Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 31, here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.
Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.
You left a little later, when the night air had cooled enough to make you wrap your jacket tighter around yourself. Oscar had walked you out, and there was something different about the way he moved beside you now, less careful, but somehow more aware. Like a barrier had been lifted, but you were both still figuring out what that meant.
"So," he said, hands in his pockets, that familiar half-smile playing at his lips. "That was..."
"Terrifying?" you suggested, and he laughed, that quiet laugh you'd grown to love over the months of friendship.
"I was going to say overdue, but terrifying works too." He glanced at you sideways. "How long do you think we've been dancing around this?"
"Months," you said honestly. "Remember that night in Monaco when you fell asleep on my couch during the movie?"
"You mean when you covered me with that ridiculous fuzzy blanket and I woke up wondering if I was allowed to feel that domestic about it?"
"That's the one." You bumped his shoulder gently. "I spent twenty minutes just watching you sleep and having a full crisis about it."
"Twenty minutes?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm flattered. Also, that explains why you were so weird the next morning."
"You couldn't look me in the eye, I thought I did something wrong."
You groaned at the memory. "God, I was so obvious."
"We both were," he said softly. "I think everyone knew except us."
You'd reached the corner where you'd normally part ways, him back to his hotel, you to yours. But neither of you made any move to leave. Instead, you both just stood there, looking at each other like you were seeing something familiar in a completely new light.
"This is the part where I usually make some joke about your terrible navigation skills or how you're definitely going to get lost on the way back," Oscar said, but his voice was gentler than usual.
"And this is where I usually tell you that your confidence in my directional abilities is touching but misplaced," you replied. "But..."
You looked at him, really looked at him. Same Oscar you'd been talking to for months, same dark eyes that crinkled when he found something genuinely funny, same way of tilting his head when he was listening. But now there was something new in his expression, something open and hopeful that made your chest feel warm.
"But I don't really want to joke about it tonight," you finished.
"No," he agreed quietly. "Me neither."
He stepped closer then, just half a step, but enough that you could see the way his breathing had changed slightly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Are you freaking out? Because I'm definitely freaking out, but in like... a good way? Is that possible?"
The honesty in his voice, the way he was looking at you like you held the answer to something important, made you smile. "Yeah, I'm freaking out too. Good freaking out."
"Okay good. I was worried I was the only one having an existential crisis about holding your hand earlier."
"You were very good at the hand holding, for someone having an existential crisis."
"Years of practice overthinking things," he said, and there was that self-deprecating humour you knew so well. "It's prepared me for this exact scenario."
"Overthinking holding hands with me specifically?"
"Overthinking everything about you specifically," he said, and then seemed to realise what he'd admitted. "That... probably sounds less romantic than it did in my head."
You laughed, reaching for his hand without thinking about it. His fingers intertwined with yours immediately, like muscle memory. "It sounds honest. I like honest."
"Good, because I have about six months worth of honest thoughts I've been keeping to myself."
He considered this seriously. "Fine, more. There was that day you showed up at my apartment with takeout because I mentioned I was too tired to cook, and I realised I was completely gone for you."
"That was ten months ago, Oscar."
"Has it really been that long?" He looked genuinely surprised. "Christ, we're both idiots."
"The best kind of idiots," you said, and he squeezed your hand.
"So what happens now?" he asked, and you could hear the careful hope in his voice.
"Now..." You paused, trying to put into words what you'd been thinking since you'd both finally said what you'd been feeling. "Now we figure it out. Together. Without the panic spirals and the overanalysing everything."
"You know me very well," he said dryly. "The overanalysing is basically a core personality trait at this point."
"I know. But maybe try to keep it to a minimum? Just for tonight?"
He nodded, then leaned down and kissed you, soft and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Like you weren't going anywhere.
When you broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours. "This feels different than I thought it would," he said quietly.
"Less scary. More... right." He pulled back to look at you properly. "Like maybe we were always heading here and just took the scenic route."
Your chest felt so full you thought you might burst. "I like the scenic route. We got to be friends first."
"Which is probably going to make this either really easy or a complete disaster."
"My money's on really easy."
"Yeah. We already know all each other's worst habits. We've seen each other at 3 AM during FaceTime when you're running on pure adrenaline and bad coffee. We've had fights about whether pineapple belongs on pizza—"
"—and we still choose to spend time together. That's got to count for something."
Oscar was quiet for a moment, just looking at you with that soft expression you were still getting used to seeing directed at you. "You know what the best part is?"
"I don't have to pretend I'm not completely crazy about you anymore."
The simple honesty of it made your heart skip. "Good," you said, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, brief and sweet. "Because I was getting tired of pretending I didn't notice the way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."
"Like I'm something wonderful you can't quite believe is real."
He was quiet for a long moment, then: "That's exactly how I look at you."
Your phone buzzed then, breaking the moment, and you both glanced down to see a text from your assistant about your early flight.
"I should go," you said reluctantly.
"I know." He squeezed your hand once more before letting go. "But we're good? This is... we're doing this?"
"We're doing this," you confirmed, and watched his whole face light up.
"Okay. Good. Great." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking like the Oscar you'd first met—a little uncertain but trying to play it cool. "I'll text you?"
