted. "Today?"

You glared at him. "You're still unbelievably annoying."

"There she is,” his smile was impossibly soft now. "I've missed her."

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You looked anywhere but at him. The pavement. The cracked kerb. The sleeve of your jacket. Anywhere except those stupid brown eyes that always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking.

Oscar didn't fill the silence. Didn't tease you. Didn't chase another joke. He simply waited. Patiently. Like he already knew you weren't walking away again.

Your thoughts were a mess. Part of you still wanted to protect yourself. The other part, the louder part, needed to know. Needed him to say it. Needed all of this to mean something.

Oscar took another slow step towards you. Close enough now that you could see the tiny scar beside his eyebrow. Close enough to smell the familiar scent that had lingered in his T-shirt all week. "Do you not want to know why I was out here?" he asked quietly.

Your eyes lifted before you could stop them. "What?"

"I left," he shrugged one shoulder. "The second you did."

Your brow furrowed. "But…” you gestured helplessly back towards the bar. "The girl..."

"What about her?"

"You followed her."

Oscar laughed again. Warm. Disbelieving. "I followed her because she was showing me where the toilets were," he smiled. "I never actually made it to the toilets," your heart skipped. "I saw you leave," his smile faded into something quieter. "So I came after you."

No dramatic declaration. No grand gesture. Just the truth. Like there had never been another option.

You stared at him. "Why?"

Oscar blinked. "Seriously?"

"I'm asking."

He looked at you for a long moment. Then let out a slow breath. "I don't really know how else to say this anymore," another pause. "I've spent two years flirting with you."

You gave a quiet scoff. "You flirt with everyone."

"I do," he nodded easily. "I've only ever meant it with you."

Silence.

The sounds of the town disappeared completely. Your heartbeat seemed impossibly loud.

"Oscar..."

"No," he smiled faintly. "Let me finish."

For the first time since you'd known him, he looked nervous. Not because he doubted himself. Because he cared what your answer would be.

"I'm tired," he laughed quietly at himself. "I'm tired of pretending I'm joking," his eyes never left yours. "I ask where you are before I even say hello to anyone else. I steal chips off your plate because I know you'll tell me off. I sit next to you whenever I get the chance. I know your coffee order. I know Tuesdays are your least favourite day because your timetable's awful. I know you always say you don't want the last chip," a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You always eat it anyway."

Despite yourself, you smiled.

"I gave you my room," his voice softened. "I paid Kimi fifty quid to sit outside my bedroom all night because I didn't want anyone bothering you. I nearly punched someone because they were talking about you."

He took another step closer. Only one. "But none of that seems to matter,” his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Because every time I think I've made it obvious..." he gave a tiny shake of his head. "You look at me like you still think I'm joking."

You swallowed hard.

Oscar smiled sadly. "And you're studying psychology," a tiny laugh escaped him. "So," he looked at you with so much fondness it almost hurt. "Either I'm the worst flirt in human history or you're absolutely terrible at reading me."

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Oscar's entire face lit up. "There she is."

You looked down at your shoes. "I..." the words tangled somewhere behind your ribs. "I thought..." you took a shaky breath. "I thought you were just..." you laughed quietly at yourself. “Like that."

"Like what?"

"Confident. Cocky. The sort of guy who makes everyone feel special," your voice cracked slightly. "I never thought..." your eyes finally met his again. "That maybe you were only making me feel special."

Oscar didn't hesitate. "I was," the words landed with startling simplicity. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just certainty. "It was always you."

Your eyes burned. You laughed once, covering your face with your hand. "...God. I've been such an idiot."

"I wasn't going to say it."

"You were thinking it."

"I've been thinking it for about two years."

You groaned. "I've spent all this time convincing myself I hated you."

Oscar tilted his head. "Did it work?"

You looked at him properly. Really looked at him. The answer had been there all along. Slowly, you shook your head. "No."

Oscar smiled. Not the cocky grin you'd spent years pretending to hate. Not the teasing smile he'd thrown across crowded rooms. Just Oscar. "I didn't think so.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you had never felt so impossibly small. You could hear his breathing. Feel the warmth radiating from him.

