DON'T YOU SEE ME? (I THINK I'M FALLING!)
PAIRING: oscar piastri x f!reader DESCRIPTION: one shot based on the 1975's fallingforyou WARNINGS: brothers best friend, best friend's sister, small age gap (2 years), a little angsty, unreciprocated feelings for the most part, alcohol consumption, yearning A/N: this is my all time fave by the 1975 so first of all thank you to the person who suggested this (ily) second of all i hope i did it justice. this is the vibe i get from this song!
EARLY 2011, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
You had been sat on the edge of the karting track with your legs tucked under you for far too long now. The scent of the hot tarmac and burning fuel was tickling your nose in an unpleasant, almost dizzying way.
It wasn’t that you weren’t used to it—after all, weekends here had become part of your life—but on a sweltering day like today, you couldn’t help but wish you were anywhere else. Preferably somewhere with ice cream. And air conditioning.
Still, you tried your best to engage with the scene at hand. Your diary was open in your lap, the sun behind you casting an odd shadow across the pages. The pen you had stole from the garage was poised between your fingers, but your focus wasn't exactly on writing.
Your attention had been stolen by two karts in particular, chasing each other around the track. Your little brother, James, and his best friend, Oscar, who was currently putting a lot of pressure on the former.
You watched intently as they whizzed past, your brother doing his best to keep him at bay. From your calculations, they were only battling for 6th place. Your heart thudded harder than you’d like to admit each time they tore past, side by side for a brief moment before James shut the door on him again.
James was extremely talented for his age, and you actually grew to love the days spent at the local race track, contrary to popular belief. You didn't ever really have to worry about him losing track position, but you couldn't help but break a slight sweat when you saw that it was Oscar Piastri following closely behind.
Off the track, their so-called rivalry disappeared completely. Oscar, the boy who showed up at your house on race day mornings to carpool with your family, who always said thank you to your mum, and who treated your dog like it was his own.
He'd been around long enough for your parents to know his favourite meal (dinner was hosted at your house at least once a month without fail), and you had heard his laugh echoing through your bedroom window from your back yard way too many times to not recognise it.
You’d never really spoken to him much—at your age, you’d decided that all boys were annoying, especially your brother’s friends—but he’d always noticed you.
If anyone had asked him, Oscar would say that you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. You, the girl casually sat somewhere with a book in your hands, your hair long and always swept away from your face. He'd noticed over time that you always wore some kind of necklace— woven ones, beaded ones, metal ones— the kind that you'd usually find in a quirky jewellery store.
Oscar knew you were older than him and James, always turning your nose up at their childish behaviour—though mostly, it was your brother and his antics, not Oscar. He admired that you came out to support James every weekend, especially when he knew that it was a tough feat to get his own sisters interested in watching him.
He didn't quite know what to name it yet, but something felt warm in his chest every time he looked at you. It could have been in the way you toothily smiled every time your brother came running over after a race. Maybe it was the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed at something funny that he said.
Whatever it was, the feeling had become familiar, settling deep in his stomach and awakening in your presence.
The race ended with James narrowly holding him off. Him and James were both breathless, their helmets tucked beneath their arms and their hair plastered to their foreheads. Out of the corner of his eye, Oscar saw you making your way over with two water bottles in hand.
He secretly hoped that one of them was for him.
So when you handed one of them over to him without a word, already fussing over James and the sweaty mess that he'd become, he said thank you so quickly and quietly he doubted that you even heard him. But you offered him a little smile at his good manners.
He felt his heart stutter and then stop.
That was enough of an interaction to keep him thinking about it the whole ride home.
It was a hazy Sunday afternoon the next time that he saw you.
You heard the bikes before you saw them, the telltale noise of scattered gravel and the squeal of the brakes announcing their arrival. Your window was open, so you heard both of their voices filtering through, especially James' obnoxiously loud one.
You rolled your eyes, considering shutting the window, but it was such a nice day and really, you should be spending it outside, too.
They dumped their bikes on the front porch and then they were gone again, dashing through the side gate into your back garden. You sat at your window for a few minutes, weighing out your options.
Your mum would probably shout up soon and tell you to spend some time outside anyway, so you might as well take the initiative and do it on your own terms.
Some time later, you found yourself sat under the big oak tree in the corner of your garden, finding a nice shady spot to enjoy the weather in. Of course, you had brought your diary, but you were mostly just doodling idly.
