summary: Lando hates when you are upset but loves how you look when you cry
-> CRY FOR ME | Lando Norris x reader
summary: Lando secures yet another win but craves something more—something a trophy cannot provide. Maybe you can, but will you?
BACKYARD BARBECUE | Lando Norris x reader
summary: Lano is your brother's favorite person for certain reasons: he joins in on his adventures and comes over with strawberry-flavored gummy bears. And not only is Lano fond of him, he also adores his big sister
RUINED AND SCARRED | Lando Norris x reader
summary: It was forbidden and excruciatingly tempting at once. You didn't belong into his world of sin - not until your skin bore the imprints of his lips
WHERE IS MY SPANISH ROMANCE? | Lando Norris x fem!reader | smau
COMING SOON | Lando Norris x fem!reader | smau
OSCAR PIASTRI | OP81
VENGEANCE | Oscar Piastri x reader
summary: You swore to avenge your father, no matter the cost. Along the way, someone began leaving clues—each marked with the same initials: OP. You don’t know who they are, only that they’re leading you closer to the one who pulled the trigger
A SECRET | Red bull!Oscar x fem!reader | smau
-> A SECRET (2)
UNEXPECTED | Oscar Piastri x fem!reader | smau
summary: you and Oscar slowly reveal your two-year relationship and the internet loses its mind over it
BON VOYAGE | Oscar Piastri x fem!reader | smau
summary: You and Oscar have convinced the internet that you two are just friends, giving subtle hints to those who are certain its straight up bullshit—but then your lie cracks and spills out into the world
DOPPELGÄNGER PRIVILEGES | smau
summary: Your response to Oscar's alleged signing with Alpine in 2022 wasn't just a snide comment — it was a prediction
-> WIFEY PRIVILEGES | smau
summary: The 2026 season was disastrous, and your engagement to the Aussie prince seemed to be the only pleasant thing that happened that year
Will the 2027 season be the same? 👀
TANGLED CONSTELLATIONS | childhood friends
summary: You were Hattie’s best friend who had been in love with her older brother since you were nine. He always treated you like a princess, which gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance of him liking you back
GRAND PRIZE | smau
summary: One Zneimer found her herself in engineering, the other had nothing but a hopeless dream of becoming a star
The question is—which one will win the grand prize?
pairing: oscar piastri x social media manager!reader
theme: fluff (extreme maybe)
warning: none!
a/n: (Had to take a quick break from writing for my series) One of my favorite TikTok creators makes these short romcom-style videos that I’m honestly way too obsessed with… so naturally, as someone who’s a total sucker for romcoms, I had to make my own version inspired by it 🫶 might make one, might make ten we'll see (This TikTok: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS9DuKSMm/)
Just Oscar and his social media manager… pretending they’re not totally in love with each other, because they’re not. They swear. Absolutely not. Not even a little bit. 🤏🏻
“So, would you rather be hit by a speeding Formula One car or a speeding monster truck?” she asked, twirling a lollipop that was barely hanging onto the stick. Oscar looked up from his race stats, giving her a look of pure disbelief. “If you want me gone, you could just say so,” he replied. He walked over to where she was sprawled across the sofa in his driver’s room, nudging her legs aside so she’d sit up and make room for him. He sat down beside her, but she didn’t let it go. “Come on, Osc. Just think about it!”
“Whichever one you’re not driving,” Oscar deadpanned. “I like my odds of surviving better that way.” She let out a bright laugh and slapped his arm. “Okay, rude!”
“You asked!” he laughed back. For a second, they just sat there, the quiet of the room settling between them until she suddenly lunged forward and snatched the iPad right out of his hands. "I wasn’t done with those!” Oscar protested. He reached out to grab it back, his hand instinctively catching her arm to steady himself as she stretched further away, holding the device out of reach.
“I have to show you the posting calendar,” she insisted, ignoring his reach. “You take way too long staring at all these numbers and graphs.”
“Those numbers and graphs are literally how I do my job!” Oscar joked, shaking his head. “Why did they even hire you if you hate data so much?” She snickered, leaning back against the cushion. “Well, Mr. Piastri, I was hired to be your social media manager, not your data analyst. As long as the McLaren feed and your Instagram look good, I’ve done what I’m paid for.”
“Whatever. I still can’t believe they hired a kid for the job,” Oscar teased. She shot him a look of feigned offense, though her eyes were sparkling. “We are literally the same age!”
“Yeah, but I have years of experience,” he retorted. “Well then, lucky me. I guess I’m just naturally talented.” She bats her lashes playfully. Oscar rolled his eyes. “You are so full of yourself. Honestly, they should have made you Lando’s instead.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want...” She started to stand up as if to walk out, but Oscar quickly grabbed her by the waist again, pulling her back down onto the couch. They both dissolved into lung-aching laughter before Oscar let out a quiet breath. “I’m kidding. You’re mine,” he said, the words hanging in the air for just a moment before he looked away.
“Okay, okay, enough playing around,” she said, clearing her throat. “You have a sponsor dinner tomorrow night. You’ll need to be photographed with the partners and some models for the upcoming campaign.” Oscar let out a loud, fake yawn. “Be serious!” she laughed, giving him a nudge. Oscar groaned, sinking into the sofa. “I am being serious! I just hate these formal things.”
“I know,” she said, her voice softening just a little. “I promise, I’ll make it quick so you can actually enjoy your night. I've coordinated with the PR team, and they said it was okay for me to take the photos myself so I could plot it into Meta immediately for posting.” Oscar looked at her, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, so that’s why they hired you. Efficient girl!”
She met his gaze with a confident grin. “You know it,” she said, tapping the iPad screen with a flourish. "Do you know what the stylist wants me to wear? I assume you're also in the loop with that stuff." He asks. "Not really, but she's become a friend, so I do know. She's already picked it out, something fancy that includes a clip-on, so you don’t hurt yourself trying to tie a Windsor knot."
"A clip-on? I’m a professional athlete, not a toddler going to a Sunday school recital," Oscar muttered, though he didn't pull away. He reached over, absentmindedly twirling the ends of her hair. "Also, if I have to pretend to laugh at another boring old man joke, I’m going to need someone to stage an emergency evacuation. You can pretend there’s a fire, or a very urgent crisis involving a trending dance for another brand that I refuse to do."
"I’m not committing arson for you, Oscar." She says, standing up, smoothing out her clothes, and brushing out her hair with her fingers.
"But you’d consider the fake crisis?" Oscar looks at her; the boyish smile he had was captivating, but she blinks the thought of it away. "Only if you promise to stop calling me a kid in front of the pit crew," she retorted. Oscar let out a soft huff of a laugh, his eyes dropping to the iPad for a second before drifting back to her.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping the playful edge for a split second. "You’re actually going to be close by, right? Not just across the room with the other camera crews?" She blinked, feeling a weird, tiny flip in her chest that she immediately blamed on too much caffeine. "Yeah. I’ll be right there. Why? Worried you’ll forget how to smile without me prompting you?"
Oscar crossed his arms, looking back at his racing stats with a sudden, intense focus. "No. I just need someone to tell me if I have spinach in my teeth. Y'know, professional reasons."
"Right, I'll bring the floss!" she says, saluting with two fingers, before heading for the door. "I'll leave you to it. Try not to miss me too much in the next ten minutes."