One more step and your chest would brush his. One more step and… Neither of you seemed brave enough to take it.

Your eyes caught on his. For the first time in two years, there was nowhere left to hide. No jokes. No sarcasm. No pretending. Just the truth.

You let out a shaky breath. "You're still," you laughed quietly, shaking your head. "The most infuriating person I've ever met."

Oscar's smile widened. "I know."

"And I still want to throttle you most days."

"I'd be worried if you didn't."

You laughed again. It came easier now. "I really hate how right you were."

His eyebrows lifted. "About what?"

You looked at him for a long moment before giving in. "That I'd like you eventually."

Oscar's grin faltered. Not because he was disappointed. Because he suddenly realised you were serious.

You swallowed. "I don't think,” your voice softened. "I don't think I ever hated you."

Something flickered across his face. Disbelief. Relief. Hope. All at once.

"I just,” you laughed at yourself, eyes dropping briefly to the pavement. "I didn't know what else to call it."

Oscar didn't say anything. He simply looked at you. Like he'd waited two years to hear those words.

You looked back up at him. "You are so unbelievably annoying. But..." you stepped towards him. Just one step. "God, I like you."

The grin that broke across Oscar's face was unlike anything you'd ever seen. Bright. Unrestrained. Almost boyish. "Yeah?" he breathed. "No bullshit?"

You smiled. "No bullshit."

That was all it took.

You both moved at exactly the same time. You reached for the front of his denim jacket just as his hands found your waist. The last inch disappeared in a heartbeat.

Your mouths collided more than they met. Messy. Desperate. Two years of almosts crashing together all at once. You kissed him like you'd been trying not to for twenty-four months. He kissed you back with equal desperation, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

You could feel him smiling. Actually smiling. Into the kiss. The feeling made you laugh against his mouth before he kissed you again, softer this time, smiling so much neither of you seemed capable of kissing properly.

Your fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft. You'd known it would be.

Oscar let out the smallest, happiest sound you'd ever heard, his forehead dropping gently against yours as the two of you caught your breath. "I cannot believe," he laughed quietly, "That it took you two years."

You nudged his shoulder. "I hate you."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, you don't."

"No," you smiled. "I really don't."

He looked at you for another second. Like he still wasn't entirely convinced this was real. Then he leaned in again.

The second kiss was completely different. Slower. Gentler. No desperation. No proving anything. Just the quiet certainty of finally being exactly where you were supposed to be.

When you eventually pulled apart, neither of you had managed to let go of the other.

"So..." Oscar murmured. "Want to go back inside?"

You snorted. "They've probably started a search party for you."

Oscar held out his hand. "Come on."

You looked down at it. Then back up at him. Without another word, you slipped your fingers through his. They fit surprisingly easily. Like they'd been waiting to do that, too.

The music grew louder as you stepped back inside together.

It took approximately three seconds. George looked up from his drink. Saw your joined hands. Then looked across the table.

"About fucking time."

Lando didn't even look surprised. Instead, he held his hand out towards Max. Max sighed dramatically before fishing a twenty-pound note from his wallet and slapping it into Lando's palm.

"You two were betting on us?" you asked, horrified.

"No," Alex said far too quickly. A beat. "...Well."

Lily burst out laughing. "We were betting on which one of you would crack first."

You looked around the table in complete disbelief before you turned slowly towards Oscar. "You know, I still might change my mind."

Oscar leaned down just enough for only you to hear. "You won't because I know you."

Your eyes rolled instinctively. "You are impossible."

"I know."

You reached up anyway, fisting your hand in the front of his jacket before pulling him down into another kiss.

Around you, the entire table erupted. Someone wolf-whistled. George groaned theatrically. Lando covered his eyes. "Right," he announced to absolutely nobody. "They're unbearable."

You laughed into the kiss. And somewhere between the cheers, the teasing and Oscar smiling so hard his cheeks must have hurt, you realised something.

You hadn't just fallen for Oscar tonight. Or that night. You'd been falling for him all along.

Tonight was simply the first time you'd finally let yourself land.

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