"You better. I want to hear all about how Lando reacts when you tell him."
Oscar groaned. "He's going to be insufferable. He's been saying this would happen for months."
"Don't tell him that. His ego's big enough already."
You were still laughing as you walked away, and when you turned back at the corner, Oscar was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you go with that same soft smile you'd been trying not to read too much into for months.
Your phone buzzed almost immediately.
Oscar: I'm already missing talking to you, and it's been thirty seconds.
You: That's very codependent of you.
Oscar: I prefer to think of it as efficient. Why waste time pretending I don't want to talk to you constantly?
You: Fair point. How does it feel?
Oscar: What, admitting I want to talk to you constantly?
You: No, dummy. All of it. Tonight.
There was a longer pause, and you could practically see him considering his answer.
Oscar: Like coming home, if that makes sense. Like everything just clicked into place.
You: It makes perfect sense.
Oscar: Good. I was worried that was too cheesy.
Oscar: In that case, prepare yourself for months of stored-up cheesy thoughts.
You: Bring it on. I've got months of stored-up sappy responses.
Oscar: We're going to be completely insufferable, aren't we?
You: Absolutely. Our friends are going to hate us.
You: Definitely worth it. Now go get some sleep before you start overthinking this.
Oscar: Too late. Already started.
You: It's going to be okay. Better than okay.
You: Promise. We have plenty of time to figure this out.
By the time you reached your room, you were practically glowing. You kicked off your shoes, tossed your jacket aside, and sank onto the edge of the bed with a grin that refused to leave. For a second, you just sat there, your face buried in your hands, letting out a laugh, half disbelief, half pure joy.
And then, as it always did when your heart was too full, the inspiration came rushing in.
You grabbed your notebook from the nightstand, flipping to a blank page. Words tumbled out faster than you could catch them, messy lines of yearning and warmth, the softness of his smile, the quiet weight of his hand against your cheek. You wrote about how love didn’t have to be loud to be real, how sometimes it was in the pauses, the hesitations, the “hi” whispered after a kiss.
Your pen scratched across the page until you couldn’t stop grinning again, and that was when you reached for your phone.
Your agent answered on the third ring, a little groggy. “It’s late. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you said quickly, your voice bubbling with excitement. “I have a new song.”
There was a pause. “…Already?”
You nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see you. “Yeah. It just—it came to me. I had to tell you. I’ll send you the demo tomorrow.”
She chuckled softly, still half-asleep but amused. “Only you would call me at midnight because of inspiration. Alright, superstar, get some rest.”
“I will,” you promised, and hung up, still smiling.
You slipped under the covers, notebook still open on the bedside table, and let yourself replay the evening one more time. His voice, his touch, the way you’d both smiled after that first kiss.
And when you finally closed your eyes, the giddiness didn’t fade. It just softened, wrapping around you like a blanket. You fell asleep happy, the kind of happy that lingered in your chest like a song you couldn’t stop humming.
The zipper of my suitcase echoed too loudly in the quiet hotel room as I tried to close it, kneeling on top of it like it was some kind of wrestling match. I huffed, shoving one last sweater inside, when a soft knock came at the door.
I froze. My heart did that little jump it had started doing ever since last night. For a moment, I debated ignoring it, hair messy, suitcase exploding, not exactly my best look, but then I sighed, padded barefoot across the carpet, and opened the door.
And there he was. Oscar. Hands shoved in his pockets, cap low over his hair, like he was trying to be casual… but his smile gave him away.
“Hey,” he said, a little breathless, like he’d jogged down the hallway. “I, uh—I asked around when you were leaving. Thought I’d say goodbye in person.”
My chest tightened in the best possible way.
I smiled, the kind of smile I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to. “That’s really sweet. Come in, I was just finishing up.”
He stepped inside, looking around the messy room with a kind of fond amusement, like the scattered clothes and open notebooks were proof of who I was rather than a disaster.
We stood there for a moment, me fiddling with my sweater sleeve, him shifting his weight. Then he cleared his throat.
“So… next week’s the last race of the season for me,” he said softly, eyes darting to mine then away. “After that, I’ll have a break. I thought maybe… if you wanted… we could see each other then.”
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was just him, honest, slightly awkward, completely endearing.
I felt my lips curve before I even answered. “I’d love that. Really. I’ll check my calendar, but… yes.”
He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days, and his shoulders relaxed. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward anymore; it was heavy with something warm, something that felt like us.
I glanced at the clock and sighed. “I should get going, though. The taxi’s coming soon.”
Oscar nodded, swallowing hard, and then before I could grab my suitcase handle, he stepped closer and pulled me into him.
It wasn’t rushed, or desperate. Just… real. His arms wrapped around me, grounding me, and then his lips pressed to mine—slow, unhurried, almost shy. The kind of kiss that made me want to stay right there forever.
When we pulled back, I noticed the faint blush on his cheeks, the way his thumb lingered against my hand even as he let go.
“Safe flight,” he murmured, voice low but steady.
I smiled, still feeling his warmth on my lips. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”
And then, reluctantly, I picked up my suitcase and walked out, already replaying every second in my head.
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