All I want ,was awesome I really loved it especially the chemistry between the city kinda spoiled girl and the country boy ,but where's part two don't tell me u forgot about it 🥲
thankyou so much for loving it!!! 🤭🩷 but what do you mean part 2??? jk 👀
genre: fluff, heavy angst, smut (using of vulgar language, unprotected sex, dirty talking, begging), miscommunication and indenial
academic rivals to enemies to fuck buddies
an: base from this request
Summary: To the outside world, their public arguments are brutal and their estrangement is absolute. Caught in a claustrophobic web of denial, old wounds, and an untamed hunger, two rivals try to survive a high-stakes semester without admitting the one truth that could destroy them, they never actually learned how to let each other go.
The air in the fourth floor science library always tasted like dust, industrial carpet cleaner, and burnt espresso, but to you it smelled like survival. You sat at a secluded corner table tucked away between the biology archives, the clinical glare of your laptop screen illuminating the sharp tense lines of your face.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as your eyes locked onto the newly updated academic portal. It was the midterm ranking for the entire College of Science, a digital cutthroat list that dictated prestigious research grants, medical school recommendations, and your entire future.
A hundredth of a point. A single missed extra credit question on a biochemistry quiz. That was the pathetic, razor thin margin separating you from the boy who sat exactly two rows behind you in every single lecture. Oscar.
You weren’t a nice person and you were entirely at peace with that. The rest of the department labeled you as spoiled, elitist, and closed off, mistaking your defensive walls for pure, unadulterated arrogance. The truth was simpler, you were fiercely protective of your space because you had to be. You didn't throw tantrums or participate in loud, dramatic altercations.
If you disliked someone, you simply froze them out with a quiet, lethal indifference. You didn't have the time for superficial pleasantries. If people thought your private background and your unbothered nature made you a mean girl, you let them believe it. It kept them at a distance.
Especially people like Oscar.
Oscar was your academic shadow, your rival and in every measurable way, your exact polar opposite. He was the department's resident introvert. But unlike you, Oscar was universally adored. He was pathologically polite, always staying behind after lectures to tutor struggling freshmen, help professors pack up their slides or explain a complex physics formula to anyone who asked.
You loathed his kindness. To you, it felt suffocating, a soft, perfect facade that contrasted sharply with your cold realism. Despite the quiet hostility you radiated whenever he was neardeliberately booking the last reserved study room before he could or ignoring his soft greetings in the morning, Oscar remained maddeningly polite to you. He would merely offer a tired, understanding nod as if he could see right through your sharp edges to the sheer exhaustion underneath.
But that fragile truce had completely shattered the moment Lily entered the picture.
Lily was a classmate from your lab cohort. A sweet, sheltered, and intensely naive girl who seemed to have stepped out of a storybook. For reasons that baffled you, Lily was drawn to you. She constantly trailed after you like a lost puppy, leaving baked goods on your desk or offering shy, genuine compliments about your notes.
You secretly despised her presence, her earnest sweetness made your own bitterness feel twice as heavy. However, because Lily was a favorite among the faculty, you wore a tight, plastic smile and pretended to tolerate her. You didn't want to give anyone a reason to look down on you.
This exhausting charade played out almost daily. Just yesterday, you had been sitting at that very corner table in the library, surrounded by three different biology textbooks, when a soft, hesitant shadow fell over your notes.
"Hi! I-I hope I’m not interrupting your study time," Lily had murmured, her voice practically dripping with that gentle, timid warmth that always made your chest tighten. She carefully slid a small, clear container onto the edge of your desk. Inside was a neatly decorated lemon cupcake.
“I was baking last night because the upcoming practical exam has me so stressed and I immediately thought of you. You always work so hard, and I just... I wanted to bring you a little pick me up.”
You looked from the cupcake up to Lily’s face. She was smiling, her eyes bright and completely devoid of any hidden agenda. It was a look of pure, unadulterated admiration. It sickened you. Her genuine kindness felt like a mirror holding up your own cold, calculating nature for the world to see.
Your fingers gripped your pen a little tighter beneath the table but you forced your lips to stretch into that rehearsed, hollow grin.
"Thanks, Lily. That's... really thoughtful of you," you said, your voice coated in a layer of artificial sweetness that felt heavy on your tongue. "But you really shouldn't waste your time baking for me. Aren't you behind on your histology slides?"
Lily’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of insecurity crossing her features before she quickly nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, right! Yes, I'm actually on my way to the lab now. Professor alternative said I could use the extra microscope time. I was just hoping... well, if you ever have some free time this week, maybe we could study together? I really struggle with the cell respiration diagrams and you're just so brilliant at them.”
Study together. The mere suggestion made you want to scoff aloud. You didn't do study groups and you certainly didn't do charity work for the competition.
"I'll have to check my schedule, Lily," you replied, your plastic smile never wavering as you subtly tapped your laptop screen to signal your lack of availability. "My calendar is pretty packed leading up to the midterms. I'm sure you understand."
"Oh. Of course! I totally get it," Lily said quickly, her face softening into an understanding, albeit slightly dejected, expression. She took a step back, folding her hands together. "I won't keep you then. Good luck with your notes! See you in lecture tomorrow."
"See you," you murmured, watching her walk away. The moment she turned the corner into the main aisle, the fake smile dropped from your face like a heavy mask. You stared at the cupcake she left behind, feeling a bitter, toxic knot form in your throat. You didn't want her gifts. You didn't want her friendship. You just wanted her, and everyone else, to stay out of your way.
Oscar, however, saw through your plastic smile instantly. The second he realized Lily was trying to befriend you, his polite tolerance vanished. He perceived Lily as a vulnerable, fragile soul who was blind to your cold, exclusionary nature. Worse, Lily genuinely liked you, which made Oscar double his guard.
Overnight, he became her self-appointed shield. In the hallways and the lecture halls, he began to subtly step between you and Lily, his quiet, observant eyes tracking your every move like a predator watching a threat. He made sure you were never in a position to harm her feelings, his protective instincts completely overriding his usual introverted nature.
And then, there was Lando.
"Babe, you're doing that thing where your jaw goes all tight again," a lazy, smooth voice muttered, breaking your train of thought.
Lando Norris slid into the plastic chair across from you, the distinct scent of expensive cologne and vape smoke instantly disrupting your workspace. Lando was your boyfriend, a relationship born more out of high-society expectations, popularity, and proximity than deep emotional resonance. He was a wealthy, popular slacker, the kind of guy who skipped half his classes to hang out in the campus lounge yet possessed enough raw privilege and safety nets to stay afloat. He didn't understand your obsession with rank one because he never had to work for a safety net in his life.
The most ridiculous, infuriating thing about Lando was his social circle. Despite being an arrogant, class-cutting student, he was childhood friends with Oscar. They came from the same affluent background, creating a bizarre, frustrating bridge between your boyfriend and your academic rival. It was a connection that deeply unsettled you, especially since Lando was always cutting class and relying on Oscar to bail him out.
"I’m studying, Lando. Which you should be doing," you said, your voice dropping into a sharp, hushed whisper so as not to draw the librarian's attention.
"Oscar gave me his annotated notes for Physics," Lando shrugged, flashing a careless, charming grin that didn't reach his eyes. He didn't see any issue with using your direct rival to pass his exams. "I'm good. Anyway, George and I are heading down to the courtyard. Don’t stay up too late."
He leaned across the table, pressing a brief, distracted kiss to the top of your head. It was a careless gesture from a careless boyfriend, an afterthought before he strolled away to find his friends.
You watched him leave, your gaze tracking his expensive jacket until he passed the back rows of the library. Your eyes naturally drifted, settling on the desk where Oscar sat. He hadn't looked up once. His mechanical keyboard clicked with maddening, rhythmic precision as he logged data into a spreadsheet.
He was working, closed off in his own world, fighting for the exact same fraction of a point that kept you awake at night. You stared at the back of his head, your fingers tightening around your pen, feeling the heavy, toxic friction that had been quietly building between you two all semester, a storm that was just waiting for a single spark to explode.
—
"I am literally going to lose my mind," Carmen hissed, slamming her locker door shut with a metallic clang that echoed down the crowded science pavilion.
You didn't flinch. You merely kept your eyes on your open locker, adjusting the heavy straps of your backpack. "What did he do now?"
"George texted me back. Two words. 'Thanks, Car.' That’s it." Carmen ripped her designer tote bag off her shoulder, her manicured fingers gripping the leather so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her voice trembled with a dangerous, unstable mix of rejection and humiliation.
"Do you know why? Because he was too busy finishing the physical chemistry lab report with Lily. He told Lando that Lily is an 'angel' to work with. An angel! I swear, she does it on purpose. She puts on that stupid, stuttering, innocent act just so everyone feels sorry for her."
You pulled a heavy volume of physiology notes from your locker. You didn't defend Lily, mostly because you didn't care enough to spend your limited energy on her. You were completely drained from pulling an all-night study session, your mind entirely occupied by the impending lecture.
"George doesn't do relationships, Carmen. You know how he is. He's hyper-focused on his own track," you said, your voice dropping into its usual flat, freezing monotone. "Just let it go and don't do anything stupid. We have a midterm in twenty minutes."
"Oh, I'm not letting it go," Carmen whispered, her jaw tightening as her eyes flashed with a mean, vengeful streak. "Someone needs to take her down a peg."
You didn't argue. You simply turned and began walking toward the lecture hall, assuming Carmen would vent her frustration and eventually follow you. That was your fatal mistake. Your silence, born out of pure academic exhaustion was taken by Carmen as a green light. Your indifference looked exactly like permission.
Twenty minutes later, you realized Carmen hadn't shown up to class. A strange, heavy uneasiness settled in your chest, forcing you to pack up your tablet and walk back down to the main pavilion.
The moment you rounded the corner, you felt the suffocating shift in the air. A tight crowd of students had formed near the chemistry labs, whispers breaking out like static electricity. You pushed through the onlookers, your boots clicking sharply against the linoleum.
"What is going on here?" you demanded, your cold voice cutting through the murmurs.
The crowd parted, and the scene in front of you made your breath hitch.
Lily was backed up against a row of lockers, her small frame trembling violently. She was clutching a ruined, water-logged leather notebook to her chest, the ink from her weeks of meticulous lab data bleeding through the damp pages and staining her fingers black. Carmen stood directly over her, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a look of smug, venomous satisfaction painted across her face.
But before you could even open your mouth to demand an explanation from Carmen, a dark shadow erupted from the side of the hallway.
It was Oscar. He had never moved so fast in his life.
With a fierce, protective urgency, he threw himself directly in front of Lily, his tall, usually slouched frame straightening into a rigid wall of defense. His shoulders were tense, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets to keep them from visibly shaking with rage.
"Get away from her, Carmen," Oscar spat, his voice carrying a terrifying, quiet venom that shocked the entire corridor. "Don't you dare come near her again."
"Oh, look, the hero arrives," Carmen sneered, though she subtly took half a step back from the sheer intensity radiating off him. "Why don't you ask your little girlfriend why she keeps inserting herself into people's lab groups?"
"She did nothing to you!" Oscar’s voice finally cracked, elevating into a shout. He turned his head slightly, checking on the sobbing girl behind him. "Lily, are you okay? Did she touch you?"
Lily just whimpered, her face buried in her ruined notebook, a fresh wave of tears spilling over her flushed cheeks. "My... my data, Oscar... everything is gone..."
Hearing her sob seemed to break whatever restraint Oscar had left. He whipped around completely, his dark eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto you. The second his gaze met yours, something inside him snapped. The quiet, passive, polite rival you knew completely vanished, replaced by an absolute, unbridled fury.
"Are you happy now?" Oscar yelled, taking a predatory step toward you.
The entire hallway went dead silent. You could hear the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Oscar Piastri had never raised his voice at anyone in the three years you had known him.
"What?" you stumbled back a single step, the genuine confusion momentarily breaking through your icy facade. "Oscar, what are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me!" he screamed, his face flushing a deep, angry red as a vein pulsed violently near his temple. "Don't act like you didn't orchestrate this! You’ve hated her since the very first day of the semester because she actually tried to be nice to you. You couldn't handle someone being genuine in your pathetic, superficial world, so you sent your guard dog to do your dirty work!"
"Oscar, shut up and listen to me, I didn't—"
"I used to make excuses for you!" Oscar shouted over you, his voice trembling with pure, unadulterated disgust. He stepped closer, towering over you, his breath heavy in the cold air.
"When you were cruel to the rest of the class, I told myself you were just stressed. When you froze people out, I told myself you were just under a lot of pressure from your family. But this? This is just malicious. You are a spoiled, insecure bully who can't stand seeing anyone else happy, so you have to destroy them!"
"Oscar, please, let's just go..." Lily whimpered from behind him, tugging weakly at the fabric of his sleeve, her voice thick with tears. "Everyone is looking..."
Oscar didn't break eye contact with you. He gave you one final look of absolute, sickening revulsion a look so heavy and hateful it felt like a physical blow to your chest, knocking the air right out of your lungs. He turned his back on you with a sharp, dismissive movement, wrapping a protective arm around Lily's shaking shoulders and guiding her down the hallway, away from the wreckage.
The crowd slowly began to disperse, casting lingering, judgmental glares at your rigid form. The whispers started up again, louder this time, branding you with a label you hadn't earned.
Carmen stepped closer to you, her smug expression fading into something slightly nervous as she looked at your pale face. "Hey... are you okay? I didn't tell him you knew anything, I swear. He just assumed—"
"Get away from me, Carmen," you whispered, your voice dangerously quiet, though your hands were shaking so badly you had to drop your physiology volume to keep from dropping it on the floor.
Your ears were ringing. For the first time in your life, you were completely defenseless. You looked like the villain and you had absolutely no idea how to change the script.
That night, the high-end walls of your apartment didn't feel like a luxury, they felt like a cage.
You didn't study. For the first time since the semester began, the heavy physiology textbook lay completely closed on your desk, its glossy cover reflecting the dim, ambient light of your bedroom. Instead, you sat on the very edge of your mattress, your hands trembling so violently that you had to press them flat against the fabric to make them stop.
Then, the dam broke.
You didn't just cry, you had a breathless, suffocating breakdown. You curled in on yourself, hot, furious tears spilling over your eyelids and choking your throat. It was an agonizing release born of absolute frustration, injustice, and a strange, hollow ache that sat heavy in your chest. Oscar's words echoed in the silence of your room, repeating on a vicious, agonizing loop.
Malicious. Insecure. Bully.
He had looked at you as if you were filth beneath his boots. And the absolute worst part the part that made you sob until your ribs ached was that you couldn't even defend yourself. To clear your name meant explaining Carmen's pathetic jealousy over George, mapping out a web of petty high-society drama that you simply did not have the energy to untangle. You were trapped in a narrative you hadn't written, forced to play the villain in Oscar's self-righteous tragedy.
The next morning, the heartbreak turned into a cold, lethal rage. You confronted Carmen before the first morning lecture, cornering her in the empty stairwell of the science building. The fight wasn't loud—you didn't do public scenes but it was explosive.
"You let him think I did it," you whispered, your voice a freezing, sharp blade. "You stood there, Carmen, and you let him scream at me for something you did."
"I didn't mean to!" Carmen defended, her voice defensive and strained as she backed up against the concrete wall. "He just assumed it was you! What was I supposed to do, confess to the entire department and ruin my chances with George? You're strong, you can handle people hating you. I can't!"
"We're done," you said, the words cutting through her excuses with absolute finality. "If you cannot control your own psychotic jealousy, stay the hell away from me. Don't speak to me. Don't look at me. You're on your own."
With that, your one sanctuary your best friend, the only person who actually knew the real you was gone. You had completely severed the tie, leaving you entirely isolated. The university turned into a psychological battlefield of absolute avoidance, but the true breaking point came on the third afternoon of the silent war.
You were in the basement archives of the science library, a quiet, dimly lit labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves where barely anyone went. You were looking for an old chemistry journal, your mind numb, when you heard low voices echoing from the next aisle.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the dining hall? I can grab the notes from George for you," Oscar’s voice drifted through the bookshelf, soft, gentle, and laced with a deep, protective warmth.
"I'm okay, Oscar... I just don't want to run into her," Lily whimpered softly. "Every time she looks at me, I feel like I'm doing something wrong. I didn't mean to cause trouble between her and Carmen."
"You didn't cause anything, Lily," Oscar replied instantly, his tone firming up, fiercely reassuring. "She’s just bitter. You don't have to hide from her, okay? I'm right here. I’m not going to let her or anyone else treat you like that again. I promise."
Leaning your head against the cold metal edge of the bookshelf, you closed your eyes as a wave of pure, suffocating rejection washed over you. The contrast was devastating. Hearing him use that soft, comforting tone on Lily made you feel entirely, devastatingly alone.
Because you remembered. You remembered the beginning of the semester, before Lily had transferred into your lab cohort, back when it was just you and Oscar fighting for rank one. You remembered an evening when you had accidentally spilled a vial of hydrochloric acid on your hand during a rushed lab session. You hadn't cried out you had just frozen in shock but Oscar had been there in a heartbeat. He had grabbed your wrist, pulling you to the safety shower, his hands firm but incredibly gentle as he ran the cold water over your skin.
“Hey, look at me, breathe. You’re okay,” he had whispered back then, his eyes wide with a frantic, quiet panic as he searched your face, staying by your side and wrapping a paper towel around your hand until the stinging stopped. He had made excuses for your coldness back then, telling himself you were just under too much pressure. He had been gentle with you. He had looked at your sharp edges and chosen to be patient.
And now, all of that gentleness belonged to Lily. He had stripped you of every ounce of his grace, turning all that protective warmth into a weapon to use against you. Standing in that dusty, dark archive aisle, you realized he would never look at you like that again. To Oscar, you were no longer the exhausted girl pushing herself to the brink of collapse, you were just a malicious monster he needed to protect the world from.
The toxic tension was so loud it began to bleed into everything else. Even Lando, usually completely blind to anything outside his own bubble, noticed the shift.
"You and Oscar are being fucking weird," Lando muttered later that evening, lounging across your apartment sofa while you blankly stared at a lecture slide on your tablet. He was scrolling through his phone, his tone mildly annoyed.
"Seriously, I asked him to come over to watch the match tonight and he completely shut me down. He won't even come to the house if he knows you're there. What did you do to him?"
What did I do to him? The sheer irony of the question felt like a sick joke. Your own boyfriend was asking what you had done, naturally assuming you were the antagonist. He didn't ask if you were okay. He didn't care that you were being isolated by the entire department.
"I didn't do anything," you said, your voice entirely devoid of emotion as you kept your eyes glued to the screen, refusing to let Lando see the way your fingers tightened around the edge of your tablet.
"If he doesn't want to come over, then tell him not to come. I don't care."
"Whatever," Lando sighed, rolling his eyes and shifting back to his game. "Just fix it. It's getting annoying."
You looked back at your notes, the text blurring together. You were completely alone, surrounded by people who claimed to know you, yet not a single one of them could see that you were drowning in the dark.
—
The rain started around 8:00 PM, a torrential downpour that flooded the campus courtyard and turned the glass windows of the university into weeping, distorted mirrors. You had stayed late in the computer lab, determined to bury your misery in numbers, forcing your aching eyes to trace rows of cold data analysis just so you wouldn't have to think about how quickly your world was fracturing. When you finally packed your bag and walked down the dimly lit, empty corridor of the science building, you thought you were completely alone with the ghosts of your own failures.
Then you saw the light leaking from Professor Alternative's lab, a sharp, amber blade cutting across the dark linoleum. You peered through the glass. It wasn't the professor. It was Oscar.
He was leaning over a heavy wooden lab table, his forehead resting heavily against his crossed arms, surrounded by a chaotic fortress of open textbooks and a mountain of graded papers. He looked utterly exhausted broken, even, stripped of that immaculate, effortless brilliance he usually wore like armor. The golden boy of the department was running on empty, his shoulders rising and falling with a slow, heavy rhythm that looked dangerously like defeat.
Your heavy boots clicked sharply against the floor as you pushed the door open. The sound cut through the quiet, clinical hum of the fluorescent lights like a physical blow.
Oscar didn't move at first, his body remaining stubbornly still. Then, slowly, painfully, he raised his head. The moment his bloodshot eyes adjusted and saw it was you, his expression instantly hardened, the vulnerable slump of his shoulders vanishing as that familiar, guarded mask locked back into place. Without a single word, he began aggressively shoving his things into his backpack, his movements hurried, desperate to escape your presence.
"She did it because of George," you said, your voice cutting through the heavy silence.
Oscar froze. A stack of handwritten index cards was gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. He didn't look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the table. "I don't care."
"I didn't tell her to do it," you continued, your voice dangerously calm, stepping deeper into the clinical coldness of the lab. The tension in the room was suddenly suffocating, thick with days of unsaid words, of bitter glances exchanged across lecture halls. "I didn't even know she was going to do it. Carmen hates Lily because George prefers Lily's company over hers. I had absolutely nothing to do with your precious little friend's stolen notebook, Oscar."
Oscar finally turned to face you. His eyes were incredibly dark, shadowed by dark circles of sleeplessness that matched your own. "And I'm supposed to just believe that? The girl who treats everyone in this department like they're beneath her feet? The girl who looks at Lily like she doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air?"
"I don't give a damn what you believe," you hissed, closing the distance between you until you were standing just inches from his lab table, the smell of copper and old paper heavy between you. The anger that had been simmering in your chest for a week finally boiled over into something savage.
"But don't you dare scream at me in public again. Don't you dare pretend you know anything about who I am or what I’ve had to do to survive here."
"I know exactly who you are," Oscar whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made the hairs on your arms stand up. He stepped around the corner of the table, using his height to stand directly over you, crowding your space until the air ran thin. The polite, nerdy classmate was entirely gone, there was an intense, dark gravity to him now, a volatile edge that felt entirely dangerous.
"You're greedy. You want the top spot, you want the perfect boyfriend who looks good on paper, you want everyone to stay out of your way, and you don't care who gets ruined in the process. You're a black hole."
"You don't know a damn thing about me," you breathed, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. You were so close you could see the slight tremor in his jaw, the smell of coffee and rain clinging to his skin.
"Then why are you here?" Oscar challenged, his eyes suddenly dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second a desperate, chaotic slip of his gaze before snapping back to your eyes, filled with a confusing, angry heat that felt a lot like hatred, but tasted like something much worse.
"If you don't care what I think, why did you come in here to defend yourself to a monster? Why do you look at me like you want to kill me every time I talk to Lily? Why does it bother you so much?"
The accusation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't just about the notebook or the rumors anymore. It was about the weird, toxic friction that had been building between you two since the very first day of the semester the absolute obsession with each other's ranks, the constant, silent observation across crowded rooms, the terrifying way you both knew exactly how to hurt each other.
"Because I hate you," you lied, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you were holding back.
"Good," Oscar muttered, his gaze turning incredibly dark, a dangerous shift in his demeanor that you had never seen in the golden boy. He took one more agonizing step forward, trapping your waist against the hard, unforgiving edge of the lab table.
"Because I can't stand you either. You consume every single thought in my head and I hate it."
For a second, neither of you moved. The silence of the empty university building wrapped around you, loud and demanding, filled with the sudden, terrifying realization that the hatred between you had crossed a line into something far more volatile, selfish, and consuming than mere rivalry.
"Fine!" you spat, the word burning your throat like dry ash as you stared into Oscar’s dark, unwavering eyes, refusing to let him see you break. "I just hope you fall on your knees when you find out the fucking truth. You’re not kind, Oscar. You’re just a self-righteous asshole."
You didn't wait for his reply. You turned on your heel, your boots slamming against the floor as you fled, the lab door swinging shut behind you with a heavy, final click that echoed through the empty hallway like an execution.
You hated everything about how the narrative was flowing but the jury had already reached its verdict. You were trapped in the role of the campus villain, and no amount of truth could rewrite the script. Instead of moping around your apartment and letting the walls close in on you, you spent the rest of the night aggressively packing, jamming heavy gear into your rucksack until your knuckles bled against the stiff nylon straps.
You had a mandatory five-day biology department camping trip ahead a suffocating reality where you would be forced into close proximity with every single person who had turned their backs on you.
The next morning, the heat was a pulsing, heavy weight against your skin as the department bus dropped the class off at the remote mountain trail. The hike up to the campsite was brutal, an unyielding ascent through dense, humid terrain. You adjusted the heavy nylon straps of your massive backpack, the rough material digging into your bruised shoulders, sweat dripping down the back of your neck.
Right next to you, Lando strolled along with absolute ease. He carried his own lightweight bag effortlessly, his eyes glued to his phone screen whenever the trail flattened out enough to catch a weak cell signal. He didn’t offer to take your bag. He didn't even turn his head to ask if you were okay or if you needed a sip of water. To Lando, you were the fiercely independent, stoic girlfriend who didn't need help, and he was more than happy to let you carry your own crushing weight.
"Lando, can we drop the pace for a second?" you finally muttered, your voice raspy from the dry heat, your hands gripping your chest straps to ease the pressure. "The weight distribution on this rucksack is completely off."
Lando didn't look up from his screen for a long three seconds. When he finally did, he let out a soft, amused huff and slipped his phone into his pocket. He stepped into your space, completely blind to the sheer exhaustion darkening your eyes.
"Come here," he murmured casually, grabbing your waist and pulling you against his chest. He leaned down and pressed his lips firmly to yours. The kiss was heavy, tasting of the sweet energy drink he’d been sipping on the bus but it felt entirely superficial, a routine performance of affection rather than genuine care. When he pulled away, he gave you a lazy, boyish grin and patted your heavy pack.
"You’re tough, babe. You’ve got this. We're sharing a tent, anyway. I'll pitch it when we get there so you can sleep. Just keep pushing."
He turned and immediately picked his pace back up, his mind already drifting back to the playlist he was adjusting on his phone.
Further down the winding trail, the contrast was a sickening, physical ache in your chest.
Oscar was a constant, protective shadow next to Lily. He carried his own massive pack on his back and held her smaller, pink duffel bag in his hand, actively clearing low-hanging branches from her path. He treated her like she was made of glass, a fragile creature who couldn't survive the wilderness without his warmth.
"Oscar, please let me take the duffel back," Lily's soft, breathless voice drifted back up the trail toward you. She stopped, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, looking up at him with immense guilt. "You're already carrying so much. I don't want to be a burden to you."
Oscar paused, his tall frame blocking the sun as he turned to face her. His expression shifted instantly, softening into that patient, protective gentleness that he used to reserve for your bad days. He reached out, handing her a chilled water bottle from his side pocket, his fingers lingering briefly against hers.
"You’re not a burden, Lily. Don't say that," Oscar murmured, his voice a low, steady reassurance meant only for her. He glanced subtly up the trail, his dark eyes hardening for a fraction of a second as they swept over your rigid back before returning to Lily.
"Drink some water. I told you I'm handling the heavy lifting on this trip, alright? Just focus on your breathing. If you need to slow down, we slow down. Don't worry about anyone else."
"Thank you," Lily whispered, her eyes turning downcast, heavy with a sadness she couldn't quite vocalize.
Despite Oscar’s suffocating vigilance, Lily’s eyes kept darting back to you. For the first two days of the hike, she kept trying to catch your eye across the smoky campfire, lingering near the perimeter of your tent, clearly desperate to speak to you.
But you kept your defensive walls high, freezing her out with an absolute, dead-eyed silence every time she stepped near. You saw the raw sadness wash over her face every time you walked right past her, but your heart had hardened into flint. You couldn't afford to care.
Oscar, of course, parsed your silence as psychological warfare. Every time you walked away from a dejected Lily, his jaw would clench so tightly a muscle leaped in his cheek. His dark eyes tracked your every movement with an accumulating, dangerous heat from across the camp.
To him, your boundaries weren't self-preservation they were an active, malicious punishment. He was utterly convinced you were still torturing her from behind your cold, silent mask.
By the third night, the mountain air turned crisp and freezing, dropping into a deep chill that made your breath bloom in white plumes against the dark. While Lando was inside your shared tent, already dead to the world after knocking back a few beers with George, you walked away from the flickering embers of the main campfire to fetch some water from the isolated washing station near the edge of the dark woods. You just wanted five minutes where nobody was looking at you like you were a monster.
"Please, just wait! Please, just give me a second!"
You closed your eyes, a deep, exhausted sigh escaping your lips as you slowly turned around. Lily was standing under the dim, swaying lantern of the washing station, shivering violently in her oversized hoodie, her hands clasped tightly together as if she were begging for mercy.
"I don't want to hear it, Lily," you said, your voice a flat, freezing line that brooked no argument.
"I just wanted to explain!" she whimpered, taking a frantic step closer, her voice cracking under the weight of her own guilt.
"Oscar... he didn't mean to scream at you in the hallway last week. It was all a horrible misunderstanding with Carmen. I tried to tell him that night, but I just-I couldn't find the right words, and I-"
"I don't want you explaining anything to me," you snapped, the built-up resentment, the isolation, and the sheer agony of the past week finally cracking through your cold facade. Your voice rose, sharp, venomous, and jagged with raw pain.
"I don't want to talk to you. I hate you, Lily. I hate how you play the fragile little victim, and I hate how you trail after me like I owe you something. Just stay the hell away from me!"
Lily shrank back as if she had been physically struck across the face. The rejection was too harsh, too raw for her sheltered world. A heavy, fat tear spilled over her eyelid, and a quiet, broken sob tore from her throat.
Right at that exact, miserable moment, the bushes rustled violently. Oscar stepped out of the pitch-black shadows into the dim, yellow light of the lantern.
He didn't even ask what had happened. He didn't look at the environment. The moment his eyes landed on Lily's tear-streaked face and your rigid, trembling, angry posture, his face contorted into absolute, unbridled fury. He stepped directly between you two, closed the distance until he was towering over you, his chest heaving as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets to control the visceral urge to grab your shoulders.
"Are you serious right now?" Oscar hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying mixture of disgust and hatred. "We are in the middle of a forest, miles away from campus, and you're still doing this? You are so mean. It’s actually pathetic how sad and bitter you are inside that you have to actively break down someone who has done nothing but try to like you."
"Don't you dare talk to me about what's fair!" you screamed back, your voice echoing off the ancient trees, entirely unhinged for the first time in your life. You were completely broken. The staggering injustice of it all, Lando’s total indifference, Carmen’s cowardly betrayal, Oscar’s self-righteous execution of your character boiled over into pure madness.
"If she didn't want to get hurt, she shouldn't have come crying to me in the first place!"
"She was trying to apologize to you!" Oscar shouted over your voice, stepping even closer, crowding you against the damp wooden frame of the washing station. His eyes were burning into yours with a sickening amount of contempt but underneath the anger, something else fractured.
"She was trying to fix something that wasn't even her fault, and you're using it to crush her! Why do you have to ruin every single good thing around you?"
"Because you made me the villain before I even opened my mouth!" you shrieked, the raw, suppressed agony of the entire semester ripping out of you.
You lunged forward, shoving his chest with both hands. It didn't move him but the violence of the gesture made him freeze. "You think you're a hero, Oscar? You think you're saving her from me? Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to me! You took everyone away. You took my peace, my reputation, my sanity and you did it because you wanted to hate me!"
Oscar’s face went completely pale under the amber lantern light, his jaw trembling as he grabbed your wrists, his grip tight and frantic. "I didn't want to hate you! You forced my hand! You pushed and you pushed until there was nothing left of the girl I actually-"
He cut himself off, his voice cracking violently as a look of profound, agonizing betrayal swept across his features. His chest heaved against yours, and for a terrifying second, the rage dissolved into pure, raw grief. "You destroyed us. You turned us into this. I look at you now and I don't even recognize the person who used to hold my hand under the safety shower. You killed her."
The mention of that night hit you like a physical blade to the heart, shattering whatever armor you had left.
"You are a blind, pathetic idiot!" you sobbed, the ugly, jagged words tearing from your throat, wet and dripping with all the heartbreak you had kept locked away. Tears finally spilled over your eyelashes, hot and unyielding against the biting mountain air. "You think you're so noble, but you're just a coward, Oscar! A self-righteous fool who would rather believe a lie than admit that you broke me first! I hate you! I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my entire life!"
"REALLY? IS THAT IT?" Oscar roared back, but the word was choked, a strangled sound that tore at his own throat. His eyes swam with sudden, unshed tears that mirrored your own, a devastating reflection of the exact same agonizing pain. He let go of your wrists as if they burned him, taking a staggering step back. His voice dropped to a broken, ragged whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "I hope it suffocates you. Because knowing you exist like this... it’s killing me."
The absolute, crushing weight of his words settled into the space between you, breaking both of your hearts at the exact same time, leaving nothing but ruin in the dirt.
You didn't wait to see the final collapse on his face. The tears were completely blinding your vision now, fast and furious against the freezing night. You turned and bolted past the washing station, away from the lantern light, away from the safety of the tents, and ran directly into the pitch-black darkness of the surrounding woods.
Oscar watched your retreating figure disappear into the shadows, his breathing heavy, a hand coming up to press against his chest as if he could physically hold his heart together. For a split second, a terrifying, primal instinct flared in his soul, screaming at him to chase you, to drag you back from the dark and never let you go.
But a sharp, gasping sob from Lily pulled him back to reality. He turned his back on the woods, rubbing his trembling hands over his face in deep, irreparable frustration, and gently guided the crying girl back toward the safety of the camp completely unaware that he had just left his own soul out in the dark.
The hours didn't just pass, they bled.
Oscar didn't blink. He sat on that damp, freezing log until the black sky melted into a bruised, sickly purple. By 5:00 AM, the first sharp strike of dawn hit the treeline, and the campsite remained entirely devoid of you.
Not seeing your shadow step out of the woods was the exact moment Oscar’s mind began to unravel. Panic, cold and oily, flooded his chest. What if you had tripped over a root? What if you were hypothermic? What if you were lying at the bottom of the tree because he couldn't keep his self-righteous mouth shut? If anything happened to you out there in the dark, he wouldn't just fail his precious moral code, he would carry your ghost for the rest of his life.
Driven by pure, frantic adrenaline, Oscar strode over to your tent. He didn't care about manners anymore. He unzipped the flap with a violent rip, letting the freezing morning air rush inside.
Lando groaned, shifting under a heavy sleeping bag, his eyes bleary as he looked up at Oscar.
"What the fuck, man? It's five in the morning."
"Where is she, Lando?" Oscar’s voice was dangerously low, a thread away from snapping.
Lando blinked, looking at the empty space beside him where your sleeping bag lay completely untouched. He let out a lazy, heavy sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up slowly. "She’s not back yet? Man, she’s probably just being a bitch again. Let her be. She’ll come back trailing her tail once she gets hungry enough." Lando let out a short, scoffing laugh. "You know how she is. Dramatic."
Oscar’s brain completely short-circuited.
The silence that followed was suffocating. He stared at Lando, his childhood friend, the guy he never hesitated to give his physics notes to, the guy who was supposed to protect you and for the first time, Oscar saw him with terrifying clarity. Lando was a fucking asshole. He didn't care about you. He didn't care that his girlfriend had been missing in a mountain forest for over eight hours.
"Shut up," Oscar said, his voice trembling, his hands curling into tight fists inside his pockets. "Shut the fuck up, Lando. Don't talk about her like that."
Lando’s lazy smile didn't fade; it just turned mocking. He crawled out of the tent, stretching his arms as he stepped into the cold morning air, looking at Oscar with an amused chuckle.
"Whoa, what's with the attitude, mate?" Lando asked, his tone dripping with condescension. "Why are you defending her now? Aren't you the one who keeps insulting her to her face? Aren't you the one who screamed at her in the hallway last week? What, are you the only one allowed to call her a brat?"
Every word out of Lando's mouth was a mirror, reflecting Oscar's own ugliest actions back at him. It was the truth and it sickened him.
"I said, stop talking," Oscar growled, stepping into Lando’s personal space.
Lando just chuckled again, shaking his head. He leaned in, his voice a mocking whisper. "Make me, Piastri. You're just as bad as—"
Crack.
Oscar didn't think. The built-up guilt, the sleepless terror, and the absolute disgust for the guy standing in front of him exploded into his right arm. His fist connected squarely with Lando’s jaw. The force of the blow sent Lando stumbling back into the dirt, his lip instantly splitting open, bright red blood pooling against his skin.
The entire campsite seemed to drop ten degrees. George, who had just stepped out of his tent with a tin mug, froze in absolute shock.
Lando sat in the dirt, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't get up to fight back. Instead, a dark, twisted smile spread across his face as he looked up at the breathing, trembling introvert standing over him.
"Look at you," Lando sneered, his voice laced with a wicked satisfaction. "You’re a hypocrite, Piastri. You hate her but you're losing your mind over her."
Oscar didn't answer him. He couldn't. His knuckles were throbbing, coated in his friend's blood, but the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the roaring in his ears. He turned away from Lando, away from George's stunned face, and began to walk toward the main trail, determined to start a search party himself if he had to.
But he didn't need to.
At the edge of the campsite, the bushes parted. You walked into the clearing.
You looked like a ghost. Your clothes were damp from the lake mist, your hair was a tangled mess, and your face was completely pale, stripped of any warmth. Your eyes were wide, cold, and entirely exhausted. You had spent the night watching the horizon on a fishing boat, numb to the world, and now you were back to face the wreckage.
The moment you stepped into the camp, you saw the scene: Lando sitting on the ground wiping blood from his face, George standing like a statue, and Oscar, breathing heavily, his knuckles raw and red, staring at you as if he had just seen a dead person walk.
You stopped in your tracks, your eyes darting between Lando and Oscar. The silence was deafening.
"You're back," Oscar breathed, the relief in his voice so heavy it sounded like a sob, his steps instinctively moving toward you.