"In your dreams," Oscar called out, but as the door clicked shut, he wasn't looking at the charts or the graphs anymore. He was looking at the empty spot on the sofa where she’d just been sitting, a small, uncharacteristic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Outside, she leaned against the cool metal of the hallway wall and tried to breathe away the blush that was warming up her face.
The night arrived much faster than she wanted. She must have checked the mirror twenty times, obsessing over whether her dress sat right or if she looked professional enough. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter; she was there to be behind the lens, not in front of it, but the nerves wouldn't settle. The distinct honk of a car horn echoed outside, snapping her out of her head. Grabbing her clutch, the tablet, and her camera, she hurried out the door. Oscar was leaning against his car, fumbling with the cufflinks at his wrist. She noticed the silk tie slung uselessly over his shoulder and couldn't help but shake her head, a laugh bubbling up.
"I told you to say yes to the clip-ons," she called out as she reached him.
He looked up. She was so close, so he tried his hardest to push down the smile that tried to make its way on his face upon seeing how good she looked. "No way. Who’s going to take me seriously? Besides, I actually like this color."
He handed the tie to her. As she took it, she realized it was a soft shade that perfectly complemented the dress she was wearing. The realization made her heart skip a beat, thudding a little too hard, a little too loud, but she brushed the feeling aside, blaming it on anything else.
She stepped closer, wrapping the silk around his neck and tying the knot with the practiced precision she’d developed over two years of working with him. "May I remind you," she murmured, eyes focused on his collar, "that I am not your personal assistant."
"True," Oscar replied, looking down at her. "But Zak would kill me if I asked for a personal assistant, so you’ll just have to do." She laughed, giving his chest a playful swat as she finished the knot. He stepped forward, moving with that effortless athlete's grace to open the passenger door for her. He gestured for her to get in, but as she sat down, he leaned against the doorframe.
"I knew you were going to wear that dress," he said simply. She looked up at him, surprised. "How?"
"I've known you for two years, you love that dress," he shrugged. "And besides, you basically live in sweatpants. This is the only other nice thing you own, right?" She let out a loud cackle, reaching out to mock-shove him. "Evil! I have plenty of nice clothes, for your information."
"Yeah, well," Oscar said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at her, unable to look away this time. "Don't wear them. This one is my favorite."
Before she could process the weight of that comment, he shut the door. As he walked around to the driver's side, she leaned her head back against the seat, wondering exactly how she was supposed to survive the rest of the night.
They arrived at the venue, and the second the car stopped, the professional wall went right back up. She gave Oscar a quick wave and headed toward the side entrance used by the staff and media crews. Oscar watched her go, lingering for a while, before turning toward the main entrance where the flashbulbs were already popping.
Just smile and wave, Oscar. Smile and wave, he coached himself, flashing a grin at the rows of cameras as he followed a few steps behind the other drivers, and as soon as he stepped inside the lavish ballroom, his focus shifted. He wasn't looking for sponsors or team principals; he was scanning the room for her.
Like a moth to a flame, his eyes darted toward the dessert table.
There she was, happily downing what looked like her third mini-cup of tiramisu. A genuine smile tugged at his lips until he noticed Alex Albon standing right next to her. They were locked in conversation, and she was laughing with the kind of relaxed, genuine energy Oscar usually only saw when they were alone in his presence. Something bubbled in him. Maybe it was acid reflux, or maybe it was something else entirely, but he didn't wait to find out. He crossed the room in record time. Before he even realized he was doing it, his hand settled firmly on her waist, causing her to jump slightly.
"There you are, you sugar monster," Oscar teased, his voice sounding a little more possessive than he intended. She nudged him with her elbow, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Shut up," she mumbled, reaching for another cup anyway.
Alex looked between the two of them, his eyes dropping to where Oscar’s hand was still resting on her waist. A knowing, amused expression crossed Alex’s face as he stifled a chuckle. "Uh, excuse me," Alex said, gesturing vaguely toward the other side of the room. "I need to go tell Carlos how good these fruit cups are. I'll see you around?"
She waved Alex off with a smile. "See ya, Alex!" Once he was gone, she turned her attention back to Oscar. "Okay, how about we go ahead and get those photos? Then you can go back to doing... whatever it is Oscar Piastri does at parties like this." Oscar let out a long, dramatic sigh, but he didn't move his hand from her side immediately. "Fine. Let's just get it over with."
The photo session went by in a blur of flashbulbs and forced poses. She worked with a quiet, knowing precision, checking the angles on her phone and filing them into the content folder before Oscar could even complain. "All done," she said, giving him a small, professional nod. "You're free. Go be a star, do whatever it is you do. I’m going to go hide by the staff table and see if they have more of those tiramisu cups."
Oscar watched her walk away, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. He should be happy; he was done with the work part of the night, all because of her. With a little bit of hesitation, he headed over to the drivers' table, but his mind stayed behind at the small, lonely table in the corner.
They were friends, after all. It was only natural to want to sit with your friend, right?
As the night stretched on, the room grew louder and the air thicker with the scent of expensive perfume and talking about...well, he didn't know. Oscar was trapped in a conversation with a group of drivers, nodding at the right times, but his eyes were constantly drifting.
In his peripheral vision, he saw her. To anyone else, she looked fine, smiling politely at a passing waiter, but Oscar noticed the way she leaned slightly more weight on her left foot and the way her blinks were lasting just a fraction of a second longer than they should. She was exhausted. Without a second thought, Oscar excused himself mid-sentence and started weaving through the crowd toward her.
At the main table, Lando, Alex, and George watched him go, their heads tilting in perfect synchronization. "Seriously, when is he just going to admit it?" Lando asked, taking a slow sip of his wine.
"I was talking to her earlier, about the sponsorship posts. I knew my social media manager was behind on those, so I thought I'd consult," Alex added, a smirk playing on his lips. "But the second he saw us, his hand was on her waist. He’s getting bold, man." George chuckled, shaking his head.
"To be fair, they’re both just as stubborn as each other. I know she likes him just as much. She’s never without him. Even outside of work. I kid you not, we were talking about types of laundry detergent the other day, and somehow she shifted the topic to Oscar."
"Idiots," Lando muttered under his breath. "Absolute idiots." They watched as Oscar reached her side. Without a word, he just took her camera bag from her shoulder and tilted his head toward the exit. She looked up at him, a tired but grateful smile breaking through her fatigue.
As they walked out of the venue, they weren't touching. There was no hand-holding or dramatic flair, but as they moved through the glass doors and into the cool night air, they walked so close that their sleeves brushed with every step, an undeniable pull that everyone in the room could see, except for the two of them.
The drive back was just as chaotic as their usual banter, a whirlwind of jokes and laughter. Oscar had the top down on his car, letting the cool Monaco breeze swirl around them as the stars twinkled overhead. "Did you catch a whiff of that one CEO's perfume?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "I almost gagged. It smelled like cigarette butts."
Oscar burst out laughing. "Cigarette butts? That’s specific."
"Yeah! Burnt and bad for your health," she insisted.
"Seriously though," she added, fanning her face as if she could still smell it. "If we’re going to be hanging around people that fancy, we need to up our game."
Oscar glanced at her with a smirk. "What do you suggest? We already dress the part. Well, mostly."