You glanced up a few times to see what the idiots were getting up to— James was currently trying to build a ramp with a plank of wood and a brick (an accident waiting to happen) and Oscar was following him, nodding along to whatever he was saying.
You were used to boys being loud and dumb, but Oscar was different. Sure, he was just as immature as the rest of them at times, but he never got on your nerves. He was polite, and he actually questioned some of your brothers absurd ideas. His other friends weren't like that.
You watched them from where you were sitting, and you met Oscar's eyes for just a second before he squealed.
He tripped over his own two feet, sending the bike he was wheeling along tumbling in front of him.
James stood beside him cackling, and you couldn't help but giggle a little at the faint blush covering Oscar's cheeks. Maybe you'd spoken too soon.
You got up and walked over, only to make sure that he wasn't hurt. As the older sibling, you felt like you had a duty of care to make sure that your brother and his friends weren't doing anything too stupid. Or so you told yourself, because you'd never really checked in on his friends before.
“You okay, Oscar?” You asked, offering out your hand to him.
He was still lay on the floor, sprawled out like the idea of moving was just too embarrassing.
Though he looked at your hand, he didn't take it, getting up and brushing his knees off like nothing had just happened.
“Yeah, thanks,” he stammered. But now you were looking at him, and now he has this funny twisting feeling in his stomach and he's actually not so sure anymore that he is okay.
Maybe the fall had given him a stomach virus.
James teased him about that moment for many weeks, but Oscar took it in his stride.
He would never forget the way you said his name so delicately.
That memory itself overpowered any embarrassment he felt that day, and James' teasing only played your voice in his head on repeat.
2016, UAE, YAS MARINA CIRCUIT
You heard it before you saw it: the scream of the engines crossing the finish line, the garage around you erupting in cheers, the shouts of both of your families celebrating.
His debut race in F4, and he's 6th. The real start of something, and everyone around you knew it.
James was ecstatic beside you, but you didn't miss the look of frustration in his eyes beneath everything else. He nudged you in the side, completely oblivious to how transparent he was being.
“Knew he could do it,” he shouted over the noise.
James had been pushing so hard for months now. Ever since he found out Oscar would be moving up to F4, he'd found a new form of motivation. It was led through jealousy, sure, but he couldn't say that he wasn't happy for Oscar.
James was probably more excited than Oscar when he announced the news, practically bouncing off the walls.
But somewhere along the line he realised that Oscar was moving up, going places, and he was still stuck. He was sure his time would come, but it was hard believing so at the age of 15, where every little thing seemed so much bigger than it was.
You nodded, squeezing his forearm. You didn't want to address what you already knew, but you also truly believed that James would make it one day too.
Hell, you knew he'd make it, it was just a case of when. You hoped it would be sooner rather than later, before he crumbled under the pressure.
Oscar had climbed out of the car, the team swarming him. He did so like it was natural to him, like he'd done it a hundred times before.
He raised his hand in a quiet fist pump, a celebration so perfectly matched to him. Composed, a little breathless but somehow still so calm.
You noticed that here, in this setting, he looked different. You suspected that it could have been to do with the fact that the car behind him was a real single-seater, not a small kart, but something about him seemed more mature.
He was taller than you now, his growth spurt hitting hard in the past few years. His hair was a little longer, falling into his eyes when he took his helmet off. The race suit he was sporting made his shoulders look broader.
You pinned the changes down to the simple process of growing up.
“Come on, we need to clear out of the garage,” James beckoned with his hand.
You quickly picked up your bag and followed the general crowd moving towards the exit.
But not before glancing back once more.
Oscar met your gaze, and then you were swept away into the chaos, losing sight of him completely.
Everyone had retreated to the hospitality area, a steady supply of champagne and other drinks flowing between you. And so there you were, nursing a glass of coke whilst people buzzed off the excitement of the day.
The plan was to wait for Oscar to finish up, and then go out for a celebratory meal. A tradition you had upheld for years now.
But after a suspiciously long time of chatting and glancing at the entrance every so often, his mum had asked you to have a quick look around and find out how much longer he was going to be.
The perks of being the oldest child here, you thought.
You wandered around the hospitality with no luck, venturing out back into the garage itself. Many staff members passed by, but you were too nervous to speak to any of them and find out where Oscar actually was.