But you didn't look grateful. You didn't look relieved. You just looked at Oscar's bloody hand, then at Lando, and let out a cold, hollow laugh that made everyone flinch.
"What is this?" your voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the morning air like glass. "Another show, Oscar? Did you find someone else to save today?"
Oscar flinched as your words sliced through the quiet morning air. The sting of your sarcasm was entirely justified, a direct hit to his fragile, shattered pride but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that you were throwing his own self-righteousness back in his face. All that mattered was the sudden, overwhelming reality that you were breathing, that you were standing right in front of him.
He took a step toward you, his boots crunching heavily against the damp leaves. His dark eyes searched yours with a frantic, desperate intensity, tracking the pale line of your jaw, looking for bruises, scratches, or any sign of injury from the night you had spent in the wilderness. He wanted to reach out. His hand, the one with the split, bloody knuckles instinctively twitched, wanting to grab your shoulder, to pull you into his space, to ask you where the hell you had been.
But you didn't give him the chance. As he closed the distance, you simply shifted your weight. Your eyes went completely dead, freezing into two chips of ice as you stared right through him. You didn't blink. You didn't flinch. You treated Oscar like he was nothing more than a gust of cold wind, completely ignoring his presence as you stepped right past him.
From the dirt, Lando let out a pathetic, bloody chuckle, wiping his lip as he looked up at you.
"Babe, look what this psycho did," he muttered, holding out a hand, fully expecting you to come to his side, to help him up, to fulfill the role of the doting girlfriend.
You didn't even look down at him. You stepped over Lando's outstretched hand with the same chilling indifference you had shown Oscar. Without a single word, you unzipped the tent flap, grabbed a fresh change of clothes, and walked straight toward the camp’s shower stalls, your posture rigid and unyielding.
Oscar didn't move. He stood completely frozen, his eyes following your retreating figure until the wooden door of the bathroom block clicked shut. Every single step you took away from him felt like a physical tear in his chest. You hadn't just closed your walls; you had entirely erased him from your world.
As the morning sun climbed higher, burning off the thick mountain mist, the rest of the campsite slowly woke up. The initial shock of the fight between Lando and Oscar dissolved into the typical, mundane routine of a packing day. Students began rolling up sleeping bags, dismantling tents, and gathering near the central fire pit to gossip.
But Oscar remained unmoved. He stood exactly where he had been when you returned, a solitary, broken statue in the middle of the clearing. His knuckles had stopped bleeding, the blood drying into an ugly, dark crust, but he didn't even have the energy to wash it off.
A few yards away, a group had formed. Carmen was at the center of it, leaning against a wooden picnic table, gesturing wildly with a coffee mug. George was there, along with a few other classmates from the biochemistry department. Lily sat quietly on the edge, her head down.
Oscar wouldn't have normally listened but a specific name caught his ear, cutting through the heavy fog in his brain.
"Honestly, I don't even care anymore," Carmen hissed, her voice carrying across the quiet woods. She rolled her eyes, taking a sharp sip of her coffee. "She’s been throwing a massive tantrum for a week. We aren't even speaking because she went completely psycho on me."
George frowned, crossing his arms. "Who, your best friend? Why?"
"Because of the whole notebook thing with Lily last week," Carmen scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "She found out I threw Lily's lab notes into the sink and she completely lost her mind at me. She told me to stay the hell away from her if I couldn't control my jealousy. And then, to make it worse, Oscar went and screamed at her in the hallway, accusing her of planning the whole thing." Carmen let out a bitter laugh.
“She had absolutely no idea I was going to do it but she took the fall for it anyway. Now she hates me, she hates Oscar, and she’s treating everyone like garbage."
The words hit Oscar like a physical blow to the sternum.
Every defense mechanism he had built up over the last month, every justification that he was just protecting Lily, that he was the good guy, that you were the malicious, spoiled bully, shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.
He hadn't been a hero. He had been a monster. He had taken his own unspoken, twisted obsession with you, disguised it as morality, and used it to publicly humiliate you for something you didn't even do.
A profound, suffocating hatred for himself settled deep into Oscar's bones. He looked down at his raw, bruised hand, the hand he had used to punch Lando for being an asshole, and realized the terrifying truth: Lando was an asshole but Oscar was a hypocrite. And between the two of them, Oscar was the one who had truly broken you.
Standing near the storage bay of the bus, you struggled to lift your massive nylon rucksack. Your arms were trembling, weak from exhaustion, and your knuckles were still raw from packing your bag two nights ago. You kept your face a pale, unreadable mask, forcing down the overwhelming exhaustion threatening to take your knees out from under you.
Oscar noticed your struggle from across the camp, his heart constricting at the sight of your frailty. "Let me," he whispered, stepping into your space.
His voice was cracked, completely devoid of that arrogant, self-righteous weight he usually carried. Before you could pull away, his hands gently but firmly took the heavy handles of your bag from your grip. His bloodied knuckles brushed against your cold fingers, and a visible shudder ran through his entire frame at the physical contact. He loaded the bag into the bay for you, his movements slow, deliberate, and heavy with a silent penance.
As he turned back around, he refused to let you escape, closing the distance until you were trapped between his tall frame and the side of the idling bus. He swallowed hard, his eyes swimming with a sudden, devastating wave of unshed tears as he looked down at you.
"I heard Carmen," Oscar said, his chest heaving as the words tumbled out in a ragged, broken frequency that was barely audible over the roaring engine. "I heard what she said to George and about the notebook. You had nothing to do with it."
You didn't flinch, nor did you blink, deliberately locking all your pain behind a wall of absolute detachment. You just stared at the center of his chest, keeping your voice a dead, hollow line.
"Congratulations, Oscar. You finally got your data analysis. Can I get on the bus now?"
A sharp wave of panic hit Oscar, realizing you were slipping completely out of his reach. He reached out, his hand trembling violently in the air before he let his fingers lightly press against your forearm, desperate to feel a single spark of the girl who used to look at him with fierce, brilliant fire.
"Please," he choked out, a single tear finally breaking free and tracking down his pale cheek. "Please, just hear me. I was wrong. I was so incredibly wrong. I took everything out on you because... because I was bleeding to death inside, and I wanted to make you bleed too."
The sheer audacity of his confession made you finally look up, your eyes chillingly vacant even as a tremor passed through your body. "Don't do this here, Oscar. It's over."
Oscar shook his head frantically, his grip tightening on your arm as the dam finally broke and the truth unraveled him completely. "How can you say it's over when we never even talked about how it started?" he cried out, crowding you against the metal of the bus.
"We haven't spoken a real word to each other since that night at the hotel after the mid-semester mixer. We were supposed to be studying. Everyone else left the room and it was just us. We made out, we crossed every single line, and we had sex for the first time. I gave you everything I had, and I thought-I thought it meant the world. But I woke up the next morning and the bed was cold. You left before the sun even came up. You didn't leave a note. You didn't send a text. You just vanished."
Hearing him throw that night back in your face shattered your remaining composure, and a tiny, sharp tremor broke through your rigid jaw. Hot tears finally spilled over your lashes, cutting tracks through the dust on your face as you shouted back, your voice cracking with months of suppressed agony.
"Because I was terrified, Oscar! I didn't just vanish because it meant nothing. You were my first for everything. I told you that night how much I valued it, how much I valued you but when the sun came up, I panicked. I looked at you sleeping so peacefully and I thought, ‘There’s no way the brilliant, perfect Oscar Piastri actually wants me.’I ran because I was afraid of seeing regret in your eyes.”
As the tears started forming inside your eyes you continued, closing the small distance between the two of you. “I went back to that hotel room three days after to confess to you. I had my entire heart in my hands. But when I opened the door, you were already looking at me like I was a stranger. You treated me like ice. You froze me out before I could even open my mouth!"
Oscar gasped, his jaw dropping as his whole body staggered back against the force of the misunderstanding, a look of profound, horrifying realization washing over his face.
"I froze you out because I thought I was a mistake to you! We acted so casual in class that morning, and then the rumors started. I started hearing that Lando liked you, and that you liked him back. I sat in those lectures completely losing my mind, thinking, ‘Why would she give me her first time if I was that easily replaced?’ I grew cold because my pride was shattered. I wanted to protect whatever dignity I had left."
You let out a cold, sharp, broken laugh, your hands curling into tight fists as the tragic irony of it all settled into your chest. "So you protected your dignity by punishing me? Lando asked me out that exact same week. I was crying myself to sleep every night because I thought you regretted touching me, so I said yes to him. He was a distraction. He was a shield so nobody, especially not you could see how broken I was inside."
Oscar dropped his hands to his head, pulling at his hair in absolute distraction, his voice dropping to a tortured whisper as the full weight of his sins crashed down on him.
"And the moment I saw you with him, my hatred deepen into something sick. I hated Lando for having you and I hated you for moving on so fast.” Oscar’s face is flushed, eyes are streaming with tears as well.
“And... and then Lily arrived. She was sweet, she was naive, and she wanted to be your friend so badly and all I could see when I looked at her was me. I saw myself from the beginning of the semester, the fool who let his guard down and got left in the dark.”
You can feel his warm breathe in your face and his words hit harder than you expected.
“I liked you so damn much and it hurt so badly, that I promised myself I wouldn't let Lily experience the same brutal heartbreak I did. I thought I was protecting her from a monster, but I wasn't being a hero. I was just using her as a shield to justify how much I wanted to tear you down."
Driven by a sudden, frantic wave of pure yearning, Oscar stepped even closer, his breathing ragged as the space between your bodies completely disappeared, lips almost touching together.
His hands moved from his hair to grip your upper arms, his fingers digging into your jacket as he sobbed openly, laying his entire soul bare. "Do you have any idea how much I yearned for you? Every single day. I sat two rows behind you in biochemistry, and I couldn't even focus on the slides because I was staring at the back of your neck, memorizing the way your hair fell. I wanted to pull you into an empty classroom and beg you to tell me Lando was a lie. I yearned for you so much it felt like a sickness in my chest. But instead of just asking you, instead of just telling you that I was dying without you, I chose to hurt you. Every sharp comment, every time I took Lily's side it was just me lashing out because I wanted to matter to you, even if it was as your enemy."
Your chest heaved against his and unable to contain the overwhelming flood of reciprocal longing, your fists slammed into his chest, not to push him away, but out of sheer, agonizing frustration at what you both had thrown away.
"You think I didn't yearn for you?" you screamed back, your voice echoing off the side of the bus. "I looked for you in every single room I walked into! Every time Lando touched my hand, my brain short-circuited because his touch wasn't yours. I stayed up until three in the morning staring at our old text threads, wishing I had just stayed in that hotel bed. I wanted you so badly, Oscar. I loved you so much it was destroying me.”
You stepped back, letting tears fall down your cheek. “But every time I saw you look at me with that cold, disgusted face, ‘I thought, He hates me. He wants me to suffer.‘ So I made myself colder. I weaponized my silence to punish you for moving on, to punish you for making me feel like I was nothing to you!"
The realization hung between you like a physical, suffocating weight as you both fell silent,
processing the horrific truth that you had been drowning in the exact same ocean of longing.
Your anger suddenly drained away, leaving only a vast, echoing sorrow, and your hands slid down his chest, your fingers weakly clutching the fabric of his shirt for support. "We did this to ourselves," you whispered, staring at his chest. "We spent every single day loving each other in secret and using that love to destroy each other in public. It’s sick, Oscar. We're so broken."
Hearing the remnants of your love, Oscar finally wrapped his arms completely around you, pulling you violently against his chest as if he could stitch your broken pieces back together. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaking with deep, unbridled sobs.
"I love you," he choked out, the words tearing from his throat, raw and desperate. "I love you so much. I have loved you every single second of every single day since that night. Please, I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to be the reason your eyes look so dead."
For a fleeting, bittersweet second, you let yourself sink into his warmth, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of rain and pine on his jacket. You allowed yourself to feel the exact soul-deep connection you had been starving for all semester but as your eyes drifted to his bloodied knuckles, the crushing weight of reality settled back over your chest, reminding you that the truth had come too late. Slowly, agonizingly, you pushed your hands against his chest, forcing him to let you go.
Oscar staggered back, his face completely ruined, his dark eyes wide with a pleading, terrified desperation. "Why? I'm telling you the truth now. I'm on my knees. We can fix this."
You wiped the fresh wetness from your cheeks, looking at him with a tragic, final calm that cut deeper than any outburst. "How, Oscar? Every time we look at each other, we're just going to remember the pain we caused.”
Oscar flinched as if he had been physically struck, a sharp, choked sob tearing from his throat as he realized he had truly lost you. "Please... don't do this. Don't look at me like I'm dead."
“But you are," you continued, taking a step back toward the bus door. "And the worst part is, we'll both have to live with the fact that we were the ones who killed it. We could have had everything. But we chose to be each other's executioners."
The finality of the words seemed to shatter whatever remaining strength Oscar had. He let out a broken, choked sound, and before you could take another step toward the bus, he lunged forward, catching you by the waist.
Tears pour down your face as he pulls you into a tight, desperate embrace, and for the first time in months, you didn't move away. Your defensive walls, built from weeks of pride and agonizing self-preservation, completely collapsed under the sheer weight of his grief. You let your head fall heavily against his shoulder, your hands clutching the fabric of his jacket so tightly your knuckles turned white.
—
The professor had intentionally paired you and Oscar on opposing sides of a brutal ethical argument. For forty-five minutes, the lecture hall became a literal battlefield. Oscar stood at the podium, his jaw tight, his dark eyes flashing with cold brilliance as he systematically tried to dismantle your points.
Driven by the lingering edges of your history, you shot back with flawless, venomous counter-arguments. By the time the bell rang, both of you were flushing, consumed by an intense, electric anger that the entire class assumed was pure, unadulterated hatred.
The moment class dismissed, you bolted into the corridor to escape the suffocating atmosphere. You didn't even make it past the old laboratory archives before a heavy hand gripped your wrist. Oscar yanked you backward, pulling you out of the main flow of students and shoving you into a dark, empty hallway.
"What the hell is your problem today?" Oscar hissed, his tall frame instantly crowding you against the concrete wall, his dark eyes blown-out and dangerous with heat. "You were intentionally twisting my data in there just to get under my skin."
"Maybe your data is just as flawed and self-righteous as you are, Piastri," you spat back, your chest heaving violently against his. "If you can't handle the heat, don't stand at the podium."
"I can handle you just fine," he growled. Before you could fire back another insult, Oscar grabbed your waist, his grip bruisingly tight, and dragged you down the service hall. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of an isolated, unoccupied private study room, yanking you inside and slamming it shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a definitive snap.
The second the room went quiet, the argument transformed into something entirely carnal. Oscar didn't give you a chance to breathe, backing you up until the edge of the large oak study desk hit the back of your thighs.
But before the friction boiled over completely, you leaned back against the desk, a wicked, defiant smirk breaking through your anger. You reached out, your fingers flattening against his chest, and slowly pushed him back just enough to force him to look at you.
"You think you're in control of this, Oscar?" you whispered, your voice dripping with sweet, deliberate malice.
Slowly, deliberately, you sank to your knees right in front of him on the cold floor. Oscar’s breath caught in his throat, a low, ragged sound escaping him as he watched you reach for the buckle of his belt. You took your time, unzipping his trousers and freeing his thick, rigid length from his underwear. He was already leaking, fully aroused from the adrenaline of the debate, and you looked up at him, letting your tongue slowly trace the sensitive head of his cock just to watch his hands curl into tight fists at his sides.
"Fuck," Oscar groaned, his eyes snapping shut as you took him into your mouth.
You teased him wildly, sucking him down deep until his hips twitched instinctively, then pulling back just as quickly to lick along the underside of his shaft, swirling your tongue around the tip until he was trembling. You ran your hands up his thighs, gripping his glutes, completely driving him insane with the slow, agonizing torment of your mouth. When he reached down, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair to force you into a deeper, harder rhythm, you pulled away entirely, looking up at him with a hooded, victorious gaze.
"Please," he choked out, his immaculate pride completely shattered as he looked down at you.
You listen to Oscar but before doing so, you keep stroking his cock, licking every precum in his tip like a syrup.
"I need to be inside you right now."
Hearing his cries and pleas, you stood up slowly, the satisfaction of breaking his composure running through your veins like fire. You turned and hopped onto the edge of the desk, scattering textbooks and loose highlighters across the floor with a loud, chaotic clatter. You didn't give him a chance to recover, you reached up and unbuttoned the first three buttons of your uniform shirt, pulling the fabric apart to expose your chest to the cool air of the room.
Oscar let out a broken sigh at the sight. He lunged forward, burying his face completely into your bare chest, leaving a trail of hot, desperate kisses across your collarbones and down into the valley of your breasts. His breath was scorching against your skin. While one of his heavy hands reached under your shirt, roughly massaging your bare breast and shaping the soft flesh in his palm, his tongue darted out, licking and swirling over your nipple through the remaining fabric of your unbuttoned shirt, making the bud harden instantly under the wet pressure.
You gasped loudly, your fingers tangling into his hair to hold him against your chest as a deep ache bloomed between your thighs. "Oscar... please."
He didn't waste another second. He gripped your skirt, dragging it up and carelessly tearing your undergarments away, discarding them onto the floor. He crowded his heavy weight between your legs, forcing you to hook your knees tightly around his hips. He didn't reach for a condom. There was no protection between you, there never was anymore. The raw, unprotected danger of it was the only thing that could make either of you feel alive.
Positioning his thick, weeping tip at your opening, he paused for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a terrifyingly intense gaze. In that quiet breath, the mask slipped completely. The sheer, unadulterated adoration he tried so hard to hide bled through the cracks of his control. He looked at you like you were his entire world, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone with a sudden, involuntary tenderness that betrayed his heart.
"You're so pretty but you'll be prettier carrying my child," Oscar growled, his voice trembling, dripping with a dark, primal possessiveness that made your heart skip a beat. "I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want to look at you every day knowing I put a baby inside you."
The sheer weight of his breeding kink, the raw verbal confession of how deeply he wanted to claim you permanently, sent a violent shiver through your core. Before you could even process the words, he drove into you in one deep, unyielding thrust.
A loud, ruined sob-like gasp escaped your throat, your head slamming back against the hard wood of the desk as your body stretched completely around his thick, rigid length. Your fingers instantly tangled into his hair, pulling tightly to anchor yourself against the sheer, overwhelming force of him. Oscar buried his face back in the crook of your neck, his hips moving in deep, relentless, and punishing strokes that rattled the heavy wooden desk beneath you.
The friction was blistering, raw, and entirely nasty as he plowed into you over and over again, filling you completely. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoed loudly in the cramped study room, a visceral rhythm that matched the frantic beating of your heart. Every thrust was a physical manifestation of the arguments you couldn't finish and the ungodly amount of love you both still carry.
"Oscar... fuck... Oscar," you cried out, completely unable to contain yourself, your voice breaking as he hit a deep, sensitive spot inside you. You arched your back, your nails digging bloody crescents into his shoulders as you begged for more.
"Please... right there..."
Oscar panted heavily against your skin, his chest heaving as he takes your vocal praise like fuel. He gripped your hips with bruising force, lifting you higher to angle his thrusts even deeper, pounding into you with a feral, desperate speed.
"Put it inside me. Fill me."
Hearing those words, Oscar lost all composure. His pace turned fast and punishingly deep, his thick length slamming against your walls with a magnifying friction that drove you right over the edge. Your vision spotted with color as your internal muscles clench violently around him, sending you crashing into a shattering, liquid climax.
Oscar groaned darkly, a low, defeated sound tearing from his throat as your tight contractions pulled him over the precipice. He delivered two final, heavy thrusts, burying himself to the absolute hilt inside you as he unraveled completely, spilling his hot, unprotected seed deep within your womb, fulfilling the primal promise he had whispered just moments before. His entire body shuddered violently against yours as he came, holding you so tightly it felt like he wanted to melt his bones into yours.
For several minutes, the only sound in the private room was the ragged, synchronized breathing of two people trying to catch their breath in the dark.
Slowly, the fog cleared. The temporary relief faded, leaving behind the cold reality of who you were. Oscar gently let your legs down, his hands lingering on your waist for just a fraction of a second, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your hip before he pulled away entirely. He stood up, adjusting his clothes, his expression instantly locking back into that detached, unreadable mask as he ran a hand through his messy hair.
You sat up on the edge of the desk, pulling your skirt down and fixing the buttons of your blouse with trembling fingers. Oscar picked up his fallen backpack from the floor, slinging it over one shoulder. He walked to the door, his hand resting on the handle, but he didn't turn around to look at you.
"See you in lab tomorrow," he said quietly, his voice flat and casual, as if you hadn't just wrecked each other on a library desk.
"Tomorrow," you replied, your voice equally hollow. The lock clicked open, the door swung wide, and Oscar stepped out into the hallway, vanishing back into the crowd of students without a backwards glance.
This was the shocking reality no one on campus could have ever guessed. You hadn't stayed apart. The tragic fallout at the campsite hadn't ended you it had just driven you underground. Unable to truly let go, but too broken to openly forgive, you had made a silent, unholy pact to become secret fuck buddies, using each other's bodies to drown out the stress of the semester. You lied to yourself every day, whispering that this was purely physical, desperately denying that you were still completely in love with him.
But the coldness never survived the night.
A few hours later, when the campus went quiet and the rain started drumming heavily against his dorm window, the casual pretense always completely disintegrated. You weren't a couple you refused to define it, terrified of getting hurt againbut your actions completely failed to hide the truth.
You sat cross-legged on the center of Oscar's twin bed, swallowed up by his massive, oversized grey university shirt that hung loosely off your shoulders, smelling heavily of his laundry detergent and clean skin. Between your hands, you held a steaming styrofoam cup of late-night instant noodles, the warm broth casting a soft glow against your tired face. Oscar sat right behind you, his long legs framing your hips, his chest pressed firmly against your back as he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you eat.
There was no raw anger here. No nasty, punishing friction. Without either of you admitting what this was, you fell into the comfortable, sweet rhythm of a couple. He reached around you, his large hand gently taking the plastic fork from your fingers to feed you a bite of the noodles, blowing softly on it first to cool it down.
"Careful, it's still hot," he murmured softly against your ear, his voice losing every ounce of its academic sharpness, replaced by a quiet, velvety warmth.
You swallowed the bite, leaning back a little further into his solid chest, willfully ignoring how domestic this felt. "You were brutal in the debate today, you know. You didn't have to attack my conclusion so viciously."
Oscar let out a low, rumbly chuckle that vibrated straight through your back. He wrapped his free arm tighter around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't a millimeter of space between you. "You started it by picking apart my methodology. I had to defend myself. But you were brilliant. You always are when you're angry."
You turned your head slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. "Is that a compliment, Piastri?"
"Always," he whispered, leaning forward to press a tender, lingering kiss to your temple, his lips brushing against your hairline. "Eat some more. You barely touched your lunch today."
He fed you another forkful, watching over you with a quiet, fierce protectiveness that had absolutely nothing to do with being casual. When you finally finished the cup, he took it from your hands and set it on the nightstand, immediately pulling you down with him under the heavy duvet.
The shift from the clinical boundaries you claimed to have to this intense softness was effortless in the dark. You shared silent, suffocatingly close cuddles, your back tucked securely against his chest, his strong arms wrapping tightly around your waist under the oversized shirt. He slid one of his large hands beneath the fabric, his palm warm and flat against your bare stomach, skin on skin, tracing slow, comforting circles.
"Your hands are always cold," Oscar murmured, shifting down to bury his face deep into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, kissing the sensitive skin right beneath your jaw, making you sigh softly.
"Then keep me warm," you whispered back, turning around in his embrace so you were facing him. You reached up, your fingers tangling gently in his soft curls, pulling him closer.
Oscar looked down at you in the dim light of the room, his dark eyes melting with an aching affection that he stubbornly refused to put into words. He brought his hand up to your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray strand of hair, his touch so incredibly tender it made your throat tighten.
Neither of you would say the words. Neither of you would confess that the love you were mourning was still burning right between you. Instead, you just let the actions speak for themselves.
"I've got you," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with the unspoken truth. "I've always got you."
He leaned down, kissing you not with the feral urgency of the study room, but with a slow, sweet, devastating softness that felt entirely like a declaration. You melted into him, your hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other's chests.
Tucked away from the ruins of your past and the eyes of the university, you let yourselves play pretend, hiding your heavy hearts behind borrowed shirts and midnight embraces, completely incapable of hiding how desperately you still belonged to each other.
It's like… so damn good. Please please please tell me there could be a possibility for more of that in the future🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
I'm like obsessed with their dynamic and the whole idea and just… damn that was so hot. I… please if you can and have an inspiration for it, please write a second part.
You definitely don't have to and no pressure, just… I can't even think, I just loved the whole thing!💜💜💜
thankyou so much! i am overwhelmed reading this and i am happy to know that you loved it 😭🩷. actually it was meant to end as angst but then i change my mind afterwards!!! one thing is for sure, there will be more of that dynamic in the future!
Summary: Banished from the high-fashion runways of Manhattan to a painfully quiet country province, a proud city girl expects her exile to be an absolute nightmare. At first, she only wants one thing: a one-way ticket back to the concrete jungle but between accidental farm wildlife encounters, nosy local kids, and a devastatingly handsome governor's son who handles her dramatic meltdowns with patient amusement, the countryside starts to change her. For a girl who used to want a hundred materialistic things from the city, she’s left with a realization that terrifies her high-fashion pride: all she wants is a boy who is entirely too good for her sanity.
The flashbulbs of New York City used to be your sanctuary but overnight, they became your public executioner. One devastating PR disaster, one split-second, catastrophic lapse in judgment caught on a smartphone camera and weaponized by the internet and your glittering modeling career collapsed like a house of cards.
Within hours, the headlines were venomous, your luxury brand contracts were frozen, and your agency’s phone went completely dead. The worst part wasn’t just the public humiliation, it was the suffocating weight of betrayal and failure pressing down on your chest. You felt utterly devastated, stripped of the identity you had built in the city.
When your wealthy family stepped in, they offered no excuses but comfort and damage control. Their solution was immediate, you need to hide in public, away to the suffocating media storm.
Which is exactly how you found yourself trapped in the back of a matte-black Mercedes-Benz AMG, staring out the tinted window with a mixture of grief and open disdain. Your throat ached from days of unshed tears but you refused to let the breakdown show. The low, purring chassis of the luxury car looked completely ridiculous, scraping slightly as it navigated the sun-bleached, dusty roads of a valley town you didn't even know existed.
As the car moved past the bustling open-air weekend market, the local world seemed to stop. Heads turned instantly. Cashiers paused mid-transaction and families stopped dead in their tracks, whispering and staring at the sleek, aggressively expensive vehicle invading their quiet territory.
You felt like a zoo animal on display, raw and defensive. Desperate to protect what little pride you had left, you put up your armor. Resting your chin on your hand, you adjusted your designer sunglasses and pointedly looked away, completely snobbing the crowd as you rolled by, pretending you were entirely too good for them to mask how broken you actually felt.
Standing near a wooden stall overflowing with fresh local produce was Oscar. He was the absolute, polar opposite of the shallow, fast-paced elite you had left behind in Manhattan. Polite, quietly observant, and deeply rooted in his conservative values. As the son of the local governor, his loyalty belonged entirely to these streets. He spent his weekends out here in the dust, doing actual work rather than chasing status.
Right as your luxury car rolled past, an elderly woman named Mrs. Higgins stepped unsteadily away from the stall, struggling to balance two heavy wooden crates of heirloom tomatoes.
Oscar was by her side in a heartbeat, his voice calm and reassuring.
“Here, let me take those for you, Mrs. Higgins. You shouldn't be lifting these.”
”Oh, Oscar, bless you, dear,” she panted, letting him take the weight. “I don't know what I'd do without you and your parents keeping this place running so smoothly.”
"It’s no trouble at all. I’ll walk them over to your truck," Oscar replied with a polite smile, his posture steady and grounded.
“Did you see that car?" Mr. Miller, the town baker, called out from across the aisle, wiping his brow. "Some high and mighty city type. Didn't even look at us. They drive through here like they own the pavement.”
Oscar paused, his eyes tracking the tinted windows of your Mercedes as it turned the corner. He purse his lip, curiosity settling over his features but he remain calm.
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Miller," Oscar said, turning back to the citizens. “Me and my family will always make sure that anyone staying here knows that respect is important,"
Wiping his hands on a work cloth, Oscar watched the dust settle where your car had just been. He didn't know who was behind that glass he’s definitely sure, he'll meet whoever it is soon.
What neither of you had any idea about was the deep connection waiting just up the road: your parents and his had been close friends for decades.
-
The secluded estate your family had rented was supposed to be a sanctuary but to you, it felt like a beautifully furnished prison. The moment the heavy front door clicked shut, the reality truly sank in. You marched through the house, your irritation mounting with every step, the suffocating silence of the country pressing against your eardrums.
"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallways, throwing your designer handbag onto a wooden side table with a loud thud.
Nothing in this place was right. You walked into the kitchen, desperate for a distraction, only to find a clunky, outdated drip-coffee maker sitting on the counter. There was no touchscreen, no smart-home integration, and it certainly wasn't automatic. When you threw open the back doors expecting a luxury veranda, your jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. The backyard was just an endless expanse of manicured grass leading toward an old timber barn.
No infinity pool. No heated jacuzzi. Just crickets and nature.
Frustrated, exhausted, and feeling completely abandoned by the comforts of Manhattan, you paced over to the large bay window overlooking the property. You never live like this and now, you don't know how to survive on your own.
You lay down on the sofa and sigh. Two luggage staring back at you, but you didn't bother to change or unpacked, too tired to move and think. After positioning yourself like a cocon, you close your eyes hoping the nightmare will be gone when you wake up.
It's already 2pm in the afternoon, Oscar just finished his lunch and was supposed to go back in their home to take a nap when one of the farmer asked for his help in the barn. The old man looks exhausted and pale already and Oscar, being not able to say no to people in need, he immediately told the farmer he'll do it. That's how he found himself stuck in the area near you.
The sound of chirping birds wake you up from your sleep. Your neck and back hurts from crouching but instead of doing something about it, the first thing you did is pull the heavy curtains away, silently observing your surroundings.
Trees. Multiple of them and flower fields stands in front of you. Grass are everywhere as well, tall but not unkind in the eyes, nothing in sight but plain green and hues of bloom.
You sigh again, eyes watery from unshed tears. All you want to do is go back to New York and apologized to your team. When you realize slumping won’t help you adjust in the new place, you decided to pull yourself together that's when you're about close the window, a figure outside caught your eye.
It's a guy. Walking away from the old barn on the edge of the property.
Even from a distance, you could tell he didn't look like a typical farmhand. He was wearing casual clothes, a simple maroon t-shirt and jeans but there was an effortless, structured posture to him that screamed expensive. He carried himself with a quiet confidence that immediately made your brain click.
He must be someone important, you thought. A local developer, or maybe a rich neighbor. He definitely knows the things around here.
Seeing him as your one way ticket out of this nightmare, you didn't waste a second. You bolted towards the front door, the sharp heels of your sandals sinking into the soft dirt as you sprinted across the lawn.
"Hey! Wait! Excuse me!" you shouted, your voice carrying across the quiet yard.
The person didn't even turn around. He just kept walking at a steady, unhurried pace toward the edge of the property line.
“Mister!" you called again, huffing out a breath. "Are you deaf? I said wait!”
You pushed yourself to run even faster until you finally managed to cut him off, planting yourself directly in his path. You crossed your arms, tossing your hair back, intentionally trying to provoke him but he simply stopped and looked down at you.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice remarkably smooth, gentle, and soft-spoken. He adjusted his cap, his face a picture of pure composure. "The wind out here carries the sound away. What is it that you want, Miss? How can I help you?"
You froze, completely caught off guard. You had fully expected him to snap back or get defensive after being yelled at, but his genuine, soft politeness threw a massive wrench into your anger.
Determined not to let your guard down, you kept your entitled attitude firmly in place, desperately trying to crack his calm exterior. "Right. Well. I've been stranded in this nightmare of a house. There’s no automatic coffee maker, no pool, nothing.”
As you continue about your complaints, your eyes caught the face of the man in front of you and that's when you realized he's giving you a confused gaze. His eyes aside from confusion is full of curiousity.
Pausing a little you speak again. “Do you actually not know who I am?”
The man in front of you shakes his head as he purse his lips, probably trying hard to not laugh at how crazy you sound right now.
“I'm famous.” you added but instead of apologizing for not recognizing you, he remained unnmoved. “A little respect and proper assistance would be nice, Mister." You added, more annoyed than earlier.
Looking at you, talking about things he doesn't know makes Oscar let out a slow, quiet breath, yet his expression remained entirely unbothered. He's already tired and seeims he has to deal with some rich brat. You're probably the one arriving in the Mercedes earlier.
Oscar’s eyes moved deliberately from your face, down to your mud-covered heels and back up again, scanning your appearance. You are pretty but you also look very hard-headed. The way your hair complement your face, the air moving it from sideways, your lips pouting in anger, and your eyes giving him dagger gaze makes you look like an angry goddess in front of him.
He almost got lost by you but luckily for him, Oscar managed to pull himself together. "I don't know who you are, Miss," Oscar replied quietly, his tone still incredibly polite. “And there’s no reason to take your frustration out on me. Just take a breath and calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down!" you insisted, your tone annoyed, frustrated that nothing you said was breaking his serene demeanor. You took a sharp step forward to emphasize your point, completely forgetting that your four-inch heels were deeply embedded in the uneven, muddy turf.
Your ankle rolled.
A sharp gasp left your throat as your balance completely vanished, your body tilting violently backward toward the dirt. You braced yourself for a painful impact but the fall never came.
A strong, calloused hand shot out with lightning-fast reflexes, wrapping securely around your waist. Oscarbraced his weight, easily pulling you flush against his chest to steady you.
The sudden impact left you completely breathless. Your hands instinctively flew up to rest against his broad shoulders for balance. You were stuck, locked tightly in his grip, the heat of his hand searing through the fabric of your top.
"Are you calming down now?" Oscar asked softly.
His voice was a low, steady murmur, vibrating slightly against your palms. Cheeks rosy like peaches, nose tall and perfect and it doesn't help how the little facial hair in his upper lip and lower chin make him more pretty and hot and because of the height difference, his face was inches from yours, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.
Up close, the words completely died in your throat. You wanted to curse yourself, you wanted to scream and tear yourself away because looking at him from this distance, he was absolutely, devastatingly pretty. He had a perfect, sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and a quiet, beautiful composure that made your heart skip a beat out of pure frustration. You felt incredibly flustered, a hot blush creeping up your neck, which only made you angrier because he still hadn't lost his temper.
"Let go of me!" you hissed, your voice cracking slightly as you pushed against his shoulders, trying to hide how severely he had just thrown you off your game.
Oscar didn't drop you immediately, he made sure first that your caked heels were firmly planted on a solid patch of grass first, and then he slowly unwrapped his arm from your waist, stepping back and putting his hands casually into his pockets, as calm as he had been from the very start.
Before you could launch into another defensive tirade to cover up your embarrassment, a cheerful, energetic voice cut through the thick tension.
"Wait, no way! Are you actually who I think you are?"
A guy with a mess of curls and a wide, starstruck grin came jogging up from the side path, looking between the two of you in absolute awe. "I'm Lando! I follow you on social media. It’s absolutely crazy to see you in a place like this!"
"Wait, so you actually know who I am?" you asked, turning your attention back to Lando before looking at Oscar.
Being recognized in the place, made a genuine smile break through your defensive exterior for the first time since arriving in this town. Yet, even as you spoke to Lando, you could still feel the lingering weight of the other man's gaze on you. Your cheeks were still warm from how close he had just been, making you feel uncharacteristically shy under his steady, unblinking stare.
"Know you? Of course I know you!" Lando beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Your last cover shoot for Vogue was insane, and that Paris Fashion Week runway? Unreal. I can't believe a literal supermodel is standing in this yard right now. By the way, I’m Lando!"
“Hi Lando!” You gave him a smile that he immediately responds.
Hearing someone praise your work felt like a lifeline after days of feeling utterly discarded by the industry. You quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm with Lando, your voice shedding its sharp edge as you eagerly discussed your past campaigns, the chaotic energy of the backstage dressing rooms, and the high-fashion world you so desperately missed. Lando was the perfect audience, hanging onto every word and asking a million questions.
But amidst the excitement, the real reason for your excursion suddenly crossed your mind.
"Oh, right," you interrupted yourself, smoothing down your top. "As much as I love talking, I actually need to find the local governor. My family told me to connect with them the moment I arrived. Do you know where their office is?"
You glance at now more silent man beside you but his eyes remained far from you.
Lando who had no idea of what happened earlier blinked confusingly but then a grin instantly stretching across his face. "The governor? Oh, yeah, we can totally take you there. Me and Oscar can escort you right now. It's just a short walk past the main square."
Oscar.
You instantly looked over at the quiet guy standing standing next to you, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets.
So that was his name. Oscar... You repeated it silently in your mind, testing the weight of it. Oscar. It suited him. It sounded grounded, old-school, and unyielding just like the man himself.
When both men didn't hear your answer, Oscar decided to stepped in.
"You really did cause me a commotion earlier. That's probably urgent, let's go then," Oscar said simply, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He didn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and leading the way down the dirt path.
The walk toward the town center was completely lopsided. Lando walked right beside you, completely loud and animated, gesturing wildly as he talked about local gossip, the best spots in town, and how dead the nightlife was compared to Manhattan. But you found it incredibly hard to focus on a single word Lando was saying.
Instead, your eyes kept drifting to Oscar.
He walked a half-step ahead of you, his broad shoulders squared, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He didn't offer a single word to the conversation, his stubborn, disapproving frown firmly back in place.