"I think we should stick to the French for the rest of the night," she suggested, the idea lighting up her face. "Since I'm basically your tutor at this point."
Oscar laughed, shifting gears as they climbed the hill. "My tutor? I’m the one who corrected your Bonjour yesterday. You sounded like a confused tourist."
"I was tired! Brain fog is real," she shot back. "But honestly, the nightly drills are working. We’re getting the dramatic flair down. It’s much more fun than just saying goodnight in English like regular friends."
"Well, regular friends don't quiz each other on French verbs at 2:00 AM," Oscar muttered, but the look on his face said he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Exactly," she smiled. "Now, speaking of being a 'regular' friend, about that house music..." Oscar groans loudly.
"How about we use something that isn't house music for your next post?" she suggested, looking over at him. She had pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail to keep it out of her face, and Oscar secretly thought it was his favorite look on her, though he’d never admit it.
"No way," he countered. "House music is my brand! You're the social media expert; aren't you supposed to know that?"
She looked at him, genuinely impressed by his defense. "I do! But I also know when a rebrand is needed. You can't keep posting these stunning travel photos and shots of your face with music that sounds like a basement club in Ibiza."
Oscar rolled his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. "I’ll think about it."
"Fine, you’re the boss!" she snickered.
When they finally reached her front porch, the roar of the engine died down into a comfortable silence. They both got out, and Oscar jogged over to her side, leaning against the car door she had just stepped through. "Thanks for tonight," he said, his voice a bit softer.
"Just doing my job!" she replied, echoing their earlier joke. "I’m serious. I couldn’t have survived that without you," Oscar said, his gaze lingering on her.
"Then don't let me go, okay?" she teased with a playful smile. "Never in my wildest dreams," Oscar replied.
The air felt a little colder, but the space between them felt warm. Everything they weren't saying was hovering right there in the air, unravelling silently without a single word of confession. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, finally breaking the moment. "We have that shoot for Grill'd, and we need to plan your next few posts," she says, taking a few steps forward before looking back and adding, "Oh, and don't forget to do your Duolingo!"
"Whatever, see you tomorrow," he agreed, waving her off as if he didn't care about what she said, but all he could think about was her voice.
"Au revoir!" she called back, hiking up the hem of her gown so she wouldn't trip as she ran toward her door. Oscar watched her, leaning against the hood of his car with his arms crossed. Just before she disappeared inside, she turned back and shouted, "Oscar, say it!"
He laughed, standing up straight and tossing a hand into the air. "Adieu!" he shouted back with a wink. She beamed at him before slipping inside. Oscar stayed there for a moment, the silence of the night feeling a lot louder than it had a minute ago.
Totally normal. Just two friends and colleagues ending a professional work night. No big deal, right?
🫵🏻 special tags because I believe you guys would enjoy this as much as I did while writing! @inseongsbitch @cosmonauticaa @hannahbananababybanana @obxstiles @yoonkiscutie @freddiefromthefandoms @pancakes4nina
Summary- Oscar Piastri needed a break from the loud world of Formula One. He thought he was going to the small beach town for peace, but then he met her. The wild and free baker that stole every moment of his summer, moments he never wanted back.
Notes- Pure fluff for the summer break! I have a soft spot for small town romances so I love this one.
WC-5k
The brick walkway stretched wide, its warm path lined with sporadically potted flowers that looked like they belonged in a movie about love. Not because they were perfect, but because they were imperfect in a way that made the pent up stress lodged deep in Oscar Piastri’s lungs to release ever so slightly.
He wasn't running, at least that's what he told himself. What he told his family when he said he wasn't going back to Australia for the summer break. Not because he didn't love them, or miss them desperately.
The driver needed silence, space away from the wildly buzzing world of Formula One, from the violent clash of media and microphones.
The season was going well. On paper Oscar had everything he wanted, he was leading the championship with wins to his name. It was everything he wanted, everything he grew up dreaming about.
Only now he knew what the posters on the wall of his childhood bedroom never told him, that the life of an F1 driver was exhausting. Not in a normal tired way, but in a way that sucked all the life from your bones. Oscar loved his job, but it was also the thing that drained him the most.
So here he was. A charming coastal town so small it barely gained enough attention to be added to most maps. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone and where time stood still.
The gentle rush of waves carrying a salty beachside scent reached Oscar's senses as he journeyed down the small main street. Its expanse only giving way to a few restaurants, a coffee shop, and a bakery. The driver’s footsteps slowed as he neared the ladder.
The ever-present salty scent gave way to something much sweeter. Something that reminded him of home, of calm days where his mother would make his favorite cake just because.
It reminded the driver of simpler times.
In a sporadic change of course, he entered the bakery. The sweet aroma only gaining weight as he crossed the threshold, the scent greeting him like a warm hug.
The space was bright, with mix-matched tables lining the smooth walls of the small bakery and a glass case stuffed with every baked good the boy could ever dream of.
It was peaceful, quiet in a way that knew it didn't need to demand attention. It just was.
“Welcome in, what can I do for you today?” A small but chipper voice greeted from behind the counter. Its owner drew Oscar’s attention, mostly because of the fact that the girl looked like she stepped out of a small town movie. At least one that started a chaotic baker.
Her hair was disheveled, tied up out of her face but her flyaways were sticking up in every direction, rendering the updo pointless. Oscar nearly laughed as she let out a huff in an attempt to blow a stray hair away from her eyes.
Next was her apron, and thank god for that. Oscar imagined without it the baker before him would be covered head to toe in whatever hot pink icing she’d gone to war with. Then there was her smile, bright and careless as if she had never known a day of stress. A smile Oscar envied.
The chaotic girl seemed to read his stare, taking a moment to gloss over her own appearance, letting out a shy laugh.
“Sorry for-uh-this.” She laughed, gesturing to herself in all her hot pink icing glory. “This is what a seven year olds birthday cake gone wrong looks like.”
“Does that happen often?” Oscar was surprised by his own question, usually he wouldn't bother with small talk. So what was different about this interaction?
“Uh-yeah” She nodded mindlessly. “It’s okay you’re new around here.”
“How do you know I’m new?” Oscar asked.
“It’s pretty obvious, plus I know everyone here but I don't know you.” She said simply and Oscar realized it was true.
The messy girl had no clue who he was. She didn't care about his lap times, or media presence, or if he said the wrong thing and pissed off his teammates' fans. She just saw him, saw another human. An idea that was refreshing like a cool salty wave washing over his body.
Noting his momentary silence the girl jumped to fill it once more. “I can pick out some of my favorites for you, if you’d like.”
“Yeah. That would be great.” Oscar sighed into the sweet air, watching as she moved to gather a large pasty, one he recognized. A cinnamon roll.
Less than a moment later the bell above the bakery rang once more. Only this time it signaled the driver’s exit. Sending him back onto the small main street, only this time with a box of baked goods and a parting smile for the messy girl who lit up his day.
___
She awoke before the sun rose on the pure blue ocean.
The life of a baker was a life of early mornings, but she grew to treasure sunrises. The morning rush had come and gone, bringing all her local favorites through the door for their daily treats. Afternoons were usually slower, so she opted to spend them in the back kitchen prepping the next day's batches.
The all too familiar ring of the front bell dragged the baker away from her heavy task of rolling cinnamon rolls.