You must have looked so out of place, walking around aimlessly with a confused look on your face.
The paddock was clearing by the time you found him, sitting on the steps behind the garage.
His race suit was tied around his waist, exposing the black fire proofs underneath. He was holding onto a bottle of water and staring ahead like he didn't know what to do with himself.
You approached from behind slowly, your shoes scuffing the floor with every step.
“You hiding from everyone?” you asked softly, not wanting to startle him.
Oscar looked up quickly, before putting his head down again. “No. Just thinking.”
You placed one hand on the railing next to the steps as you lowered yourself down, sitting down next to him.
Not close enough to touch knees, but close enough for him to stop breathing for a whole minute.
“I wanted to say well done,” you smiled, nudging his shoulder. “You know, this F4 thing. It's pretty damn cool.”
He blinked at you, pushing his hair back, and then gave a small shrug. “It’s not… I mean, yeah. Thanks.”
“No, really. Everyone is so proud of you. This is amazing.” you said, your tone serious.
“You’re making me sound more impressive than I am.” He said quietly, but you caught the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“I think you are impressive,” you said, matching his quiet tone.
“You do?” he asked, turning his head to look at you.
“Well, yeah. I don't know many people who can say they've come this far. Actually, you're the only one I know. So consider me impressed." You grinned back at him.
He ducked his head, and you saw the colour rise in his cheeks.
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but ultimately decided against it.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, still looking down at his shoes. His face still burning a pale shade of crimson.
There was a beat of silence between the two of you.
Then, just because flustering him was that easy, you added, “I still remember that day you came over to ride your bike with James and you practically fell flat on your face. You've come so far since then."
Oscar groaned, covering his ever-reddening face with both hands. “Don't even.”
You laughed, “Or what about the time we all went out for your 13th birthday and you somehow ended up wearing the pasta you ordered?”
“In my defence, Hattie elbowed me right before and that's how I knocked my plate over,” he mumbled abashedly, though he was grinning at the memory.
Truthfully, the only reason he was embarrassed was because those things had happened in front of you.
Even in those moments, he wouldn't have been that bothered if not for the fact that you had witnessed them.
But he could never tell you that.
You tucked your knees up to your chest, arms lazily slung around them as your shoulder brushed against the metal railing.
“It's just crazy seeing you now, y'know?” you added, glancing at him with a mixture of nostalgia and fondness swimming in your eyes. “Little you, trailing after James everywhere. Now you're here, with this huge career ahead of you.”
He tried not to wince, even though he knew you didn't mean anything by it.
You were being kind, and he should have been grateful that you were even here, saying all of these nice things to him. But there it was, the mention of the fact that he was younger than you, and that you'd never see him as an equal.
An invisible wall that told him that you'd only ever see him as your brother's friend, not anything more.
You didn't have to say it out loud, but he always knew that whatever he was chasing with you would never happen.
You were just his best friend's older sister that he'd inevitably pine for until you both moved on with your lives.
He guessed he was fine with that.
Still, he shrugged again, forcing the smile to stay. “It's weird. Some days I don't feel any different.”
You turned your head toward him, resting your cheek against your knees. “You look different. Grown up.”
He nearly choked on the sip of water he'd just taken, coughing and turning his head away quickly.
He knew you hadn't meant it like that, but still. His heart didn't quite know how to take the compliment.
When he looked back at you, you were still watching him. Not mockingly, just watching, and that somehow made it worse.
“Thanks,” he said, voice a little hoarse.
There was another beat of silence between you.
He wondered if you could hear his heart beating out of his chest, maybe feel it even.
He shifted slightly on the step, fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle. His leg bounced a few times, then stilled.
“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly, his voice low and uncertain.
You blinked, lifting your head. “Sure.”
He couldn't even look at you as he formed his next sentence. “If I weren't James' friend, would you still talk to me like this?”
You tilted your head. “Like what?”
He hesitated again. “Actually, ignore me. I don't even know what I'm trying to say."
There was something in his voice. It wasn’t bitter. Oscar wasn’t like that.
But it was edged with something softer, like he was afraid to ask you whatever was on his mind.
You looked at him, really looked this time. And in the quiet, you registered that he really wasn’t the same boy he’d been when you met him. His shoulders were broader now, his jaw a little sharper. His voice was deeper, even when he mumbled.
You'd even argue that the occasional voice break was cute.