Oscar looked entirely closed off, a silent island in the middle of Lando’s sea of noise. You found yourself observing the sharp angle of his jaw, the effortless way he moved, and the sheer, infuriating calmness that seemed to radiate from him. He was a complete puzzle, a man who had held your waist with effortless strength and looked at you with devastatingly pretty eyes, only to treat you like a mild inconvenience the next second.
What you didn't realize, however, was that Oscar wasn't nearly as detached as he appeared.
While Lando’s voice filled the air, Oscar’s peripheral vision was locked entirely on you. Every time you glanced away or stumbled slightly on the uneven pavement in those ridiculous heels, his muscles tensed, ready to catch you again. He was quietly studying the way your high-fashion armor seemed to crack whenever you thought he wasn't looking, observing the hidden vulnerability beneath.
Neither of you said a word to each other but as the governor's estate loomed in the distance, the silent, intense awareness pulling between you and Oscar was louder than anything Lando could ever say.
—
Lando and Oscar left you at the heavy timber doors of the governor’s main office. Lando gave you a bright, starstruck wave, while Oscar offered nothing more than a silent nod before they both turned to head back down the corridor.
Taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart, you knocked and stepped inside. The moment the man behind the massive oak desk stood up to greet you, your jaw nearly dropped. The sharp posture, the warm but commanding presence, you recognized him instantly.
"Uncle Chris?" you breathed.
"Look at you! You've grown into such a beautiful young woman," Chris Piastri beamed, walking entirely around his desk to pull you into a warm, welcoming hug.
Chris was one of your father's oldest and closest friends. You had met him multiple times over the years whenever he and his wife visited your family's penthouse in New York. Seeing a familiar, friendly face from home immediately washed away a layer of the devastation you had been carrying.
"It's so good to see you, Uncle Chris," you said, your voice dropping its defensive city edge as you sank into the comfortable leather chair he offered.
“It’s nice to see you kid! It's been long,” Chris sat across from you, leaning forward and looking at you with genuine, fatherly concern. "First of all, how are you holding up? Truly? And tell me, what do you think of our little town so far?"
You let out a heavy, weary sigh, the honesty slipping out before you could filter it. "I just arrived Uncle and honestly? I feel completely devastated about everything back home. My career is ruined, my team won't even pick up my calls, and as for this place... Uncle Chris, it feels like a beautifully furnished prison.”
Chris silently listens to your rants, an amused smile started appearing on his lips.
“My heels are caked in mud, the coffee maker in that house isn't even automatic, there's no infinity pool, and the silence out here is literally hurting my ears. I just don't know how I'm supposed to survive on my own like this."
Chris looks at your face for a second, before moving his eyes at your caked designer shoes, and then a hearty, amused laugh rumbled from his chest. It wasn't a mean laugh, but one of pure fondness.
"An automatic coffee maker, huh? Yes, I suppose our rustic charms can be quite a shock to the system for a Manhattan elite."
Seeing the watery look in your eyes, his laughter softened into a gentle, reassuring smile. He reached out, patting your shoulder warmly, completely stepping into a comforting, parental role.
"Hey, look at me. Put the city lifestyle out of your mind for a second. You are going to survive just fine. It’s quiet, yes, but it’s safe. Out here, nobody cares about the headlines or the paparazzi.”
Clutching your fingers togethers, you try to stabilized your breathing. Today is too much emotional for you to handle and things are moving too fast for your liking.
“Your family sent you here to rest, so let yourself rest. Don't worry about the press back in New York, you can stay hidden out here for as long as you need until the storm blows over. My wife and I will make sure you're looked after like one of our own."
You sat there quietly, actually listening to him. For the first time since the PR disaster hit, someone was looking past the model facade and treating you like a person who just needed a safe place to land. The tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosened slightly.
Chris pulled back, a sudden spark of amusement lighting up his eyes again. "Actually, Lando texted me just a minute ago and mentioned he saw you walking up with my son. So, you've already met Oscar?"
You blinked, completely bewildered. "Who?"
Chris chuckled, folding his arms. "Oscar. The boy you walked into the town hall with. He's my son."
A jolt of pure shock went through you, though you forced your face to remain entirely composed, refusing to say a single word vocally that would give away your embarrassment.
That guy? The quiet, infuriatingly calm, devastatingly pretty guy in the maroon shirt who had held your waist in the mud was the governor’s son?
Before you could spiral into your thoughts, Chris picked up a small map from his desk, passing it to you. "If you ever need anything and I mean absolutely anything just ask us. Our doors are always open, and you are more than welcome to stay at our house if that estate feels too lonely.”
Speechless, you wasn't able to decline. This is your first time holding a paper map since you're already use asking directions through phone.
Smiling at you, Chris stood up to move by your side and gave you a brief but sweet embrace “Go ahead and roam around the area a bit just to get used to the surroundings. And don't worry, Oscar can assist you with anything you need while you're out there. I just texted him,"
"You don't have to but thank you, Uncle Chris. That means a lot," you replied genuinely.
After saying your goodbyes, you walked out of the office, your mind racing as you navigated the grand corridors of the city hall. You wrapped your head around the revelation, realizing you needed to confront him. As you stepped out near the courtyard, your eyes scanned the grounds until you spotted him. Oscar was sitting on a stone bench in the shaded garden area, quietly reviewing a stack of community paperwork.
"Hey! Oscar!" you called out across the grass.
Oscar didn't jump but he slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto you as you approached. A tiny, almost imperceptible trace of amusement touched his lips. "Do you really like screaming at people?" he asked, his voice soft-spoken and completely gentle as usual.
You rolled your eyes dramatically, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. "I wasn't screaming. I was getting your attention." You took a breath, looking down at him. "I just came from the governor's office. I talked to your dad."
Oscar didn't look surprised. He just stacked his papers neatly on his lap. "I figured."
"You didn't tell me the governor is your dad," you said, your tone dropping into a pointed, slightly irritated accusation.
Oscar looked up at you, his expression entirely level and unbothered. "I don't tell people that," he responded quietly. "I don't like throwing my status around."
His voice didn't sound boastful or arrogant at all it was entirely humble but his words made you frown. A prickle of discomfort hit your chest because, unlike him, your entire life revolved around status. You loved telling people who you were, loved the flashing lights, and loved the recognition. Standing in front of a guy who had all the power in this town but chose to hide it made you feel incredibly exposed.
Recognizing the shift in your mood, Oscar's soft-spoken demeanor became even gentler. He noticed how your shoulders sagged and how the sharp, defensive city persona suddenly dissolved into a heavy, quiet exhaustion.
"When did you become so silent?" Oscar asked softly, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at you. There was no judgment in his voice now, only genuine curiosity.
You bit your lip, looking away at the flower fields. The wall you had built up finally cracked. Sitting down on the opposite end of the stone bench, you let out a shaky breath and actually started talking to him. For the first time, you explained your real problems. You told him about the devastating PR nightmare, how terrified you were that everything you had worked for in New York was permanently gone, and how completely out of your depth you felt in a place where your name meant absolutely nothing.
Oscar didn't interrupt you once. He just sat there, a quiet and steady anchor, listening to every single word of your problem with absolute patience. He didn't offer empty platitudes or tell you that you were being dramatic. He just let you speak until you finally ran out of breath, your eyes shining with unshed tears.
When you finished, a comfortable silence settled between you. Oscar looked at you for a long moment before standing up and brushing off his jeans.
"Okay," he said softly, offering a faint, reassuring nod. "Let's go to town. Maybe looking around the place will comfort you in a way."
You looked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden kindness. Shifting your feet, you muttered, "I didn't know Uncle Chris even had a son."
Oscar looked down at you, and for the first time since you met him, a genuine, beautiful smile broke across his face. It was small, but it completely transformed his features, making your heart do another dangerous flip. "Well, now you know," he murmured.
As you both started walking out of the courtyard and back toward the main streets, the uneven stone paths and your ridiculous heels quickly proved to be a terrible combination.
Every few steps, your balance would falter, your ankles wobbling dangerously over the cobblestones. But Oscar didn't say a word to tease you. Instead, he stayed close like what he did not a long ago, his eyes completely locked on you, quietly watching your feet and effortlessly reaching out to catch your arm or steady your waist every single time you were almost falling over.
“Hey!” You call Oscar again, too shy to just nudge him. “I haven't introduced myself yet,” you added after Oscar glance at you.
“You don't have to,” Oscar respond, smiling a little when your brows furrowed in confusion. “I heard Lando say it earlier,” he put his hands on his pocket, “It’s a pretty name,”
-
The heavy tension from earlier had completely dissolved, replaced by the steady, rhythmic clicking of your heels against the cobblestones. True to his word, Oscar didn't lead you back to your empty estate. Instead, he navigated the path straight toward the heart of the town square, guiding you back to the very place where your luxury car had caused such a scene just hours prior.
"The market is the best place to start," Oscar explained. "If you’re going to be staying out here for a while, you need to know where the essentials are. You can't survive on a low-tech house if you don't know where to get real food."
"I can survive on delivery," you muttered defensively, though you didn't pull away when his hand briefly brushed your elbow to guide you past a particularly jagged patch of pavement.
"Not out here, you can't," Oscar countered, a small, knowing tug at the corner of his lips. "The closest city with a delivery app is an hour away. Trust me on this."
As you entered the bustling open-air market, the sensory overload hit you instantly. The air was thick with the scent of baked goods, earth, and sweet, ripening fruit. Oscar immediately steered you toward a colorful stall stacked high with golden loaves.
"Mrs. Miller," Oscar called out gently, his posture instantly shifting into that relaxed, community-first persona you had noticed earlier. "This is the guest staying at the edge of the property. She’s a family friend."
The older woman’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing you from the car but Oscar's warm introduction seemed to melt away her initial suspicion. "Oh, well, any friend of Piastris is welcome here! Nice to meet you, dear."
You swallowed the lingering knot of city pride in your throat, stepping forward. "It's... it's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller. I'm sorry about the car earlier."
"Think nothing of it, sweetheart," she smiled, handing Oscar a warm paper bag.
Oscar took it with a polite nod, turning back to you as you both continued down the aisle. "If you want bread, you come to her. Always fresh, baked at 5:00 AM every morning. For meats, you go to the butcher two stalls down, Mr. Vance. And right over here..." He stopped in front of a massive, vibrant display of agriculture. "...is where you get your fruits."
He introduced you to multiple people along the way. The grocers, the farmers, the local artisans. With every introduction, you found yourself listening carefully, shedding your defensive armor piece by piece as you properly introduced yourself to each of them. They weren't judging you they didn't even know about it. They just saw a girl who was completely out of her element, trying her best to adapt.
Suddenly, Oscar stopped in front of a smaller vendor selling green, unripened fruit cut into neat slices. He exchanged a quick word with the vendor, who handed him a small wooden bowl filled with pale green mangoes and a tiny cup of dark vinegar.
Oscar turned to you, a mischievous spark dancing in his dark eyes. "Have you ever tried an unripe mango dipped in vinegar?"
You stared at the bowl as if it contained a biohazard. "Unripe? As in, completely sour? Absolutely not. Why would anyone do that to themselves intentionally?"
"Because it’s amazing," Oscar insisted, his tone entirely serious but his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's a staple around here. Come on, you have to try it."
"No, no way," you said, taking a step back, your hands coming up to refuse. "I am a city girl, Oscar. We eat our fruit ripe and sweet. I am not eating a sour mango in public."
"You're missing out," he soft-spokenly pushed, completely unbothered by your resistance. To prove his point, he took a small wooden pick, stabbed a crisp slice of the green mango, and swirled it thoroughly in the dark vinegar. He popped it into his mouth without a single flinch, chewing calmly. "See? Crisp, a little salty, a little sour. It’s perfect. Your turn, Miss New York."
You bit your lip, looking from his infuriatingly handsome, smug face down to the bowl. Your competitive nature flared. "Fine. But if I pass out from the acidity, you're carrying me back to the city hall."
"Deal," he murmured, handing you a pick.
You carefully selected a small piece, lightly dabbing it into the vinegar. You took a deep breath and popped it into your mouth.
Instantly, your entire face contorted. The sheer, unadulterated sourness of the fruit exploded across your tastebuds, sending a sharp shockwave right down your jaw. It was incredibly tart, the vinegar adding an intense, biting kick that you were completely unprepared for.
You gasped, your eyes watering immediately as you tried to chew the incredibly crisp fruit.
A sound broke through the air. A rich, melodic sound you hadn't heard all day.
Oscar was laughing.
It wasn't a quiet chuckle, it was a genuine, bright laugh that crinkled his eyes and showed a flash of teeth. He looked completely captivated by your exaggerated, horrified reaction. Before you could even swat his arm in retaliation, Oscar reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean tissue.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until that familiar, breathless warmth from the barn lawn returned. His laughter subsided into a soft, incredibly gentle smile as he raised his hand.
"Hold still," he murmured softly.
Your breath hitched as his fingers, shielded by the tissue, lightly touched the side of your lips. He carefully and thoroughly wiped away a stray drop of the dark vinegar that had escaped from your sudden shock. His touch was incredibly light, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as he focused entirely on your mouth. His face was so close to yours that you could smell the faint scent of rain and cedar on him.
You wanted to curse yourself again. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a deep, furious blush rushing up your cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the sour mango.
Oscar pulled his hand back, crumpling the tissue and tossing it into a nearby bin. He looked down at your flushed, wide-eyed face, his hands slipping casually back into his pockets.
"Still think it’s a nightmare out here?" he asked quietly, his voice a gentle, teasing murmur.
"Yes," you squeaked out, your voice still a little breathless from the sheer intensity of the sour fruit and his sudden proximity. You quickly swallowed the mango, your throat burning slightly.
"It is absolutely still a nightmare. My tongue feels like it’s shriveling up."
Oscar shook his head, a soft, amused chink in his calm demeanor as he popped another vinegar-soaked slice into his mouth. He didn't flinch at all, completely unbothered by the tartness.
“Do you have any allergies?”
“I don’t. Why?”
Turning to the stall vendor, Oscar didn't answer your question but instead, pointed to a jar of freshly squeezed, ice-cold sweet fruit juice.
"Can we get one of those, please?"
It's apple juice, it should be sweet.
He handed the cup to you and you snatched it like a lifeline, taking a long, desperate sip. The sweet, icy liquid instantly washed away the biting sourness, and you let out a long sigh of relief, your lips still wrapped around the straw.
Oscar watched you drink for a second, his eyes dropping down to your feet before moving back to your face. "Stay right here," he said suddenly, his tone shifting into that firm but gentle authority. He turned to the vendor, a friendly middle-aged man who had been watching the two of you with a knowing smile.
"Hey, Marcus, do you mind watching out for her for just a few minutes? Make sure she doesn't wander off."
"Of course, Oscar. Take your time," Marcus nodded.
You blinked, completely confused, pulling the straw from your mouth. "Wait, what? Where are you going? You can't just dump me at a fruit stall!"
"I'll be right back," Oscar said simply. He didn't give you a chance to argue, turning on his heel and disappearing into the thick crowd of the market with long, steady strides.
Oscar wove through the market crowd, his mind fixed on a very specific destination three aisles over. He knew he had left you looking confused and probably annoyed but he couldn't stand watching you suffer through the cobblestones for another minute.
Every time you had stumbled on the walk over from the town hall, his hand had instinctively shot out to catch ypu. He had felt the tight, rigid tension in your waist, the way your fingers dug into his shoulders out of pure reflex. You are stubborn, fiercely so insisting on walking through a rural valley.
But Oscar had noticed the way your stride had slowed, the subtle wince in your eyes every time your shoe sank into a gap between the stones. You're going to twist your ankle completely if she keeps this up, he thought, pushing past a group of chatting locals.
He stopped in front of a small footwear stall run by old Mr. Davies. Hanging from the racks were simple, durable clothing items and rows of woven, cushioned slides and slippers meant for comfort.
"Afternoon, Oscar," Mr. Davies greeted, looking up from his stool. "What can I do for you today? Your mom need something from the shop?"
"No, Mr. Davies, it's for a guest," Oscar replied, his voice soft and polite as he scanned the sizes. He recalled the exact shape of her feet from when he had wiped the mud off her shoes back at the lawn. "Do you have those soft, cushioned slippers in a size nine? The ones with the thick soles."
"Ah, the city girl staying up at the old estate? Saw her car earlier," the old man chuckled, reaching back to pull a pair of simple, cream-colored, incredibly soft-looking slippers from a shelf. "These ought to do it. Very easy on the arches."
Oscar took them, pressing his thumb into the foam sole to ensure they were soft enough. They were a far cry from the luxury brands you was used to but right now, practicality mattered more than a designer label. He paid the man, nodding his thanks.
As he walked back, slipping the footwear into a small paper bag, he couldn't help but shake his head at himself. He barely knew you and your loud, demanding attitude was the exact opposite of everything he found rational. Yet, seeing your armor crack at the mango stall, seeing you look so small and wide-eyed when he wiped your lips... he just wanted to make sure you are okay.
Back at the fruit stall, you kept your hands wrapped around the cold juice cup, shifting your weight uncomfortably from one aching foot to the other.
"Don't you worry, dear," Marcus, the vendor, said warmly as he rearranged a stack of oranges. "Oscar always keeps his word. If he said he’ll be right back, he’ll be right back."
You offered a small, tentative smile, still feeling incredibly out of place. "He's... very specific about things, isn't he?"
Marcus let out a hearty chuckle. "Specific? No, just grounded. He’s been helping around this town since he was a little boy. His parents are the governor and the town's heartbeat, but Oscar? He’s the hands and feet of this community. You’ll see. You'll definitely love staying in our town once you get used to the quiet. It grows on you, just like the people do."
You listened quietly, staring down at the ice melting in your cup. The warmth and pride this vendor had for Oscar was undeniable. It was so different from New York, where everyone looked out for themselves and gossip was weaponized.
Leaning slightly against the wooden counter, you looked at Marcus, curiosity finally getting the better of you.
"Is he always like this?" you asked softly, your voice dropping. "I mean... is Oscar always this kind to everyone? Even to people who arrive and immediately start screaming at him?"
Marcus smiled gently, his eyes softening. "Always, sweetheart. That boy doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. He’s stubborn about his principles, sure, and he won't stand for foolishness. But if someone is in trouble, or if someone is hurting even if they're hiding it behind a loud voice, Oscar will always be the first one to reach out a hand. He doesn't know how to do anything else."
Your heart gave a strange, complicated thud against your ribs. You looked toward the crowd where Oscar had disappeared, Marcus’s words echoing in your head. You had treated him like an inconvenience, yelled at him, and demanded his respect, yet he had caught you when you fell, listened to your breakdown without judgment, and bought you a drink just to soothe your burnt tongue.
Before you could think about it any deeper, the crowd parted, and the familiar maroon t-shirt came back into view. Oscar was walking back toward the stall, a small paper bag in his hand, his expression as calm and unbothered as ever.
Oscar stepped back up to the wooden counter, offering a polite nod to the fruit vendor. "Thanks, Marcus. I appreciate you keeping an eye out."
"Anytime, Oscar. Take care now, you two," Marcus replied with a warm, knowing wave as he went back to sorting his produce.
Oscar turned his attention to you, his dark eyes instantly dropping back down to where your feet were still desperately gripping the uneven dirt and gravel. Without a word, he lightly caught the crook of your elbow his touch firm but incredibly gentle and began guiding you away from the main walkway toward a weathered wooden bench nestled under the shade of a large oak tree nearby.
"Sit down," he said softly, releasing your arm and gesturing to the bench.
You blinked up at him, shifting your weight uncomfortably as your aching arches throbbed in protest. "Why? We were just in the middle of the market. Why are we suddenly stopping at a random bench?"
Oscar didn't lose his temper or look annoyed by your questioning. He simply adjusted his cap, his expression entirely deadpan and level. "Just do it. Sit."
You let out a dramatic, irritated sigh to make sure he knew you weren't happy about being ordered around but your burning, exhausted feet practically begged you to comply. You sank down onto the wooden slats, crossing your legs tightly and glaring up at him through your designer sunglasses.
"Fine. I'm sitting. Happy now, Oscar? Care to explain what this is about?"
Oscar didn't answer right away. Instead, he casually dropped to one knee on the grass right in front of you. The sudden proximity made your breath hitch, your heart doing a dangerous, chaotic flutter as you stared down at him. He set the small paper bag on the ground and pulled out the simple, cream-colored, heavily cushioned slides he had just bought.
"Look," Oscar began, his voice dropping into that smooth, gentle murmur as he held one of the slippers out toward you. "I know it’s not a luxury designer label. It doesn't have a high-fashion logo stamped on the side, and it's definitely not what you're used to wearing in New York."
He looked up, his dark, long eyelashes framing a gaze that was entirely sincere and completely devoid of any judgment. "But it's thick, it has proper arch support and it's actually comfortable. Your heels are completely caked in mud and you've been stumbling over the cobblestones since we left the town hall. If you keep walking in those, you're going to twist your ankle or worse."
He set the cream-colored slippers right next to your mud-covered designer shoes, stepping back just enough to give you space while remaining close. "So, just take the heels off and wear these for the rest of the day. No one around here cares what brand is on your feet, they just want you to walk safely."
—
The market place was the only spot you and Oscar ended up exploring that day. By the time he had finished showing you the stalls and making sure your feet were taken care of, evening had already struck, painting the valley sky in deep hues of purple and gold.
That night, sleep completely evaded you. You lay awake in the quiet bedroom of the estate, staring at the ceiling as the crickets chirped outside. Your mind was a chaotic storm, swirling with thoughts of the career you had left behind in New York, the overwhelming quiet of the suburbs, and unexpectedly, a budding little crush on the governor’s son.
You couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of his hand around your waist, the gentle way he had wiped your lips, and the realization of just how deeply he cared for the people around him.
The next morning, however, the fragile bubble you had built was abruptly popped. You met Oscar near the edge of the town square, expecting another quiet walk but his expression was more serious than usual.
"I'm really sorry," Oscar began, his voice incredibly gentle as his dark eyes locked onto yours. "I know I promised to show you around the area but I can't tour you around anymore. I won't be able to continue."
A sharp wave of disappointment hit you right in the chest at his sudden apology. Before you could even process it, he continued softly, "But don't worry. Lando is going to take over. He knows this place inside and out and he’s more than happy to be your escort whenever you need him."
You felt incredibly upset but you desperately forced your high-fashion armor back up, trying to hide the sadness twisting in your features. You crossed your arms, looking away. "Oh. Right. And why is that? Do you suddenly have more important barn latches to check or am I just too much of a city nightmare for you?"
Oscar let out a quiet sigh, stepping a bit closer. "No, it's nothing like that. I have to go to New York for a few days. Something important came up that I need to handle personally."
New York. The name of your home city felt like a punch to the gut coming from his lips. You desperately wanted to ask him what a grounded, small-town guy like him needed to do in the middle of Manhattan but your pride held you back.
You stood next to him, shoulders brushing with eachother but after his word, you never dare to speak anymore. Before he turned to leave, Oscar hesitate, his intense, calm gaze lingering on your face.
"Before I go," he murmured softly, "is there anything you want? Anything from the city I can bring back for you?"
You froze, the question catching you entirely off guard. Your mind went completely blank, confused by the sudden rush of emotions. The first hour you had arrived in this province, you had a running mental checklist of a hundred different things you desperately want but now, after spending just half a day with him, after feeling the steady comfort of his presence, everything else felt trivial. Your brain scrambled but the truth was simple, you didn't want a single thing from New York. You just wanted him to stay.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you forced your eyes away from his pretty face. "None," you muttered quietly.
Oscar didn't push or question your brief answer. Instead, a tiny, affectionate smile touched his lips. He reached out, his large, warm hand coming up to give you a gentle, reassuring pat on the head. The simple, tender gesture sent a jolt of warmth straight down to your toes.
"I'll be back," Oscar said softly, his hand dropping back into his pocket.
You gave a small, uncharacteristic nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "Take care."
For the next several days, your world became a lot louder, courtesy of Lando. True to Oscar's word, Lando was a dedicated escort. He fetched you from the estate every morning, guiding you through the town, chattering endlessly about his favorite spots, and doing everything he could to keep you entertained.
He was incredibly fun and sweet, but every time you looked over your shoulder, you couldn't help but notice the empty space where a quiet, maroon-shirted guy usually walked. The sadness lingered, a dull ache you couldn't quite shake.
After almost a week of relying entirely on Lando, you woke up feeling a sudden surge of determination. You couldn't depend on someone to hold your hand forever. If you were going to survive this, you needed to prove to yourself and to a certain absent governor's son that you could handle the province on your own.
Without calling Lando, you slipped into a pair of comfortable clothes, put on the cushioned slides Oscar had bought for you, and walked out the front door.
The walk to the town center was long and your heart hammered with nerves, but you kept your head held high. Step by step, you navigated the paths Oscar had shown you. When you finally crossed the threshold into the bustling open-air market, a profound sense of pride washed over you. You had managed to get here entirely on your own.
You were standing by Mrs. Miller’s bakery stall, successfully ordering a fresh pastry, when a frantic, out-of-breath voice called out your name.
"Oh my god, there you are!" Lando panted, jogging up to the stall and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at you, his eyes wide with absolute shock. "I just drove up to the estate to fetch you and the house was empty! I thought you got kidnapped or fled back to the city. You... you came all the way to the market alone?"
You couldn't help but let out a genuine, triumphant laugh, holding up your pastry. "Surprise, Lando. Turns out the city girl can actually survive a walk without an escort."
You were all smiles, the taste of the fresh pastry sweet on your tongue as you shared a triumphant look with a still-shocked Lando. For the first time since your world crashed down in New York, you felt a genuine spark of happiness, proud of the small streak of independence you had just carved out for yourself.
Until a smooth, familiar, and devastatingly gentle voice spoke up from directly behind you.
"Wow. I was only gone for a couple of days but look at you now. Completely independent."
The words cut through the noisy market air like a physical touch. You froze instantly, the smile vanishing from your face as your entire body locked up. Your back was still facing him but your heart began racing like crazy, thumping so violently against your ribs you were certain both Lando and the baker could hear it.
A wave of pure, overwhelming emotion crashed over you. It was ridiculous, it was irrational, and you wanted to curse yourself for it but you had missed him so much. You had missed Oscar desperately, a fact that terrified you considering you had only spent half a day with him before he vanished. Yet, his absence had left a quiet, gaping void in your heart that Lando’s loudest chatter couldn't begin to fill.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, you turned around to face him.
The words died in your throat. You stood there, completely out of words, staring at him like a ghost. Oscar still looked exactly the same. the same effortless, structured posture, the same casual char mbut as your eyes scanned his face, your lips instinctively puckered into a small, involuntary pout.
He had shaved.
The light, rugged facial hair he'd had when you first met him was gone, leaving his sharp jawline completely clean and smooth. It made him look incredibly neat, a little different, and altogether too handsome for your own sanity.
Oscar, hyper-aware as always, immediately sensed the sudden shift in your energy. His dark eyes softened as he took in your frozen posture, your wide, watery eyes, and that prominent pout. A flicker of genuine worry rippled through him, though his grounded nature kept him from actively showing it to the crowded market.
Oscar didn't push back against your immediate hostility. Instead, a slow, incredibly charming smile broke across his newly shaved face, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He seemed completely amused by the fact that your sharp attitude had returned the exact second he stepped back into your life, as if your anger was a familiar comfort. Before you could even register his movement, he reached out and gave you that same gentle, reassuring pat on the head just like he did before he left, his palm warm against your hair.
"Good to know," he murmured softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register. "I'm glad the slides are treating you well."
He bypassed your crossed arms and stepped past you, moving toward Lando. A bright grin broke across Lando's face the second he realized Oscar was standing there, and the two guys immediately shared a brief, familiar hug, firmly dabbing each other's backs in a classic greeting between close friends.
"Man, it's good to have you back!" Lando said, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. "The governor's house has been way too quiet without you."
"Good to be back," Oscar replied smoothly. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he stepped right back over to you, planting himself comfortably by your side. He didn't pull away; instead, he stood close enough that you could feel the sudden, intoxicating warmth of his shoulder brushing lightly against yours, the subtle scent of rain and cedar rolling off him.
Oscar looked across at his friend, his hands casually slipping into his pockets, though his peripheral vision remained locked entirely on you. "So, how was she while I was left? Did she give you a hard time?"
Lando let out a dramatic laugh, immediately launching into full storyteller mode. You just stood there, your pastry temporarily forgotten, listening to the two of them talk about you as if you didn't even exist right in front of them.
"Oh, mate, you have no idea," Lando grinned, gesturing wildly. "The first couple of days, she was completely lost without her city comforts. I thought I'd have to fly in a barista from Manhattan. But she actually adapted! You missed a lot of things, Oscar. Like last Tuesday, we went near the northern pastures, and she almost got chased by a cow because she was wearing that bright red designer scarf!"
"A cow?" Oscar repeated. He didn't just chuckle, he turned his head slightly, a genuine, rich laugh rumbling in his chest. His eyes slid down to your face, heavy with an affectionate, teasing warmth that made your chest ache. "A red scarf in a pasture. Bold choice,”
"Hey! It was high-fashion cashmere!" you snapped, defensive but feeling your cheeks burning.
Lando waved his hand, completely ignoring your interruption. "Yes! I had to practically drag her over the timber fence! But that's not even the best part. Yesterday, I walked into her kitchen and she was actually making coffee. Like, she finally figured out how to use the old drip-coffee maker completely without help. No automatic touchscreen needed, no complaining, just a perfect brew."
Oscar fell quiet, the laughter fading into something much softer, much more intense. He turned his body fully toward you now, ignoring Lando entirely for a long moment. He looked down at you, his lips twitching into a proud, incredibly gentle smile that reached all the way to his dark eyes. It was a look that felt completely private, a silent acknowledgement of how hard you were trying to survive out here.
"Drip coffee," Oscar murmured softly, his voice of a quiet, unyielding approval that sank straight down to your core. "Look at you. Real country living."
The sight of his proud smile and the closeness of his body didn't comfort you, it made you completely moody. A deep, frustrated frown etched onto your face and you tightened the grip on your crossed arms, shifting your weight in the cushioned slides he had bought you. Your chest burned with a sudden, uninvited wave of irritation.
Why on earth was Oscar asking Lando about your life? Why was he standing there getting a full report from someone else, looking at you with that deep, knowing connection, instead of just asking you directly? He was the one who had left for weeks without a word, leaving you stranded in this town with nothing but a lingering crush and a quiet void, and now he wouldn't even give you the courtesy of a direct conversation. You wanted him to ask you how you were. You wanted him to care about the answer from your own lips not Lando's.
Oscar’s smile faltered slightly as he caught the stormy expression clouding your face. He could read your shifts in energy with terrifying accuracy, and right now, the rigid line of your shoulders and the furious pout on your lips signaled imminent danger.
"What's that look for?" Oscar asked softly, tilting his head as his dark eyes searched yours.
That was the final straw. The days of missing him, the frustration of being left behind, and the sheer irritation of being discussed like a bystander in your own life finally boiled over.
"What's that look for?" you mocked, your voice dripping with thick sarcasm as yu took a sharp step closer to him, completely invading his personal space.
"Are you serious, Oscar? You’ve been gone for almost a week. You leave without telling me why, you leave me stranded in this town, and the very second you get back, you don't even have the decency to look at me and ask how I've been! Instead, you get a full briefing from Lando like you’re my warden checking in on a prisoner!"
Beside you, Lando let out a strangled, muffled choking sound. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently as he desperately tried to press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud at your explosive corporate-style meltdown.
You ignored Lando completely, your blazing glare locked entirely on Oscar's smooth, cleanly shaven face. "I am standing right here! If you wanted to know about the cow, or the coffee, or how I didn't die of boredom, you could have just asked me! But no, you'd rather talk around me. It's infuriating and you are incredibly annoying, Mister!"
Oscar didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice, and he didn't match your fiery, chaotic energy. Instead, he let out a slow, quiet breath, looking down at your flushed, angry face with an expression that was entirely level, incredibly patient, and devastatingly gentle.
He took his hands out of his pockets and took a small step closer, effectively cutting off Lando’s view of you. He raised both of his hands slightly, palms facing down in a quiet, universal gesture meant to soothe a raging storm.
"Hey," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping into a low, comforting hum that vibrated through the small space between you. "It’s not like that. Calm down."
"Don't tell me to—"
"Shh, just listen for a second," he interrupted softly, his tone carrying the exact energy of an old, patient soul trying to hush a wild, dramatic kid throwing a tantrum. It was a look of pure, unbothered indulgence, as if your anger didn't intimidate him at all it just made him want to look after you even more.
He kept his hands raised slightly near your shoulders, not quite touching you, but providing a steady, grounding boundary. "I didn't ask Lando because I didn't care to hear it from you. I asked him because I wanted to know if he looked after you properly while I was away. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
Oscar let out a tiny, soft huff of a laugh, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "And clearly, you were. You're making coffee, fighting livestock, and walking to the market on your own. I'm glad."
Your breath hitched, the angry words you were preparing to hurl at him dying instantly in your throat. You were completely caught off guard. Hearing him admit in that smooth, unbothered, gentle voice that his first priority upon returning was making sure you were taken care of completely shattered your defenses.
Before you could stop it, a deep, furious blush rushed up your neck and flooded your cheeks. In the bright afternoon sun of the open market, there was absolutely nowhere to hide it. Your face felt scorching hot.
From a few feet away, Lando let out a sharp, mocking whistle, a massive smirk plastering across his face.
"Oh, wow," Lando laughed, pointing a finger directly at your bright red cheeks. "Look at you. You’ve been complaining to me for two weeks straight about how boring this place is, but Oscar says two words and you completely melt. I see how it is."
"Shut up, Lando!" you snapped quickly, your voice cracking slightly as you desperately tried to shift the attention away from your burning face.
"No, seriously," Lando continued, completely relentless as he leaned in, loving every second of your agony. "You wouldn't even smile for my jokes yesterday, and now you're blushing like a schoolgirl just because he checked up on you? You are so busted."
Embarrassed beyond belief, you tried so hard not to look at Oscar. You fixed your eyes firmly on a random basket of apples at the stall, then at the cobblestones, then at the sky literally anywhere but at the man standing directly in front of you. You clamped your jaw shut, tightening your crossed arms so hard your knuckles turned white, praying your blush would just go away.
But even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze.
Oscar didn't turn away, and he didn't stop Lando from teasing you. Instead, he just stood there, completely relaxed, looking down at your flustered, fiercely avoiding face with pure, quiet amusement. A slow, genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his cleanly shaven lips, his dark eyes sparkling with a knowing warmth.
He found your sudden, silent vulnerability completely captivating, thoroughly enjoying the rare sight of you being utterly speechless.
Oscar glanced over his shoulder at Lando, whose shoulders were still rolling with silent laughter. "Alright, that's enough," Oscar murmured, a faint trace of amusement lingering in his own voice. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed Lando a few bills.
"Go find Marcus and grab whatever you want from the market. I'll pay for our food today. Just give us a minute."
Lando’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cash. He swiftly snapped his fingers, bringing his hand up to his forehead in a teasing, theatrical military salute. "Yes, sir! Thanks for the free lunch, mate. Try not to make her blush any harder while I’m gone, yeah?"
With a final wink, Lando turned on his heel and eagerly bounded off toward the food stalls, leaving a thick, heavy silence in his wake.
You stood there awkwardly, your arms still crossed over your chest as you stared intently at a nearby crate of oranges, desperately trying to ignore how incredibly close Oscar was standing. The bustling noise of the market seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of your own frantic pulse.
Oscar was the first to speak. "I have something for you," he said quietly.
You finally broke your vow of silence and glanced up at him, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "A gift? But... I explicitly told you I didn't want anything before you left."
"I know," Oscar replied smoothly, a soft, unbothered expression on his face. He shifted his weight, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "But I remember seeing you wear a specific Chanel necklace the first day you arrived. When I was walking through the city, I passed by the boutique and noticed they had the matching bracelet. It made me think of you, so I decided to grab it."
Your mouth opened slightly, your defensive posture completely melting away. "Oscar, a Chanel bracelet? That's way too much. You shouldn't have bought me something like that."
"Think of it as an apology," he murmured, his voice dropping into that gentle, sincere register that always managed to disarm you. "For leaving so abruptly and breaking my promise to show you around."
Before you could argue any further, Oscar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, elegant black box wrapped in a clean white ribbon. Your chest tightened, a wave of pure awe washing over you as he carefully slipped the ribbon off and popped the box open, revealing a stunning, delicate silver chain adorned with the classic interlocking logo. It caught the afternoon sunlight beautifully.
"Give me your hand," he said softly.
Mechanically, your mind completely blank, you extended your wrist toward him. Oscar stepped a fraction closer, his large, warm fingers gently cradling the back of your wrist to hold it steady. His touch sent a fierce, tingling jolt straight up your arm. He was incredibly focused, his dark eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheekbones as he carefully maneuvered the small clasp, his knuckles brushing lightly against your skin.
Once it was secure, he let go, stepping back just enough to let you examine it.
You lifted your wrist, staring at the glittering piece of New York luxury resting perfectly against your skin in the middle of a rustic town market. "It's... it's beautiful, Oscar. Truly. Thank you."
Oscar looked down at you, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a small, genuinely happy smile. "I'm glad you like it."
He let out a quiet breath, his posture relaxing entirely as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. The teasing, the presence of Lando, and the hectic rush of his return seemed to entirely evaporate. He looked at you with absolute, undivided attention, his voice dropping into a low, gentle murmur that felt entirely private.
"Now," Oscar said softly, his dark eyes searching yours with absolute sincerity. "Tell me from your own lips. How have you been?"