“How can I help you?” The words rolled from her mouth on instinct before she even looked up to see who her customer was. Upon doing so she paused. It wasn't uncommon for the occasional tourist to pop though especially in the summer months. They usually stopped by her shop once for a treat and were on their way.
She assumed the brunette she helped yesterday fell into that category, but as she looked at his messy hair and lazy smile standing at her counter. The girl realized she was wrong.
“Your back?” Her words came out as a question.
“Am I not supposed to be?” The boy asked with an amused smile.
“No-uh-your welcome any time-just usually tourists don't stick around.”
“Ah-” the brunette stepped forward, closer to her. “I’m in town for a little while, it's-uh, more of an escape than a vacation.”
His words and their vague description piqued her interest. After all she did love a man of mystery. “Ahh how mysterious of you. Are you running from the cops? Because if you are, I'm afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, I can't serve criminals.”
The boy laughed, the action causing his head to tilt downwards. Sharp jawline on full display.
“I have a clean record, I promise, no crimes here. Just needed a break, I’m staying in a small house on the beach. But I could use a cinnamon roll, if you decide you can serve me.” His last words were laced with a playful taunt. One that sparked butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Their flutters increasing with every moment spent in his presence.
“I guess that can be arranged, if you promise you’re not a criminal.” She joked back.
“Promise.”
“Here you go-” She paused hoping he would pick up on her cue. That he would fill the small silence with his name.
“Oscar” he complied.
“Here you go Oscar, best cinnamon roll in town.”
“Thanks, hey would you happen to know where someone can get a good dinner around here. Most of the restaurants close early and I was just wondering-”
“There’s one,” she remarked, sliding the box across the counter. “By the dock, about ten minutes from here, great seafood.” She added, before taking a breath. Attempting to prepare, honestly she didn't know why she was bothering. Asking out tourists and visitors never ended well. Yet that didn't stop the words from falling from her lips.
“I could take you if you like?” She asked. God that was stupid. Could you be any less casual? She kicked herself, watching Oscar’s slightly shocked face as he shifted on his feet.
He was about to reject her, she was sure of it.
Just when she was about to backtrack, his words beat her to it. “Sure, I’d like that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been on my own for the past few days. Company would be nice.”
___
It was silly to obsess over an offhand dinner with the kind smiling girl from the small town bakery. But that didn't explain why Oscar’s palms sweat as he anticipated her arrival at the charming dockside restaurant. Or why he spent twenty minutes picking out his outfit when he only brought two button up shirts.
Perhaps there was no explanation, perhaps it was just her.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I had a few late cake deliveries.” She bounced up to him like a pleasant surprise on a warm summer's night. She smelled like vanilla, not in an artificial perfume way but in a warm, soothing scent that smelled like home. Like getting lost in comfort and never wanting to return.
“Did this one end in a hot pink icing explosion?” Oscar asked playfully as he opened the door for the girl.
“Not this time.”
He smiled fondly at the girl’s response.
As they enjoyed dinner Oscar realized that he didn't need to escape. He just needed to be with someone who saw him. Someone who didn't know about the car, the team, the media. Someone who just saw Oscar, and asked no further questions.
The dinner stretched on, they relocated to the small bar in town. A stuffy place that was decorated with bright bottles and lively jazz music. But Oscar didn't care about the setting, he only cared about his company. About the way she told stories and laughed with her whole chest at his stupid jokes. He admired the glow in her eyes as she talked about next week's extensive menu at the bakery.
Everything else fell away. For the first time in months, the driver didn't feel like one. He just felt like a human, like Oscar. Like a man who didn't need an explanation, because that's all he was.
___
It came like clockwork, just a minute after the clock struck noon. She expected it this time, had been hopeful that after a night of dinner and laughs, that he would visit her again.
Was it smart to have a crush on someone you just met? To place so much value on a fleeting human who would pack up and leave by summer's end?
No, no it wasn't. But thats the thing about romance, you don't get to choose when it sweeps you off your feet.
So she waited, hoping he would come. Had even pre-boxed a fresh warm cinnamon roll just for him.
An effort that paid off, because as the clock ticked, the door rang and there he was. Slightly more tanned than the day they met, but a lot less heavy. Like whatever he needed a break from wasn't even a thought in his mind anymore.
“Ah- you're expecting me now.” He teased upon seeing her perched by the counter, patiently awaiting his arrival.
“What can I say, I have great service. Here.” She presented him with the warm delight, boxed and ready to go.
“Thank you, are you busy? Would you want to sit.” He nervously gestured to one of the tables by the window, a smooth white set she bought at a thrift store.
The baker tried her best to seal the excitement bubbling deep within her bones, to not squeal like an excited puppy.
The bakery could wait, just for a moment. She had bigger priorities, the first being the handsome brunette that had quickly become her daylight, the bright of her days.
She settled for a smile, bouncing on her toes. “I’d love to.” She practically leaped across the counter. Barley noticing the boy grabbing two forks off the counter instead of one. She didn't register the gesture or what it truly meant until he popped the sweet box open on the table, positioning it perfectly in between them. Offering the second utensil to her like he was presenting a trophy.
“For you, unless you're sick of your own cinnamon rolls.” He winked.
“Oh, I could never get sick of these.” She giggled like an excited teenager. “But I don't want to encroach, it's yours.”
“Nonsense” he brushed off. “I want to share it with you.” His eyes rose to meet hers across the table. Warm sunlight shining through the glass window, hitting his dark brown eyes flawlessly. She could see soft glints of gold in his eyes. A warmth she'd give anything to drown in.
Accepting his offering with an unsteady hand, she tucked into their shared desert. “So, why are you really here? Most people don’t stick around here, at least not by themselves.”
Oscar leaned back, chair creaking a soft whisper as his weight shifted.
“I needed a break from everything. My world and its expectations. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, the job I worked so hard for but it's all just-” his words died out, as if he ran out of syllables to express his tired thoughts.
“Too much?” She finished for him, offering him a life raft in a deep churning sea, a soft tether to lead him home, somewhere safe.
“Yeah, exactly.” He breathed.
“It's okay, to get overwhelmed, feeling burnt out isn't something to be ashamed of.” In a brave move she reached forward, hand coming to encase his overtop the table. His skin was warm in an unexpected way. Different from the heat of the oven, or the feeling of the sun kissing her skin.
Oscar’s skin felt like he absorbed the heat of a thousand stars. Soaking up every molecule of their essence, just so he could give her warmth in the tiniest of touches.
He didn't shy away from her touch. Didn't flinch, he just raised his thumb above her hand. The pad of his finger running a gentle journey across the expanse of her hand in a mindless gesture.
“Thank you.” His words came out strong and sincere, yet soft around the edges. As if the cozy bakery protected them from the sharp sides of life. In the safety of the four walls it was just them, a cooling cinnamon roll and a shared understanding of being human.
___
Oscar sighed as the blue sky bled into pink and purple. An array of sunset colors painted before him like it belonged in a museum and not beachside on a random summer weekday.
His days in the small town were simple. They revolved around warm cups of coffee on the deck of his rental, morning beach walks, bakery visits that he told himself were for the cinnamon rolls but deep down knew they were for the girl who made them.
His evenings ended simply watching the sun set on the beach. A calm routine he'd come to cherish, the change in pace he so desperately craved.
