THE END | Oscar Piastri

49. get him back

Sav's pov

Cold isn't the word to describe the bed when I wake. No, it's warm. The side he reclaimed last night is warm, but empty.

As the tired fog clears, I hear the sounds of sizzling and quiet curses. Sitting up in bed, I observe him standing in the small kitchen, wearing the oversized shirt I lent him last night. It was oversized for me, but looked like a normal shirt on him. And for the bottoms, he borrowed a pair of my pajama pants, which looked ridiculous on him. They were far too short, showing his ankles and another two inches above them.

I slip from the covers, silently stepping over to his right side. He jumps when he sees me, dropping the plastic knife in his hand, and leaving a strawberry half cut. "This thing doesn't cut very well." He laughs and so do I.

I move a thick strand of hair away from his face. "How long have you been up?" The eggs cooking in the pan, the fruit, and the plastic utensils all weren't here before.

He places his right hand on my hip, and inches is to the space in the center of my back right above my ass. "Around an hour, an hour and a half." He shrugs, a half smile decorating his face as he looks down at me. "Did you sleep good? You slept for twelve hours." He laughs.

"Did I really?" I ask, turning to the clock. He was right. "Mhm, must've been tired." He comments, moving to the other side of me. His hands slide across my back as he moves. His left hand stops in the same spot his right hand was just resting at.

Yesterday, I didn't feel tired. Not one bit. But now I feel much more awake and refreshed than I have in a long time. "Could've been the jet lag." I reply. His nose scrunches up at the mention as he scoops the finished eggs onto plates, adding the half cut strawberries before taking both plates to the small circular table in the corner of the room.

I follow him, taking the seat that faces the open window. "I kinda gave up on cutting the strawberries. The knife doesn't cut very well." He comments, moving the seat that was across the table, and putting it right beside me. "They taste the same either way." I shrug, spearing one with the fork and popping it off into my mouth. He laughs, shaking his head.

"Are you going to Austria? I'll get you..." He trails off when he sees the shake of my head. "The label is expecting an album out of me this year, and I only have like ten written songs. I'm going back to Miami so I can actually focus."

"Do you have your notebook with you?" Out of all the possible questions, this was the one I least anticipated. "Uh... yeah." I cross the room and retrieve it from my bag, returning to the table and putting it in front of him. "Can I read through it?" He asks, a hand already on the cover, but still looking up at me for permission.

I nod, the contents of the book filing into my brain only after agreeing. "Oh there's some songs in there about you- nothing terrible, not really- but uhm yeah. And obviously they were written before I was with Lando but you did have a girlfriend while I wrote some of those which is a really shitty thing for me to do, but in all honesty I didn't expect-"

"Sav."

His voice makes me stop, realizing I'd been rambling once again. "Sorry." My apology is impulsive. "That's all behind us." His tone mixed with his smile makes my brain stop working. I only nod and sit back in my seat.

I stare down at my plate, avoiding his reactions while he flips through pages. Occasionally, I poke a strawberry or a piece of egg and bite it off the fork.

"Oh." It's first word he's said in minutes, and it's barely heard, a mere whisper. I drift my eyes to the page and internally cringe.