You tried your absolute best to suppress the massive spike of excitement bubbling up in your chest, biting down on your lip to keep from grinning like a fool. But as you looked into Oscar's attentive, dark eyes, the dam broke, and you found yourself rambling about your entire week, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a frantic, animated rush.
"Well, if you must know, the first morning was an absolute disaster," you began, gesturing with your hands as the initial New York attitude melted into genuine eagerness. "I tried to take a shower, and I stood there freezing for ten minutes because I couldn't find a hot water switch! And then I tried to cook eggs... just simple scrambled eggs, Oscarand I managed to burn the bottom of the pan while the top was still completely raw. I don't know how that's physically possible."
Oscar’s smile widened, a quiet, captivated chuckle escaping him as he watched you express yourself so vividly.
"But," you continued proudly, lifting your chin, "I've been taking morning walks. Real ones, through the gravel paths, just like you said. I even saw the sunrise twice. It's... it's actually not as awful out here as I thought."
Oscar listened to every single word, his head tilted slightly, never breaking eye contact. He absorbed your chaotic stories with a patient, grounding presence that made you feel like the only person in the crowded market.
When you finally ran out of breath, Oscar let out a soft, relaxed sigh. "Sounds like you’ve been busy," he murmured gently, before shifting his weight to share a bit of his own time away. "My weeks were the exact opposite. I had to wake up at 4:30 every morning just to beat the Manhattan traffic for back-to-back boardroom meetings. I was going home late to a cramped apartment, ordering greasy fast food at midnight because nothing else was open, and breathing in nothing but exhaust fumes."
Oscar looked around the vibrant, open-air market, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the crisp valley breeze. "Honestly... the entire time I was there, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I missed the trees out here. And the fresh air."
His eyes slid back down to your face, a quiet, unsaid weight hanging in the air that suggested he had missed more than just the weather.
You looked down at the glittering Chanel bracelet on your wrist, a sudden thought striking you. "You know... it’s so strange," you said softly, looking back up at his cleanly shaven face.
"My dad says our families have known each other for ages. But I honestly have no memory of you from before all of this, when we are young. It's like you just appeared out of nowhere,”
Oscar stared at you for a beat, and then, a deeply knowing, incredibly fond smile broke across his face. He shook his head slowly.
"You really don't remember, do you?" he asked quietly.
16 YEARS AGO
The upscale, high-society brunch parties in the city were always bustling with wealthy families, but you were always the undeniable center of gravity.
Oscar was nine years old, already quiet, observant, and grounded while you were a tiny, chaotic whirlwind of a five year old. Your families were close friends, meaning every Sunday brunch was a mandatory joint affair. Oscar’s mom and your mother would always sit at the patio tables, drinking mimosas and talking about the community.
"Look at her go," your mom would sigh, pointing a manicured finger toward the lawn where you were currently stomping your feet. "She gets this fierce look from her father. Absolutely refuses to compromise."
Oscar’s mom, Nicole, would laugh warmly, nodding. "She has spirit, Caroline. Oscar is too quiet, I wish he had a fraction of her energy."
Meanwhile, Oscar would just sit on the shaded bench, completely fascinated by you. He watched you interact with the other kids, which usually consisted of you screaming and fighting anyone who dared to challenge you in party games.
"No! That's my doll! You can't touch it!" your high-pitched five year old voice echoed across the lawn as you aggressively snatched a toy away from another little girl.
"But we're supposed to share!" The little girl cried.
"I don't care! I picked it first, so it's mine!" you huffed, crossing your tiny arms and turning your back on her. If any kid dared to choose the exact same flavor of ice cream or the same colored crayon as you, you would completely stop talking to them, deeming them entirely unworthy of your time simply because you didn't like them.
You were, by all definitions, an absolute brat. But Oscar, in his quiet way, grew incredibly fond of you. He found your fiery, unapologetic stubbornness completely entertaining.
And whenever your high-intensity drama inevitably backfired, Oscar was always the one standing right there. Like the afternoon you were running too fast down the concrete patio, completely ignoring your nanny's warnings to slow down because you wanted to beat another kid to the slide. You tripped over your own feet, falling flat on your face.
Your knee was badly scraped, bright red blood welling up on your skin. You immediately squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply as you prepared to scream at the top of your lungs and ruin the entire party. But before the first tear could fall, nine year old Oscar was already kneeling in the dirt right in front of you.
He didn't say a word. He just calmly pulled a cartoon bandage from his pocket, blew gently on your scraped knee to soothe the sting, and carefully pressed it into place.
True to your stubborn nature, the second the bandage was on, you immediately snapped your eyes open, let out a dramatic sniff, and turned your head away, completely refusing to look at him or acknowledge what he had done. You didn't say thank you. You never did.
Your mother hurried over, sighing as she nudged your small shoulder. “Sweetheart, what do we say? You need to thank Oscar for helping you. Say thank you to Oscar right now.”
You just pouted harder, sticking your bottom lip out and remaining stubbornly silent.
Back in the warm sunlight of the market, Oscar’s dark eyes crinkled as the memory faded, his gaze locked onto your face.
"You were a total nightmare back then," Oscar teased softly, his voice full of a deep, historical warmth that made your stomach do an absolute flip.
"Always fighting the other kids, always refusing to say thank you. So when you showed up here throwing a tantrum about the mud and the country lifestyle... it took me a second but I realized the bratty little girl from the Sunday brunches hadn't changed at all. You just got a lot more beautiful."
"So you did recognize me?" you asked, your voice softening as you looked up at him, the weight of the bracelet suddenly feeling a lot heavier on your wrist.
Oscar nodded smoothly, a small, reflective smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, eventually. But it took hearing your name from Lando and getting a full confirmation from my father. When I first saw you, I honestly thought it was just someone who looked exactly like you. Especially since I knew the real you would never personally choose to come out here to the middle of nowhere."
You pouted at his blunt honesty, crossing your arms again, though the heat in your cheeks hadn't quite faded.
"Hey! I can survive the country. Clearly." You sighed, your shoulders dropping as a sudden wave of melancholy hit you.
"I'm kind of sad I don't remember any of those Sunday brunches, though. The only thing I actually know about our families is that when I was around eight, my parents would still see yours for dinner but they never brought a kid with them. You just completely vanished from the picture."
"That's because I left," Oscar explained quietly, leaning his hip back against the edge of the market stall. "Right around the time you turned eight, I moved out for high school. I went to a boarding academy further upstate."
He paused, looking out over the bustling market square, his eyes softening as he began to share a part of his life he rarely talked about.
"My family actually resided out here in this province originally," Oscar said, his voice dropping into that comfortable, narrative hum.
"But when my mom’s podcast took off and she became famous, my parents decided we needed to move to New York for her career and the network opportunities. That's when our families became close. But the city life... it never really fit us. Eventually, the noise, the traffic, and the constant pressure of Manhattan just became too much for my parents to handle."
He looked back down at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with total sincerity.
"So, they made the choice to pack up and come back home to the valley, where things are quiet and people actually know your name. I finished my studies but the second I was done, I followed them right back here. I realized I didn't want the skyscraper views either. I wanted the trees."
Oscar took a small step closer, completely closing the distance between you. The bustling noise of the market vendors, the distant chatter of the crowd and even the thoughts of your past life in Manhattan seemed to completely fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the warm afternoon sun.
He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against the cool silver of the new bracelet resting on your wrist, before his dark, intense eyes slid back up to lock onto yours.
"Since you can't remember anything from before," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping into a low, devastatingly gentle register that vibrated straight to your core, "let's just make new memories together. Ones that you'll actually remember."
Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart doing a dangerous, chaotic flip at his words. The sincerity in his eyes was completely
overwhelming, completely disarming your usual defenses.
Before you could scramble to find your tongue or huff out a sarcastic reply to hide your racing pulse, a familiar, loud voice shattered the intimate moment.
"Alright, lovers, I'm back!" Lando announced loudly, strolling back toward the stall with a massive, dripping ice cream cone in one hand and a huge paper bag in the other.
He grinned ear to ear, completely oblivious or perhaps entirely aware of the thick tension he had just interrupted.
"Marcus says welcome back, Oscar. Now, are we going to stand here all day staring at each other, or are we actually going to eat?"
Oscar didn't pull away immediately. He let his hand drop slowly back into his pocket, casting one last, deeply knowing smile down at your flushed face before turning to his friend.
"Let's eat, Lando."
With Lando happily holding a bounty of market snacks, the three of you walked over to the adjacent town park, finding a quiet stone table nestled under the shade of a massive willow tree. The park was alive with afternoon energy. A group of local children were running around the playground, and the moment your trio walked into view, their heads snapped over in excitement.
"Lando! Look, it's Lando!" a couple of boys cheered, kicking a soccer ball aside as they sprinted over.
Lando grinned ear to ear, lazily lifting his hands to give every single one of them a dramatic, echoing high-five. "What's up, boys? Keep practicing that footwork!"
A few older kids nodded respectfully toward Oscar, waving enthusiastically. "Afternoon, Mister Oscar! Glad you're back!" Oscar offered them a warm, grounded wave, his posture relaxed as he guided you toward the stone benches.
Just as you sank onto the cool stone, a little girl separated herself from the playground and came running directly toward your table. She was about six years old, wearing a vibrant, floral pink dress, her pigtails bouncing with every step. She had a massive, gap-toothed smile fixed completely on you.
She skidded to a halt right in front of the table. "Hi, Mister Lando! Hi, Mister Oscar!" she chirped breathlessly, before immediately turning her big, bright eyes up to your face. She smoothed down her dress and offered a polite little bow.
"Hi! I always see you walking around the estate paths in the morning from my window. You look like a princess!"
Your breath caught in your throat. A sharp, unexpected wave of emotion hit you right in the chest. You swallowed the lump in your throat, leaning forward with a soft, radiant smile as you waved your hand, the bracelet catching the light.
"Hi. It's so nice to meet you. Thank you."
The little girl’s smile widened but then things took a turn into a much weirder, wildly uncomfortable territory. She shifted her gaze back to Oscar, tilting her head with absolute innocence.
"Mister Oscar? Is Miss Pretty your girlfriend?"
The entire stone table froze. You almost choked on your own saliva, your eyes widening in absolute shock. Next to you, Oscar’s effortless, deadpan composure shattered in an instant.
"Wait, no, it's—" you started, your hands waving frantically to deny it while Oscar simultaneously opened his mouth, his ears instantly turning a bright, furious shade of crimson.
"We aren't—"
"Wow, you have a really pretty girlfriend, Mister Oscar!" the kid added gleefully, completely steamrolling your clumsy denials. But she didn't stop there. She leaned in closer across the stone table, her eyes wide with immense, unblinking curiosity.
"So... did you two kiss yet? I see it in Barbie and the princesses movies. They always kiss with their Prince Charming when they go to a big castle."
The sheer, unfiltered strangeness of the question hung heavily in the air. Lando let out a loud, choked snort, dropping his pastry back into the bag as his face turned bright red from trying to hold back a massive roar of laughter.
You sat there completely paralyzed, your face burning so hot you were certain you were going to spontaneously combust. A kiss? Prince Charming?
Oscar’s face erupted into a rare, furious blush that crawled all the way from his smooth jawline up to his forehead. Without a single word, he swiftly slid off the stone bench, stepped around the table, and gently took the little girl by the shoulders, steering her away before she could ask about your wedding registry.
“Alright, let’s go find your mom," he murmured, his voice tight but fiercely gentle as he excused himself from the two of you.
From the distance, you watched them intently, your heart still hammering from the Barbie comment. Oscar dropped to one knee to match her height, speaking to her softly, lecturing her in that patient, old-soul manner while the little girl listened, blinking and nodding thoughtfully.
Unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of a completely flustered Oscar, you leaned across the stone table toward Lando, your voice dropping into a sharp, quiet whisper.
"Hey. Does Oscar have a girlfriend?"
Lando, who was currently wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, slowly lowered his hands. A mischievous, deeply teasing grin plastered across his face as he looked at you. "Why? Why would you want to know?"
You fiercely glared at him, kicking his foot under the table. "Just answer the question, Lando! It’s a normal thing to ask."
"Oh, really?" Lando teased, leaning his elbows on the stone table, thoroughly enjoying your desperation. "Why are you so worried about it? Is the New York pride getting threatened by a potential local rival?"
You rolled your eyes so hard it practically hurt, huffing out a breath. "Lando, I swear to god—"
Lando let out a hearty laugh, finally relenting as he waved his hand dismissively. "Relax, relax. Oscar doesn't have a girlfriend." He paused, his smirk turning into something a bit more mysterious. "In fact... he’s never had one."
You gasped loudly, your jaw dropping. "What?! Never? Like... *ever*? He doesn't even have an ex?" The thought of someone as devastatingly handsome, kind, and grounded as Oscar reaching his twenties without a single past relationship seemed completely statistically impossible.
Seeing your chaotic, wide-eyed reaction, Lando leaned in closer, his eyebrows wiggling.
"Nope. Never. Why, are you applying for the position?"
"Shut up!" you hissed, your face flaring up in a match to Oscar's.
Your hushed banter lasted for another two minutes, with you aggressively defending your honor while Lando relentlessly poked fun at your obvious crush, until the heavy crunch of gravel signaled Oscar’s return.
Oscar slid back onto the stone bench next to you, clearing his throat as his blush finally began to recede, though he still looked slightly scarred by the Barbie interrogation. "Sorry about that," he muttered smoothly, adjusting his cap.
"Kids around here watch too many cartoons."
You tried your absolute best to keep quiet, staring down at your sweets, telling yourself to let it go. But the burning curiosity inside your chest was raging like a wildfire, fueled by Lando's revelation. You couldn't hold it in.
Shifting on the bench, you peeked up at him through your lashes. "So... do you really never have a girlfriend?"
Oscar froze, his dark eyes instantly snapping across the table to glare directly at Lando. Lando immediately raised his hands in defense, looking up at the willow tree and whistling, pretending with every fiber of his being that he hadn't just spilled the town secrets.
Oscar let out a quiet sigh, turning back to you, his expression level. "It's just never been a priority for me. I've been focused on the community, helping my dad, and... well, it just hasn't happened."
You nodded slowly, processing the answer, feeling a strange, secret sense of relief wash over you.
But, of course, Lando couldn't leave well enough alone.
Lando leaned back, taking a slow bite of his food, his eyes glinting with trouble. "Right. It's not a priority. Like... not even before she left?"
Your head snapped from Lando over to Oscar, your radar instantly going off. Oscar’s jaw tightened slightly, and he gave Lando a firm, warning look, shaking his head slowly. "She’s just a friend, Lando. I told you to let that go."
"Hey, I'm just saying, you two seemed pretty close as friends," Lando shrugged casually, completely unbothered by his friend's warning glare.
The word she echoed in your head, and a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy, one you had absolutely no right to feel knotted in your stomach. Your curiosity turned into a demanding itch. You turned your body fully toward Oscar, raising your eyebrows high as you can.
"Who's she?" you asked, your voice dropping into a demanding tone.
Lando just smiled widely, crossing his arms. "Oh, I can't say a word without Oscar's permission. Bro code, Miss New York."
You aggressively glared at Oscar, demanding answers with your eyes. Oscar closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated sigh. He doesn’t want to answer it at all. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking back at you, his dark eyes entirely earnest.
"It's really nothing. It's just a friend from the city."
You raised a perfectly manicured brow, leaning in closer until you could see the clean, smooth line of his newly shaven jaw. "Oh, really? If she is just a friend, Oscar... then tell me all about her."
Summary: Finding stability in the strange country would turn her life around. It could probably be the cure she has been searching for a long time.
The transition to Melbourne hadn’t just been smooth, it had felt like dropping anchor in a storm with a frayed rope. Moving across the world as a transfer student sounded incredibly romantic when reading the university’s glossy brochures back home, but the harsh reality was a relentless blur of Australian bureaucracy, steep currency conversions, and the persistent, low-humming anxiety of a rapidly dwindling savings account.
By the time December rolled around, bringing with it the heavy, sticky heat of a Melbourne summer, your budget was completely maxed out. While other students were planning road trips down for the summer break, you were staring at a laptop screen in the campus library, watching a spreadsheet of your expenses slowly slip into the red. You didn’t even have enough to cover January’s rent, let alone the student visa fees looming in the new year. That was the exact moment Hattie Piastri walked into your life.
Hattie was a senior, a year ahead of you in the international relations program, and she possessed the kind of effortless, sun-drenched confidence that seemed native to the coast. You had shared a few lectures but you had always assumed someone as vibrant and popular as Hattie wouldn't notice a quiet transfer student. You were wrong.
That afternoon, as you stared at your screen with tears of pure frustration threatening to spill over, a shadow fell across your desk. Hattie dropped her heavy canvas tote bag onto the chair next to you, popping her gum as she took a long look at your tear-stained face and the alarming red numbers on your spreadsheet. Without asking, she simply reached out and closed your laptop.
"Right," Hattie had said, her tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "You're drowning, and I'm not sitting here watching it happen. Let's get coffee."
Over two iced lattes at the campus café, you spilled everything, the fear of being deported, the empty bank account, the exhausting search for a casual job that wouldn't conflict with your visa restrictions. Hattie had listened intently, resting her chin in her hands, her expression shifting from evaluation to absolute determination.
"Here's the deal," Hattie said, tapping her painted nails against her cup. "My parents' place out in Brighton is massive and with everyone running in different directions this summer, it’s absolute chaos. My mum is a collector and she has boxes of historical family archives, correspondence, and old estate records just sitting in the study.”
You sit in there quietly listening to her every word. Hoping that after weeks of being in slump, you'll finally receive a good news.
“She’s been desperate to hire an archivist to organize it all, but she hasn't found anyone trustworthy. I told her about you... well, I'm going to tell her about you right now, and we’re hiring you.”
When you're about to speak she hushes you down.
“It pays double what the campus bookstore does, it's cash-positive and you start Saturday."
You tried to protest, your cheeks burning with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. You are thankful with her help, but you know deep inside, you aren't familiar with the job.
“Hattie, I am glad for your help but I can't just take charity from your family. You barely even know me, plus... I don't even have proper archiving experience—”
Hattie stared at you then she smile lightly. "It's not charity, it's a mutual rescue mission," Hattie interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "You're smart, you're organized, and frankly, you'll be a calming presence in that madhouse. Consider it a favor to us.” she paused a little and nudge you with her shoulder, “Besides, I like you even though we barely speak with eachother outside class. We foreign-policy nerds have to stick together."
That was how you found yourself standing in the grand, high-ceilinged foyer of the Piastri estate on a sweltering Saturday morning. The house was a stunning blend of modern architecture and historic charm, kept icy cold by central air conditioning, filled with soft light and the unmistakable, vibrant energy of a big family.
Hattie was the second oldest of four children. Her older brother, Oscar, was 25 and currently navigating the high-pressure, hyper-visible world of professional racing. Below Hattie were the two youngest sisters, Edie and Mae, who usually kept the house loud with their summer-break arguments and teenage energy. But lately, a heavy, uncharacteristic quiet had settled over the household. The younger girls were staying closer to their rooms, and Hattie’s usual loud laugh was dialed down.
The reason became clear on your second week. You were in the conservatory, dusting the glass panes of a display cabinet, when you heard the front door click. It wasn’t the chaotic, doors-slamming entrance of Edie and Mae returning from the beach. These footsteps were heavy, slow, and hesitant.
Curiosity pulling you from your task, you stepped out into the main hallway. Standing by the marble console table was Oscar. You knew who he was, of course. Hattie had mentioned her older brother frequently, but the man standing in the hallway didn't look like an elite athlete. The very opposite of the news, instead of looking polite, he looked entirely hollowed out and cold.
Oscar was nursing a fresh, devastating heartbreak, a very public, painful split that had flooded the media just as the racing off-season began. It was the kind of deeply personal blow that leaves a person feeling entirely stripped bare and exhausted.
"Oh, hey," Hattie called out, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. She looked between you and her older brother, her expression softening into something fiercely protective. "Oscar, you're back early. This is the student I told you about, the one helping Mum out around the house during the break."
Oscar blinked, his gaze slowly lifting to meet yours. For a fraction of a second, you saw the sheer exhaustion in his dark eyes, a quiet plea not to be asked how he was doing, or if he was okay. But beneath the exhaustion, there was a flash of cold irritation.
Great, Oscar thought, his chest tightening with defensive annoyance. Another stranger. Another person Hattie brought in to babysit me or nose around my life while he's trying to bleed out in peace. He didn't want a college student looking at him with pity, or worse, asking for an autograph while his personal life was being picked apart by global tabloids.
"Hi," Oscar muttered. His voice was rough, quiet, and completely devoid of emotions. He offered a faint, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes, his knuckles whitening around the cold glass he was holding. "Nice to meet you. Sorry, I... I'm just going to head upstairs."
"Take it easy, Osc," Hattie said softly, watching him go.
He didn't look back as he climbed the stairs, his shadow stretching long against the white walls.
"The media won't leave him alone, and she... well, she really broke his heart right before the break," Hattie sighed, setting the tray down with a heavy thud. "Edie and Mae have been trying to give him space. He just needs room to breathe. Don't take it personally if he acts like a ghost."
"I won't," you murmured, looking up at the empty staircase. You knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed by a world that felt too big and too loud. You had no intention of crowding him.
Oscar didn't just act like a ghost, he actively iced you out, resulting in a series of tense, sharp clashes that left you feeling entirely unwelcome.
The first real clash happened in the kitchen just three days after his arrival. You had stayed late to finish cataloging a box of letters from late 2000s and had gone to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water before heading home. Nicole offered you the vacant guest room for you to stay but you politely declined it especially that you don't want them to think you're taking advantage of their kindness.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the light from the open refrigerator. Oscar was standing there in a gray t-shirt, staring blankly into the shelves.
When you stepped into the room, your sneakers squeaked softly against the tile. Oscar flinched, snapping his head around. His eyes flared with a sudden, harsh hostility when he recognized you.
"Do you mind?" his voice sharp and biting. Oscar slammed the refrigerator door shut, the loud bang echoing in the quiet house.
"I thought you were hired to work during the day. Do you always hang around in the dark after hours?"
You immediately froze, the water glass cold in your hand, your blood rushing to your ears. "I was finishing a project for your mother, Oscar. I didn't mean to startle you. I was just getting water."
You remain glued in your place as Oscar gaze you with disappointment. "Next time be more careful," he then scoffed, crossing his arms tightly over his broad chest. He stepped closer, using his height to intimidate you, his dark eyes narrowing.
"Just let me know when you're done playing the dedicated employee so I can actually use my own kitchen without running into a spectator."
"I am not a spectator," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of shock and rising anger. "I am doing my job."
"Then do it and go home," he muttered coldly, brushing past your shoulder so hard it forced you to step back, his heavy footsteps retreating down the hall.
The second clash was even worse, occurring a week later in the main living room. You had spread out several old family photo albums on the large coffee table, carefully documenting the dates written on the backs of the faded pictures. Oscar had wandered downstairs, looking for a book, and stopped dead when he saw the table covered in family history.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register.
You looked up, your heart instantly dropping into your stomach. "I'm sorting the family photos, Oscar. Your mother specifically asked me to organize them chronologically."
Oscar marched over to the table, his face tight with fury. He reached down and snatched a photo right out from under your hands, it was an old picture of him and his sisters as kids at the beach.
"This is private," he hissed, his fingers bending the edges of the photo. "My family's life isn't an exhibition for you to categorize. You don't belong here and you have no right to touch these."
The sheer unfairness of his attack broke something inside you. The internal turmoil that had been brewing for days boiled over into pure defiance. You stood up, confronting him across the table, refusing to let him bully you just because he was hurting.
"I am touching them because your mother is paying me to!" you fired back, your voice cracking with emotion but remaining fiercely steady. "I don't care about your private life, Oscar! I don't look at these photos to nose into your business! I look at them because I am trying to earn enough money to buy groceries and keep a roof over my head! You don't get to treat me like a criminal just because you're miserable!"
Oscar froze, the photo still clutched in his hand. He stared at you, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with shock. No one in his family spoke to him like this, everyone walked on eggshells around his broken heart.
Fuck, Oscar thought, a sudden, sharp pang of guilt twisting violently in his gut as he looked at the fierce determination in your eyes, mixed with a deep vulnerability you were trying so hard to hide. He saw the slight tremble in your hands and the shadow of exhaustion under your eyes.
She’s not a vulture. She’s not trying to expose me or pity me. She’s just a kid trying to survive, and I’m taking my pathetic anger out on her.
The silence stretched between you, heavy and thick. Oscar swallowed hard, his posture slowly deflating, his arms dropping to his sides. He looked down at the bent photo in his hand, then carefully laid it back down on the table, smoothing out the crease with a gentle touch of his thumb.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice dropping all of its defensive armor, leaving it raw and deeply tired. He looked back up at you, his eyes full of a quiet remorse. "I've been an absolute asshole to you. You're just doing your job. I... I didn't mean what I said."
"Thank you," you whispered, the anger draining out of you, leaving you feeling entirely exposed and trembling. “And you were being an asshole,”
Oscar turned and walked away, heading straight back up to his bedroom. The second the heavy wooden door shut behind him, the quiet of the room offered no comfort. He paced the floorboards, his thoughts completely eaten alive by guilt.
He kept replaying the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked, the raw desperation when you mentioned just trying to afford groceries. He felt physically sick realizing how deeply he had misjudged you, projecting his anger at the media and his ex onto someone completely innocent. His parents didn't raise him to be like that.
You completely tried so hard not to cry as you continue doing your job. You just think that you can finally rest when you go home. Far from this house and Oscar’s judgemental eyes.
Two hours passed. Downstairs, you were silently packing your things into your backpack, your eyes stinging. You were ready to walk out the front door.
But in his room, Oscar couldn't rest. Driven by an urgent need to make things right, he went downstairs to the kitchen. He knew Hattie and the girls were out, and he wanted to make a peace offering. He pulled ingredients from the fridge, his mind hyper-focused as he quickly tossed together a fresh, comforting plate of pasta, the aroma filling the ground floor.
Just as you threw your backpack over your shoulder and walked toward the front foyer, his voice cut through the silence.
"Hey. Wait. Please."
You turned around.
Oscar was standing at the entrance of the kitchen, holding a warm plate of food, a clean fork resting on the rim. He looked completely stripped of his usual aloofness, his posture hesitant.
"I know you're ready to leave," Oscar said, taking a slow step toward you. His dark eyes were entirely sincere, fixed on yours with a quiet pleading. "But I really need to apologize properly. I was a massive prick today. And last week.”
You are stunned. The thought never crossing in your mind that you'll see a day where Oscar will reflect from his actions and seeing you staring at him, Oscar felt awkward.
Oscar let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “You're working hard and you didn't deserve any of the bitter garbage I threw at you. I made this for you.” HE extend his hand and when you didn't respond, he sighs.
“Please stay and eat? You shouldn't have to go home on an empty stomach after dealing with me."
While staring at him, your grip from your backpack strap is loosening. The sheer sincerity in his voice, paired with the sight of a world-class athlete awkwardly holding out a home-cooked plate of pasta as a peace offering, melted the last of your anger.
Maybe, he really is nice just like what most people says...
Hesitant you still respond. "Okay," then stepping back into the light of the kitchen. "I'll stay."
A genuine, relieved smile broke across Oscar's face after hearing your answe, the first real smile you had ever seen from him. He pulled out a stool at the kitchen island, placing the plate in front of you.
"It's just a basic garlic and tomato pasta," he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, probably a habit he does when he's in an awkward situation, looking a bit self-conscious. "But it's hot."
You smile at him before taking a small bite, the rich, savory flavor immediately warming you up.
Oscar can almost feel his heart throb like crazy. He is not a good cook, he personally aware of it. That’s why he's too nervous of your reaction. If it's gonna fuel your anger or you'll totally forgive him.
Placing the fork on the plate, "It's actually really good, Oscar. Thank you."
Oscar finally released the breath he has been holding, he then leaned against the counter opposite you, watching you eat with a quiet intensity. "Hattie told me a bit about your situation. After I... well, after I stormed off. She told me you transferred from overseas and things have been rough with the budget."
He bit his tounge, avoiding to say the truth that Hattie didn't tell him but instead, he’s the one that texted his sister to asked about you and your situation. Which is quite funny knowing he hates it when others do it to him.
Oscar looked down at his hands, his knuckles flexing. "I felt like an idiot. I've been so caught up in my own head, defensive about the press and everything, that I just assumed anyone new in the house was here to pry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"It's fine," you said quietly after a second, taking a bite from the fork. "I get it. Your life is under a microscope in the moment and you just wanted a safe space. But I really am just here to work. I don't care about the racing world or the gossip. I'm just trying to make it to next semester."
Oscar nodded understandingly. He feels so pathetic right now, the world doesn't revolve at him, he should never thought that people only cares about his life. There are more problems than heartbreak.
“But,”
Oscar immediately looked up at you when he heard your voice.
“I am sorry to know that people treats you like that. You deserve your privacy,”
Oscar’s dark eyes locking onto yours with a new layer of respect. "Thankyou,” he mutters softly before continuing, “And hey... if my mum's archiving project gets too tedious or if you need anything else around here, you tell me. Consider me your ally now. Least I can do to make up for being a nightmare."
You couldn't help but laugh softly. "A nightmare is a bit dramatic but I'll hold you to the ally thing."
That evening, sitting across from each other at the kitchen island, was the very first time you actually got along. The conversation began to flow easily. He asked about your home country, wanting to know what made you choose Melbourne and you found yourself actually laughing at his dry, quiet wit as he explained the sheer chaos of growing up with three sisters.
—
As the summer weeks bled into late January, there was an obvious, undeniable change in Oscar. The defensive walls he had built around himself didn't just crack, they crumbled whenever you were in the room. He stopped hiding upstairs or lurking like a ghost. Instead, he actively sought you out.
He still carried himself with that fierce, internal discipline, but his interactions with you became frequent and deliberate. He would filter into whichever room you were working in, carrying his laptop or a book, claiming he just needed a change of scenery.
"Need a hand with those?" Oscar asked one afternoon, walking into the study where you were struggling to move a heavy crate of old leather-bound ledgers.
"I've almost got it," you breathed out, straining against the weight.
Before you could protest, Oscar was there. He reached down, his large, veiny hands gripping the wood right next to yours. His arm brushed yours, a sudden spark of heat jolting through your skin. He lifted the crate effortlessly, placing it on the desk.
"You're stubborn," he noted, a small, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you. "You know you can just ask me. I am supposed to be your ally, remember?"
You chuckled lightly shaking your head. "I don't want to disrupt your day," you said, looking up at him, your heart doing a strange little flutter at his proximity.
Oscar is handsome, you know that for a long time but seeing him up close is a different thing but instead of bringing it up. You immediately think of something else.
"Don't you have training or something?" You asked, placing hands on your waist.
"I can spare five minutes to keep my mum's favorite archivist from breaking their back," Oscar retorted softly, his tone laced with a playful warmth that was a far cry from the bitter man he had been weeks ago.
He then leaned his hip against the desk, crossing his arms. "So, what are we cataloging today?"
You spent the next hour talking, Oscar actually helping you sort through old documents, asking questions about the dates and showing a genuine interest in the history you were uncovering. The conversation felt natural, easy, and terrifyingly intimate.
It was nice and peaceful.
Him helping you with things continue to happen like it's part of his daily routine but one rainy morning, the dynamic shifted entirely, catching Oscar completely off guard.
You were sitting on the floor of the conservatory, bathed in the soft, gray light filtering through the glass ceiling. The heavy rain was drumming a steady rhythm above. You had your hair pinned up with a clip to keep it out of your face, a few loose strands framing your neck.
You were deeply focused on translating a faded diary entry, a small, concentrated frown puckering your brow, your lips slightly parted as you muttered the words to yourself.
Oscar was sitting on a low wicker chair a few feet away, supposedly reading a racing manual but his eyes hadn't moved down the page in ten minutes. He was staring at you and he
always done it but something is different today, he knew it.
Oscar is not blind, he's aware that you're beautiful and single but those thoughts never explicitly crossed his mind until now and that jarring realization hit him like a physical blow.
His chest tightening as he tracked the elegant curve of your jaw, the soft slope of your shoulder, and the gentle, focused light in your eyes. It wasn't just physical, either. He thought about how incredibly kind you were, how you had forgiven him so easily, and how your quiet, grounded presence had done more to heal his bruised soul over the past few weeks than any amount of isolation ever could. You were pretty, you were kind, and you were completely captivating.
Oscar doesn't know if it's because of the confusing weather or is it because he hasn't been laid for almost two months. As his eyes dropped down to your collarbone, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, a sudden, familiar heat flared violently in his lower belly.
His jeans suddenly felt suffocatingly tight, his length hardening rapidly beneath the denim just from the sheer intensity of his secret admiration.
Fuck, Oscar cursed himself internally, he felt like a pervert, his jaw clenching hard as a muscle ticked in his cheek. He quickly shifted his posture, crossing one leg over the other to hide the sudden, blatant hard-on, his pulse instantly roaring in his ears.
What the hell am I doing? She’s a student. She’s working. I’m sitting here getting hard just looking at her like a teenager.
He continued to scold himself in his mind.
Panics ate him as he tore his eyes away, staring blankly at the glass wall of the conservatory, trying to force his breathing to slow down. But beneath the panic and the self-reproach, a deeper, profound realization settled into his bones.
For months, since the brutal heartbreak and the public split, he had felt completely dead inside. He had convinced himself that he was broken, hollowed out, and incapable of ever wanting anyone again. But feeling the heavy, throbbing ache between his legs, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs just from watching you breathe... it was an undeniable wake-up call.
I'm still a man, Oscar realized, a strange, heavy warmth settling over him despite his internal panic. Despite the heartbreak, despite how ruined I thought I was... I’m still alive. And God help me, I want her.
The inner panic only intensified when you suddenly closed the diary with a soft thud and looked right at him, entirely unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.
"Oscar? Look at this signature," you said, holding the yellowed page out toward him. "I can't quite make out the middle initial. Do you think it's an 'E' or an 'L'?"
Oscar froze. His body was entirely rigid, his crossed leg pressed tightly against his groin in a desperate, physical attempt to flatten the prominent ridge straining against his jeans. If he stood up right now, it would be completely obvious and the last thing he wants is for you to know, he's having a raging boner.
"Uh, let me see," his voice dropping into a register that was noticeably thicker and rougher than usual. He didn't dare move his lower half. Instead, he leaned forward as far as his torso would allow, his hand reaching out to take the book from you.
You noticed the slight hesitation and tilted your head, entirely innocent. "Are you okay? You look a bit flushed. Is the humidity getting to you?"
"Yeah," Oscar choked out, his throat tight as he stared at the page, though his eyes weren't even focusing on the ink. He was hyper-aware of how close you were, the faint scent of your vanilla perfume hitting his senses and making his erection throb painfully against the restriction of his underwear.
He gripped the edges of the heavy diary, strategically placing it right over his lap, using the leather-bound cover as a shield as he finally uncrossed his legs to relieve the pressure. "Just... the storm making it a bit stuffy in here."
"Oh, definitely," you agreed, shifting on the floorboards, your knee accidentally brushing against the foot of his chair.
Oscar virtually stopped breathing, his knuckles whitening around the book. The friction of his own jeans felt like a dangerous flame. He forced a tight, controlled breath out through his nose, desperately trying to channel his racing driver discipline to suppress his own body.
"It looks like an 'E'," he muttered quickly, handing the book back to you with an awkward, stiff movement, making sure to keep his forearm low across his waist as a secondary barrier.
"Definitely an 'E'."
"Great, thank you," you smiled, taking it back and immediately immersing yourself in your notes again.
Oscar slumped back into his chair, a quiet, ragged breath escaping his lips. He adjusted his shirt slightly, pulling the fabric down, his mind completely frantic as he watched you work.
The silence returned but it had changed completely. It was no longer a wall, it was a tight wire, pulling tighter with every passing second as Oscar sat there, hiding his desperate arousal, completely ensnared by your quiet grace.
The second Oscar handed the book back, you turned your attention to your notepad but your pen remained completely still against the paper. Your mind was racing far faster than you were letting on.
What is going on with him today? you wondered, a heavy sense of curiosity pulling your attention away from the papers.
Ever since his sincere apology in the kitchen, Oscar had been a completely different person, warmer, softer, and incredibly attentive. But right now, the vibe in the conservatory felt entirely off. He was acting tense, his voice was unusually deep and strained, and he was gripping that antique diary like his life depended on it. You wondered if a piece of bad news about his ex had flashed on his phone before you looked up, or if the suffocating summer humidity was genuinely making him miserable.
You felt a quiet pang of worry, hating the thought that he might be slipping back into that dark, hollow place he had been in when he first arrived.
Wanting to check on him, you cleared your throat and began to turn your head. "Hey, Oscar, if you want to head upstairs to the AC, you don't have to stay down—"
The words died instantly in your throat. As you turned, your gaze naturally traveled upward from the floorboards, intending to meet his eyes. But because you were sitting flat on your knees and he was on the low wicker chair, your line of sight inadvertently cut straight across his lap just as he shifted his weight.
He had dropped his forearm to ease his posture, which pulled his shirt tight, and the heavy leather diary had slid slightly to the side.
There, straining fiercely against the dark denim of his jeans, was a massive, unmistakable boner.
Your breath hitched, a sharp, audible gasp catching in your chest. Your eyes widened in absolute shock before you frantically yanked your gaze upward, your heart violently slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Oh my god, your brain screamed, the realization hitting you like a tidal wave. He's... he's hard. Right now. Sitting right next to me.
A furious, blinding heat rushed up your neck, instantly flooding your cheeks with a crimson blush so intense it made your skin prickle. You stared blindly at the wall opposite you, your fingers tightening around your pen so hard your knuckles turned white. Your mind completely dissolved into pure, chaotic panic.