“First my bakery, now my favorite sunset spot. I’m beginning to think you're stalking me.” A familiar light voice rang behind him before a warm body joined him on the sand. Not just any body, hers. Still smelling of honey and cinnamon like she’d walked out of the bakery and straight to the beach.
“Well, it looks like this town isn't big enough for the both of us.” Oscar laughed, turning his gaze to the even prettier sight that had joined him.
“One of us has to go.” She laughed, the sound a beautiful symphony lighting up the darkest parts of him. The evening wind blew wild hairs across her forehead, not in a way that looked messy. Just free, beautiful.
“You really want to get rid of me that fast.”
“Nah, I’ll keep you around.” She replied.
A soft silence settled between them. One that didn't demand to be filled, it just was.
Oscar allowed his mind to drift into the exploding sunset. His mind always pulled back to the wild baker beside him. He selfishly wanted her in his life, beyond just the summer. Oscar wanted more than just evenings and mid day bakery visits.
The driver longed for more moments where he didn't have to pretend, didn't have to be Oscar Piastri the Formula One driver and could just be Oscar. But he knew that wasn't possible, reality would catch up to him, he would have to leave at the end of the month, have to leave her.
Not to mention she didn't even know who he was and what the true weight of being someone to him meant.
He wouldn't drag her into his life, he didn't want to do that to her. Not when he knew he’d be bringing her into a life of criticism and chaos. Maybe it was selfish, it was definitely wrong, but he decided not to tell her. So he could have her just for the summer, just for these few weeks.
Then he would have to let her go.
___
What started as bakery visits evolved into dinners, sunset walks, and small town adventures over the past week. She didn't know why or how things changed so quickly. How a stranger became her closest confidant, but with Oscar things were simple. She could be in an empty sterile room and as long as she had the boy beside her she would never get bored.
Her afternoons were marked by his carefree smile and the small ding of the bakery bell. She’d begun to plan ahead, doing her prep work earlier so that she would have time to sit with him. A shared cinnamon roll at their favorite table became clockwork, a daily event that occurred without second thought.
The baker banished all thoughts of when he would leave, when they would be forced to part ways and he never told her when that day would come. It was a mutual understand, they belonged to the summer.
She fought the deep selfish desire to want more of him.
All those moments, all those shared conversations that were so easy she could turn her brain off around him, came to now. Nervously the baker shifted on her feet as she stood on the doorstep of the beachside condo. Oscar’s humble home for his time in the small town
It's just dinner, you’ve done that before. She told herself, shifting the wine bottle she brought from hand to hand.
But this was the equivalent of going over to a guy's house for dinner, that meant something right? It was an offhand invitation but she read it for what it was, another excuse for them to be in each other's presence. One she wouldn't complain about.
So there she was, smiling brightly as he opened the door. Greeting the boy with a warm hug as if they hadn't seen each other just hours earlier at the bakery.
“You cook?” She asked, taking in the spiced aroma of the coastal decorated kitchen.
“If pasta and store bought sauce counts as cooking, then yes.” Oscar laughed, reaching to pour them each a glass of wine with military precision.
The dinner went by softly as her nerves fell away, their sentiment unneeded. With him things just happened. He talked about his family, growing up in Australia, and his unlabeled job that took him across the world. The same job that burnt him out so bad he ended up here, with her.
“Is it weird that I wouldn't change how anything happened? With my job, with getting burnt out, tired, overwhelmed?” The question came long after she entered the beach rental. The soul intertwined pair now settled on the back deck, lounged in two cozy chairs. With nothing but darkness, crashing waves and each other for company.
“Why not?” She whispered from where she was curled up in her chair. Dressed in a warm hoodie Oscar loaned her to defend against the evening breeze. It smelled like him. Carried his scent of chocolate and something deeper. Something that smelled safe, like home.
He paused, face turning to meet hers. An action she could barely see through the blanket of darkness that covered them like a protective bubble.
“Because it led me here.” He said the words simply, like they didn't need anything to back them up, no preamble, no supportive arguments. “If none of that happened, I would have never met you.”
She had grown comfortable in the darkness with him, but in that moment she wished she had a flashlight. That she was able to light up all the contours of his face, so she could see him and every mole that graced his smooth skin.
“I’m glad I met you.” She said, sharp edges gone from her voice. With him she didn't need them.
Then it happened. Slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. As if the universe would protect them from any force that attempted to tear them apart.
Oscar reached over, arms leaning over his chair to reach hers. Hands clasped her sweatshirt covered hips and lifted. Not fast, not harsh. Just slow, gentle, as if he was transporting the most precious of goods.
She landed gently in his lap a moment later. Upon her soft landing she was greeted with him. Not just his warm hands steady on her back, or his light breath blowing against her neck. But his full essence, she was basking in his glow. Caught in a beam of light she never wanted to escape.
One of his hands moved. A slow journey starting at the small of her back and ending at her jaw. The pad of his thumb brushed her blush ridden cheek upon arrival. “Is this okay?” He whispered.
She nodded so fast the action nearly gave her whiplash. It was more than okay, it was perfect.
One moment they were there, gazing into each other's eyes, the next his lips were on hers. She closed her eyes, not wanting to know when the moment would end, when she would have to pull her lips away from the softness that covered her senses like silk.
The kiss wasn't rushed or marked by fast hands and tangled hair. It was intimate in all the ways words couldn't describe. It felt like fate, like every moment in her life led to this. To this summer with him, this kiss.
They separated slowly, bodies still intertwined. Her forehead dropped to rest in the crook of his neck.
“When do you go?” She mumbled, but her heart wanted to ask him to stay, to never leave her.
His breath shuttered underneath her. “Next week.” The words were slow as if he didn't want to believe them. She wished they weren't true but they were, because the truth was they always had an expiration date.
So she’d have to take the next best thing. Take him while she had him
“You’re mine till then?” Her voice was hushed in the charged darkness as she glanced up at the boy who had carved his name into her summer days.
“I think I’ll always be yours no matter what.”
___
The sign on the bakery door read closed, a twin to the other establishments that lined the small town street, but the lights were on inside and the scene was lively.
It was supposed to be a simple activity, something Oscar wouldn't be able to mess up, at least not with her there to supervise.
Oh how wrong he was.
Their task had been cinnamon rolls, in honor of their favorite shared treat. However somewhere between singing along to the blasting music, stolen kisses between rolling the delicious dough, and a cinnamon explosion, chaos had ensued. And Oscar wouldn't change it for the world.
He couldn't help but watch her glowing in her element. The driver memorized every line of her face. From the way her nose crinkled in concentration when she measured flour to the way her whole body shook with laughter as he attempted to roll one of the treats only to fail miserably.
He’d come to the town because he thought he needed a break, an escape. He was running from the pressure closing in on him, walls so tight they nearly crushed him.
Then he met her and she breathed light into doubt, loosened the pressure. She saved him. Oscar thought he was led to the small town to get away, but watching her dance under the bright kitchen lights, hair flowing in every direction, he saw the truth.
He’d been sent to find her.
___
Dawn flooded the soft bedroom. Shining its first light onto the rumpled bed and the two bodies interwoven beneath the cool sheets.
