✓ | UNTIL THE SONG WAS DONE, oscar piastri

EIGHTEEN

She knew she wasn't one, as she and Oscar definitely were not dating and she definitely is not his wife either, but if people were starting to group her with such people, she couldn't help but feel the bricks piling on her back from pressure. It only worsened last night. She rarely checks Twitter anyway, but the one time she decided to, she was met with an amount of comments that could fill up four semi-trucks with no-room to spare, and every single one of them mentioned Oscar.

She meant it when she had typed, and promptly deleted, that she was not exactly cut-out for Oscar's new lifestyle. So, again, as she still finds herself hypnotized by her new clothes—a beautiful, yet dark reminder of doomsday tomorrow—she asks herself: why the hell is she here?

A knock on the door saves any potential panic from setting in, and Maia grabs the top and skirt with speed, stuffing it back into the box it came in.

When she opens the door, she sees Oscar and she questions with a huff, "What do you need?"

Oscar gives her a scoff. "I'm being honest, your attitude problem is really worrying."

"It's not a 'problem,'" she gasps, moving out of the way as he lets himself into her room. No invite needed this time, apparently.

Oscar takes a quick scan of the room, probably because he hadn't the chance the first time. "You're really organized."

"Does that mean your room is a mess?"

"Maybe," he shrugs, the tightly-fit T-shirt on his chest not sparing her the sight of his arm muscles, which was weird, because she doesn't usually get distracted by such things–especially not by Oscar. "Am I still on that 'No DM'ing' ban, by the way?"

Maia tilts her head from side-to-side as she considers. "Mm, yes."

"Jeez, okay," He shakes his head and crosses his arms. "Guess you'll be seeing more of me."

Maia slaps a hand on her forehead dramatically, saying with desperation, "Oh, a woman's worst nightmare!"

The driver gifts her with a chuckle, before explaining, "Well, since you're just so miserable, I wanted to tell you that at the ceremony, they'll call me in when I'm about to get my award, so you'll be left with the other drivers while I give my speech."

Oh. So, he wants Maia dead, is what he's saying.

"I'm gonna be left at a table with people I don't know?"

"Yep," he confirms, popping the 'p' sound at the end. He then tilts his head, looking away from her as he thinks. "Unless," his brown eyes meet her's once again. "you want to come up on stage with me. You know, let me show you off. Or, could be the other way around, since I'm quite the catch."

God fucking damn it.

Maia hated when he did this when they were kids, and she still hates it now. These stupid little bouts of confidence that make him say the craziest things. It was a lot more deliberate, she could tell, when they entered the age of 13, and she could never understand why. It was like he figured out flirting was a thing, and he wanted to use her as a test subject to test out his abilities.

"Right..." she nods slowly, trying quickly for some sort of comeback to generate in her brain as she pushes aside his comment about 'showing her off.' "Aren't you single right now?"