You weren't stupid. You knew what that meant but the sheer shock of seeing it on Oscar is making your head spin.
You felt entirely exposed, your own breathing turning shallow and rapid as the space between you suddenly felt charged with a heavy, suffocating magnetism. You didn't dare move a muscle, terrified that even the slightest shift would reveal that you had seen exactly what he was trying so desperately to hide.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Oscar shift again. The leather cover of the diary creaked softly as he adjusted it back over his lap with an agonizingly rigid movement. He let out a breath. Low, steady, and rough, clearly trying to force his own pulse down.
The shared denial was dizzying. He was pretending his body hadn't betrayed him and you were pretending you hadn't just witnessed it. A dangerous, intoxicating tension hung in the air between you. The difference, you are aware of both situations and he's not.
Suddenly, the heavy click of the front door echoing from the main foyer shattered the spell.
"Oscar? Sweetheart? Are you home?"
The bright, melodic voice of Nicole Piastri carried down the hallway, instantly cutting through the thick atmosphere of the conservatory. The sound of rustling plastic bags and the heavy thud of a grocery being set on the marble console table followed.
"I bought way too much and the traffic was an absolute nightmare with this rain!" She called out, her footsteps heading toward the kitchen.
The sudden intrusion of reality acted like a bucket of ice water. You let out a shaky, breathless gasp, finally shifting your posture on the floorboards as if you had just woken up from a trance.
Across from you, Oscar reacted instantly. The rigid tension in his shoulders snapped, and he let out a sharp, ragged exhale. The sheer timing of his mother's arrival was both a curse and a saving grace. Keeping the heavy diary firmly clutched against his waist to mask his front, he leaned back into the wicker chair, his dark eyes finally darting over to you.
They were wide, intense, and dark with a lingering, unresolved heat, but the sudden arrival of his mother had injected a sharp dose of reality into his face.
"I... I should go help her," Oscar muttered, his voice still incredibly thick and gravelly. He didn't stand up immediately, waiting a tactical second for the restriction of his jeans to become manageable, his knuckles white around the book.
"Yeah," you whispered, your face still burning as you quickly gathered your loose papers into a messy stack, refusing to look anywhere below his chin. "Yeah, definitely. Go help her."
Following that suffocating afternoon in the conservatory, the atmosphere in the Piastri estate transformed completely.
Every time you walked into a room, you couldn't unsee the raw, masculine reality of him. That's why you started avoiding him for your own sake.
One afternoon, the tension reached a breaking point in the high-ceilinged library. You were standing on your tiptoes, reaching for a heavy box of ledger books on the top mahogany shelf.
Your linen shorts rode up slightly on your thighs, your shirt straining against your back as you stretched. Before you could look around for a footstool, a shadow fell over you.
Oscar stepped up behind you, his broad chest terrifyingly close to your back. His warm, tanned arm reached up past your shoulder, his bicep brushing against your hair as he effortlessly lifted the box down.
Your breath hitched. You turned around quickly, your back pressing hard into the bookshelf, only to find Oscar standing much closer than he ever had before.
You wanted to scream, to run but your body is nailed in that position. He was wearing a simple gray tank top, his shoulders cut and glistening slightly from the blistering summer heat. The intoxicating scent of expensive cedarwood, rain, and clean skin completely enveloped you.
"Here," he said softly, holding the box between you. He didn't drop his hands to his sides. He didn't step back.
Because you were trapped between his large frame and the shelves, your eyes were forced to level with his chest. You could see the heavy, rapid rise and fall of his sternum. But your traitorous mind instantly flashed back to the conservatory and your gaze involuntarily flickered downward.
Oscar noticed. A dark, dangerous spark lit up in his eyes, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He consciously shifted his weight, his thigh brushing against your linen shorts. He was immediately thick, heavy, and straining against his shorts again just from being this close to you.
"Thank you, Oscar," you whispered, your voice trembling so much it was barely audible.
"You look tired," he murmured, his eyes searching yours, his breath fanning across your forehead. "Is the heat keeping you up?"
"A bit," you lied, your heart hammering against your ribs. It wasn't the heat;l it was the vivid, intrusive thoughts of him that haunted your midnight hours. "And... just thinking too much, I guess."
Oscar let out a short, quiet breath through his nose, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes with a sudden, burning intensity. If I lean down right now, he thought, his pulse roaring in his ears, if I take what I want, I’ll ruin everything. She trusts me now. I can't be a monster.
"Yeah," he whispered, his deep voice rough and entirely undone. "Me too."
He pulled back, giving you a tight, controlled nod. He held the box in front of his waist with a rigid, calculated motion, using it to shield himself as he turned on his heel and left the room.
That night, the summer air was suffocatingly hot, a thick mugginess settling over Brighton that even the central air conditioning couldn't entirely beat. Oscar lay on his back in his isolated bedroom at the far end of the hall, a single cotton sheet tangled around his waist. His skin was slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.
He was losing his mind.
For weeks, he had prided himself on his control. He had told himself he was too damaged, too guarded, to think about anyone else. But you had completely dismantled him without even trying. You weren't a vulture from the media, you were pretty, you were kind, and you looked at him like he was just a man.
Every time you looked at him with those soft, understanding eyes, every time your summer clothes shifted to reveal a flash of smooth skin, it felt like a physical burn. He wanted you. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin and bury himself in you until he forgot the sound of his own name.
With a low, frustrated groan, Oscar brought his hand down, his long, veiny fingers gripping himself through his gray boxers. He pulled them down, his skin hot to the touch as he freed his aching length.
He closed his eyes, and instantly, you were there.
He pictured the way you looked in the library this afternoon, backed against the mahogany shelves, your chest rising and falling softly, your lips parted as you whispered his name. He imagined what it would feel like to actually push his weight into you, to pin your wrists above your head and bite into the soft skin of your neck until you cried out.
He imagined the look on your face when you had accidentally caught him exposed in the conservatory, the flush on your cheeks, the sudden, breathless gasp that told him you weren't entirely indifferent to him.
Oscar began to stroke himself, his movements heavy, fast, and deliberate, a harsh contrast to his usual calculated control. A low, ragged curse escaped his lips into the empty room.
"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw clenching as his pace quickened, his hips lifting off the mattress. He imagined your small hands on his chest, your fingers tangling in his hair, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper.
The image of your mouth, soft, yielding, and completely yours, pushed him over the edge. Oscar arched his back, a heavy, choked groan ripping from his throat as he came hard, his chest heaving as he collapsed back into the pillows, his heart hammering like a piston.
He lay there in the dark, his breath slowly evening out, the sticky summer heat pressing down on him. The release did nothing to cure the ache. If anything, it only made the craving worse. He needed the real thing. He needed you.
-
You had arrived at the house early, expecting the usual low-humming activity of the Piastri household. Instead, you walked into the foyer to find absolute, unadulterated pandemonium. Luggage was stacked three-high by the door. Hattie was frantically throwing extra bikinis into a canvas tote, while Edie and Mae were arguing loudly over who got to use the universal phone adapter.
You stood frozen by the marble console table, entirely bewildered. "Um... is everything okay?"
"Oh, darling! Thank goodness you're here!" Nicole cried, rushing down the stairs with a stack of passports in her hand. The moment she saw you, her stressed expression completely melted, replaced by the warm, maternal affection she had grown to hold for you over the last few weeks.
Nicole had made it no secret how much she adored you. To her, you weren't just a casual employee. You were the sweet, incredibly smart student who had brought a much-needed sense of calm to her chaotic house. She was always leaving extra pastries for you in the kitchen, complimenting your meticulous handling of her precious family history, and telling Hattie that hiring you was the best decision the family had made all summer.
Nicole rushed over, wrapping you in a warm, floral-scented hug. "I am so, so incredibly sorry, my dear. We have been in such a whirlwind with the packing that it completely slipped my mind to tell you. We're leaving for Italy! Right now, actually. The airport car is outside."
You blinked, utterly thrown. "Italy? Like... today?"
"It was booked a year ago," Hattie chimed in, jogging over and giving you a quick, sheepish squeeze on the shoulder. "We are so sorry we forgot to mention it, it’s just been such a madhouse around here lately.”
"Wait. What do you mean we?"
A sharp, demanding voice cut through the chaos. You and Hattie both looked up to see Oscar standing on the first landing of the stairs. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt, his hair messy from sleep, looking entirely blindsided. His dark eyes flicked from the mountain of suitcases to his mother.
"What do you mean you're leaving for Italy?"
Nicole paused, looking up at her son with a wave of sudden sympathy. "Oh, Osc... sweetheart. It's the family trip. We told you about this months ago."
"Yeah, months ago when I was supposed to be spending my summer break in Europe with Lily," Oscar said, his voice dropping into a flat, strained register.
The name of his ex felt heavy in the room, a reminder of the sudden, painful breakup that had rewritten his entire off-season. "I told you guys I was staying here to train. I thought you were all going to be here."
"We thought you knew we were still going, Osc," Hattie said softly, her chaotic energy instantly dampening as she looked at her brother. "We didn't think we should cancel the whole trip. Mum and Dad have been planning this forever.”
Oscar swallowed hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he realized he had completely tuned out the family logistics while drowning in his own heartbreak weeks prior. He looked entirely cornered, trapped between his desire for isolation and the sudden reality that his entire support system was about to board a flight across the world.
"It’s fine," Oscar muttered, his defensive walls slamming right back up. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Go. Have fun. I'll just train here."
"Are you sure, love?" Nicole asked, walking over to press a tender kiss to his cheek, lingering for a moment. She looked back over at you, and a knowing, immensely relieved smile spread across her face. She reached out, taking your hand and squeezing it warmly.
"Well, thank goodness you'll be here," Nicole said to you, her voice full of genuine affection and trust.
"Honestly, darling, knowing you're going to be in the house makes me feel a million times better about leaving him behind. You are such a grounding, wonderful presence here. You'll keep an eye on my boy for me, won't you? Make sure he actually eats something other than protein shakes?"
Your breath instantly caught in your throat. Your face flushed a deep crimson at her praise, the underlying guilt of your secret attraction to her son roaring to life. "I... of course, Nicole. I'll be here finishing the archives anyway."
"I knew I could count on you. You really are a part of the family now," Nicole beamed, giving your hand one last affectionate pat.
Your eyes flew to Oscar, and at the exact same moment, his dark, heavy gaze snapped straight to you.
The thought of being in this massive, empty estate completely alone with him for fourteen days straight, while his mother blissfully sang your praises as a "grounding presence," sent a violent spike of heat directly to your core.
"Right," Oscar choked out, his voice noticeably thicker as his eyes locked onto yours, refusing to let you look away.
Within ten minutes, the final goodbyes were shouted. Nicole gave you one last tight hug, whispering how grateful she was for your hard work, before the front door was slammed shut. The distant roar of the airport shuttle fading down the driveway left the estate in a sudden, deafening silence.
The house felt massive now, the quiet pressing in from every corner. You and Oscar stood side by side in the grand foyer, staring at the empty double doors.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The air conditioning hummed softly above, a cool draft cutting through the summer heat but the space between your bodies felt thick enough to burn.
Slowly, Oscar turned his head to look down at you. Without his family there to act as a buffer, his presence felt completely overwhelming. Pure, unadulterated masculine energy filling the empty hall. His dark eyes scanned your face, dropping for a fraction of a second to your lips before snapping back to your eyes, entirely ravenous and heavily undisciplined.
"So," Oscar murmured, his deep, gravelly voice echoing slightly in the empty foyer, sending a delicious, terrifying shiver straight down your spine. "It's just you and me for two weeks."
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You stood there in the grand foyer, staring at the closed double doors as the realization of what just happened settled into the quiet air. Two weeks. No parents, no sisters, no chaotic background noise to break up the suffocating gravity that had been pulling you two together for a month.
"I should..." you started, your voice cracking slightly on the first syllable. You cleared your throat, desperately trying to summon the professional, grounded demeanor Nicole had just praised you for. "I should get to the study. There’s a lot of sorting left to do."
"Right. Of course," Oscar said.
But he didn't move away to let you pass. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you.
Down here in the foyer, without the protective shield of a desk or a leather diary, he was a massive, intimidating presence. He was still wearing those soft gray sweatpants and the tight black t-shirt, and you couldn't help but notice how his broad shoulders seemed to swallow up the space around you.
His dark eyes dipped down, deliberately tracking the sharp inhale of your breath, before rising back up to lock onto yours. "Mum's right, you know. You've been working yourself ragged in that room. You don't have to hide away in there all day just because they're gone."
"I'm not hiding," you lied softly, your heart doing a violent flip against your ribs.
"Good," Oscar murmured, a faint, dangerous ghost of a smile touching the corner of his lips. His voice was incredibly low, vibrating in his chest. "Because with the house this empty, it'd be pretty hard to pull off anyway."
You managed a tight, nervous nod and practically bolted toward the safety of the library, your face burning.
For the next three hours, you tried to drown yourself in work. You meticulously organized letters, scanned old photographs, and logged entries into your laptop, but your concentration was completely shot.
Every creak of the house, every whistle of the summer wind against the glass windows made your shoulders tense. You were hyper-aware of him. You knew his schedule, you knew he usually spent his afternoons in the home gym on the lower level, training with an intensity that left him completely spent.
By 3:00 PM, the stifling January heat was pushing through the glass of the library windows, making the air feel thick and drowsy. Thirsty and needing a break from the endless columns of cursive, you finally stood up and padded quietly down the hall toward the kitchen.
You walked through the archway, completely unprepared for what was waiting for you.
Oscar was there. He had clearly just finished a grueling workout. He was leaning against the marble kitchen island, panting slightly, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
He had thrown a white towel over his broad shoulders, but he hadn't put a shirt back on. He was completely bare-chested, his sculpted abs and chest muscles shifting beautifully as he reached for a cold bottle of water.
You froze in the doorway, the breath evaporating from your lungs.
Oscar froze, too. He paused with the water bottle halfway to his mouth, his dark eyes instantly snapping to yours. The casual ease he usually tried to project vanished, replaced by that raw, intense focus that always made your knees go weak.
"Sorry," you stammered, immediately taking a step backward, your face exploding into a bright crimson flush. "I didn't mean to interrupt... I just wanted a glass of water—"
"Stop. Don't go," Oscar commanded, his voice thick, rough, and entirely devoid of his usual polite restraint.
He set the water bottle down on the counter with a soft clink and turned fully toward you. As he did, your treacherous eyes involuntarily darted down. And because he was hot, flushed, and his adrenaline was pumping from his workout, his body had reacted with terrifying speed the moment you walked into the room.
There, pushing fiercely against the soft fabric of his sweatpants, was the thick, prominent ridge of a heavy erection. It was completely undisguised, straining toward his waistband, shifting slightly as he took a step forward.
Your eyes widened, a quiet, choked gasp escaping your lips. You tried to look away, but the sheer, raw masculinity of the sight held you captive for one agonizing second.
Oscar caught your gaze. He looked down at himself, then right back up at you. This time, there was no diary to hide behind. There was no family about to walk through the door. His secret was completely out in the open, throbbing between you in the quiet kitchen.
Instead of panic, a dark, heavy look of acceptance washed over his features. A muscle ticked violently in his jaw as he slowly walked around the island, closing the distance between you until he was standing a mere foot away. The heat radiating off his bare, sweaty skin was intoxicating.
"I've been trying to be good," Oscar whispered, his voice dangerously low, his chest heaving as he looked down at your flushed, trembling face. "I've been trying so hard to be the disciplined guy my mum thinks I am. But you're looking at me like that... and we're entirely alone."
Oscar didn’t move an inch closer, giving you space even as the air between you turned completely electric. He saw the way your eyes darted from his waist back up to his face, your chest heaving in shallow, panicked breaths.
"You're doing it again," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate straight through the marble floorboards.
"Doing what?" you whispered, your throat so dry it felt like sandpaper.
"Staring," Oscar said, a slow, teasing smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn't mean, it was a gentle, almost playful nudge, though the heat in his dark eyes remained intensely serious.
He leaned back against the edge of the kitchen island, crossing his massive arms over his bare chest. The movement did absolutely nothing to hide the prominent ridge straining against his gray sweatpants, but his posture was completely relaxed, giving you a sense of safety despite the thick tension.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Your face burned a deeper shade of crimson. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. "I wasn't... I didn't mean to—"
"Hey," he interrupted softly, his tone instantly dropping its taunting edge, replacing it with a quiet, grounded sincerity. He tilted his head, locking his gaze completely onto yours.
"Look at me. I'm not mad. And you don't have to look like you just committed a crime. Talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"
You swallowed hard, your fingers tangling nervously in the hem of your shirt. The sheer honesty in his voice caught you off guard, and suddenly, the floodgates opened. The sheer weight of the secrets you'd been keeping, combined with the visual proof of his desire right in front of you, made your brain completely short-circuit.
"I don't—I don't know, Oscar, it's just a lot," you started, the words tumbling out of you in a breathless, frantic rush. "Nicole just told me how much she trusts me, how I'm a 'grounding presence' for you, and I feel like an absolute fraud because my mind is not doing anything grounded right now. I'm completely confused! One second I think I should just stay in the library and do my job, and the next second I'm... I'm looking at you, and things are complicated. You're my boss's son. You're Hattie's brother. And on top of all of that, I don't—I don't even know what I'm doing!"
You took a sharp, ragged breath, your face so hot you were certain it was glowing. You couldn't stop the rambling now, it was like a runaway train.
"I've never done this, Oscar. Any of it. I've never been with anyone, I've never experienced... this kind of tension, or a guy looking at me like that, or... or seeing a guy like... like how you are right now! I'm completely out of my depth, and I don't know what I want because I'm terrified that if I say the wrong thing, I'll ruin everything, or make it weird with your family, or—"
"Hey. Hey, breathe," Oscar cut in gently.
Throughout your entire frantic speech, he hadn't moved. He stood completely still, his arms remaining crossed, resisting the powerful urge to step forward and wrap his arms around you to quiet your anxiety.
Despite how badly his own body was aching, despite the throb of his erection against his jeans demanding relief, his respect for you won out completely. He let you ramble, letting you vent every single messy, panicked thought in your head without interruption.
He let out a slow, careful breath, his dark eyes softening into something incredibly tender.
"I get it," Oscar said, his voice dropping into an deeply reassuring, quiet register. "And I respect that more than you know. I respect my family, and I respect the hell out of the fact that this is all new to you. I'm not here to rush you, and I'm definitely not here to take advantage of you being confused."
He paused, letting the silence settle for a moment to let your racing heart slow down. Then, his eyes scanned your face, a trace of that respectful, confident warmth returning to his features.
"If you tell me right now that this is too much, that you want to go back to the library and forget any of this happened, I will walk upstairs, change my clothes, and we will never speak of it again. We can keep things exactly as they were. I mean that."
He lowered his arms, resting his large hands against the edge of the counter, completely exposing his bare torso to you. His gaze dropped an octave, holding yours with total honesty.
"But we'd both be lying. Because I know you're not indifferent to me. I can see how much you're thinking about it. And God knows you can see what you do to me just by walking into a room. I'm still a man, despite how broken everyone thinks I've been. And the truth is, you've done more to bring me back to life over the last few weeks than anyone else. But this is your call. Entirely. You don't have to know exactly what you're doing. You just have to tell me what you want."
You stared at him, your frantic breathing slowly evening out. He had taken all of your panic, all of your messy inexperience and confusion, and he had met it with total, unwavering safety.
“No pressure at all...” He was putting all his cards on the table, giving you total control over what happened next.
The internal turmoil that had been eating you alive for weeks suddenly dissolved, leaving behind a clear, undeniable truth. You didn't want him to walk away. You didn't want to go back to the library alone.
"I don't want you to go upstairs," you whispered, the confession leaving your lips soft but entirely certain.
Oscar’s breath hitched, the relaxed posture instantly vanishing as his muscles coiled with a sudden, sharp spike of intensity. "Are you sure?" he asked, his dark eyes burning into yours, demanding absolute certainty. "Because if I step across this kitchen right now, I'm not stopping."
"I'm sure," you said, taking a small, brave step toward him.
A low, guttural growl escaped Oscar's throat, a sound of pure submission and undone control. The discipline he had maintained for months finally snapped, and he closed the remaining distance between you in a single, heavy stride.
The single stride he took closed the distance so completely that the radiating heat from his bare chest washed over you like a physical wave. You looked up, your heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your ribs, watching the shadow of his large frame eclipse the kitchen light.
But even as his discipline snapped, his respect didn't. He stopped just an inch away, his broad chest rising and falling heavily, the dark hair of his sternum a mere hair's breadth from brushing against your shirt.
"Can I?" Oscar breathed, his voice nothing more than a rough, gravelly whisper that rattled deep in his chest. His dark eyes searched yours, heavy and completely dilated, waiting and demanding that final, explicit green light before he crossed the boundary.
You couldn't form words anymore, the air trapped in your throat, so you simply nodded, a soft, breathless sound escaping your lips.
That was all he needed. Oscar leaned down, his head dipping into the crook of your neck. He didn't press his lips to your skin just yet; instead, he simply hovered there, his hot, ragged breaths fanning across your sensitive skin and sending a violent, tingling shiver straight down your spine.
Slowly, deliberately, his large, veiny hands traveled down to your waist. His long fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts. He didn't rush. With agonizing slowness, his dark eyes locking onto yours, he slid the fabric down the curve of your hips, his warm palms caressing the bare skin of your outer thighs as he stripped them away.
He kicked them to the side, then reached for the hem of your shirt, pooling the fabric up over your ribcage. You lifted your arms blindly, letting him pull the garment over your head and toss it onto the counter, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.
Before the cool kitchen air could fully hit your skin, Oscar lifted you effortlessly, carrying you out of the kitchen and into the dim, cool environment of the adjacent guest room, gently lowering you onto the deep, plush fabric of the oversized bed.
The contrast of the cool air made you shiver slightly but Oscar was immediate in keeping your body warm. He climbed over you like a shield, mapping his heat to yours.
He began a slow, deliberate foreplay, determined to stretch the torment and ensure your body was completely undone. His lips returned to your jaw, leaving a trail of warm, lingering, open-mouthed kisses that made you whimper. His large hand slid up your torso, his palm warm and calloused, until it found your breast.
He cupped the soft weight gently, squeezing the supple flesh before his thumb began rubbing over the apex until it hardened, making a quiet gasp catch in your throat.
He leaned down further, his mouth replacing his fingers. Oscar began to suck each breast, his tongue swirling lazily around the peaks, pulling them into the deep heat of his mouth one by one. He swirled his tongue around the sensitive, puckered nubs, drawing them deep between his teeth and suckling greedily.
The sharp, electric pull of sensation shot straight down to your core, and you arched your back against the sofa cushions, your hands tangling frantically in his thick hair, a high-pitched moan escaping your throat.
As he continued to suckle greedily at your breasts, swapping from one aching peak to the other, his long fingers slipped down between your thighs. He parted your underwear, discovering just how slick and drenched you were for him. He slid a finger inside you, and the sudden, overwhelming sensation made your thighs instinctively clamp shut, your knees trying to close against the intense wave of pleasure.
"No, sweetheart. Keep them open for me," Oscar groaned against your skin, his deep voice thick with friction. His large, heavy hand pressed firmly against the inside of your knee, gently but unyieldingly forcing your legs wide apart again, pinning you open so he could look at what he was doing to you.
He began to finger you in earnest, sliding one, then two fingers deep inside your tight, slick channel, mimicking the motion he craved. At the same time, his thumb worked in relentless, circular motions against your hyper-sensitive, swollen clitoris.
The dual assault was dizzying. Your body was aching, a deep, hollow throbbing building in your lower belly that screamed for fulfillment, but the pleasure was so acute, so piercingly good, that you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to drown in the foreplay, your hips bucking up against his hand as you let out a series of fractured, breathless cries.
"Oscar... oh my god, Oscar," you sobbed, your head tossing back against the sheets. You were completely at his mercy, trembling from head to toe as he stretched you, his mouth leaving your breasts to trail wet, biting kisses back up your neck.
The friction and the agonizingly perfect touch of his hand below became too much to bear. The inexperience and hesitation completely melted away under the onslaught of pure desire. You couldn't take the empty ache a second longer.
"Please," you whimpered, your fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, dragging him closer. "Oscar, please... I can't take it. Take me. I want you inside me."
Oscar lifted his head, his dark eyes blown out with a heavy, primal fever as he looked down at your flushed, pleading face. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, stripping them down your legs in one clean tug, leaving nothing between you.
But instead of immediately pressing his weight over you, Oscar slid off the couch to stand right between your parted legs.
Your eyes widened as you watched him reach for the waistband of his boxers. With a fluid, unhurried movement, he pushed the dark fabric down his hips, stepping out of them and tossing them aside. He stood completely naked before you, bathed in the dim light of the living room, a towering specimen of pure athletic perfection.
Your breath completely trapped itself in your throat as your gaze locked onto him. Oscar reached down, his large, veiny hand wrapping firmly around the base of his shaft. Right there in front of you, his gaze locked intensely on your face, he began to jack himself.
You watched, utterly spellbound and helpless, as his erection grew even further under his own rhythmic, heavy strokes. The thick veins along his length pulsed violently, a bead of moisture appearing at the tip as he hardened to his absolute limit. He was massive, thick, heavy, and undeniably long, the dark skin of his shaft glistening in the shadows.
A wave of intense, dizzying heat rushed through your body, making you even wetter between your legs, but the sheer visual reality of his size sent a sudden, sharp spike of panic straight through your chest. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a new kind of nervousness taking over. You swallowed hard, staring at him, your mind instantly spiraling into doubt.
It's too big, you thought frantically, your hands tightening against the sofa cushions. There's no way. He's too big, it's not going to fit.
Oscar caught the sudden flash of fear in your eyes. He stopped stroking himself, his hand remaining wrapped around his length as his dark eyes softened with an immense, reassuring warmth. He sank back down onto the edge of the bed, leaning over you, his broad chest close enough for you to feel his racing heart.
"Look at me," he murmured, his breathing completely ragged as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from your damp forehead. "Hey. Breathe. I see you doubting it, sweetheart. I know you're scared."
"Oscar, I don't... I don't think it'll fit," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked from his face down to the heavy length pressing against your inner thigh.
"It will but if you don't want to anymore," he promised softly, his voice a deeply grounding, gravelly rumble that instantly wrapped you in a sense of safety.
“No... please don't stop,” you begged, almost crying.
Oscar leaned down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your lips, then to your jawline. "Your body is perfectly ready for me. I'm going to go so slow, I promise. The second it hurts, the second you want me to stop, you just tell me. I am entirely in your hands."
The unwavering respect and gentleness in his tone coaxed the tension right out of your muscles. You locked your eyes onto his, trusting him completely as you slowly let your thighs part a fraction wider.
Oscar guided himself against you, the hot, blunt head of his erection nudging your slick, hyper-prepared center. He waited for you to take a deep, steadying breath, and then, with an agonizingly slow, controlled push of his hips, he began to sink into you.
The steady, agonizingly slow rhythm of his hips was driving you insane. Every deep, deliberate slide of his length against your hyper-sensitive walls was pure heaven, the heat and friction building a fire inside you that made your entire body tremble. He was being so incredibly careful with you, but the pleasure was so acute, so overwhelming, that your restraint completely shattered.
You clung to his broad, slick shoulders, your fingernails digging deep into his skin as your hips instinctively rolled up to meet his, desperately chasing the heavy ache between your legs.
"Oscar," you gasped out, your voice breaking as he hit that perfect, sensitive spot deep inside you. You opened your eyes, looking up at him through a haze of pure, dizzying desire.
He was hovering directly over you, his arms locked straight to support his weight on either side of your head. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped violently in his cheek, his veins standing out along his biceps as he fought his own body to keep the pace gentle for your first time.
"I'm right here, sweetheart," he strained out, his voice a thick, guttural rattle. He paused for a fraction of a second, his breath hot against your face as he looked down at you with absolute reverence. "Tell me what you need. Is it too much?"
"No, it feels... it feels too good," you whimpered, a desperate, breathless sob escaping your lips. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back to pull him closer, completely undone by the intimacy of it. "Please... faster, Oscar. Move faster. I want it deep."
Oscar’s dark eyes blew out completely, the last remnants of his rigid discipline vaporizing at your words. Hearing your voice break, hearing you ask for more of him, turned something primal loose in his chest.
"You want it faster?" he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, filthy murmur as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You want me to really fuck you, sweetheart? Look at how wet you are for me. You're stretching so perfectly around my cock."
A fierce blush rushed to your cheeks at his words, a spike of pure, electric heat shooting straight to your core. "Yes... please, Oscar, fuck me."
"God, you are so beautiful when you beg," he groaned, his voice completely undone. "Hold onto me. Take all of it."
He didn't hold back anymore. Oscar braced his weight and drove into you with a sudden, explosive burst of power, his hips slamming flush against yours with a heavy, wet smack.
A loud, high-pitched gasp tore from your throat as he buried himself to the absolute hilt, the overwhelming fullness making your head toss back against the sofa cushions.
He picked up the pace instantly, turning the slow rhythm into a relentless, driving pace. Every thrust was deep, heavy, and completely consuming. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, leaving wet, biting kisses over your skin as his hips moved in a brutal, beautiful sync.
"You feel so fucking tight," Oscar choked out against your skin, his breathing completely ragged as he drove into you harder, his movements turning beautifully desperate. "Tell me how it feels. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours—oh my god, Oscar, yes!" you screamed softly, your fingers tangling frantically in his damp hair, your body completely synchronized with his heavy, driving movements. The white-hot tension inside you wound tighter and tighter, pulling you toward the absolute brink.
"That's it, take it all for me," he murmured darkly, his own breath hitching as your tight walls began to pulse frantically around him, signaling your climax. He stared straight into your eyes, locking your gazes together as a sudden, shattering wave of pleasure broke over you. You arched your back, crying out his name as your body convulsed around his length.
The intense clamping of your release finally pushed him over the edge. Oscar let out a loud, guttural shout against your neck, his body going completely rigid as he drove deep one last time, locking his hips against yours and completely releasing his warmth inside you as the quiet of the estate swallowed up your tangled, ruined sighs.
The heavy, frantic rhythm of your shared breathing slowly began to quiet, filling the dim living room with a soft, peaceful lull. The air conditioning hummed gently overhead, cooling the slick sheen of sweat that bound your skin to Oscar's.
He remained heavy and warm between your thighs, his forehead resting against your shoulder as his pulse gradually slowed down.
After a long, quiet moment, Oscar let out a deep exhale and shifted his weight, bracing his forearms on the sofa cushions to lift his chest off yours.
"I should... I should probably get up," he murmured, his voice incredibly rough and raspy from the aftereffects of the release. "Get us some water. Clean you up."
Before he could pull away, your hands moved instinctively. You slid your palms up his bare back, your fingers curling around the tight muscles of his shoulders to hold him in place. "No," you whispered, your voice soft and entirely spent. "Don't move yet. Stay."
Oscar paused, looking down at you through the shadows. A soft, incredibly tender look washed over his handsome features. He didn't argue. With a quiet sigh of compliance, he melted right back down against you, sliding his large arms around your waist to pull your hips flush against his. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your warm skin.
"I love this," he breathed, the confession slipping out of him entirely unprompted, his voice thick with a raw, vulnerable emotion you hadn't heard from him before. "I love just being right here like this with you."
A sweet, tingling warmth bloomed in your chest, completely replacing any lingering nervousness or doubt. You tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his shoulder. "I love whatever this is, too," you whispered back, tracing the line of his spine with your fingertips.
Oscar didn't answer right away. He simply fell quiet, the room returning to that deep, heavy silence that used to feel terrifying, but now felt entirely safe. He shifted his hand slightly, his long, veiny fingers resting against the bare skin of your waist.
Slowly, rhythmically, his thumb began to draw lazy, soothing circles against your hip, his touch incredibly gentle compared to the fierce power from just moments before.
He remained silent for so long that you finally blinked your eyes open, tilting your head up to look at his sharp profile.
"Why are you so quiet?" you asked softly, your thumb brushing against his jawline. "What are you thinking?"
Oscar stopped the circling motion for a brief second, his dark eyes meeting yours in the dim light. He looked incredibly grounded, the tight, defensive walls he usually kept up completely dismantled.
"I don't know," he confessed quietly, a faint, honest smile touching his lips. "I don't actually know what this is yet. I don't know how to label it, or what it means for everything else. My brain usually needs a plan for everything, but right now... I don't have one." He paused, his thumb resuming its gentle circles on your waist. "But I'm happy to have it. I'm happy it's you."
The honesty in his voice made your heart swell. You smiled up at him, sliding your hand up to cup his cheek, thumbing the soft skin there.
"We'll figure it out," you promised softly, letting him know that he didn't have to have all the answers right now. "We have two weeks."
Oscar stared down at you, his eyes softening completely as the weight of your words settled over him. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering, and deeply affectionate kiss to your lips.
"Yeah," he murmured against your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening just a fraction more as he pulled you into his chest. "We will."
The soft, rhythmic circles his thumb was tracing on your waist kept you floating in a warm, dazed bubble of comfort.
"Oscar," you murmured, your voice laced with a sudden touch of anxiety.
He noticed the shift instantly. His thumb stopped moving, and he lifted his head from your shoulder, his dark eyes instantly focusing on your face. "What is it? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No, no, I'm okay," you assured him quickly, placing a hand against his chest to soothe him. "It’s just... we didn't use protection. And since it's my first time, I'm not on anything. I think... I think I need to buy the morning-after pill. Just to be safe."
A flash of genuine remorse crossed Oscar’s features, his protective instincts kicking in. "Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I completely lost my head. I shouldn't have just..." He cut himself off, shaking his head and pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead. "Don't stress about it. I'll take care of it. I'll head out to the pharmacy first thing in the morning and buy it for you."
"Are you sure?" you asked softly. "You don't want anyone spotting you."
"I don't care," Oscar said without a second of hesitation, his voice firm and completely grounded. "Your safety is the only thing that matters. I'll go early before the shops get busy."
He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, a sudden, dark ember of that familiar heat reigniting in his eyes. His hand on your waist tightened, pulling your hips a fraction closer against his.
"And besides... I should probably restock the nightstand with condoms while I'm out. That way, we can use them again next time."
A delicious, tingling sensation shot straight to your core at his casual, confident assumption. The sheer forwardness of it completely erased your anxiety, replaced by a sudden rush of playful confidence.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You tilted your head back against the sofa cushions, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers lazily tracing the sharp line of his collarbone.
"Oh?" you teased, your voice dropping into a playful, breathless whisper. "Next time?"
Oscar’s breath hitched, his chest expanding heavily against yours. A low, dark chuckle vibrated deep in his throat, but the expression that settled over his handsome face was entirely ravenous. He leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close against yours, his deep voice thick with an undeniable promise.
"Sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb deliberately digging into the soft skin of your hip. "We have the house to ourselves for two whole weeks. I'm going to want you every single day."
Summary: Oscar sees you as a friend, someone he can lean on, someone he can be himself with. But why does helping you get closer to the man you like make him confused? A good friend shouldn’t feel like that, right?
Lando Norris.
The hot senior guy you barely spoken to. To you, he is more than a pretty face and a popular boy, Lando is your dream guy. He is tall, funny, and among all kind.
You first met him during one of your free time back when you were still a freshman, you were hanging out with your other block mates when you saw him playing with a soccer ball in the field. His brunette hair flattered as air waved through it, his long eyelashes blinking prettily everytime he failed to kick the ball properly. That’s when you realized, you had gotten a crush on someone far from reach.
It was embarrassing, honestly.
The kind of crush that made you hyperaware of your existence every time he walked into a room. You noticed everything about him without trying, the way he laughed with his whole body, how people naturally gravitated toward him, the way he greeted professors and janitors with the same easy warmth.
And unfortunately for you, everyone seemed to love him. Especially girls, which made your chances feel nonexistent.
“You’re staring again.”
You nearly choked on your iced coffee. Looking beside you, you found Oscar staring at you blankly from across the library table, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“I am not,” you whispered harshly.
Oscar glanced past your shoulder toward the open field outside the library windows where Lando was currently surrounded by friends. Then he looked back at you. “You absolutely are.”
You frowned, immediately looking down at your notes. “Can you lower your voice?”
“There’s literally no one here.”
“There are people on the second floor.”
Oscar sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve had this crush for like… what? Three months now?”
You bite your lower lip, “Years...” you muttered before realizing what you admitted.
Oscar’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ.”
Heat immediately face into your hands. The thing about Oscar was that he somehow became your friend accidentally. You met him during a statistics class when he bluntly told you your calculator was dead because you kept pressing the wrong button. You thought he was rude at first. He thought you were too sensitive.
And somehow, after enough sarcastic comments and shared complaints over schoolworks, the two of you just… stuck. He was annoyingly observant. Which meant hiding your pathetic crush on Lando lasted less than two weeks.
“You know,” Oscar said casually, spinning his pen between his fingers, “if you’re going to stare at him like he personally hung the moon, you could at least try talking to him.”
You peeked at him through your fingers. “I would rather die.”
“That dramatic, huh?”
“He’s a senior.”
“So?”
“He’s popular.”
Oscar blinked slowly. Your words sounds ridiculous for him. “You make him sound like he’s royalty.”
“To me, he kind of is.”
Oscar groaned loudly enough that you kicked him under the table. Oscar barely expresses his emotions but when he does, it's because he wants to be sassy.
“Ow—”
“Shut up!”
He laughed quietly after that, shaking his head. Then he looks at you with a serious face. “What if I help you?”
You paused from your actions as your eyes blinks repeatedly. “…Help me how?” You didn't break the eye contact with him while Oscar leaned forward now, suddenly looking invested.