Her eyes blinked as the sun rose, small rays of light peeking through the curtains, saying hello to a new day. She groaned, turning her head further into the warm chest beneath, as if she could hide in his safety and never come up. The arm around her waist tightened, a small movement that felt almost instinctive. Just the boy adapting to her movement, the two mindlessly in sync.
Their final week passed freely, like wind rippling waves on the salty shore.
Their mornings were spent intertwined as if they were one body. She would go off to the bakery, counting down the minutes till Oscar would pop in, till that bell would ding and his smiling face would be hers once more.
The evenings were where they thrived. Summer nights spent with just the two of them. An endeavor marked by sunsets, evening walks, conversations that blurred the lines between deep and meaningless, dinners where she would laugh at his lack of cooking skills but kiss him senseless anyways.
Time passed with an understanding that he would leave and their lives would resume, separately. She blinked once more, eyes drifting to the suitcase on the floor, open and filled. All his belongings no longer spread out between the floor and closet. They were now tightly packed because today was the day, the one marred by a doomed X.
The end. The end of summer, the end of them.
He would leave, go back to his life before her, and she would let him.
___
The birds were quiet, a stark contrast to their usual joyful chirps. It was as if they too were in mourning and knew what was breaking right below them.
Oscar's bags were all neatly packed in the back of the sleek car that would take him to the airport, back to his life and all the chaos that went with it. And there standing in the middle of it all was her. An unexpected surprise, his bright plot twist.
It took every once of power, every bone in his body to not give in. To not take his bags out of the car and stay with her forever, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't give up on the team, on his dream.
So instead he kissed her one last time. Through tears and longing the boy told her everything he couldn't say with words.
They parted slowly, knowing their time had run out. The last grains of sand in their hourglass had dropped, leaving them with none to spare.
“I’ll never forget this. I’ll never forget you.” She whispered like a prayer as their foreheads met in the middle.
“I could never forget you. I never want to.” Came his reply and he meant every word, including the ones he said next. “I’ll come back, when things are easier. I’ll come back, you don't have to be here you don’t have to wait-”
“I will.” She cut him off. “For you I will.”
The door car door shut, a simple action that felt like closing a coffin.
One parting glance was all he allowed himself as the driver started the car and the boy rolled further from her, from the place that had become home.
The baker became a small dot as the car spread away, but she stayed there in that same spot. Till the car turned the bend and there was nothing left of her.
___
Summer shifted into fall, a change of seasons both physically and mentally. Life went on after the boy her summer belonged to left. Leaving no trace of contact behind, taking a piece of her heart with him.
Life went on, the ocean still sparkled clear as glass, the flowers lining main street still grew with bright colors, but things changed.
The bakery menu shifted into her fall selection with new flavors and spices. But she always kept the cinnamon rolls. She told herself it was because they were her favorite but she knew it was less about her favorites and more about his.
Her afternoons were slow. An adjustment that never settled without her favorite visitor. But over time the baker had fallen back into her routine of using the afternoons to prepare for the chaos of the next morning.
Her flour covered hands kneaded dough, a messy task she was knee deep in when the bell rang. Its sharp ding bouncing into the back of the bakery. She rushed to clean her hands in an attempt that ended up knocking an impossible amount of flour onto her apron, leaving her more of a mess than before.
Giving up on appearances she rushed to the front, only to screech to an abrupt stop.
The seasons had changed, it wasn't summer anymore, but she swore she was catapulted back in time. To that faithful day, the day she met him.
Only this time a copious amount of flour replaced the pink frosting that decorated her apron that day. Despite the differences, the figure standing in her bakery was the same. The same boy, the same Oscar. Her Oscar.
His hair was as brown and floppy as ever, she longed to leap over the counter and run her fingers through his locks for a blissful eternity. His eyes were soft, like being in this place soothed something deep in him.
The boy shifted on his feet, blinking once, twice. Then he smiled, the same as that first day, the day everything changed.
“You got a cinnamon roll in there for me?” He gestured to the case with a laugh. As if nothing changed, as if they were picking up right where they left off, because he returned to her. Just like he said he would.
wc/summary: lewis hamilton’s niece has started attending more races but she seems to have abandoned her dear uncle for her boyfriend
contains: fluff, ollie bearman x girlfriend!reader, ollie bearman x black!reader
💌: hope this is a cheer up from the way his race ended this morning 🥲
masterlist
✩ ✩ ✩
liked by olliebearman, lewishamilton, ferrari, and 589k others
ynhamilton china i am in you (note to self do not buy every single piece of food you see, you will get food poisoning)
tagged olliebearman
yourmom olliebearman stop buying her stuff
olliebearman im sorry!
ynhamilton don’t listen to her
yourmom drink water honey!!
ynhamilton i am!
gabibortoleto she is actively drinking a cherry redbull as we speak
ynhamilton STOP LYING ON MY NAME
isackhadjar très dramatique pour toi
ynhamilton not you talking 🥸
ferrari that lens is looking sharp! 🐎
olliebearman i told you to stop after the third restaurant
ynhamilton i think im dying
olliebearman you’re responding to instagram comments and dying?
ynhamilton pls help me
olliebearman omw!
user88 why is #he so down bad for yn
user77 mind you he’s been like this for years
user44 body is teaaa
user81 the track photos stop you’re amazing
alexandrasaintmleux ❤️❤️
lewishamilton i knew i should’ve kept an eye on you, beautiful pictures as always ❤️
ynhamilton grown woman btw
kimiantonelli grown woman that got food poisoning within four hours of getting off the plane
ynhamilton i see your futures and it involves block button 😍
liked by user3, ynhamiltonfanpage, fan87, and 497k others
f1insider ynhamilton attended the saudi arabian grand prix and was spotted in the haas garage 🫣
user88 😭😭
user2 i love that she’s in the paddock again
user4 why is she in HAAS WHATS AT HAAS
user255 is she a new wag?
user3 no
user65 not new at allll
user55 ok but she was hilarious for this
user788 girl can run quick damn
user34 yn and her side quests 😭
user7 not her visiting ollie then somehow being at the ferrari fan forum only 5 mins later
user11 her fits this weekend were so so good
liked by olliebearman, yourmom, ferrari, and 782k others
ynhamilton sightseeing with my fav in miami ;)
olliebearman wrong red garage tbh
lewishamilton 🤨
ynhamilton you’re in public calm down
lewishamilton why doesn’t he calm down as well ?
olliebearman i didn’t do anything
lewishamilton YET
ynhamilton i hate you both
user26 imagine it’s referencing the wink he did at her on the broadcast
user89 omggg
olliebearman i am free tmr btw
estebanocon no you are not you have media day
olliebearman whats a media day
olliebearman you look good in red and black btw 😁😁
ynhamilton thank you 💗💗
alexalbon you never visit williams anymore
ynhamilton yall don’t have good donuts anymore
ferrari the prancing horse loves having you back!
user33 the ollie and lewis interaction is giving bf and dad
user29 so im not the only one who sees it
user200 ollieyn my personal best friends
user82 she remembered her ferrari roots iktr
haasf1 can’t wait to see you back in our garage tomorrow!
ferrari she’ll be over here actually 😁
user98 oh????
user21 not haas and ferrari arguing over yn hello
user289 can’t believe you’re not lewis’ personal photographer anymore
ynhamilton he only pays in family dinners i fear
alexandrasaintmleux so glad to see you this weekend!