You nudged his knee gently with yours. “You’ve always been easy to talk to. And I don’t think that has anything to do with James.”
Oscar nodded, swallowing hard. But you saw the way his knuckles tightened slightly around the bottle.
He nodded like he was trying to accept it, trying to take what he could get and not want more.
He glanced sideways at you, lips parted slightly, but then a group of mechanics walked past behind the garage, interrupting the moment.
You both looked away at the same time.
“We should probably head back,” you said, rising to your feet and brushing off your jeans. “Your mum's probably about five seconds away from sending out a search party.”
Oscar got up too, but he lingered. He was still looking at the ground, shoulders tense like he was working up the courage to say something.
So you gave him a soft smile. “You coming?”
He looked up, and his face lit up at the smile on yours. He swore he could just look at you all day. “Yeah.”
You waited until he caught up, and you fell into an even step beside each other. There was a noticeable space between your arms, but something felt closer than it had before.
Maybe Oscar wasn't just your brother's friend anymore.
As you walked back to the hospitality suite, Oscar kept glancing at you and finally gathered every last drop of courage he had.
“What if I told you I've been trying to impress you this whole time?” He almost whispered the question, his hands nervously fidgeting behind his back.
You paused mid step, surprised by the question, or maybe just the honesty behind it.
You smiled, soft and a little sad.
You didn't really know why.
“I don’t know. You might have to keep impressing me.”
He looked at you and this time, his grin was bolder. Still shy, but with a new found confidence. “Okay. I can do that.”
That night, when you wrote in your diary, you had to be honest with yourself for the first time about something you'd had a sneaking suspicion about for a while.
Maybe, just maybe, Oscar had a little crush on you.
You didn't mean that in a big-headed way either, but you were familiar with the way teenage boys acted when they had a little crush.
Oscar was cute, but you just couldn't see yourself with someone who was two years younger than you, and your brother's friend.
Even boys your own age were still too childish to consider.
You told yourself that you and Oscar could never happen.
OCTOBER 2019, VALENCIA, SPAIN
The air in Valencia was warm, even in October.
You were here with your family to see Oscar in the F3 post-season test, but also because it's your birthday.
There's something special about being abroad for such an occasion, especially somewhere as beautiful as Spain.
The garage buzzed around you as you stood in the corner with yours and his family. Not quite race weekend chaotic, but still bustling with engineers, journalists, and young drivers teeming with ambition.
Oscar looked calm, as always.
When he got in the car and zoomed off onto the track, you watched intently, leaning against the railing next to your brother.
James clapped once when Oscar finished his first lap. “So smooth.”
You nodded, your sunglasses covering your eyes. “He's gotten fast.”
Your brother grinned, “Yeah, he's not a little kid anymore.”
You didn't know what to say to that, because it was true.
Oscar wasn't the awkward boy trailing after James in karting paddocks anymore.
You tried not to think too hard about that difference.
Your birthday was a private affair, a nice dinner with your family and his, squeezed into the back corner of an Italian restaurant that smelled like garlic and warm bread.
At first, it was weird for you not to spend this day with your friends back at home, but you easily opened yourself up to the idea when you realised something about this kind of setting made it feel softer, a lesser pressure of everything having to be perfect.
Oscar hadn't said much all evening. You assumed that it was the earlier testing session, and everything becoming a little more serious in his career.
Still, you caught him looking at you across the table on more than one occasion.
Your parents toasted to you, and you raised your flute of champagne along with everyone else. James gave you an embarrassing speech that made everyone laugh, though you had to kick his leg a few times to get him to stop.
You opened a few gifts—perfume, books, little trinkets that your family had managed to pack in their suitcases.
Everything was, in fact, perfect. You couldn't have asked for anything more.
Later, back at your hotel room, there was a knock at your door. It was too late for it to be your parents, so you assumed James needed to borrow something from you or something like that.
Who else would be knocking at your door at almost one o'clock in the morning?
You answered without even thinking, and you're met with a familiar face. Though it wasn't your brother's.
Oscar was stood in the hallway in a hoodie and joggers, his hair still damp from the shower he must have took since getting back.
You glanced down to see him holding a little white box, wrapped with a silver ribbon.
You blinked. “Hey, Osc. Everything okay?”
He nodded, taking a step closer. “Yeah. I just— can I give you something?”