“I know him.”
Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You know OF him.” you said before rolling your eyes.
“No,” Oscar corrected smugly. “I actually know him. We had engineering electives together last semester.”
You stared at Oscar in surprise. You never heard him mentioned any of this, not even when you two had a sleepover. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You know Lando Norris?”
Oscar looked offended by your suspicious tone but you didn't mind him and you waited for his response but instead of receiving one, he's now back at minding his own business. So instead of doubting him more, you took his arm and convince him.
“Fine!” he sighs, “but you owe me one,”
And it was the beginning of him of everything. The day after, Oscar immediately became your self-appointed wingman. At first, it was mostly teasing. Painful teasing.
—
“You’re fixing your hair again,” he pointed out one afternoon as the two of you walked across campus.
“I am not.”
Oscar let out a brief chuckle as he shook his head. “You literally checked your reflection in a car window.” When you keep tucking your hair, he rolled his eyes. “We won't see him here. You can calm down,”
You put your hands down and bump your shoulders at his. Glaring. “I am not doing it for him,”
Oscar looked unconvinced, mutter a brief. “Sure.” Then he looks at your right side, “Is that Lando?"
Your eyes widen at him before instantly glancing at the direction he's looking only to see nothing. Before you could mutter a curse, Oscar run away from you. “What an asshole!”
But despite all the jokes, he actually helped. Oscar started dragging you into situations where Lando happened to be there. Study groups. Campus events. Random hangouts after lectures.
At first, you could barely speak around him. You remembered one particularly humiliating moment when Lando asked to borrow your pen and you accidentally handed him your highlighter instead. Oscar laughed so hard afterward that he nearly fell off his chair.
“I hate you,” you whispered furiously while Lando walked away.
“You gave him a pink highlighter.” Oscar was holding his stomach as he try not to fell on his seat.
“I panicked!” You kick his foot under the table before rolling your eyes at him. Both embarrassed and shy from what happened.
“You looked like you were being held hostage.”
You shoved his shoulder while he kept laughing but slowly, things became easier after that. Lando started recognizing you, then greeting you, and actually talking to you. And every single time it happened, Oscar somehow looked more excited than you did.
“See?” he told you one evening while the two of you sat in the library surrounded by textbooks and empty snack wrappers. “Progress.”
You smiled shyly, looking down at your notes. “Maybe.”
Oscar watched you quietly for a second then he looked away first. What is he even thinking...
The late-night study sessions became routine after that. It started because you both had horrible schedules and the library stayed open until midnight during exam season. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about academics entirely.
Sometimes you talked more than you studied. About professors you hated, your childhoods, and the dreams that sounded too unrealistic when spoken out loud.
Oscar wasn’t an easy person to read at first. He came across quiet, sarcastic, detached even but the more time you spent with him, the more you noticed things.
The way he always pushed the better side of the sidewalk toward you without thinking about it. The way he remembered small details you mentioned once weeks ago. The way he quietly waited for you to finish talking even when you rambled nervously.
There was gentleness in him that most people missed.
One night, you found yourself half-asleep across the library table while Oscar worked on his laptop.
“I’m tired,” you mumbled dramatically.
“That tends to happen at one in the morning.”
You frowned into your folded arms. “You’re so unsympathetic.”
Oscar glanced at you. His expression softened almost immediately. “You should go home.” he instantly respond, eyes are glued in yours. Too focused to look away and as you keep the eye contact you softly speak.
“You’re still working.”
Oscar smile with your words, his lips twitching a little bit when he saw you staring still. He poke your forehead. ”I’ll survive.” he softly said, “you need to take care of yourself”
You lifted your head slightly. “You always say that.”
“That’s because it’s true.”
You stared at him for a moment longer than necessary. Then quietly, “Thank you.”
Oscar who's currently busy typing, paused and blinked. “For what?”
“For helping me.”
He looked at you strangely after that. Not confused. Not uncomfortable. Just… quiet.
“You really like him, huh?” he asked softly.
Your face warmed instantly. “Unfortunately.”
A small smile appeared on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Unfortunately.”
You didn’t notice the way he looked at you after that. Didn’t notice how his gaze lingered when you weren’t paying attention. Or how he started going quieter whenever you talked about Lando too much.
You were too busy being in love with someone else.
The realization hit Oscar slowly, all at once. It happened on a rainy Thursday night.
The library was nearly empty, soft thunder rumbling outside while you sat across from him rambling about how Lando smiled at you earlier after class.
“And then he remembered my coffee order,” you said, grinning into your cup. “Like, he actually remembered it.”
Oscar stared at his notes. Your words passing from his one ear to another while right hand is busy fidgeting his pen. You two have been sitting together for not too long but Oscar feels like he already lost his social battery.
“That’s great.”
You missed how flat his voice sounded, too occupied by your thoughts about another man.
“He’s just really thoughtful,” you continued absentmindedly. “I think that’s what I like most about him.”
Oscar’s fingers tightened slightly around his pen. Because the cruelest part was he knew exactly what you liked. He had spent months listening carefully. And somewhere along the way, he realized he had started doing those things too.
Remembering your favorite snacks before study sessions. Walking you back to your dorm late at night. Saving you seats during your shared lectures. Staying awake until two in the morning just because you said you studied better when someone stayed with you.
It wasn’t intentional at first.
Then suddenly, it was.
“You know,” you said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts, “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”
Oscar looked up. You were smiling at him softly now. Completely sincere and something in his chest ached so badly it almost made him angry.
Because you looked at him with so much affection.
Just not the kind he wanted.
“You’ll be fine without me,” he said quietly.
Your smile faded slightly. “Why would you say that?”
Oscar looked away. Rain tapped softly against the windows, the truth was becoming impossible to ignore now especially when he just realized, you're more than a friend to him.
Every late night. Every laugh. Every accidental touch. Every moment with you.
He had fallen in love with the girl he was helping someone else notice. And the worst part?
He would probably still help you anyway. Oscar did help you anyway.
That was the tragic thing about him.
No matter how badly it started hurting, he never let it show long enough for you to notice. So life continued, just slightly different now.
Lando started seeking you out more often after classes, lingering beside your desk longer than necessary, walking with you between lectures even when his own building was in the opposite direction. Sometimes he’d randomly appear beside you in the cafeteria with a grin and a, “You sitting alone again?”
And every single time, your heart betrayed you instantly.
Oscar noticed it all. Of course he did.
He noticed the way your entire face brightened whenever Lando texted. The way you started fixing your appearance more carefully before campus events. The way you checked your phone under the table with a smile you tried and failedmto hide.
But he stayed. Oscar remain as your friend. The same person you called at midnight to complain about deadline, a friend who willingly carry your bag when your shoulders hurt from too many books.
And everytime you spend time with him, you sometimes wondered if Oscar got tired of hearing about Lando. If he did, he never said it.
Though there were moments now small, strange moments where he’d go unusually quiete, like he was somewhere else entirely.
—
One Friday evening, Oscar was sitting alone in one of the engineering lounges, half-working on a project and half-trying not to think too hard about his life choices, when someone dropped into the chair across from him.
Lando.
Oscar looked up slowly, eyes distant and cold but not mean. Lando who's already used to Oscar, just smile widely.
“Wow,” Lando said. “You look thrilled to see me.”
Oscar snorted lightly. “I’m studying.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It is.”
Lando laughed before leaning back in his chair comfortably.
There was an easy confidence to him that Oscar had always envied a little not arrogantly charming, just naturally magnetic. People liked being around him without effort.
You especially.
Oscar swallowed that thought quickly. “What’s up?” he asked casually. “You never visit me if you don't need anything,”
Lando chuckles nervously, “that’s so mean and very true..." Lando gulp and bite his lower lip. “I apologize for being a bad friend,”
Oscar looks at him with raised brows as Lando tapped his fingers lightly against the table for a moment. Then, “I need your opinion on something.”
Oscar immediately felt suspicious, he didn't remove his eyes to Lando, “that sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is,” Lando admitted with a grin.
Oscar shut his laptop halfway. “Go on.”
For the first time since sitting down, Lando actually looked slightly nervous.
Not visibly but enough for someone observant to catch it. “I was thinking of asking someone out.”
Oscar’s stomach tightened instantly but t his face stayed neutral. “Okay.”
Lando rubbed the back of his neck now, laughing awkwardly. “I don’t know if she even sees me that way though.”
And suddenly, Oscar knew. His gut feeling was right. He knew before the name even left his mouth. Still, hearing it hurt worse than expected.
“I like her,” Lando admitted quietly. “Like… properly.”
Oscar stared at him, eyes heavy but stoic. The room suddenly felt smaller, he can feel his muscles tense and his breathing ragged but he remain calm.
“What does this have to do with me?” he asked carefully, voice a little bit hoarse.
Lando blinked, speechless but then let out an awkward laugh. “Because you know her better than I do.”
There it was.
Oscar looked away first.
“She talks to you about everything,” Lando continued. “And honestly? I don’t want to make things weird if she’s not interested.”
Oscar let out a slow breath through his nose.
He should’ve hated this.
Should’ve made an excuse.
Should’ve told him to figure it out himself. Instead, “What exactly are you asking?”
Lando smiled slightly now, relieved Oscar hadn’t shut him down.
“I’m asking if I should do it.”
Oscar laughed quietly not because it was funny but because he feels very stupid right now. Especially because the situation felt cruel in a way only life could manage. Seems like life is mocking him in many ways. The universe really did have a sense of humor.
“You’re asking the wrong person,” he muttered.
Lando frowned slightly. “Why?”
Because I’m in love with her too. The thought came fast and sharp but before it slipped, Oscar buried it immediately.
“She likes you,” he said instead.
And God, saying it out loud felt awful. Lando was taken a back, lips parted but no words is coming out.
“Wait... seriously?” It took Lando a minute before being able to formulate some words.
Oscar nodded once. The grin that spread across Lando’s face afterward almost made him regret being honest.
Oscar forced himself to smile back faintly, licking his drying lips. “Yeah.”
Lando leaned forward slightly. “I was thinking maybe tomorrow? I know you two usually study together on Saturdays but—”
“Oh.” Oscar looked down at the table for a second. He wanted to punch himself, to punch Lando but he just tightened his jaw. “It’s fine,” he said calmly. “I can cancel.”
“You sure?”
He wasn’t but he nodded anyway. What choice does he even have. It's either he'll say yes to Lando or you'll hate him when you know he didn’t take the opportunity.
“Yeah. Go for it.”
Lando looked relieved instantly. “Thanks, mate.”
Oscar hummed quietly. “Just make sure she's comfortable and having fun. She's easy to love,”
Lando stayed a little longer after that, talking excitedly about possible date ideas while Oscar listened just enough to respond when necessary.
But somewhere in the middle of it, his thoughts drifted.
To you. To your smile. To the way you’d probably light up tomorrow when Lando asked and despite everything, he still wanted you happy. Even if it destroyed him a little.
—
The next day, you arrived at the library expecting Oscar. Instead, you found Lando waiting near your usual table. Your steps slowed immediately, hesitant and curious.
Lando looked oddly nervous standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Hi,” he said when he noticed you approaching.
Your heart immediately forgot how to function. “Oh,” you gulp, hands already cold. “Hi...”
Lando smiled awkwardly. “Oscar told me you’d be here.”
Something about that sentence felt strange. Still, you ignored it.
“Where is he?”
“He had something come up.”
Your brows furrowed slightly. Oscar never canceled on you last minute. Before you could think too much about it, Lando spoke again.
“Actually… I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get coffee with me instead?”
You froze. For a second, you genuinely thought you imagined it. Lando Norris, asking you in a cafe... You. Out of many people in campus.
“What?”
Lando laughed nervously now. “Was that too vague? Sorry.”
He rubbed the back of his neck again before looking at you properly. “I’m asking you on a date.”
Your brain stopped functioning entirely. Your face is burning with shyness and flushness. “A date? Is this a prank?”
Lando’s eyes widen, he immediately shift from his position. “No... god, NO.” He then chuckles nervously, “If you want it only, of course...”
You stared at him. Your impossible crush for months, standing in front of you and asking YOU out. And somewhere, buried beneath the excitement flooding your chest, there was another thought too, Oscar knew.
The realization came quietly. The canceled plans. Lando finding you here. The timing. Your stomach twisted strangely for a second. But then Lando smiled at you again, hopeful, warm, a little nervous despite being Lando.
And your crush won immediately.
“Yeah,” you said softly before you could overthink it. Oscar still in your mind. “I’d like that.”
Lando’s entire face brightened. “Really?”
You laughed quietly. “You already asked me.”
“Right. Sorry. I just—”
He shook his head, grinning now. “Okay. Good.”
You smiled back at him, your heart racing so fast it almost hurt. And somewhere else on campus, Oscar sat alone in the engineering building staring blankly at his unfinished work
trying very hard not to think about the fact that at this exact moment, you were probably smiling at someone else the way he wished you’d smile at him.
It was fun and interesting, yeah but drinking coffee with Lando made you realize a lot of things. At first, you were happy, almost painfully so.
The kind of happy that made everything feel lighter. The walk to the café felt unreal beside him, your brain constantly repeating this is happening, this is actually happening.
Lando was exactly what everyone said he was. Charming. Funny. Easy to talk to.
He held doors open for you, teased you whenever you got shy and listened attentively whenever you spoke. At one point, he even remembered a small detail you’d mentioned weeks ago during a group conversation, and your heart nearly exploded on the spot.
It should’ve been perfect. Honestly, it almost was but as the hours passed, something strange settled quietly in your chest. Not disappointment.
Just… realization.
Because the version of Lando you built in your head over the past months was carefully stitched together from stolen glances across campus and brief interactions that left too much room for imagination.
The real Lando was different, not worse, just human. And suddenly, he didn’t feel untouchable anymore.
You learned quickly that he talked a lot when he got comfortable. He interrupted himself mid-sentence constantly because his thoughts moved faster than his mouth. He got distracted easily, checking his phone absentmindedly while talking before apologizing with a sheepish grin.
He was warm, bright, chaotic yet for some reason, instead of making your feelings stronger, it grounded them. The fantasy started peeling away slowly over coffee stains and casual conversation.
“You’re quiet,” Lando pointed out at one point, tilting his head slightly.
Your eyes lifted from your cup immediately. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” He smiled lightly. “I just can’t tell if you’re having a good time or planning my murder.”
You laughed despite yourself. “I’m having a good time.”
“Good,” he said easily. “Because I was genuinely nervous.”
Your brows lifted. “You?”
“Yeah?” Lando looked offended jokingly. “Do you think I ask girls out every day?”
You stared at him flatly. “Yes.”
He burst out laughing. “Okay, fair.”
And maybe that was the problem. Everything with Lando felt easy in a way you thought you wanted. But somewhere in the middle of the conversation, you caught yourself thinking...
“Oscar would’ve made a sarcastic comment about that by now”
Then later...
“Oscar hates coffee, he prefers hot choco”
And then...
“I should tell Oscar about this”
The thought came naturally. Effortlessly, like breathing that suddenly became harder to ignore.
—
By the time the date ended, the sky outside had already darkened into evening. Lando walked you back toward your dorm building slowly, hands tucked inside his jacket pockets.
“I had fun today,” he admitted.
You smiled softly. “Me too.” And you meant it, because you did have fun. Lando was wonderful but the dizzy, overwhelming crush you’d carried for months now felt… quieter, more manageable.
Like reality had softened the sharp edges of it. When you reached your building entrance, Lando stopped.
“So…” he rocked slightly on his feet. “Would it be horribly desperate if I said I want to take you out again?”
You laughed softly. “No.”
His grin appeared instantly. “Great.”
Then he hesitated slightly before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you carefully and gently. Your body stiffened for only half a second before relaxing into the hug. Warm and nice.
But strangely, it didn’t make your heart race the way you thought it would. When he pulled away, he smiled again. “Text me when you get upstairs?”
You nodded. “Okay.”
And then Lando left. You stood there for a moment watching him walk away. Confused, not because you disliked him. You still liked him very much however, your chest didn’t feel full the way you imagined it would after finally getting what you wanted.
Instead, you suddenly missed Oscar. Badly.
—
Ten minutes later, you were standing outside Oscar’s dorm. The realization hit you only after you knocked.
Why were you here? You should’ve been replaying your perfect date over and over in your room.
Not standing outside another guy’s door at nearly nine at night yet just before you could overthink it further, the door opened. Oscar stare at you in surprise. His currently on his bed time pajamas, hair sticking everywhere.
You stare back, not saying anything and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes flickered briefly over your appearance.
“You look so pretty,” he said, “and cold...” he frown when you smile and shake your head.
And immediately, there it was. That familiar ease. That immediate comfort settling into your chest. You exhaled before smiling without meaning to.
“My date ended.”
Oscar leaned casually against the doorframe, expression unreadable for half a second too long. “How was it?”
You opened your mouth immediately. Then paused, the answer felt more complicated than expected. “…Good,” you said eventually.
Oscar nodded once but he studied your face carefully. He's not prying, he's just making sure you're doing well. “Just good?”
You frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said slowly, “you usually look more excited when you talk about him.”
Your stomach twisted strangely. Oscar noticed everything. Always.
“I was excited,” you defended weakly.
“Hmm...”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it.”
A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth. “You know me too well.”
You stared at him for a second then suddenly laughed quietly and Oscar’s expression softened instantly at the sound.
“Can I come in?” you asked.
“Obviously.”
He stepped aside to let you in. And the moment you entered his room, a little messy, smelling faintly of detergent and coffee and Oscar, your entire body relaxed in a way it hadn’t all evening.
Which should’ve concerned you more than it did. Oscar closed the door behind you before glancing over. “So,” he said casually, trying very hard to sound normal, “tell me everything.”
And somehow, sitting cross-legged on Oscar’s bed while talking about your date with another guy felt far more intimate than the date itself.
Hi!! I love your writing so much. I am not sure if you are taking request but here I am.
Reader has had a huge crush on Lando for years, and Oscar offers to be her wingman to help her get Lando's attention. But as they spend late nights 'strategizing' in the library, Oscar starts falling for her himself. (University au??)
Thanksss❤️
hi!!! sorry for posting the story late but it will be up later, i changed some stuffs but but but 🥹🩷 i hope you'll like it ~
Summary: Nothing is permanent in the world, not the loved ones you grew up with, not even yourself but amidst everything, love will always be there: haunting... hurting...
Fourteen is too young to leave everything you know behind to step away from your family, your friends, your childhood, and chase a dream in a country that feels impossibly far from home. And yet Oscar Piastri did exactly that, carrying his fear quietly beneath determination that was already too big for his age.
He was new to everything. The loneliness. The independence. The sudden absence of guidance. One moment he was surrounded by familiarity, by people who had known him his whole life, the next, he was alone in a place that didn’t care who he had been before. It was a massive leap for a boy who barely understood what it meant to stand on his own.
Sacrifice always demands payment and Oscar paid more than he expected. It was never easy, no matter how capable he looked from the outside. From the moment he landed in Europe, his life shifted completely, so fast it barely gave him time to breathe.
In the beginning, he held on. He called home every night. He sent random messages, voice notes, photos of small things he thought you’d like. Late-night calls turned into FaceTimes that lasted until one of you fell asleep. You were still there, still close, still part of his everyday life.
Then reality crept in.
Training intensified. School demanded more. Schedules tightened until there was barely space to exist outside of obligation. He made friends, people who understood this new version of him, people who lived the same routine, the same exhaustion. Slowly, without meaning to at first, he began living in the present instead of holding onto the past.
You never disappeared from his mind. But you were no longer in front of him. And Oscar, in order to survive what was directly ahead, chose to push everything else further back including you.
That was when Lily entered his life.
She was a classmate in one of his science subjects. Quiet. Gentle. Easy to be around. She didn’t ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer. She didn’t know the boy he used to be, only the one standing in front of her. With her, things felt simple in a way his life hadn’t been for a long time.
Oscar noticed her, of course. He wasn’t blind to how pretty she was, how comforting her presence felt. But he did nothing about it. Not at first. Days turned into months, months into years. Four of them passed before he allowed himself to acknowledge what had already taken root.
By the time he reached Formula 2, he understood something he had been avoiding: he could no longer imagine his life without her. She had become home in a place that never quite felt like it.
And he knew, the moment he crossed that line, that it was unfair to you.
He knew what his silence had done. He knew that when he stopped reaching out after that first month, confusion must have settled in your chest, unanswered and heavy. He knew you were hurting. And still, he said nothing.
Not because he didn’t care. But because admitting the truth meant confessing that in order to move forward, he had chosen to leave you behind. So he convinced himself that distance was kinder than honesty. That letting things fade quietly would hurt less than breaking them outright.
He missed you. Genuinely. But after what he’d done, he believed you deserved more than apologies that arrived too late. He hadn’t just damaged your trust he had given his heart to someone else while you were left without answers.
You haunted him in ways he never spoke about. Your laughter surfaced when he was half-asleep. Your voice echoed when his mind drifted. Your face appeared every time he closed his eyes for too long. You were there in the quiet, a reminder of what he’d taken and never returned.
Oscar hated himself for it. And yet he couldn’t let go of Lily — the girl who had held him together when everything felt like it was falling apart. He loved her. He learned to. And that, somehow, felt like the cruelest part of all because she now occupied the place you once held so effortlessly.
He told himself it was better if you knew nothing. That the truth would only destroy you. That protecting you meant keeping you in the dark. And maybe that was the most selfish thing of all: wanting to preserve his importance in your life without facing the consequences of his choices.
That was why he begged his family to keep quiet.
The day he introduced Lily over FaceTime, he asked his mother and sisters not to tell you. Nicole worried endlessly. Hattie struggled with the weight of it. Mae and Edie didn’t understand but stayed silent anyway. No one liked it but no one stopped him.
Before ending the call, after hearing updates about you, Oscar only said one thing.
“I’m glad she’s doing well. I’m really proud of her.”
The words filled him with something close to relief. Even after everything, you were still moving forward. Still living. Still becoming someone strong.
Sometimes he checked your social media, but you rarely posted. Proof that time had changed you, just as it had changed him.
You were no longer the children who fought over hot chocolate or ate ice cream before breakfast. Change was inevitable but that didn’t make it painless. You had been each other’s firsts in ways that mattered and now you were strangers carrying shared history.
Oscar knew one thing with certainty: you were brave. Hurting you wouldn’t break you it would push you forward. That was the lie he told himself to sleep at night. That hurting you from afar was kinder than hurting you directly.
It was hypocritical, self-serving, and deeply unfair.
But that was Oscar choosing what allowed him to live, even when it meant someone else had to bleed quietly in his absence.
—
You were quietly turning the page of your book in the library, break time stretching lazily in front of you with nothing demanding your attention. So you let yourself enjoy it. Oscar sat a few seats away, absorbed in his own reading the contrast almost funny. You held a romance novel close to your chest while he flipped through an automobile magazine, eyes scanning diagrams like they mattered more than the world around him.
Curious, you lowered your book and stole a glance at him.
Oscar didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Too focused.
But the moment he felt your stare, he looked up catching you instantly.
“Are you okay?” he asked, brows lifting with concern. “You’ve been staring.”
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Just checking if you’re still breathing.”
He laughed softly, closing his book as he slid into the seat beside you. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.” His eyes flicked to the book in your hands. “What are you reading?”
You tried to hide it behind your back, but he reached for it anyway, leaning in closer than expected. Too close and you both froze, faces inches apart, the sudden quiet, loud in your ears. Heat rushed to your cheeks as your eyes met, neither of you speaking, neither pulling away.
People always thought Oscar was composed, calm, and serious. And he is but only to the world. With you, he was loud when he wanted to be, playful when no one else was watching. Growing up side by side had made you understand him in ways no one else ever could.
That was probably why he noticed you zoning out again.
“Got it!” he laughed, snatching the book from your hands before you could react.
“Oscar, give it back,” you hissed quietly, reaching for it.
He lifted his arm higher, just out of reach, flipping through the pages with exaggerated interest.
“OSCAR.”
He looked down at you, smirk still there but it softened the moment he saw your pout. He hesitated, teasing just a second longer, before sighing and handing it back when your lips turned into a small frown.
Making you upset especially when he was the reason was something Oscar could never stand.
It had always been instinctive, this need to protect you. To look out for you. He’d been doing it since you were kids, and it never faded.
“Stop pouting,” he murmured, gently cupping your cheeks with both hands.
You were used to his touch by now it never made you uncomfortable. It felt familiar. Safe.
“You took my book,” you mumbled, your words slightly muffled by his palms. “You were going to make fun of me—”
“Hey,” he frowned, pulling his hands away. “Don’t accuse me like that. I wouldn’t.” Then, softer, “It’s actually a good story.”
He grabbed your bag from the table and slung it over his shoulder, resting an arm around you as he guided you toward the exit. “You’ll find your own prince charming someday,” he added lightly. “And when you do, he’ll treat you right.”
You stared at him, completely caught off guard.
Oscar had a way of doing that saying things so casually that they stayed with you longer than they should.
As soon as you stepped outside the library, you finally spoke. “Where are we going?”
He smiled, arm still warm around your shoulders. “I’m getting you your favorite ice cream. Can’t let a princess stay upset.”
You ended up sitting outside the school, time slipping away unnoticed. Missed classes, passing cars, the noise of the world it all faded. It was just you and him, wrapped in something that felt small and infinite all at once.
“I always love spending time with you,” you admitted quietly, spooning ice cream from the tub. “Even though we do it all the time.”
Oscar sat across from you, his ice cream balanced in a cone. He’d paid, like he always did. Bought your favorite. Opened the lid for you without asking. It was never something you had to think about he just did it.
“And I feel the same,” he said, handing you a tissue when he noticed the mess on your fingers. “Especially when you’re already a part of me,” His voice softened. “Always remember that.”
He knew exactly what those words meant and he said them anyway.
Because to Oscar, you were precious in a way he never questioned. In a way he never planned to lose. He would do anything for you, anything at all except hurt you in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.
You were too important for that. You always would be.
—
As Oscar steps into the MTC building, his thoughts refuse to stay where they should. They drift back to you.
He didn’t see you before he left. That part was deliberate, a choice he made under the excuse of not making things worse. Though deep down, he knows the truth: he didn’t trust himself to face you. Not after everything. You weren’t just heartbroken, you were betrayed. By everyone. By him most of all.
The shame sits heavy in his chest, unrelenting. Oscar knows what he did was unforgivable, yet he still hasn’t found the courage to stand in front of his own mistakes. Even now, he’s hiding. Running, just like he did when you were kids, when apologizing felt harder than disappearing. The difference now is that there are no excuses left. This time, it isn’t childish fear. It’s a lack of accountability.
After the dinner you shared the one that felt painfully normal after fetching them from the airport he didn’t see you again. At first, he convinced himself it was deserved. That your absence was a punishment he had no right to question.
But when the house fell silent that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Oscar couldn’t stay away. He went to you.
Quietly, almost guiltily, he stood by your door and watched you sleep. You looked peaceful, too peaceful for someone carrying the weight he put on you and that broke something in him.
His mind raced with everything he should have said, everything he didn’t. The apologies that came too late. The truths he buried. The damage he caused by choosing silence over honesty.
You slept on, unaware, while he stood there drowning in thoughts, knowing that facing you awake would require a kind of bravery he still didn’t have.
That realization hurt more than anything else that even now, even after everything, he was still choosing the easy way out. You deserved better and he knew it wasn’t him.
For days, the memories have felt like they were mocking him. Nothing sits right anymore, not his work, not his surroundings, not even the quiet moments when he’s supposed to feel at ease. Everything irritates him, even when there’s no reason to be.
“You need to focus more, mate. Andrea doesn’t look pleased anymore,” Lando said, tapping his back lightly.
Oscar forced a smile and nodded. “Sorry… just a bit distracted.”
Lando studied him for a moment before asking, “Something’s bothering you?”
Oscar hesitated, but eventually sighed, giving in. “Yeah… just some problems back home.”
Lando stayed quiet, letting him continue.
“I didn’t fix it before coming back.”
“Must be pretty serious then,” Lando replied. “I’ve never seen you like this, not even when you got a DNF.”
Oscar let out a quiet chuckle. “This is worse than a DNF.”
Silence followed. None of the others spoke, giving him space, until Oscar finally broke it again.
“What should I do?”
Lando, now seated beside him, glanced at him briefly before looking ahead again. “Do what you think is right.”
Oscar’s breathing grew heavier, and Lando nudged his shoulder once more.
“You’ll be fine,” he added. “Just be honest with yourself.”
Maybe this was his karma for everything he had done. Oscar is now feeling what you carried for years confusion, pain, the constant pull of something unresolved. And the worst part is, he doesn’t know how to find his way back and that is the most painful thing of all.
To: MY Dearest
Hi, I know it's strange to message you like this but do you have time? I’m going back in Melbourne. If you can spare some time, let’s meet at the old café… please. It's Oscar btw and I asked your number from Hattie :) Don't get mad!
If you had told yourself ten years ago that Oscar would reach out to you, you wouldn’t have believed it. He had become someone unreachable distant in a way that felt permanent.
And now… everything feels surreal.
A message you once waited for, longed for, hoped for.
Funny how it only came when you had already stopped expecting it. The people you love the most are the ones capable of hurting you the deepest. The one you trusted with everything can wound you more than someone you’ve always disliked.
You were about to respond when you heard your taxi arrive.
Glancing out the window, you quickly grabbed your things and headed out, locking the door behind you.
After years of effort and waiting, you finally got promoted in Japan, a permanent position. You always knew it would happen, just not this soon. After everything, you chose not to tell your parents. Not even his family. The love you have for them remains but trust? That’s long gone.
Not even Hattie knows.
Maybe this is the leaving you’ve been searching for. The quiet exit after being tied for so long to someone who once meant everything.
—
Three years ago, if you had asked Oscar whether he regretted anything in his life, he would have answered without hesitation. None.
Back then, it felt easy to believe. Now, the word sits differently in his chest heavier, harder to ignore. The moment he steps into the café, his gaze instinctively searches. Not for anything specific, not yet but for something familiar. His eyes drift across the space, taking in what’s changed and what somehow hasn’t.
The layout is slightly different. The furniture newer. The walls repainted.
But the feeling, it lingers.
And for a brief, disorienting second, it feels like nothing ever shifted. Like he’s still a teenager walking in with you beside him, no weight in his chest, no distance between you. Just time to waste and laughter waiting to happen.
The golden light of sunset filters through the glass walls, stretching across the floor, warming everything it touches. Oscar settles into a quiet corner, observing without meaning to.
Couples sit close together, hands brushing across tables. An older pair shares a pot of tea in comfortable silence. A few people around his age scroll through their phones, half-present, half elsewhere.
Then his attention lands on a pair not too far from him. Two teenagers. A girl and a boy.
They sit across from each other, close enough that the space between them barely exists. The girl is focused on her food, speaking around bites, her words slightly muffled but constant. The boy doesn’t interrupt. He just watches her, a soft smile playing on his lips, like he finds everything she says worth listening to.
Oscar doesn’t mean to listen but he does.
“…and I told her that’s not even fair,” the girl mutters, shaking her head as she scoops another bite. “Like, how is that my fault?”
The boy lets out a quiet laugh. “You say that about everything.”
“Because everything isn’t my fault,” she shoots back, though there’s no real bite in it.
“Sure,” he hums, leaning back slightly. “You’re always right.”
“I am,” she says quickly, then pauses. “Most of the time.”
He smiles wider at that, shaking his head. There’s something so effortless about it. So natural.
Oscar watches a second too long, because it’s familiar. Too familiar.
The way the girl talks without filtering herself. The way the boy listens like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The quiet understanding that doesn’t need to be explained.
It hits him slowly. That used to be you and him.
The realization pulls him under before he can stop it.
He’s back in high school.
The air is warmer then, filled with the careless kind of noise that only exists when nothing has gone wrong yet. You’re sitting beside him on the low bleachers after class, shoes half-covered in dust, your bag tossed somewhere behind you like it doesn’t matter.
You’re talking about something random, something small. He doesn’t even remember what it was now. Just the way your voice filled the space between you, easy and unguarded.
Oscar is only half-listening. Not because he doesn’t care but because he’s watching you instead. The way your expression shifts with every thought. The way your hands move when you explain something. The way you exist without trying.
“Are you even listening?” you ask suddenly, narrowing your eyes at him.
He blinks, caught. “Yeah.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” Oscar argues, sitting up straighter.
“Okay then,” you challenge, crossing your arms. “What did I just say?”
Oscar pauses. “…something about your teacher?”
You stare at him for a second before letting out a laugh. “You’re terrible.”
He grins, unapologetic. “You talk too much.”
You shove his shoulder lightly. “And you don’t talk enough.”
Silence settles for a moment after that but not an uncomfortable one. Then, softer, you speak again.
“Promise you won’t leave me?”
The question comes out of nowhere. Oscar turns his head, frowning slightly. “What?”
You don’t look at him this time. Your gaze stays ahead, fixed on something distant.
“Just promise,” you say. “No matter what.”
He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t hesitate.
“I promise,” he says easily. “I would never.”
And he means it, it least, he thinks he does.
The memory fades too quickly. Oscar exhales, the present settling back around him like something heavier than before.
The memory fades too quickly. Oscar exhales, the present settling back around him like something heavier than before.
Across him, the teenagers are still laughing, still caught in their own world.
He looks away because now he understands something he didn’t back then promises are easy to make when you don’t yet know how capable you are of breaking them.
It took hours... Oscar still waited you in inside the coffee shop, the closing time is near but he didn't mind it. He was just checking his watch everytime he is able to. He just managed to order 5 cups of chocolate drinks already and he doesn't know the reason why.
He missed it? He loved it? Or is it because it give him the familiar peace he has been looking. He's not sure about anything anymore.
From: Lily (My girl)
I haven't heard a thing for you for hours. Is everything, okay? Let me know. I love you 🩷
Reading her message made Oscar smile. He loves her, he loves Lily. But now, he's aware there's something bothering on his gut he could never name.
“Have you been waiting for long?"
That voice immediately made Oscar lose his breath as he slowly turn his head to look at you. You're currently wearing your soft blue dress with a cardigan. Hair is falling easily and a small smile in your lips.
“I had something important to do, I am sorry for being late.” You said before taking the seat in front of him. “So... what is this about?”
Oscar almost cursed himself out loud when you shifted uncomfortably in your seat and he just stared at you, forgetting he was about to make his apology speech for years.
When he didn't say a thing, you were about to speak again but he did it first.
“Sorry for taking your time,” is the first word he said and the first apology you received from him.
Oscar clears his throat, “I didn't expect you to come but I am glad you did.” he stated carefully, “I hope it's not a bother,”
Looking at him, tears started to pile in your eyes. You never imagined this time will come, were you two will be seated in front of eachother alone and talking privately.
“I hope you didn't think it was my intention, I am not ruthless...” You prolonged, eyes are still on him. “I am not like you,”
You immediately saw the hurt flickers in his eyes before it disappeared. Oscar’s ears are burning in crimson. He lost the ability to think properly.
“I didn't, I just know you would never.” he sighs defeatedly, voice a little bit down like usual. “When you care, you care deeply.”
The silence envelope the table then, “I am sorry. For not reaching out, for keeping my relationship secret, for breaking your heart and trust. I... am sorry for everything,” Oscar looks down after you didn't say anything at him but he proceed.
“I was young when I did my decision but it is not an enough reason to be cruel. I was selfish and ignorant. It was all on me,”
You look forward for this. Hearing all of that but now that your receiving it, you feel very empty. Oscar’s apology took almost 10 minutes in loop. And the more he apologized, the more you feel hollow.
“I owe you more than apology but I cannot do anything to return back the time. I love you... and I will always do. The mistakes I made doesn't change all of it. I caused you trauma when I am the one supposed to be in your side all the time,”
You didn't monitor the time and you just let him talk things he wanted to say but when you saw the notification popped up on your phone, you instantly check it. Your ride to the airport already arrived and you can no longer cancel again. So, you did what you had to.
“Oscar,”
Startled by your voice, he hummed. “Yes?”
“Apology but I have to go now. My taxi arrived,” You smiled at Oscar before standing up from your seat. “I am glad you did make time to go back and do the thing you supposed to do. Oscar, I’m proud of you,”
It took 11 years to hear from you the three words, he never expected to hear again. You're proud of him... He wanted to ask you where you're going or if you'll see eachother again but he stopped himself from doing so. Instead, he just smile sadly and nod his head.
“It’s nice seeing you Osc...” you said as you stop in front of him, tapping his shoulder before walking away towards the door. “Goodbye,”
The drive on his way childhood home feels terrible. He didn't play any song in his car and he left his phone unattended in there. His only goal was to go home, wash himself, and go to bed.
So, when he arrives on his family porch when he's about to enter the door, Oscar didn't expect to see a mysterious letter place in the swing. It's written in a yellow card with a small ribbon on it.
Oscar had a choice not to picked it but he did.
Dear Oscar,
By the time you find this letter, I may no longer be here. Things didn’t turn out the way we wanted but they happened anyway. I hated you for years. Maybe I still do. For everything you did. What we had when we were younger was confusing, but to me, it was real. I held onto it longer than I should have. I’m glad you found someone who makes you feel at peace someone you turn to when everything falls apart. But that doesn’t erase what you did or what your family kept from me. I’m past being hurt. I feel empty, more so betrayed and leaving might be the only thing that makes sense now for both of us. You have everything you wanted. I lost mine along the way. Maybe one day, when everything settles, you’ll learn to forgive yourself. And maybe… I’ll find it in me to forgive you. Please don’t call. Don’t reach out, just like what you did years ago...