ynhamilton love youuu
ynhamilton has added to their story
story replies
1:
lewishamilton you cannot be posting this kind of thing on your main account
ynhamilton imagine being upset your niece is defending you
lewishamilton how is this defending me? do you not have a finsta?
ynhamilton i do nawt like that you know what that is
ynhamilton go bother that lady
2:
olliebearman do you have to spend every day off with a bunch of furballs?
ynhamilton ima bring one home one day and you better not call it a ‘furball’
olliebearman this is because your aunt got a dog huh?
ynhamilton that and without roscoe, the family feels so emptyyy
ynhamilton baby you would love a dog i know it
olliebearman you’re ridiculous 😭
ynhamilton score a win this season and i’ll even let you name her 😋
liked by ynhamilton, hassf1, kimiantonelli, and 729k others
olliebearman not the result we wanted but at least ynhamilton was there ;)
📸 ynhamilton
user92 you did so good!
user177 yn hamilton spotted in an ollie post let’s all act surprised
user27 no points :((
ynhamilton home race!! so proud ❤️
ynhamilton thank you for the photo creds
user288 you took the iconic pic of the spin??!
ynhamilton yess
olliebearman it’s iconic already??
user92 ollie 😭😭
haasf1 incredible performance this weekend!
user299 the pics they took of eachother perfectly capture their personalities
isackhadjar still good!
user28 are we not gonna talk about yn in the last slide??
user29 i spy a new car for them both
user28 i wonder which one of them owns it
user17 i heard he bought it for her
user04 bestie goals omg
user81 besties don’t buy eachother CARS lmao
charlesleclerc next year will be better ollie!
liked by totallynotaka, ollieynfans, user12, and 439k others
f1insider spotted! ollie bearman and yn hamilton were seen at a club in london very close this past sunday!
user73 don’t let lewis see this 🫣
user12 they been together awhile idk how yall didn’t pick up on it
user87 they’re not slick
user33 AT ALL
user377 they literally kissed last season before he drove for carlos why are we acting shocked
user78 no literally
user25 netflix is gonna eat this tf up
totallynotaka lmfaoooo
notyn what’s funny about this
totallynotaka welllll
user833 the besties since karting act has really gone out the window WOW
user44 wait don’t they enter the paddock together every weekend she’s not w lewis?
user3 i noticed that and was gagged
user675 is he always that touchy holyyy
user02 him holding her bag aweee
user93 her hair is perfect
user844 ugh another wag? boring
user20 nothing about the yn hamilton is just ‘wag’
user88 that kiss is so hot im sorry
liked by ynhamilton, gabibortoleto, f1, and 670k others
olliebearman always pushing 👊🏼
user33 thank you to the pr rep who approved this post
user25 sweet jesus
kimiantonelli same way you pushed my fries onto your plate last night?
olliebearman are you shaming me for having an appetite
kimiantonelli I PAID FOR THOSE FRIES
ynhamilton what happened to hello how are you my name is
olliebearman hello :)
ynhamilton youre not funny
user222 ynhamilton girl are you good
ynhamilton yes ofc why wouldn’t i be 😁😁😁
haasf1 always proud! ❤️🐻
user872 padel posts are back #finally
gabibortoleto hmmm wonder who this thirst trap is for
olliebearman 🥸
user92 congrats on p4 last weekend!!
notyn no actually what the hell
notyn why the fucm
user55 question is, is yn okay wherever she is
user83 answer is, i wouldn’t be
liked by olliebearman, lewishamilton, ferrari, and 899k others
ynhamilton we have a dog now, her name is winnie ✨
tagged olliebearman
olliebearman i thought we agreed on her name being bear?
ynhamilton be thankful i let you pick out her accessories
charlesleclerc bringing leo over asap
ynhamilton YESSS MY NEPHEW
user22 moved in together a year ago, got a dog together, and still won’t confirm they’re dating
user34 they’re so funny for that
haasf1 winnie is welcome anytime!
kimiantonelli i was starting up think you were spending a suspicious amount of time at the shelter
ynhamilton god forbid a girl loves helping animals
lewishamilton winnie is a perfect name, can’t wait to meet her
ynhamilton you will soon I PROMISE
ferrari leo and winnie paddock takeover?
user25 that would be so cuteee
user87 but does lewis approve of 🐻 ?
lewishamilton not that it matters but yes
ynhamilton you lyin out of your ass
user711 CUTE AS HELL
user88 best dog parents
likymhe so happy for you guys, i’ve got treats!!
user84 is this a hard launch?
user01 are you new here
alexandrasaintmleux cuties ❤️🥺
user89 “we” just put the fries in the bag
user63 last slide is so cute
liked by ynhamilton, lewishamilton, ferrari, and 589k others
olliebearman i have a crush on my gf
tagged ynhamilton
ynhamilton damn that’s crazy i have a crush on my bf
olliebearman twins
gabibortoleto this is so aesthetic, did yn choose the photos?
olliebearman why does no one believe i can be aesthetic on my own?
user91 same guy asking this is who posted the silverstone spin and two slides later was the most majestic pic of his gf
user88 drop the photobooth pics pls
charlesleclerc did you guys try any lec in italy
ynhamilton how many times do we have to tell you to stop promoting your icecream in ig comments
kimiantonelli i have a crush on getting a podium- oh wait
olliebearman OKAY
comments have been limited due to ollie being teased by his own paddock friends
summary: One Zneimer found herself in engineering, the other had nothing but a hopeless dream of becoming a star
The question is—which one will win the grand prize?
a/n: takes place in 2025 but i added some things from this year too, again — this is purely fictional, RUMORED infidelity, vague hints through songs 👀
🗓️ February 18, 2025 | O2 Arena, London
op81fanpage
liked by username, wagconfession and 292k others
op81fanpage the F1 75 Live event 🩵 feat. Y/N Zneimer
view comments
username his stylist went overboard for this one and I ain't mad about it 🫦
username Oscar spotted in something other than a simple white tee? is the world ending? 😰
username miss Zneimer, can I have your entire wardrobe please? you never disappoint
username all three are serving cunt 💅
username a popstar at a motorsport event? the math isn't mathing 💀
username Landoscar with Lana Del Rey? ohoho I'm sat 🙂↕️
username you can tell she and Lando are just acquaintances 😭 his face screams stranger danger
username I guess Lily wasn't available again, so Oscar brought her sister to the event instead 😶
➥ username and the fact that it's been happening for a good while too smells fishy to me
🗓️ March 2025 | Before the Australian GP
f1gossipofficial
liked by username, wagconfession and 90k others
f1gossipofficial He did it.
The whole world was waiting to see if Oscar would acknowledge his girlfriend's older sister's new song, and that he did!
The chosen lyrics 'I don't wanna live, I don't wanna breathe / 'Less I feel you next to me' combined with the blue heart left fans questioning whether it had an underlying meaning or not 🤔
Meanwhile, ynhq has posted a little snippet of the tour preparations 👀
Your thoughts?
view comments
username I see nothing wrong with it? Can't he support his future sister-in-law? It's probably automatic for him to repost her stuff and all
username he did it in the past, why can't he do it now? he uses her songs for his dumps every now and then 🤷
username the lyrics he chose are a bit suspicious bc Instagram set the chorus as the default part..