You moved aside to let him in, your face painting a picture of confusion. “You've already got me a present.”
“I wanted to give you this, too,” he said, his words coming out quickly.
Then he mumbled, “I saved up for it. Mum doesn't know I bought it.”
You paused, apprehensive to see what was inside. “Oscar...”
He handed you the beautifully decorated box, his fingers brushing yours as he pressed it carefully into your palm. “Please, just open it.”
You sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully undid the ribbon, letting it fall into your lap. The box opened with a small click, and inside lay a necklace.
The most beautiful necklace you had ever seen.
A delicate gold chain, with a small pendant of your initial attached to it, glinting in the bright overhead light of your hotel room.
You stared at it, and Oscar watched you, swaying on his feet nervously.
“I saw it before the start of the season,” he mumbled. “Thought it looked like something you'd wear. If you don't like it, it's fine.”
You swallowed hard, feeling guilty for letting him think that. “No, Osc. It's perfect.”
You nodded, your voice feeling thick all of a sudden. “I love it. Thank you.”
He smiled, slow and warm, like the sun rising and casting a glow over the horizon.
“Here,” he said, taking it gently from the box you were still holding. “Can I?”
You turned without a word, lifting your hair from your shoulders. His fingers were delicate in the way they brushed your neck. Careful as he fastened the clasp behind you.
You could feel his breathing on your neck when he lingered for a second too long.
When you turned back, the look in his eye was unreadable, and it made you uneasy.
“I really like you,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper.
You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Oscar...”
He didn't back away, instead taking a step closer. “I mean it.”
You met his eyes, and something in your chest twists and the longing in them.
“You've just turned eighteen.”
“So?” he said. “You've just turned twenty. It's not that big of a difference.”
You looked away, not being able to hold his gaze for any longer. The necklace sat on your collarbone like a reminder, and suddenly it became harder to breathe.
“Oscar, you're James' best friend,” you countered.
He exhaled deeply, his shoulders dropping. “Why does that matter?”
“Because I've known you since you were a kid. And I can't just flip a switch—”
“I'm not asking you to flip a switch,” he said, his voice regaining steadiness. “I just... I wanted you to know.”
There was a beat of silence.
The moment stretched into an eternity, full and quiet.
“I think about you all the time.” He took another step towards you. “Have done for years.”
You felt a nauseating feeling settle in your stomach. But you smiled at him like you didn't.
“Oscar, you're sweet. But this— this is a lot.”
He nodded, his lips pulling into a thin line. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else, but he didn't push it.
He brushed his hands on his thighs, both of them feeling nervously sweaty.
“I'll let you sleep. Happy Birthday, Y/N.”
Guilt flooded your chest as you stood up, your hand already reaching out to stop him. “Thank you for the necklace. I really do appreciate it. It's beautiful.”
He nodded but avoided your touch, smiling but not as sincerely as before.
And when he left, you sat back down on the bed and didn't move for a while.
The necklace felt heavy around your neck, only serving a reminder that you probably shouldn't be wearing it after what just happened.
But you couldn't bring yourself to take it off.
A week later, your brother planned for the three of you to go to the cinema. He wanted to see the latest Marvel film, or some shit like that.
Well, that was until he bailed last minute, the group plan dissolving into just you and Oscar. The tickets were already booked.
Truthfully, Oscar nearly cancelled too when he realised it would be just the two of you going, but you'd text him.
You: Still want to go? I'm not letting these tickets go to waste :)
Despite his heart warning him that it didn't know how much tension it could take. Despite the feeling in his stomach returning ten-fold and making him want to be sick before he'd even left the house.
The first thing he noticed when he saw you was that you were still wearing thr necklace he gave you.
He didn't think you would be, fearing that you took it off the minute he left the hotel room a mere week ago. He didn't mention it, but he saw you twirling the pendant in your hand. An idle touch like it was a habit.
Oscar didn't know what to do with himself for the first half of the film. His knee kept bouncing, and he was worried that you'd notice and ask him about it.
He had no idea what was happening on screen and instead kept trying to think of something cool or funny to say to you, but his thoughts kept tripping over themselves.
He stated silent instead.
You, meanwhile, were just enjoying the film. Leaning back in your seat like this was nothing. Maybe to you it wasn't.
You'd certainly made that clear to him last week.