Oscar didn't realize he's crying until the paper in his hands were soak. He can't see clear anything anymore despite of him wiping his eyes. And first time in years, Oscar is yearning for something he could have, only if he was brave enough. But he knows deep inside him, wherever you are, he’ll always gonna be a part of you. Just like you are of him.
an: just received my first request! i will work on it the next time, i get a free time 😁
Summary: For a year, you and Oscar Piastri have been locked in a toxic rhythm: every fortnight he disappears without explanation, leaving you hollow, only to return with a smile and sweet nothings that pulls you back in.
The clock on your wall ticks louder than usual tonight. Maybe it’s because the apartment feels emptier or maybe it’s because you’ve grown too used to silence in these moments. Every fortnight, like clockwork, Oscar disappears. No texts, no calls, no trace of him anywhere. You’ve stopped asking where he goes. You’ve stopped pretending you don’t notice the pattern.
It’s been a year of this cycle, a year of him showing up at your door with that crooked smile, a year of nights spent tangled in his presence, a year of mornings where he vanishes before you can even ask him to stay. And every two weeks, he’s gone again, like the tide pulling back from the shore, leaving you stranded with nothing but memories.
You tell yourself you’re fine. You tell yourself you’re stronger now, that you’ve learned to live without him during these absences. But the truth is, you count the days. You know exactly when the silence will fall, and you brace yourself for it like someone waiting for a storm.
Tonight is one of those nights.
You sit on the couch, scrolling through your phone, pretending you’re not waiting for a message that won’t come. Friends have told you to move on, to stop letting him dictate the rhythm of your life. You’ve tried. You’ve gone out, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, smiled at people who wanted to know you. But no matter how much you try, Oscar lingers. He’s in the way you hesitate before answering someone’s text, in the way you compare every smile to his, in the way you keep your heart half‑closed because you know he’ll come back.
And when he does, you always let him in.
You remember the first time it happened, the first time he disappeared. You thought it was over. You thought he’d walked away for good. You spent nights staring at your phone, waiting, until finally you forced yourself to stop. And then, two weeks later, he was back, leaning against your doorway like nothing had happened.
“Miss me?” he’d asked and you hated how easily you said yes, like an idiot.
That was the beginning of the cycle.
Now, a year later, you know better. You know he’ll vanish, and you know he’ll return. You know you’ll try to move on and you know you’ll fail. It’s toxic, it’s exhausting, but it’s also the only thing that feels real.
You close your eyes and think about him, the way his laugh fills a room, the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world even though you know you’re not. You hate him for it. You love him for it. You hate yourself for loving him.
The silence tonight feels heavier than usual. Maybe it’s because you’ve started seeing someone new. Maybe it’s because you’re trying harder this time, trying to break free from the cycle. You went on a date last week, and for a moment, you thought you could do it. You thought you could let someone else in. But even then, even as you laughed and smiled, you felt the ghost of Oscar beside you, reminding you that you’re not ready.
“You look so pretty in my arms,” Oscar whispered in your ear as you cuddle on the couch. His forehead is leaning on your head. “I would love to be in this moment forever,”
Blushing from his words, you try to play it cool but you're clearly burning inside. “Shut up! You just said that because you got laid.”
“Woah woah woah...” He laughs, pinching your side in a playful manner. “What am I? A pervert?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
Oscar didn't respond but his laugh becomes louder, making you smile at the process.
You sigh and put your phone down after reminiscing again. You tell yourself you’ll let the night pass without waiting. But deep down, you know you’re lying because no matter how much you try to move on, you always come back to him.
—
You wake up the next morning determined to be different. Determined to break the cycle. The sunlight filters through your curtains, warm and golden, and for a moment you believe it. You believe you can step outside, breathe fresh air, and leave Oscar behind.
You make coffee, scroll through messages, and answer one from someone new, someone who doesn’t vanish every two weeks, someone who actually asks how your day is going. Their words are simple but they carry a weight you’ve forgotten: consistency. You smile, and it feels strange, like your face isn’t used to the shape of it anymore.
You tell yourself this is progress but progress is fragile.
Because even as you sip your coffee, even as you type out a cheerful reply, your mind drifts. You wonder what Oscar is doing right now. You wonder if he’s thinking of you, if he’s laughing with someone else, if he’s already planning his return. You hate that you care. You hate that you can’t stop.
You might be going crazy because you're starting to see him in your kitchen, in your couch, in the bedroom you shared where he takes you in every position possible. In the shower, where you can gaze the fading marks he left in your body. The hand print in your thighs, the kisses in your chest. The sweet nothings he whispered whenever he's taking you from behind. All of them haunting you like a ghost looking for justice.
You try harder. You start seeing someone new more often. They’re kind, attentive, the kind of person who texts good morning and waits for your reply. They make you laugh, they listen when you speak, they don’t disappear. And yet, every time they smile, you feel the shadow of Oscar behind it. Every time they reach for your hand, you remember the way Oscar’s touch burned like fire.
The café is small, tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. Warm light spills across the tables, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon. You sit across from him, the new person, the one who doesn’t vanish every two weeks. His name is Daniel, and he’s smiling at you like you’re the only person in the room.
“So,” Daniel says, stirring his coffee, “did you ever finish that book you were telling me about?”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not yet. I keep getting distracted.”
“Distracted by what?” His tone is teasing, but gentle.
You hesitate. The answer that comes to mind is Oscar, but you swallow it down. “Life, I guess. Work. Everything. I have a bad habit of relaxing,”
Daniel nods, leaning forward. “Well, when you do finish it, I want to hear your thoughts. You make everything sound more interesting.”
His words are simple but they land differently. They’re steady and consistent, the kind of affection that confomfrts you. You smile and for a moment, you let yourself believe this could be enough.
The conversation flows easily. He tells you about his day, about the project he’s working on, about the trip he wants to take someday. You listen and you laugh, and you feel the warmth of something new.
But then your phone buzzes. Just a notification, nothing important. Still, your heart leaps. For a split second, you hope it’s Oscar. For a split second, you want it to be him.
You force yourself to ignore it, sliding the phone back into your bag. Daniel notices, tilting his head. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Just… nothing important.”
He studies you for a moment, then smiles again. “Good. Because I was hoping I had your full attention.”
You laugh but inside, you’re unraveling. Because the truth is, he doesn’t have your full attention, someone else does. Even in his absence, even in his silence, he holds a part of you that no one else can touch.
Later, as you walk together down the quiet street, Daniel reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, grounding. You let him hold it, and for a moment, you feel safe. You feel like maybe this is what you need.
“You know,” Daniel says softly, “I really like spending time with you.”
You glance at him, your chest tightening. “I like spending time with you too.”
And you mean it. You do. But beneath the words, there’s a shadow.
Daniel squeezes your hand gently. “Maybe we could do this again? Dinner next time?”
You hesitated but nod. “I’d like that.”
“Then, it's a date...”
The apartment is quiet when you return. You drop your bag by the door, kick off your shoes, and sink onto the couch. The date had been good better than good. Daniel had made you laugh, had listened, had offered you something steady. For a moment, you’d believed you could move on.
You wander into the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of water and lean against the counter. The apartment feels too big, too hollow. It's night like this that always make you remember him.
Your phone buzzes as you slowly and lazily reach for it. You told Daniel earlier that he should message you when he arrives home.
“That was fast,” you murmur as you open it.
Maybe it was the message or maybe it was the person itself. You almost dropped your phone as you read the words written in your screen.
`From: Oscar (DON'T PICK UP)
You up? I missed you.
Before you could respond another notification popped.
From: Daniel
I arrived home. Can I call?
The words hit like a punch, like a tide pulling you under. You stare at them, your chest tightening, your resolve crumbling but when the incoming call appeared in your screen, you immediately answered it with shaky hands.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. You didn't speak yet and so is he that's when you decided to type slowly, fingers trembling.
You close your eyes, the weight of it pressing down. You know this isn’t healthy. You know this isn’t fair. But you also know it’s inevitable.
To: Daniel
Sorry, I can't. Too tired
On the other line, you can hear Oscar’s breathing before he finally open his mouth and whisper a soft, “Hello baby...”
an: i enjoyed writing this!!! i hope you all would feel the same 🩷 i feel sad that this is ending now but it was a great journey! see you on my next work, my loves.
Summary: Every choices made in life has its consequences, it's just up to that person how they handle them. Sometimes, fairy tales aren't for everyone.
It was hot. Intimate in a way that made the air feel too thick to breathe.
Oscar was kissing his girlfriend of three months in full view of everyone, right there against the barricade as Monaco roared around them, cameras flashing, voices swelling in celebration of his P1 win.
You didn’t even know why you were standing there.
Lando hadn’t made the podium. That had been your reason for coming down in the first place to wait, to be there in case he needed you. But he never appeared. And still, you stayed. Long enough to see this.
Your hand rested unconsciously over the curve of your stomach, seven months heavy beneath your dress. Your brows pinched together, your jaw tight.
You weren’t annoyed, you told yourself that firmly. You were disappointed for Lando because you knew how hard he had fought for it, you had seen the exhaustion in his eyes this morning, the quiet determination and deserved more.
That was all. At least, that was what you told yourself, even as your gaze lingered too long on the girl in Oscar’s arms.
“I am so proud of you, baby. I love you…”
Her voice carried easily over the noise. You didn’t know her name. You had never cared enough to ask. Her fingers curled into the collar of his race suit like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there.
Something ugly twisted low in your chest. Oscar didn’t answer her right away, instead his eyes lifted and found you.
It was Intentional.
Recognition instantly sparked, followed by something sharper. Something that settled into the corner of his mouth like he had been expecting you to be there. Oscar didn’t look away not even as he leaned down and kissed her again. He was still looking at you.
Still watching you as his hand slid into her hair, as he pulled her closer, as he kissed her slowly, deliberately. Like he was making sure you saw it.
Asshole. You want to mutter it out loud but stop yourself from doing reckless things.
Heat rushed to your face, anger and humiliation tangling together until you couldn’t separate them. You turned abruptly, walking away before the feeling could swallow you whole.
And then the truth hit you with brutal clarity. You had put yourself in that situation.
“I told you, Oscar! No one should know!”
Your voice cracked as you hurled the photos against his chest. They bent and scattered when they hit him, glossy evidence of something you could no longer pretend hadn’t happened.
The two of you, caught outside the car, his hand on your waist as your mouth against his. Oscar didn’t even look down at those. Instead, he keep his eyes on you.
“I told you,” he said, his voice steady in a way that only made your panic worse, “it doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“It is complicated!” you snapped, frustrated and annoyed at the same time.
Oscar stepped closer, his face void of emotions but tone is soft. “Then let’s stop pretending it isn’t.”
You know Oscar is stubborn but you didn't imagine, he is this stubborn. It sometimes stresses you out like today. Laughing like crazy, you respond. “Pretending?”
“Yes.” His jaw tightened when he hears you laugh, brows furrowed together. “You’re pregnant with our child.”
The words landed between you like something fragile and explosive at the same time.
“Then let’s tell them truth.”
You stared at him, your pulse pounding in your throat.
“Are you losing your mind?” you whispered, your voice trembling despite yourself. “Are you ashamed of nothing?”
His expression flickered not anger. Hurt. “Ashamed of what?”
Oscar moved again, and instinctively you stepped back, retreating until the cold tile met your spine. There was nowhere else to go. His presence filled the space in front of you, close enough that you could see the faint tremor in his breathing.
“That I was with you?” he asked quietly.
You said nothing. His eyes searched yours, desperate in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
“I’m not ashamed of you,” Oscar said. “I never was.”
Your throat tightened, you like Oscar, you're not gonna deny that but everything you two had shared started from infidelity and you clearly know what's going to happen if words get out.
“Oscar, this isn’t just about us,” you said, your voice cracking. “This is everything. Your career. Lando’s career. The team. Do you even understand what happens if this gets out?”
Only if you two met in correct circumstances, all of this can be avoided. Well, mistakes can really bite your ass off.
“I understand that you’re carrying my child,” he replied, his voice rougher now. “And I understand that I don’t want you to carry it alone.”
Silence... None of you speak, it's just your eyes dramatically meeting one another in an understanding way.
“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t do this.”
Oscar dragged a hand through his hair, frustration breaking through his composure for the first time. He turned away briefly, exhaling sharply, before looking back at you.
“Is it so wrong,” he asked quietly, “to want you both in my life?”
The question shattered something in you because you didn’t have an answer that didn’t hurt. You want him but you cannot be selfish. Your vision blurred, tears slipping free before you could stop them.
Oscar froze in front of you. The anger drained from his face instantly.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping forward again but slower this time. Careful. “Hey… don’t cry.”
He guided you gently to the couch, his hands steady on your arms. You let him, too exhausted to resist. He disappeared for a moment and came back with water, kneeling in front of you as he held it out.
“Drink,” Oscar murmured.
You took it with shaking hands. Oscar’s eyes stayed on you the entire time. Searching. Regretful. Torn.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” he said quietly after a few minutes. “I’ll do it.”
You already calm down now, breathe already even shoulder are partly relax. You didn't expect Oscar to say anything especially when you know those words clearly cost him something. You could see it in the tension in his jaw. In the way his hands curled slightly like he was holding himself back from reaching for you.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, softer now. “Even if it means… losing you.”
The words sat between you, heavy with something final.
Guilt settled deep in your chest, heavier than anything else. Because the truth was, this wasn’t just his fault. It was yours too. You had crossed the same lines, made the same choices. Stayed in the same quiet moments that had eventually led here.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.
“Go date someone,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Find anything to do. Just… make sure you create distance between us.”
You paused, the weight of your own words pressing painfully against your ribs.
“Anything, Osc…”
For a moment he didn’t respond. He just looked at you, not angry. Not even confused.
Just… wounded. The kind of hurt that came from realizing the person you wanted most was the one asking you to disappear. You should have known that conversation would change something in him.
You just hadn’t expected how quickly. Two days later, a gossip page posted a series of photos.
Oscar Piastri spotted in Monaco with mystery woman. The headline was typical — dramatic, speculative, and eager for attention. The pictures beneath it were worse.
Him at a restaurant terrace. Late evening lighting, his body leaning toward hers across the table as her hand resting lightly over his wrist like it had every right to be there.
In another shot they were leaving together, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Too close to call it casual.
An intimate date, the caption said.
You stared at the screen longer than you meant to. Your first instinct was to laugh. Of course he had listened. Of course he had done exactly what you asked.
It shouldn’t have bothered you. You were the one who told him to do it.
You were the one who insisted distance was necessary, who pushed him toward anything that would make this easier.
So why did your stomach twist like something had gone terribly wrong?
A slow sickness settled low in your body, spreading outward until it felt like it had nowhere to go.
You hated it. Hated the tightness in your chest. Hated the way your fingers hovered over the photo like touching it might make it disappear.
Most of all, you hated that you had been the one to send him there. You closed the app, dropping your phone onto the bed beside you.
But the image stayed in your head anyway. Oscar leaning toward someone else.
And for the first time since all of this began, you wondered if distance was something you could actually survive.
“Congratulations!”
The room burst into applause the moment Oscar stepped inside.
The atmosphere had already been warm, glasses clinking, quiet conversations floating between tables but the second he appeared, it shifted. Like everyone had been waiting for that exact moment to release the energy they’d been holding since the race ended.
Oscar smiled in that familiar, slightly shy way of his, the one that never quite reached arrogance even when the entire room was celebrating him. He wore his usual maroon shirt and black shorts, casual enough that it almost softened the fact that he had just won one of the most prestigious races on the calendar.
People gathered around him almost immediately.
Zak was the first to clap him on the shoulder, Andrea close behind, both already speaking to him with the kind of animated pride reserved for a driver who had just delivered something special for the team.
You stayed seated. Your fingers rested loosely around the glass of water in front of you, condensation slowly dampening your fingertips.
You didn’t feel the need to walk over and congratulate him. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him in a few minutes anyway.
The two McLaren drivers shared the same table tonight. Eventually, he’d end up right beside you whether you wanted that or not.
“Are you okay, baby?” Lando’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.
You blinked, realizing you had been staring at the water for longer than necessary. When you looked up, his eyes were already studying your face carefully.
You smiled and nodded quickly. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced. Lando leaned a little closer, lowering his voice the way he did when he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Let me know if you need something,” he murmured. “I don’t want you keeping things to yourself.”
The concern in his tone softened something inside you. You shifted closer to him, resting your head briefly against his shoulder.
“I promise, Lan,” you said, your voice lighter now. “Stop worrying. Baby and I are fine.”
Your hand instinctively brushed your stomach as you spoke.
“Besides,” you added with a small smile, “we should be celebrating.”
Lando tried not to react too quickly, but you caught the faint downturn of his mouth anyway.
“Yeah,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Celebrating despite me not being on the podium.”
There it was. The pout followed almost immediately. It was so predictable that you didn’t even think before reaching out.
Your fingers slid into his hair, combing through the soft strands the way you had done countless times before. The gesture had become instinctive, something your body did before your brain had time to consider it.
“Hey,” you said gently. “You still scored points for the team.”
Your fingers continued smoothing through his hair, slow and absent-minded.
“That’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?” you continued softly. “And P4 isn’t bad, love. Things just happened during the race.”
Lando didn’t argue but his pout deepened, exaggerated now in that childish way he knew would make you laugh and it worked. A quiet chuckle slipped out of you as you shook your head. “You’re impossible.”
You only stopped looking at him when the strange sensation of being watched prickled along your skin. It wasn’t subtle. It felt direct. Like someone had been staring long enough for you to feel it. When you lifted your head, your eyes met Oscar’s immediately. Your breath caught for a second.
Earlier he had been surrounded by people, hidden in conversation with Zak and Andrea. Now he stood alone across the room. Both of them were gone and he was looking directly at you.
Following your gaze, Lando turned his head as well. The moment he noticed Oscar, his entire expression brightened.
“OSC!”
Lando stood up instantly, all previous disappointment forgotten as he reached out to dap his teammate.
“How’s the star of the night?” he teased, clearly enjoying himself.
Oscar huffed a quiet laugh as they greeted each other, his smile polite but genuine.
“You should really stop calling me that,” he said as they both sat down. “You’re making it sound like I’m a superhero.”
Lando laughed loudly at that. You stayed quiet between them. Lando sat on your left while Oscar took the seat on your right.
The proximity made your shoulders tense slightly, though you tried to hide it by lifting your glass and taking another sip of water. The boys kept talking. Lando joking, Oscar responding with the usual dry humor that had always balanced him out.
You told yourself to stay normal. To just sit there, smile when appropriate, and let the moment pass but the mistake came when you glanced sideways.
Oscar was already looking at you, he didn’t look away when your eyes met, not even for a second. You didn’t know when or how it happened but a small nudge against your arm pulled you out of the quiet tension you had fallen into.
You turned immediately.
Lando was looking at you, his expression soft and a little apologetic, his phone still in his hand. “Baby,” he said gently, “would you be alright if I leave you here for a bit?”
Your stomach tightened before he even finished the sentence.
“My manager just texted,” he continued, glancing briefly at the screen. “They need me for a quick interview.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking down toward you, toward the way you had shifted slightly in your chair earlier.
“If you want, you can come with me,” he added. “But you said your feet have been hurting more lately.”
Your chest felt strangely tight. You nodded before your mind could fully process the moment.
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Your fingers traced the rim of your glass again, something to occupy the nervous energy buzzing in your chest. “You’ll be back right away anyway, right?”
What you wanted to say was something else entirely.
“No. Don’t leave me here.” or “Please just take me with you.”
But even thinking the words made your head spin because saying them would invite questions. Suspicion. The kind of attention you had spent months carefully avoiding. You didn’t want Lando looking at you differently. Not now. Not when everything was already fragile enough.
So you did what you had gotten very good at doing. You smiled. You played the part of the good girlfriend. “I’ll be fine,” you assured him softly.
Lando studied your face for a moment longer. “You sure?” he asked again.
When you nodded and placed your hand lightly over his, he finally relented. “Okay.”
He stood up, pushing his chair back slightly. But instead of leaving immediately, his gaze shifted past you. Your stomach dropped even before you turned. You already knew.
“Osc,” Lando called casually. The name landed heavier than it should have. “Can you keep an eye on my babies for a while?” he asked with an easy grin. “Gotta go handle something important.”
Your breath caught in your throat.p while Oscar didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he said.
His voice was calm, almost too calm but the way his eyes settled on you felt anything but.
“I would love to.”
The moment Lando disappeared into the crowd, the air at the table changed. Not drastically, not in a way anyone else across the room would notice but you felt it.
The silence between you and Oscar stretched thin, tight like a wire pulled too far. The conversation that had flowed easily moments ago with Lando sitting between you both now felt… impossible. You focused on your glass again.
Condensation had gathered along the side, a bead of water slowly sliding down to the base. You followed it with your eyes like it was the most fascinating thing in the room.
Across from you, people were still laughing. Someone clinked a glass. Zak’s voice carried somewhere in the distance. Normal, everything around you was normal except the man sitting beside you.
Oscar shifted slightly in his chair. Not enough to be obvious but enough that you felt it. The subtle movement of his arm along the back of the chair, the faint brush of fabric when he leaned back. He wasn’t doing anything and somehow that made it worse because you could feel his attention anyway.
You took another sip of water just to have something to do. Oscar on the other hand, let the silence stretch a little longer then, casually, he spoke. “How are you feeling?”
Your grip tightened slightly around the glass. You didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.” Your answer was automatic, dismissive.
Oscar hummed softly beside you. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
You exhaled slowly through your nose, trying to compose yourself. “I didn’t realize I had to convince you.”
There was a pause. You could practically feel the faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth without even looking.
“You don’t,” he said mildly. Another stretch of silence and by that, you hoped that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. “You look tired,” he added a moment later. You finally turned your head, your patience thinning.
“I’m seven months pregnant, Oscar.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.” His words landed heavier than they should have.
Your chest tightened slightly and you looked away again, immediately regretting giving him even that small reaction. Oscar rested his elbow against the table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his own glass.
“So,” he continued lightly, “how’s Lando been treating you?”
You blinked. “What kind of question is that?”
“A normal one.”
You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Since when do you ask normal questions?”
Oscar shrugged faintly. “Since I’m sitting alone with you at a dinner table while your boyfriend asked me to watch over you.” The reminder made your stomach twist.
“He didn’t ask you to interrogate me,” you muttered.
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“Feels like it.”
He let that comment slide. Instead, Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze drifting around the room like the conversation meant nothing.
“My girlfriend wanted to come tonight,” he said casually.
Your hand froze halfway to the glass. You forced yourself to keep moving, lifting the water to your lips even though suddenly you weren’t thirsty anymore. “Oh... but she's not here,” That was all you gave him.
Oscar glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Yeah,” he continued, almost thoughtfully. “She said she wanted to meet everyone properly.”
Your jaw tightened. “That sounds nice,” you said flatly.
He tilted his head slightly, almost mocking you in a way. “She’s very sweet.”
You didn’t answer.
“She gets a little shy around big groups though,” he added. “But she’s learning.”
Something sharp twisted in your chest. You set your glass down a little harder than necessary. “I didn’t realize we were doing relationship updates now.”
Oscar’s lips twitched. “We’re just talking.”
“No,” you said quietly, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re talking.”
Your eyes met his. Up close, you could see the faint amusement lingering there. The calm composure he always carried so easily and somehow that irritated you even more.
“You seem bothered,” he observed.
“I’m not.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My face has nothing to do with you.”
Oscar studied you for a moment then he smiled faintly. You clearly knows what he's doing and yet, you're falling for his trap. “You know,” he said softly, “she also told me she thinks I work too much.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “That must be very insightful of her.”
“She worries about me.”
Your fingers curled against the edge of the table. “That’s great, Oscar.” Now, shut up. You want to add it but stopped yourself.
“She said I should focus more on things that make me happy.”
You exhaled sharply, turning your head away. “Then you should listen to her.”
Oscar watched you for another quiet second then, gently, almost too gently, he asked, “Why are you angry?” Like your reaction was stupid and confusing.
“I’m not angry.” You clarify yourself, already fed up but trying to calm down.
“You’re glaring at the table like it personally offended you.”
Your patience snapped when he insisted more. “Maybe because you won’t stop talking about your girlfriend.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. The second they hung in the air, you regretted them. Oscar went very still and then, slowly — he smiled.
Oscar’s smile was slow and it made your stomach tightein away you couldn't explain.
“Oh,” he said quietly then, leaning back in his chair. “So that’s the problem.”
Your jaw set immediately. Denying it. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.” Oscar insist as you scoffed, reaching for your glass again even though it was nearly empty.
“You’re twisting it.”
Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching you with the same maddening calm he’d had since Lando walked away. “No,” he said softly. “I’m just listening.”
Your fingers tightened around the glass. “Well stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t care.” The lie hung in the air between you.
Oscar let the silence stretch for a few seconds, like he was deciding how much further he wanted to push. Then he rested his forearms against the table. “You look jealous.”
Your head snapped toward him. “I’m pregnant, Oscar,” you said sharply. “Not jealous.”
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
He didn’t argue with that. Instead, his gaze flicked briefly toward your stomach before returning to your face. “You know,” he said lightly, “she actually asked about you.”
That caught you off guard, your brows pulled together. “Why?”
Oscar shrugged faintly. “She noticed you at Monaco.”
The room suddenly felt too warm.
“And?”
“She asked if we were friends.”
Your laugh came out dry. “And what did you tell her?”
“That we used to be.”
Your chest tightened, used to be. The words settled somewhere uncomfortable and to think you two weren't friends but more of that before..
“And now?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Oscar studied you carefully, now his voice was quieter. “Now you won’t even look at me for longer than three seconds.”
Your eyes dropped to the table immediately, proving his point. A quiet breath left him.
“She thinks probably it was the championship between me and Lando,” he said. “So I did say maybe it was it.”
You swallowed. “I didn’t ask you to start parading girlfriends around.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. Confused by the sudden segway. “I’m not parading anyone.”
“That’s not what the gossip pages say.” His mouth twitched slightly.
“So you are reading them.” You rolled your eyes. “Everyone knows that Osc. They’re hard to miss when it keep popping in social media,”
“Did you look at the pictures?”
You didn’t answer. Oscar leaned forward slightly. “Did they bother you?”
You exhaled sharply. “No.”
Oscar didn’t believe you, it was obvious in the way his gaze softened just a fraction. “You told me to date someone,” he reminded you quietly.
“I didn’t mean—”
You stopped yourself from saying more, already regretting for bringing the topic in this area and your hesitation didn't missed by Oscar. He immediately noticed. “You didn’t mean what?”
“Nothing.”
“Finish the sentence.”
“I said nothing.”
Your voice was sharper now, defensive. Oscar leaned back again, dragging a hand slowly over his jaw like he was trying to keep his patience intact. “You know what’s funny?” he murmured.
“What?”
“You’re angry at me for doing exactly what you told me to do.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You just snapped at me three times.”
Your cheeks warmed as you took a deep breath. “That’s because you keep pushing. You know how I get when pressed,”
Oscar’s gaze dropped again, briefly resting on the curve of your stomach, his expression shifted slightly. Softer this time. “You’re still wearing the bracelet I gave you,” he said suddenly.
Your breath caught. Instinctively, your other hand moved to cover your wrist.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not.”
You refused to look down. Oscar watched the small movement anyway then he sighed quietly.
“You know I didn’t start dating her to hurt you.” The honesty in his tone made your chest ache.
“I didn’t say you did.”
“But that’s how you’re reacting.”
Your patience cracked again. “Because you keep bringing her up!”
Oscar’s eyes sharpened slightly. “You’re the one who got angry when I mentioned her.”
“Because you keep mentioning her like—”
“Like what?”
You faltered while Oscar waited. It's like unending push and pull threads. “Like she matters more than she does,” you finished quietly.
The moment the words left your mouth, silence fell between you again. Oscar didn't say anything but he blinked once, then again. Something in his expression shifted — something deeper than amusement this time.
“She’s my girlfriend,” he said carefully.
You forced a tight smile. “Exactly.”
Oscar studied your face for a long moment. Then, very quietly, he asked. “Then why do you look like it hurts?”
You didn’t answer him, you refused to. Instead, you reached for your glass again, even though it was empty now, lifting it just to have something to do with your hands. The silence stretched between you, thick with everything you were both refusing to say.
Oscar watched you. Patiently. Like he knew if he waited long enough, something would slip through the cracks.
“It doesn’t,” you said finally. Your voice was calm despite of every emotions you try to hide and suppress. Oscar didn’t buy it yet he didn't argue. There's no point in making you admit something, you would never dare to try.
“Right,” he murmured.
You glanced at him then, sharp. Sensing his masked disbelief. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to admit something.”
Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest. To anyone watching from across the room, it would’ve looked relaxed but you could see the tension in his jaw.
“I’m not waiting,” he said.
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay,” he admitted after a second. “Maybe a little.”
You scoffed quietly and looked away again. “You’re not getting it.”
“You were.” You insist, voice more firmer but there's no real bite on it.
Him being him, he casually jokes. “Am I getting close at least?”
Shaking your head, you shot Oscar a look. “Keep dreaming.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly and his eyes crinkled as he smiles. Bunny teeth now on display, “You used to be easier to read.”
Another pause settled between you. It wasn't awkward and it wasn't comfortable as well yet instead, it's more of peaceful. You are silently observing him when Oscar’s gaze dropped again, briefly lingering over the curve of your stomach.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Does he know?”
Your head immediately snapped toward him. You can sense his curiosity, no madness or annoyance which worries you more. “Don’t.” you stop it before it continues.
Oscar’s eyes lifted immediately to meet yours, he looks defeated now. Brows furrowed and lips puckered, “I’m asking.”
“And I’m telling you not to.”
Oscar held your gaze for a long moment then he leaned back again, exhaling quietly through his nose. “Fine.”
You both fell silent again. The tension between you hadn’t eased, it had only shifted, settling somewhere deeper. You were just about to reach for your phone when something sudden fluttered low in your stomach.
You froze.
A small, sharp movement from inside you. Another kick, then another, instinctively our hand moved instinctively to your stomach, fingers pressing lightly against the spot.
Oscar noticed immediately, his brows pulled more together. Concern written on his brown orbs. “Are you okay? What's happening?”
The baby kicked again, stronger this time. You open your mouth to answer him but you don't know how to respond. You sucked in a quiet breath, your shoulders tensing.
Oscar straightened instantly. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Meeting his eyes, you shake your head. “Nothing,” you answered briefly before looking away but your hand stayed on your stomach.
Oscar wanted to argue to know the truth since if this is a serious matter, then he could immediately help you however before he could speak, his eyes followed the movement of your hand first and realization dawned slowly across his face.
“…Was that—”
You didn’t answer. The baby shifted again beneath your palm, another small but undeniable movement and that moment, Oscar went very still.
For the first time that night, the teasing edge in his expression disappeared completely his gaze dropped to where your hand rested, something almost disbelieving settling in his features.
“…Did they just kick?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah...”
Oscar exhaled slowly, like the air had been knocked out of himmfor a second, neither of you spoke.,Then, before you could stop yourself, you noticed his hand move slightly toward the table, not touching you but clutching the table cloth like instinct had pulled it there.
Oscar looked up at you again, something softer now sitting behind his eyes.
“…Does they do that a lot?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard, this is the first you two will talk about the baby without dismissing the topic. “Sometimes.”
His gaze drifted down again, lingering over your stomach with an expression you hadn’t seen from him before and somehow, that made the tension between you feel even heavier.
You shouldn’t offer, you know that.
Every instinct in you tells you not to because if you do, if you let him cross even the smallest line again, everything you spent months trying to fix will crumble. The distance, the boundaries. The careful pretending that the two of you are no longer tangled in ways that ruin lives.
You know better. You really do.
But the baby shifts again beneath your hand, a slow rolling movement this time, and Oscar is still staring at your stomach like the world has narrowed down to that single spot. Your fingers tighten slightly against the fabric of your dress and before your mind can stop your mouth... you already spoken.
“Do you…” you say quietly as Oscar’s eyes lift to yours. You hesitate for half a second when both of your eyes meet, then you finish your sentence looking away from him. “…want to touch?”
The words hang between you. The moment they leave your lips, you regret them. Your heart immediately starts pounding harder because you know exactly what this means. You know what you’re risking just by offering.
Oscar doesn’t move. Not at first. Taken a back, his eyes search your face carefully, like he’s trying to figure out if you actually mean it or if this is some test he doesn’t understand.
“Are you sure?” he asks softly.
You nod once, though your throat feels tight. “It’s… fine.”
It’s not fine. Nothing about this is fine.
Oscar glances down again, almost cautiously, like the simple act of moving his hand might shatter something fragile between you.
Slowly, he shifts closer in his chair, his hand lifts from the table, hovering for a second in the air between you and he pauses again.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs.
Your chest tightens at how careful he sounds, he looks vulnerable yet rigid at the same time.
“I will.”
Then finally his hand rests gently against your stomach. Warm. Steady. The moment his palm makes contact, the baby moves again.
A small but distinct kick as if they immediately recognize the person touching them. It was sweet and heartbreaking for your part, seeing him like this and your baby responding to the touch they haven't feel for months.
Oscar’s breath catches, his entire hand stills against you, like he’s afraid moving even an inch might make it stop.“…Oh,” he whispers. It’s the quietest sound you’ve ever heard from him. Another tiny movement follows under his palm and Oscar lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh under his breath. “Did you feel that?” he says instinctively, looking up at you then he stops himself.
Because of course you did. It’s your body but the look on his face somewhere between awe and something far more complicated, makes your chest ache. Oscar’s thumb shifts slightly against the fabric of your dress, almost absentmindedly.
“She’s strong,” he murmurs.
You blink. “…You think it’s a girl?”
Oscar glances up at you again. A faint smile appears, softer than anything he’s shown you tonight. “I don’t know,” he admits, his hand remains there for another second. “It just slip...”
That small moment, the brief warmth of his hand against your stomach had already undone more than it should have. The distance you fought so hard to create suddenly felt fragile again, like something held together with thin thread but the guilt inside you was louder than all of that.
Because the truth had always been there, sitting between the two of you whether either of you said it out loud or not. You knew it and Oscar knew it too.
You remembered the exact moment you counted the weeks. The quiet panic when the realization settled in. Lando had been gone for a race that month, three weeks away, long enough that the dates didn’t blur no matter how much you wished they would.
There had only been one person and he was sitting right beside you now. You inhaled slowly, voice low but loud enough for him to hear it. “I’m sorry.”
Oscar’s brows pulled together slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “For what?”
You hesitated, so you look away. For everything, you thought. For letting this happen, for pretending things were simple when they were anything but instead you forced something steadier out.
“But you know,” you continued softly, your hand still resting over your stomach, “you’re always welcome to visit when the baby arrives.”
Oscar went still. Your voice remained calm, careful, like you were discussing something ordinary.
“I’m not stopping you.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond instead his eyes searched your face, slowly, carefully like he was trying to understand what you were actually offering or maybe what you were trying to hide Then he let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“Visit,” Oscar repeated, his jaw shifted slightly. “You’re talking about it like I’m a family friend.”
Your chest tightened but you remain calm. His reaction is valid, you keep telling to yourself. Let him feel it. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
You forced yourself to keep your composure. “I just meant—” Your voice faltered for a second before you pushed through it. “You’re important.”
Oscar’s expression didn’t soften, he doesn't look convinced or happy either. If anything, it grew more complicated. “Important,” he echoed quietly.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. “You’re asking me to watch someone else raise my kid and call me important,” The bluntness of it knocked the air out of your lungs. “That’s ridiculous, don't you think?”
Your eyes dropped immediately to the table, taken a back and out for words. “That’s not—”
“But it is,” Oscar cutted you off, “You told me to move on,” he continued quietly, breathing heavily now.“To date someone... To create distance.”
You swallowed.
“And now you’re telling me I can visit.” He scoff, “You think that’s going to be easy?”
If the air was heavy with tension earlier, it became more dense now. Even the music and the chattering from others makes your head spin. You couldn’t look at him, you're too afraid to do so.
“No.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t.”
Silence settled again, heavier than before. Across the room someone called Oscar’s name, but he didn’t turn, his gaze stayed on you. Then finally he leaned back slightly, rubbing a hand over his face in quiet frustration.
You wanted to cry, to let all your guards down but being in the same place with your boyfriend’s co-workers aren't doing you any help. After all, this is your fault.
“You really think I can just stand there,” Oscar softly speak, “and pretend it’s not mine?” He might saw your reddening eyes.
Your throat tightened painfully, so you whispered. “I’m trying to protect everyone,”
Oscar let out a short breath and murmur. “Yeah,” When his eyes dropped to your stomach again, the softness is still there. “…You felt them kick before, right?”
You nodded faintly and Oscar just sighs. Oscar looked down for another second before speaking again. “Next time,” he said quietly, “don’t ask me like I’m a visitor.” his gaze lifted back to yours. “If you’re going to let me be there, then let me actually be there.”
The ride back to the hotel was quiet.
Lando had one arm loosely around your shoulders as you walked through the lobby, his other hand occasionally brushing your back like he always did when he noticed you slowing down. The late evening crowd had thinned, leaving the halls calmer than the celebration you had just left behind.
You were grateful for that but your head was still too full. Inside the hotel room, Lando immediately kicked off his shoes near the door, stretching his arms over his head with a tired groan.
“God,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear the race wasn’t even the exhausting part. It’s all the talking after.”
You gave a small smile, setting your bag down on the chair by the window. He glanced at you briefly before heading toward the small fridge. “You want anything? Water? Juice?”
“Water’s fine,” you said quietly.
Lando grabbed two bottles, handing one gently toward you before flopping onto the edge of the bed.
“Thanks.”
He twisted open his own bottle, taking a long drink before exhaling. “So,” he started, leaning back on his palms, “Canada next week.”
You nodded, unscrewing the cap of your bottle. “Hmmmm...”
Lando looked over at you. “That track’s always chaotic,” he continued, slipping easily into the familiar rhythm of talking about races. “Last year was a mess with the rain. This time though if the setup works, we might actually have a good shot.”
You listened, you really tried to. You watched the way his hands moved as he spoke, the small spark of excitement in his eyes when he talked about strategy and upgrades and everything the team had been working toward.
Normally you loved hearing him like this. Tonight though your mind kept drifting, back to the table, back to the quiet weight of Oscar’s hand against your stomach, and the way his voice sounded. Your fingers tightened slightly around the water bottle.
“…and apparently they’re bringing a new wing spec,” Lando continued, completely unaware. “Andrea was talking about it earlier with the engineers. If it works, it could actually help a lot on the straights.”
You nodded again. “Yeah.”
Lando tilted his head slightly. “You okay?”
Your eyes lifted quickly. “Of course,” responding a brief word
He studied your face for a moment longer than usual then he smiled softly. “You looked a little spaced out there.”
“Just tired,” you said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.
Lando seemed satisfied with that answer especially now that he knows you're feeling more of it. “Yeah,” he chuckled, rubbing his face. “Same," he shifted on the bed, patting the spot beside him. “Come here.”
You hesitated for only a second before walking over, yhe mattress dipped as you sat beside him. Immediately, Lando wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side. His palm rested instinctively over your stomach, something he’d started doing more often these past weeks.
Lando was still talking. “…and after Canada we’ve got Austria,” he said. “That one’s always fun. Short track, lots of chaos.”
You nodded again, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. This is one of your favourite things to do with him, laying down acting like life outside doesn't exist and it's just the two of you.
Lando continued rambling easily, occasionally pausing to sip from his water or adjust his position on the bed, to him, the night was simple. A race finished, another week ahead, and his girlfriend beside him. Lando kissed the side of your head absentmindedly , the habit he picks up throughout the years when you're both together.
“You seem happier now,” you said gently. “Did the interview go well?”
Lando was still half-lying against the headboard, relaxed now that the noise of the paddock and media had faded away. The soft lamp beside the bed cast a warm glow across the room, catching the tired but easy smile on his face.
Your boyfriend nodded, letting out a light laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it wasn’t too bad actually,” he admitted. “Short, easy questions. Mostly about the race and the team. Nothing dramatic.”
You watched him as he spoke, trying to anchor yourself to the moment. “You were gone a long time,” you added, pouting slightly.
Lando’s smile softened immediately at your expression, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Sorry,” he murmured. “They kept adding extra questions at the end.” His arm slipped around your waist again, pulling you a little closer like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he tilted his head, studying your face with a playful glint in his eyes.
“Did Oscar bore you?” He chuckled under his breath. “Sorry I had to leave you with him.”
The words made something inside your chest tighten for a second, but you kept your expression steady. “Not really,” you said lightly. “We didn’t talk much.”
Lando hummed, clearly unconcerned. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Osc can be awkward if he doesn’t know what to say.”
You forced a small laugh. “He asked a few things,” you said casually, keeping your tone even. “Mostly just small talk.”
Lando nodded again, stretching his legs out across the bed. “Good,” he said. “I didn’t want you sitting here alone.”
Your eyes softened slightly at that. “I would’ve been fine.”
“I know,” he replied, glancing at you. “But still.”
He reached up and gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face.
“You looked tired earlier,” he added quietly. “Your feet still hurting?”
“A little.”
Lando frowned immediately. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“It’s not that bad,” you reassured him quickly. Lando being protective as ever, you thought as you cling to him more. He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either.
Instead, his hand slid down to rest over your stomach again, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles through the fabric of your shirt. “You should rest more,” he murmured. “Doctor literally said that.”
You nodded softly. “I know and I will... just stop worrying Lan,” then you continue, “I don't want you anxious”
Lando looked completely at ease, his focus already drifting back toward the upcoming races he’d been talking about earlier.
“You know,” he said after a second, glancing at you again, “Canada’s gonna be busy but after that we might actually get a few days off.”
You raised an eyebrow slightly. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said, a small smile returning. “We could go somewhere. Just us. Before the schedule gets crazy again.”
Your heart squeezed unexpectedly. “That sounds nice.”
Lando’s grin widened. “Right? Thought you’d like that.”
You smiled back at him because you do... you like the idea of it more than anything.
The push and pull with Oscar continued in Canada. It showed in the smallest ways. In the paddock, you stood a few steps away while he adjusted his gloves, his girlfriend beside him —fixing the collar of his suit with careful hands, brushing something invisible off his shoulder.
“You always rush this part,” she teased softly.
Oscar huffed under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she insisted, straightening the fabric again. “At least let me pretend it does.”
He let her and for a moment, he looked… easy. You shouldn’t have been watching but you were. Then his eyes flickered up briefly, catching yours. Just for a second and then he looked away. You swallowed and turned your head, pretending you hadn’t been looking in the first place.
Later, you found yourself near the hospitality area, reaching for a drink when she appeared beside you again.
“Oh — sorry,” she smiled, stepping back slightly. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“It’s okay,” you replied, forcing a small smile.
She lingered then, spoke easily. “Are you enjoying Canada so far?”
You nodded. “Yeah… it’s nice.” it was brief answer, casual but not rude.
“It is,” she agreed. “A bit colder than I expected though.”
You let out a quiet hum of agreement, your fingers tightening slightly around your cup. You were avoiding speaking to her but she seems like, she haven't realize it yet.
“Oscar loves places like this,” she mutter again when silence envelope the two of you,“quiet but still… exciting, in a way.”
She shifted next to you so you followed her gaze without meaning to. Oscar is across the room, talking to someone but not really listening. His posture was relaxed but his attention… it didn’t seem fully there.
“He’s been a bit off lately,” she continued, her voice softer now. “Have you noticed?”
Your heart dropped by it but you didn't look away at where Oscar is. “I... haven't paying attention to him, I’m sorry...”
Lie... You lied to her.
She sighed, ,aybe realizing her question seems ridiculous then looking down at her hands, she continued. “He doesn’t really say anything but… you can tell, right?”
You hated how easily she included you in this. Even if you don't respond, she doesn't think ill of you. She's just there.
“I try not to overthink it,” she went on, letting out a small, nervous laugh. “But sometimes I feel like I’m missing something.”
You swallowed hard after hearing that. You're a woman yourself, you know how that feels when Lando isolate himself.
“You’re not,” you said quickly, eyes moving away to Oscar to look at her, voice firmer than you intended.
Another lie...
“You think so?” Her eyes now are watching you with nothing but pureness, it almost makes you frown so you avoid her gaze.
You nodded again, softer this time. “He’s just… like that but you know, he'll tell things to you whenever he's ready”
She studied your face for a moment, then smiled. “I really care about him,”her voice sounds almost shy, “sometimes I just… want to make sure I’m doing things right.”
“You are,” you said quietly and you meant it.
The race only made everything worse. When Oscar crashed, everything seemed to stop. The noise, the movement it all faded into the background.
Because right beside you — she broke down in tears. Her breath hitched, hands flying to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. You are torn between comforting her or focusing on the screen in front of you.
The car is currently on fire but Oscar isn't going out yet. You gulp, trying to act harder like his accident doesn't hurt you. However, you immediately hiss when your baby kick in your abdomen.
“Oh my god…” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no…”
You stood there, frozen... Eyes are now observing her, feeling smaller with every second.
“Is he okay?” she asked no one in particular, her voice trembling. “Can someone tell me if he’s okay?”
You wanted to say something. Anything. Nut you couldn’t because that kind of fear that kind of love is real and it made you feel like a fraud standing next to it.
When he finally got out, safe, she didn’t hesitate. She rushed forward the moment she could, her hands reaching for him, checking his face, his arms, like she needed to see for herself.
“Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly. “Oscar, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he reassured her, his hands coming up to steady hers. “Hey, I’m okay...”
It was so soft... To intimate for your liking but you didn't look away, you couldn't. You're happy to see him safe.
“You scared me,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Everyone was quiet as people were observing the couple, you along with them. It makes your heart clenched and your tounge taste bitter.
“I know,” Oscar said softly before he pulled her into him, closer.
They look peaceful... In love yet for a brief second his eyes lifted. Finding you. Just for a moment, then he looked back at her. Completely. Whispering comforting things you weren't able to hear. Like that was where he was supposed to be and maybe he really do...
It was a cycle. Because when Lando won, he runs towards you and Oscar watched too.
So you did what you had to do the moment you arrived back at Monaco. What you should have done a long time ago. You talked to Lando, you at least tried to... Admitting everything before your vacation trip.
Getting his clothes from his drawer, you watched as Lando packed both of your things into his luggage.
“They have a private campsite there as well,” he said casually, folding a shirt neatly. “We can use it whenever you feel like staying up late at night.”
He smiled to himself. “I heard it’s really nice. Quiet. We can just… get away from everything for a bit.”
He continued speaking, eyes twinkling in excitement as he murmured different things, different plans. But you didn’t want to listen anymore, not because you didn’t like it but because it hurt.
“Lando…” you said softly. He kept going.
“We could bring some snacks, maybe watch something there, or just—”
“Lando… I have something to tell you.”
That was the first thing you said since earlier. Your hands were cold, almost trembling but you didn’t back out. You couldn’t... you aren't allowed to so you steadied your breathing and calm yourself.
“Lando…” you called again when he didn’t stop speaking and that’s when you realized he was pretending not to hear you.
“LANDO!”
The word came out louder than you expected. It made him stop and he turned to you, startled. When he face you, you swallowed, almost forgetting your thoughts but you did managed to continue
“You have to hear me out…” you said softly now.
This time, he didn’t interrupt, he just looked at you. There was something in his eyes a flicker of hurt but it disappeared quickly. When he didn’t respond, you continued.
“I did something… that’s going to break you.”
You stayed seated on the bed while he stood near the open luggage. “I… cheated on you.”
A pause. “With Oscar…”
Silence. The hum of the air conditioner filled the room, cold air brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
You kept watching him.
Waiting. But Lando didn’t react. Instead, he turned his back and continued packing.
“Like what I said earlier…” he said, voice steady, “there’s a lot of things we can do—”
That’s when you realized — he was brushing it off. Pretending it didn’t matter.
“You’re not going to say anything?” you asked, your voice shaking. “That’s it…?”
No response.
“You can curse me, hate me... just say something…”
Still nothing, not until a sob slipped out of you then Lando stopped. Immediately without any hesitation. Lando turned and walked toward you, closing the gap with concern.
“Baby…” he said gently. “Please don’t cry…”
You looked up at him, brows furrowed. “Haven’t you heard what I said? Lando, I—”
“Shhh...” He hushed you softly, brushing your tears away. He sat in front of you, close and attentive, eyes are gentle. “I knew baby,” he said quietly. “The whole time… I was just waiting for you to tell me.”
He smiled but it was fragile. “And hearing it now… I thought it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
A pause. “But it does.”
Your chest tightened. “When...? When did you know and why didn't you confronted me?"
Lando briefly looks away, looking at the ceiling as if the pain would make it hurt less. “Just a months ago...” he paused, “I overheard you and Oscar during Charles’ birthday party, you both were in the garden...” as if the words feels like a bullet, Lando sigh.
“A part of me hoped you wouldn’t admit it,” he added, his voice shaking. “Maybe because I didn’t want to hear it from you.”
You stayed silent.
“I’m not mad, baby…” he whispered, holding your face. “I just feel betrayed.” The word hung heavy. “But I endured it,” he continued. “And I will keep doing that… because I love you and I need you.” Tears slipped down his face, so you immediately wipe it. Holding yourself steady, “And I’m willing to stay no matter what.”
That's when another set of tears fall from your face. “I’m sorry…” you cried, holding his face, your foreheads touching. “For hurting you… for doing things I never knew I was capable of.” you paused, “I love you Lando... I will always do,”
He closed his eyes. “Then don’t leave me,” he whispered.
That night ended with both of you lying in the same bed, not whole, not okay but still holding on. Tears quieting into silence, hearts heavy, until sleep finally took over. The ring on his pocket remain untouched and cold.
Three years later...
Some mistakes are hard to correct, some cannot be undone, but maybe that's what makes people human... It was far from what you expected. It was far from the life you wanted to achieve, but this, what you have right now feels like the life you were meant to live.
After your breakup with Lando, Oscar and you didn’t get together. Instead, the two of them remained teammates in McLaren, receiving back toback wins in races and fighting for the championship every season.
It took two years before Lando was able to forgive Oscar and that’s when their bond started to return to what it once was. No one knows the reason besides the two of them, as Lando and Oscar refused to put you in any kind of harm. Not even the team learned about the cold war they had for two years.
As for you being pregnant? You never knew what happened to it. People still look for the baby and speculate about what really happened to you and Lando. However, your disappearance from Formula 1 made it impossible for them to access your private life. Lando never allowed anyone to dig into it.
Oscar, on the other hand, ended his relationship right before you and Lando broke up. He regretted his decision to put an innocent person in someone else’s place — your place.
Your relationship with Lando changed, but unlike before, it became more open. You two became good friends. He never forgot to check on you whenever he could and he never forgot to visit your daughter, treating her like his own. Lando and her got along as if they were meant to be each other’s best friends in this lifetime.
And you’re glad that despite not being with him anymore, the connection was never lost. Sometimes, when he came over, the three of you spent the whole day in the backyard doing family things.
“I never regret meeting and loving you...” Lando said as both of you watched Alba chasing the big ball he had just bought. “It will always be worth it.”
When you looked at him, he was smiling genuinely at you. Your heart swelled with his words as you squeezed his hand before letting it go. “I do too, Lan...”
Lando squeezed your hand back. You two shared life updates, laughed, and teased each other.
“Uncwew Wando!!! Wet’s pwey, pweaseee!” your daughter suddenly called, now standing close to the two of you, pouting with both hands on her hips.
Laughing at her, you and Lando shook your heads, then Lando muttered softly, “I need to go,” before running toward the little girl waiting for him. You stood there, watching your daughter squeal as Lando chased her. “Princess Alba!”
Alba — that’s the name you chose for her, which means “sunrise” or “dawn,” the one that ended your past and marked your new beginning. Alba is currently two years old, turning three in a week. A little girl who is a carbon copy of Oscar, so much so that you wouldn’t even think she was your daughter since she looks more like her father.
And Oscar... You see him almost every day whenever he doesn’t have races. He bought a house next to yours, a month before you gave birth, and the two of you went back to being friends. He didn’t push, he didn’t ask again... he just let things unfold, especially after your breakup, and you admired him more because of that.
He may not be perfect, but he is a good man and a good person.
It was ridiculous and silly, you told him the moment you realized what he did, but he insisted. He didn’t want you to raise your child alone not after everything you went through. Oscar is a present father, a good friend, and sometimes a flirty neighbor, and you cannot complain about it because, at the end of the day, the three of you chose forgiveness in your hearts, no matter how deep the mistake was.
That’s why when you heard the doorbell ring, you immediately put on your best smile as you opened the door. Standing there in a maroon shirt and black shorts, Oscar Piastri held an awkward smile, a huge gift bag in his left hand and two bouquets of flowers in his right.
“Hi...”
“Hi...”
You almost cursed yourself when you two synchronized your greetings. When you both fell quiet, you laughed again. It wasn’t awkward... it was peaceful.
Oscar looked at you, admiring you like he always did, while you tried so hard not to blush under his gaze. He looked so good, despite you seeing him almost every day during winter break.
“You don’t have to buy a lot,” you said, trying to distract yourself from his face. “Alba can barely walk properly.”
Oscar just smiled at you. “What can I say? My girls deserve the best.” He then slowly handed you the huge bouquet with a letter attached.
With flushed cheeks and shaky hands, you accepted it. “You really don’t have to... It’s not even my birthday.”
“But you’re the woman who gave birth to our daughter. I owe you... we owe her life to you. You were too brave for it, Mama... you deserve that,” Oscar said sincerely. You rolled your eyes at him, smiling widely as you clutched the bouquet of flowers in your arms.
“Just get inside,” you softly replied. “Our daughter is waiting for the two of us...”
Oscar smiled before intertwining his hand with yours, and you let him do it because, years later, you knew in your heart that it belonged to the man in 81. It always would...
an: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYONE!!! been busy these past few days that's why :)))
Summary: Valentine’s celebration with your boyfriend starts in a fight because of the jealousy he felt towards your ex, Arthur Leclerc. Thanks to him as well, you had the best night with Oscar.
Valentine’s night had begun exactly the way it always did with Oscar — effortless, warm, predictable in the best way. The restaurant glowed in soft amber light, candles flickering between polished glasses and neatly folded linen. A violinist played near the windows overlooking the harbor, the sound gentle enough to feel private despite the full dining room.
Outside, the city shimmered. Streetlights reflecting against rain-slick pavement from an earlier drizzle, the world itself dressed for romance.
Oscar had chosen this place weeks ago. He’d looked proud when the hostess led you to the table, his hand brushing yours as if to say this is ours tonight. You had smiled back, expecting the evening to unfold with the same easy rhythm it always did: laughter over shared plates, teasing glances, the quiet intimacy of two people who knew each other’s habits by heart.
But something was different.
You noticed it first in the way he held his wine glass not relaxed, not teasing, not brushing his foot against yours under the table like he usually did. Just still. His fingers tightened around the stem, his gaze unfocused, as though the glass was the only anchor keeping him in place.
“You’re quiet,” you said lightly, tilting your head, trying to coax him back. You let out a small laugh, hoping to break the tension. “Are you plotting something? Because if there’s a surprise cake involved, I’d like to emotionally prepare.”
He gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No cake.”
“That’s disappointing.” You sighed softly, trying to keep the mood playful.
He shrugged, gaze drifting past you toward the entrance. You followed his line of sight instinctively. Arthur. Arthur Leclerc.
He had just walked in, laughing at something his companion said, and for a second your chest tightened not with longing, not with regret just surprise. It had been a while. He spotted you almost immediately. He smiled and then he walked over.
Oscar’s jaw shifted slightly, the muscle tightening as though bracing for impact.
“Hey,” Arthur greeted warmly, his voice carrying the same easy charm you remembered. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Hi,” you answered, polite and composed, keeping your tone even. You forced a smile, though your stomach twisted. “Happy Valentine’s.”
“And to you both,” Arthur added, nodding toward Oscar.
Oscar stood just enough to shake his hand. “Arthur.” His voice was clipped, polite but cold.
The exchange was civil, brief and harmless. Arthur left with a friendly wave, disappearing into the crowd of tables and yet something changed.
Oscar didn’t sit fully back into his chair. He reached for his drink instead, fingers curling around the glass like it was a shield.
“You okay?” you asked quietly, leaning forward, your voice softer now.
“Fine.”
The word was too short, clipped, like a door slammed shut. You studied him, searching for cracks in his expression. “You don’t look fine.”
Oscar exhaled through his nose, sharp and impatient. His shoulders rose and fell with the breath. “Can we not do this here?”
“Do what?” you pressed, your fork pausing mid-air.
“Nothing. Just drop it.”
The shift felt sudden, confusing you more but you didn't voice it out and make things more complicated. Moments later, the food arrived. It looked beautiful, steak glistening under butter, pasta fragrant with herbs but it tasted like nothing.
Oscar is now checking his phone, thumb flicking across the screen, eyes avoiding yours.
You tried to lighten the mood once more, desperate to salvage the night. You sighed heavily before speaking, forcing a smile. “Remember our first Valentine’s? You pretended to hate all of it.”
“I didn’t pretend.”
“You bought roses.”
He let out a quiet breath, more irritation than amusement. His knife scraped against the plate. “Can we just eat?”
There it was. The wall. The one you always hated when he keep things on himself instead of talking it out.
Your fork lowered slowly, appetite gone. “What did I do?”
“Why does it have to be something you did?” His tone was sharp, defensive.
“Because you were fine before Arthur walked in.”
His eyes flicked up immediately, defensive, sharp. “I said it’s nothing.”
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You are.”
Oscar leaned back in his chair, posture rigid, arms crossing loosely. “You want to enjoy the night or interrogate me?”
You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks, embarrassment more than anger. Other couples laughed around you, clinking glasses, leaning close with their partners while you two fought silently. It makes your heart hurt.
“Forget it,” you murmured, voice small.
The rest of dinner passed in suffocating silence. The violinist’s melody felt hollow, the candlelight too bright, every laugh from another table cutting deeper. When the check came, Oscar paid without looking at you. In that moment, you start glancing at him as well.
Outside, the night air was cooler than expected. You wrapped your coat tighter, the chill biting at your skin.
“Do you still want to walk?” you asked, voice smaller now, almost fragile.
You can see Oscar in your peripheral vision, he didn't say a word but he freezes lightly. And there was the hesitation you never expected to witness. Walking home after a date night was your tradition already, no matter how much tired you both are.
“Max is hosting that Valentine’s party,” he said finally, looking at you. “We could go there.”
Disbelief tightening your chest as you meet his eyes.
“We were supposed to go home,” you reminded him, the words trembling.
“We can still—”
You cutted him off. “Do you want to?”
Oscar ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, eyes shadowed. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Then stop acting like I’ve done something wrong.”
His silence answered you as you clenched your jaw stopping yourself to say more. Oscar and you stood next to eachother but this time the gap remains in your between. A car pulled up in front minutes after, headlights washing over the pavement.
The club Max rented out was loud enough to drown thought. Red lights washed over the crowd, pulsing in time with the bass. Glittering decorations hung from the ceiling, catching flashes of strobe like shards of glass. The floor vibrated beneath your shoes, the rhythm pounding through your ribs until it felt like your heartbeat had been hijacked.
You didn’t want to be here. Oscar disappeared almost immediately pulled toward the bar by familiar faces, swallowed by laughter and noise.
You stood for a moment near the entrance, unsure where to place yourself in the chaos. The air smelled of alcohol and perfume, heavy and cloying. People brushed past you, their voices rising and falling in waves, none of them yours.
Max spotted you, weaving through the crowd with a grin. “Hey! Where’s lover boy?”
“At the bar,” you replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
He glanced over your shoulder and winced slightly. “Ah.”
Oscar was already taking a shot. Then another. You turned away before the third.
The balcony area was quieter, the music dulled to a distant thrum. The city stretched below, lights blinking like scattered stars across the dark. You folded your arms, leaning against the railing, trying to breathe past the ache in your chest.
Behind you, laughter erupted. You can hear Lando’s voice cheering Oscar’s name. You tried not to look at them but you did. Oscar looks very animated now. Talking loudly, smiling too wide, letting someone pour another drink down his throat. His movements were loose, exaggerated, the kind of performance alcohol demands. He didn’t look at you once and that hurt more than the fight.
You turned back to the view, blinking against the sting in your eyes. A minute later, footsteps approached. Someone stepped beside you.
“You hiding?”
Oscar. That sweet familiar voice.
You wanted to glance at him but you tried very hard not to do so. You sighed heavily before answering. “Just needed air.”
“You could’ve said something.” His voice sounds tired but careful.
“You seemed busy.” You answered briefly, cold and distant.
Oscar scoffed lightly, clearly offended. “Don’t start.”
His defensive time finally made you faced him. Oscar’s eyes were slightly glassy, brows furrowed and posture slack against the railing.
“I didn’t start anything tonight,” you respond, steady despite the tremor in your chest.
Oscar leaned on the railing beside you, close but not close enough. His voice dropped lower. “So that was nothing? At the restaurant?”
You frown from his words, confusion etched in your face. “What was something, Oscar? How would I know what it is when you won’t even tell me anything!”
Oscar looked away, his jaw tightening at the process. Your mind is starting to cloud with anger.
“You laughed with him,” he muttered.
You blinked, taken aback. “What?”
He remain silent making you more confused about what he is talking about. It took you a couple of seconds before muttering the most ridiculous thing you could think of.
“Are you talking about Arthur?”
“Yeah.”
You look at Oscar, disbelief visible in your face. “He said hello.”
“You seemed… comfortable.”
Your disbelief slowly shifted into understanding. The pieces clicked together, sharp and unwelcome. “Are you serious?” you asked, your voice breaking with incredulity.
Oscar didn’t answer, so you pushed him to tell the truth. ”You’re jealous.”
His jaw tightened further, the muscle twitching his tone calm. “Don’t.”
“You’re jealous,” you repeated softly, almost stunned, the word tasting strange in your mouth.
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Oscar looked frustrated now, not at you, but at himself. His shoulders sagged, his hand tightening against the railing. “I didn’t want to be.”
You stared at him, your chest heavy with a mix of anger and reluctant tenderness. You sighed, the sound escaping before you could stop it. “You could have told me.”
His eyes instantly flicked toward you, glassy and uncertain. “I didn’t want to sound insecure.”
You shook your head slowly, disbelief hardening into something sharper. “So instead, you ruined the entire night?” Your voice trembled, not from volume but from the weight of disappointment.
Oscar didn’t answer. His silence was louder than the music, louder than the laughter echoing from the bar.
You pressed your palms against the railing, grounding yourself against the ache in your chest. “Oscar, do you even realize what you did? You shut me out. You made me feel like I was the problem, when all you had to do was say you were jealous.”
He winced at the word, his jaw tightening again. “I didn’t want to be that guy.”
You let out a heavy breath, turning your face toward the city lights. “But you are that guy tonight. And instead of admitting it, you let it eat away at everything we had planned.”
The silence stretched between you, broken only by the muffled cheer of someone ordering another round inside. Oscar shifted beside you, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach for yours but couldn’t bring himself to.
Finally, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
You turned back to him, eyes narrowing. “Sorry doesn’t fix the fact that you ignored me all night. Sorry doesn’t erase the way you looked at me like I’d betrayed you just for saying hello to Arthur.”
Oscar’s lips parted, but no words came. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit, and sighed heavily. “I know. I messed up.”
You studied him, the frustration in your chest warring with the part of you that still wanted to believe him. “You did,” you said softly, your voice breaking. “And I don’t know how to come back from this tonight.”
You pushed away from the railing, your coat brushing against your arms as you straightened. “I’m going home.”
His head snapped toward you, panic flashing in his eyes. He reached out, fingers curling gently around your wrist. Not rough. Just desperate. “Wait.”
You froze for a moment, feeling the warmth of his touch, the plea in his grip. But then you pulled free, shaking your head. “No, Oscar. You had all night to talk to me. You chose silence. You chose shots. And now you want me to wait?”
He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in his throat. His shoulders slumped, defeated, as you stepped back.
The music inside surged, a wave of bass and laughter that felt cruel against the quiet between you. You turned toward the exit, each step heavy, each beat of the music pushing you further away.
—
The car ride home was a vacuum of sound, the only noise the rhythmic slap of windshield wipers against the glass. Inside the apartment, you moved like a ghost, shedding your damp coat and heading straight for the bathroom without a single glance in his direction. You needed the steam to wash off the smell of the club and the sour taste of the night.
You were stepping into the walk-in shower, the water already hissing against the tiles, when the door swung open. Oscar stood there, his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway, his eyes bloodshot and pacing with a restless, frantic energy.
"Don't," you snapped, your voice cold as ice. ”I don't want to hear it, Oscar. Go sleep on the couch.”
"I’m not going anywhere," he stepped into the small, steamed-up space, cornering you against the glass. "You’ve been silent for three hours. Talk to me. Scream at me. Just don’t do this."
"What is there to say? You acted like a child because Arthur dared to exist in the same room as us!" You shoved at his chest, your palms sliding against the wet fabric of his shirt. "You ruined our night over nothing!"
"It wasn't nothing to me!" Oscar roared back, grabbing your wrists and pinning them against the tile above your head. His chest was heaving, his face inches from yours. "I saw the way he looked at you. Like he knew the curve of your waist better than I do. I saw you smile at him and I fucking hated it. I was jealous, okay? I was out of my mind with it."
The admission hung in the steam, raw and ugly. His grip softened, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "I'm a possessive idiot. I know. But you’re mine. And seeing him near you... it felt like someone was stripping the skin off my back."
He didn't wait for your forgiveness. He dropped your wrists and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips searching, desperate.
"Forgive me," he groaned, his mouth hot against your skin as he began a trail of bruising kisses along your jawline. "Please, baby. Tell me you’re mine."
He moved lower, his tongue lashing against the sensitive cord of your neck before his mouth found your breast. You gasped, your back arching off the cold tile as he took you into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the peak until you knew a dark mark would be blooming there by morning. He was marking his territory, his hands roaming your body with a feverish, territorial hunger.
His hands immediately went to your dress, peeling everything clothing you had. "Mine," he muttered against your wet skin, his voice a dark, gravelly command. "Every inch of you."
He spun you around suddenly, pressing your chest flat against the fogged-up glass. The cold surface bit into your skin, and you reached out instinctively, your palms slapping against the glass, leaving two clear, frantic handprints in the condensation.
Oscar fastly undid the buttons of his polo and threw away his pants. He didn't give you a chance to breathe. He gathered your wet hair in his fist, winding it tightly around his knuckles and pulling your head back, so your throat was exposed to him. His other hand coming down in a sharp, stinging slap against your ass that made you cry out half in shock, half in a sudden, treacherous burst of need.
“Oscar...”
He hummed kissing your exposed back. "You like looking at other men?" Oscar hissed into your ear, his body a solid, crushing weight against your back.
He lets you go as his palm went into his hard cock. Oscar strokes it multiple times, the tip being pressed against your butt cheeks. When he feels satisfied, Oscar guided himself to your entrance, teasing the opening with a slow, agonizing friction that had you whimpering.
"Tell me who you belong to."
"You," you choked out, your fingers clawing at the glass. "Oscar, please—"
Oscar shoved into you then, a deep, punishing thrust that forced a jagged moan from your lips. He didn't let up. He kept his grip on your hair tight, controlling the rhythm as he hammered into you from behind. The sound of the water was drowned out by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin and his heavy, guttural curses.
"That's right," he growled, his hand leaving your hair to wrap around your waist, pulling you back even harder against his hips. "I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this. The only one who gets to hear you make those sounds. Tell me you’re my girl."
"I'm yours," you sobbed, your head lolling back against his shoulder as the friction turned into a blinding heat. "Only yours."
"Good," he rasped, his pace turning frantic, his fingers digging into your hips to leave matching bruises. "Because I'm never letting another man even breathe your air again."
After the continuous moments of push and pull, the release hit you like a physical blow, your body seizing against the glass, your handprints smearing as you lost your grip. Oscar followed a second later with a low, animalistic growl, pinning you firmly to the wall as he claimed you completely, the steam swallowing the last of your protests.
The water was still hammering against the floor, but the air between you had shifted from explosive to heavy, thick with the scent of soap and the raw, musky salt of what had just happened. You thought it was over, your legs shaking as you tried to find your footing on the wet tile but Oscar’s hand remained firm on your shoulder, grounding you.
"Not yet," he rasped. His voice was a low vibration, stripped of the anger from earlier but still vibrating with that dark, territorial edge.
He stepped back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, water sluicing down his muscular frame. You felt the warm, slick sensation of him leaking from your center, a messy, white trail running down your inner thigh, a visceral reminder of how thoroughly he’d just claimed you. It felt filthy, a stark contrast to the clean spray of the shower, and it only seemed to fuel the fire in his eyes.
"On your knees," he commanded. It wasn't a question.
You hesitated for only a second before the weight of his gaze pushed you down. The tile was hard and slick under your knees as you sank into the steam.
Oscar stood over you like a conqueror, his hands resting on his hips. He was already straining, thick and pulsing again, the blood rushing back to him with a vengeance. His cock was heavy, the vein along the side throbbing with every beat of his heart.
The tip was a deep, angry red, sensitized and weeping a bead of moisture that the shower spray caught and washed away.
"Look at me," he muttered, his fingers tangling in your wet hair again, not pulling this time, but guiding your face toward him. "I want to see your eyes while you take me."
The sight of him was overwhelming, the sheer size of him, the way his skin was flushed from the heat and the adrenaline. He nudged your lips with that reddened, swollen head, the heat radiating off him in waves.
"Open," he whispered, his thumb catching your bottom lip to pull it down. "Show me how much you want to make it up to me."
You reached out, your wet palms sliding up his quivering thighs to steady him. As you parted your lips, the tip brushed against your tongue — hot, firm, and tasting of the salt and the shower. He let out a low, guttural groan, his hips twitching forward instinctively as you took him in, the fullness of him stretching you, forcing you to focus on nothing but the friction and the dark, possessive hum of his voice above you.
"That's it," he growled, his hand tightening in your hair to set the pace. "Good girl. You're the only thing I see. Make sure I'm the only thing you feel."
Your throat was starting to ache, a dull throb from the sheer depth and stretch of him, but he wasn't ready to let you up. If anything, the sight of you on your knees, marked by him and slick with the evidence of his climax, only made him more ruthless.
”Osc...” you gagged, voice barely understandable.
"Don't stop," he hissed, his voice dropping into a register that was pure, unadulterated command.
He held your wet hair even tighter around his fist, his knuckles white as he used the grip to tilt your head back at an agonizing, perfect angle. He wasn't just letting you take him anymore. Oscar was taking from you. He began to thrust his hips forward, a slow, rhythmic invasion that forced you to take every inch of that reddened, pulsing length.
You let out a muffled whimper against him, the sound vibrating through his skin, but he only growled in response. "I know it hurts a little," Oscar muttered, his eyes dark and dilated as he watched your lips stretch around him. "Good. I want you to remember this feeling every time you think about looking at anyone else."
His other hand came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers splayed wide, helping you maintain the rhythm he demanded. He was guiding you, pushing you right to the edge of your limit, his thumb occasionally brushing over your jaw to force you to stay open, stay vulnerable.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice raw. When your tear-bright eyes met his, he didn't soften. He pushed deeper, the thick, throbbing head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. Ruined for me. Only for me."
The pace turned frantic. The water hammered against your back, but all you could feel was the bruising grip on your hair and the overwhelming fullness of him. Oscar was losing his composure, his breath coming in sharp, jagged hitches as he felt the friction of your mouth. He began to swear, filthy possessive things, claiming your mouth, your body, and your loyalty with every desperate movement.
Oscar hit his limit with a violent shudder. Oscar’s grip on your hair tightened one last time, pulling your head firmly against him as he spilled over, his body racking with the force of it. He held you there for a long, silent moment, the only sound the hiss of the water and his ragged, uneven breathing.
Finally, his hand loosened, his fingers gently stroking through your tangled, wet hair as he let you pull away. He looked down at you, his face a mask of spent rage and deep, aching devotion.
"Stay right there," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Don't move."
The violent storm of the last hour finally broke, leaving only the steady, rhythmic hum of the shower. Oscar’s hands, which had been so demanding moments ago, suddenly softened. He turned the temperature down slightly, the cool spray hitting your heated skin like a benediction.
Oscar washed you with a tenderness that felt like a silent apology, his fingers tracing the faint reddening marks on your jaw and the bruises blooming on your hips with a lingering, regretful touch.
He didn't say a word as he wrapped you in a plush towel, lifting you effortlessly to carry you to the bedroom. The air was cool against your damp skin, but the sheets were soft as he tucked you in, before sliding in beside you.
Now, the red lights of the club and the harsh tiles of the shower felt a lifetime away. The room was dark, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. Oscar pulled you into his chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
"I'm sorry," Oscar whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I went too far. I just... the thought of you not being mine makes me lose my mind."
You turned in his arms, your naked bodies sliding together in a way that felt natural and right. "I'm right here, Oscar," you murmured, your hand cupping his face. "I've always been right here."
The reconciliation was quiet, a slow healing of the rift. It began with soft, lingering kisses — not the desperate, biting ones from before, but slow, sweet explorations of each other's lips. When he moved inside you this time, it wasn't a conquest, it was a homecoming.
You moved to sit astride him, your knees framing his hips. The moonlight caught the curves of your body, and Oscar’s eyes were wide, watching you with an expression of pure worship. You lowered yourself slowly, feeling the incredible, warm stretch of him filling you.
"You're okay," you whispered, leaning down to brush your lips against his forehead as you began to move. "I'm yours. Only yours."
You set the pace, a slow, rolling grind that prioritized the feeling of being connected. You reached down, interlacing your fingers with his, pressing his palms flat against the mattress. Oscar arched his back, a soft moan escaping him as he looked up at you. He looked vulnerable, his usual guardedness completely gone.
"You're so beautiful," Oscar managed to choke out, his hips rising to meet yours in a gentle, rhythmic swell”
"I love the way you look at me," you whispered, your hair falling around you both like a curtain. "I love the way you hold me. No one else matters, Oscar. Just us."
Oscar’s hands left yours to find your waist, not to grip or bruise, but to steady you, his thumbs tracing circles against your skin. The intimacy was stifling in the best way. You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest, the sensation of skin-on-skin sending a wave of warmth through you.
As the pleasure built, it wasn't a sharp spike but a rising tide. You whispered more assurances into his ear, promises of tomorrow, reminders of your history until his eyes fluttered shut and his breath hitched.
You let out a long, shaky exhale as you peaked, sinking down to collapse against his chest. Oscar held you tight, his heart thudding a steady, calm rhythm against your ear. He followed you into that soft release, a long, drawn-out shudder that seemed to pull the last of the tension from his bones.
He didn't pull away. Oscar just held you in the quiet of the room, the two of you tangled in the sheets, finally at peace.
“Happy Valentine's day, baby...” Oscar softly whispered, kissing your forehead as your bodies remain connected.
FINALLY SOMEONE ASKED ME THIS BCOS TBH, I DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA YET. it’s not finalized since i am torn, you know 🥹 i initially had plans of making a poll yesterday to know your opinion about this, but i am scared of your reactions since my plans change every time i write and it also varies with my mood. what if the poll option that wins conflicts with the ending i make? it’s all gonna be pointless 😭