At one point, you whispered something that wasn't even supposed to be funny. A dumb ovservation about the plot. But Oscar laughed so loud that people in front of you turned around, shooting you dirty looks. You nudged his arm with yours.
“Stop! Are you okay?” You whisper-shouted.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, his throat tight.
You turned your attention back to the film. He stared absent-mindedly at the screen, thankful for how dark it was in the room.
He didn't want you to see the blush covering his cheeks furiously.
He was panicking internally. He though that maybe he could take this opportunity and convince you that he was worth your time. Your attention. He knew that there wouldn't be many situations like this where it's just the two of you.
He looked around, and noticed that it was mostly couples sat around him. People probably thought that the two of you were also together.
So then— without really thinking— he shifted slightly and rested his hand lightly on your leg. Not provocatively, just gently touching your knee.
You turned your head towards him immediately.
Your voice is quiet, but the panicked tone caught him off-guard. “What are you doing?”
He froze. “Sorry. I just— I thought maybe— sorry. I'm stupid.”
He pulled his hand back like he'd been burned, face flushing red again. He situated himself back in his seat with an even bigger space between you.
You stared at him for a second, confused about what had just happened. Not angry, like he thought you might be, just surprised.
After the film had ended, he walked you all the way back to yours. He didn't try to touch you again, didn't even walk too close. He just kept his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets and talked about the film like it's the only thing that mattered.
Like he'd even paid any attention to it at all.
He wanted to tell you that you were more interesting than any film he could have watched.
But this would have to do for now.
2022, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
You remember the exact place that you were in and what you were doing when the announcement came: Oscar will be racing for McLaren in 2023.
It's huge news. Massive, even. The kind of news you have to reread three times for it to really sink in.
You always believed that he'd make it, but the reality of it was even better.
James sent you a voice note full of celebratory yelling, and you don't even wait a full minute before texting Oscar.
You had an entire page long message written out before you decided that calling him would be easier.
He picked up on the third ring, always answering your calls quickly. His voice was calm, but there was a brightness in it that made you grin.
“Congratulations!” you almost shouted down the phone, breathless. “Seriously. I don't even know what to say.”
“Thanks,” he said. “It still feels kind of fake.”
“I bet! You earned it, Osc.”
There was a pause. Then, “Are you coming to the party?”
You blinked. “There's a party?”
“Yeah. It's on Saturday. It's not huge-huge but I... I want you there.”
Of course you would go. This was the biggest moment of his career, and you wouldn't miss the opportunity to be there for him.
At least, that's what you tell yourself when you dress up to the nines ahead of the party. You can't even remember the last time that you looked this good, not to rock your own boat.
This was the biggest moment of Oscar's life, and you knew how important it was to dress for the occasion.
The party had been much bigger than you expected.
The air was already warm from the sheer amount of bodies crammed into the venue, the sound of the bass reverberating through your chest before you’d even made it past the entrance.
Bright lights flared across the room—orange, purple, electric blue—spinning lazily from a DJ booth in the corner.
Someone had thrown an open bar on the company’s dime, which meant the place smelled like citrus mixers, champagne, and that faint sharp tang of vodka shots.
There were people here you recognised from the paddock, but also complete strangers. A mix of engineers in polos, a few PR reps, some journalists you’d seen lingering at the media pen, but also people who had nothing to do with motorsport. Friends of friends. Party people who, by the looks of it, had been here for hours.
A girl you’d never seen before had stumbled past holding two shots in one hand, a glass of wine in the other.
“To Oscar!” she shouted over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Speaking of Oscar, it took you a while to find him.
You spotted him towards the back of the room, leaning against the table like he owned it.
He was wearing a simple button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the collar slightly undone like he’d given up halfway through getting ready.
His hair was messier than you usually saw it, like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times since arriving.
Then he looked up and saw you.
That was all it took for his face to crack into a smile—one of those smiles that pulled at his cheeks and made his eyes crinkle.
You could tell he’d had a couple of drinks. Not quite sloppy yet, but loose enough to not overthink the way he’d pushed himself off the table and weaved through the crowd to get to you.
Before you could say anything, his arms were around you.
He smelled like cologne and something warmer—spilled beer, maybe, or just the kind of heat that came from a packed room.
“You came,” he murmured near your ear, his voice low and strangely sincere.
“Of course I did,” you replied, letting your arms rest around him a beat longer than you’d meant to.
When you pulled back, you caught him looking at you in that way he sometimes did—quiet, focused, like he was trying to remember every detail.
You didn't miss the way his eyes drifted down the length of your dress, too.
You ended up sticking close to him for most of the night.
He hadn’t let you drift far from him anyway. Each time you started to move off—whether it was to grab a drink, say hello to someone you recognised, or just get some air—his hand had found the small of your back, or he brushed his knuckles along your arm to get your attention.
You didn’t usually think of him as touchy. He was reserved by nature, careful in public. But the alcohol he had been consuming all night must have got to him.
He leaned into you to speak even when it wasn’t that loud, his shoulder bumping yours as if the extra contact was unintentional.
“Drink?” he asked at some point, gesturing towards the bar.
The bar had been a bottleneck of elbows and voices, but Oscar’s hand had found yours so you didn’t lose each other in the crowd.
The casualness of it—like he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing—had sent a pulse of heat to your face.
You were tipsier than you’d originally thought by the time you’d finished the cocktail he’d ordered for you.
Oscar was no better—his laugh easier, his eyes shinier. He kept introducing you to people you’d never met before: “This is Y/N,” he’d said to a group of his future McLaren crew members. “She’s known me forever, so be nice.”
The looks they'd given you had been friendly, a little teasing. You knew what they were thinking.
At some point, James had disappeared. You caught a glimpse of him heading towards the exit with a couple of other people, but by the time you’d weaved your way to the door, he was gone.
Which left you with Oscar.
By the time you noticed how drunk he really was, it had already been late enough that the crowd had thinned to clusters of stragglers. The music had become quieter, the lights less aggressive.
Oscar was perched on a barstool, leaning forward on his elbows, talking to you about… something.
You weren't sure he was even finishing his sentences anymore.
His hair was falling into his eyes and there was a lazy, content smile playing at his lips.
“You’re so pretty,” he said suddenly, like it had just occurred to him in that very moment.
You laughed. “You’re so drunk.”
“Still true though,” he muttered, and for a minute he just looked at you like you were the only thing worth focusing on.
You were probably the only thing he could focus on given the state that he was in.
It was too much, the way he looked at you. Too soft. You stood up, telling him it was time to go, and he didn't argue.
The cab smelled faintly of mint air freshener and cigarette smoke, and the windows were fogged from the night air outside.
Oscar had slumped into the seat beside you, his head falling lazily against the glass. He stayed like that for a minute, just breathing, eyes closed.
Then he turned towards you.
“I know I’ve said it before,” he started, voice slurred. “Maybe you don’t want to hear it. But I like you. A lot.”
“I know you think it’s a timing thing,” he continued, words still slurred but a little less clumsy. “Or the age thing. Or James. And I get it, I do. But I’ve had these feelings for so long, and I don’t think they’re going anywhere.”
You tried to laugh it off, like you always did. “Oscar—”
“I’m not asking you to fall in love with me,” he said, a little more urgently now. “I’m just saying maybe… maybe we could try. Just think about it.”
You wanted to say something reasonable. Something that made sense. But your brain was still processing the way he was looking at you—hopeful, like he was betting everything on this moment.
And then, before you could decide, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was messy, the faint taste of whatever beer he’d been drinking earlier clouding your senses. His hand rested against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he’d been dying to do this.
You let him. For a few seconds, you let yourself kiss him back—your own inhibitions softened by the drinks, by the night, by the years of almosts.
Then you pulled away, just enough to break contact.
“You’re drunk,” you whispered against his lips.
He swallowed. “So? You are too.”
“So we’re not doing this like this,” you said, but your voice was huskier than you’d meant it to be.
He leaned back against the seat, smiling faintly, like even your refusal couldn’t touch him right then. “Best night of my life.”
You rolled your eyes. “Because of the McLaren seat?”
“No,” he said, eyes closing. “Because of you.”
You woke up to your phone buzzing, multiple texts from Oscar coming through.
Oscar: I remember what I said last night
Oscar: I remember the kiss too
Oscar: Please don't let that be the end of things
And this time, you didn't have the heart to just laugh it off. Make out that it didn't mean anything, and it was just a drunken mistake.
Because the truth was, last night had meant something.
You just didn't known what you were going to do about it yet.
a/n: yearning men are my fave and this is the first fic ive posted in over a month so be kind :')