➥ username let's not overanalyze everything that man does please 🙏 it's just a song for crying out loud
➥ username not overanalyzing, just saying 💁
username they were classmates in high school!! Lily was a grade lower if i'm not mistaken, she and Oscar met through Y/N actually
➥ username uhh i'd be a little wary if i were in her shoes 😬 these dynamics never end well in movies
➥ username it's always the older brother but in Lily's case, it's her dearest sister who she looked up to when she was little 😕
🗓️ March 2025 | Tokyo, Japan
yn_zneimer
🎵La Lune • Billie Marten
liked by lilyzneimer, djotime and 372k others
yn_zneimer first stop: 🇯🇵🇯🇵🇯🇵
view comments
username gradually singing songs from your unreleased album during the tour? girl, you're fucking brilliant 👏
➥ username each city is gonna hear one before the rest of the world 😭
lizzymcalpine i fear u ate miss girl 🤍 ♥︎ by author
username your songwriting never ceases to amaze me queen, 'Marigolds' is already my fav and we aren't even halfway through the tour 🌼
sabrinacarpenter sharing the stage with u has become my favorite activity ever ⭐ ♥︎ by author
username the guitar intro lulled me to sleep with how soothing it is 🤤
lilyzneimer 🌼⭐🤍🌼 ♥︎ by author
username you have the voice of an angel 👼
username based on the lyrics, it's either about her situationship or a man who we've yet to meet (hoping it's the latter 🙏)
➥ username "Now I see you less often / And we don't speak much either" suggests that it's indeed about her situationship 😶
itsbellakayyy pretty girl 🤍 ♥︎ by author
username I'm surprised you even went near that animal after last year's incident 😂
➥ username the fact that she stopped driving all together after hitting a deer and going off the road 😭 that girl is traumatized
username can't wait for @yn_updates to post the lyrics on Twitter 😙
➥ username same!! that girl is doing God's work and keeping us greedy fans satisfied
yn_updates @yn_updates
'Marigolds' — unreleased (1st song on the album, performed in 🇯🇵)
💬 1k 🔃 4k ❤️289k 🖇️
🗓️ April 2025
yn_hq @yn_hq
Due to the conflict in the Middle East region, we are devastated to announce that we won’t be performing in Bahrain and Saudi Arabia this time around ☹️ But do not fret, 'No Way to Live' is ready for you to give it a listen on Spotify instead!!
The tour will resume on May 1st in Miami. See you there, bubs! ⭐
💬 1,5k 🔃 4k ❤️ 289k 🖇️
username @username
I thank the gods who heard my prayers and gave us 'No Way to Live' regardless of the show being canceled 🙏
username @username
"Friends don't look at friends the way you look at me" I'M SORRY?! 😦 This just confirms that neither of the songs so far are about her situationship then bc that man was anything but a friend to her
username @username
"Are you happy? / I know you can't be" HOLY COW Y/N
username @username
"Lying next to her / Only to dream of me" am I hearing that right? Miss ma’am- invite me to dinner first golly 😮💨
username @username
ngl but the more I listen to it, the more I'm convinced she's pining after a man who's in a relationship 😶
➥ username @username
You just realized that now? Better later than never I guess 😂
🗓️ May 2025 | Miami, USA
worldwide_gossip @worldwide_gossip
This afternoon, fans swarmed the streets of Miami, trying to catch Y/N before her show tonight. But to everyone’s surprise, she didn’t arrive alone!!
Oscar Piastri, who has been in a relationship with her sister Lily since 2019, got out of the car shortly after her 👀
Rumors of infidelity have been circulating around this pair for years, even before Oscar's debut in F1, but neither of them have ever commented on these claims
Some fans adore their closeness, others find it vile and disrespectful towards Lily— and to some extent, we have to agree, their friendship is certainly like no other
💬 7k 🔃 10k ❤️ 752k 🖇️
username @username
they've known each other for a DECADE, people!! they met at 15 and haven't been apart since!! Said "closeness" was practically inevitable
username @username
since when does carpooling count as cheating?? what century are we in?? the 1800s??
username @username
I've been following both of them for a while and I must say that their friendship seems normal to me? I befriended a guy in high school and we've gotten pretty close over the years (I'm 23 now), but that was it — just friends, nothing more
username @username
some of you need to put your phones down, go outside and touch some grass bc this is getting out of hand
username @username
I believe they don't care about what you think 😂 they make tons of money while fulfilling their childhood dreams, they don't give a damn about y'all 😂
username @username
if they want each other so bad as you say, don't you think they'd be dating by now?
username @username
until they say so themselves, I’m considering them friends and nothing more if Oscar ever decides to change things up, he has my full support
➥ username @username
why would you ever support the idea of him going for Lily’s older sister?? that’s weird as fuck what 😭
yn_zneimer posted a story!
♥︎ by opeightyone, oscarpiastri and 72k others
➥ oscarpiastri still your #1?
➥ yn_zneimer my one and only, you know that
➥ oscarpiastri good, keep it that way
lando posted a story!
♥︎ by ynhq, mclarenf1 and 249k others
➥ yn_zneimer not true, i look scrumptious 😋
➥ lando you talking about the pizza slice? yn_zneimer reacted with a 😐
🗓️ June 2025 | Montreal, Canada
yn_updates @yn_updates
During her performance in Montréal yesterday, Y/N pointed at a fan's sign while singing her latest hit 'No Way to Live'!! 🩷
💬 81 🔃 5k ❤️ 72k 🖇️
username @username
she giggled like a little girl when she spotted it in the crowd 😭🩷 what a cutiee
username @username
breaking up with your boyfriend to get the full experience of Y/N's music is so valid, i'd do it too if i had one 💀
username @username
she looked absolutely ethereal on that stage, she was destined to be on it 🥹
username @username
her hair, her makeup, her dress?? like helloo?? i'm gagged 😦
username @username
when I heard Marigolds I shed a tear or two, but All Of Me fucking destroyed me 🥲 the way she makes me relate to her should be illegal
username @username
she expresses her feelings so well, i'm genuinely impressed by how she makes pain sound so graceful and poetic
username @username
can we all agree that All Of Me might be the most devastating song on the album?? "You used to captivate me by your resonating light / Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind" MISS ZNEIMER??
username @username
"Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams / Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me" I literally looked at my wall like 😮😮
username @username
I just know that I'll be so annoying when the album comes out 😭 sorry in advance to everyone, especially my dog
🗓️ June 2025 | Toronto, Canada
yn_zneimer
liked by oscarpiastri, tatemcrae and 688k others
yn_zneimer last dump from 🇨🇦 omw to 🇲🇽 (also go stream my babygirl's new song <3)
view comments
username it's so refreshing to see you spend time with Lily and the Piastri sisters after all the cheating allegations 🫶
ynhq gonna blast 'iloveitiloveiloveit' all the way to Austria!! ♥︎ by author
itsbellakayyy can't wait to sing it with you 😚 ♥︎ by author
username does anyone know if she was at the Canadian GP last weekend? i just wanna make sure i didn't miss anything
➥ username she wasn't!! she hasn't attended any since Miami
➥ username neither has Lily i believe 🙌
username can we just acknowledge how smooth her French pronunciation was?? also writing a whole song in said language?? pls have my hand in marriage 🙏😭
username i was absolutely shook and overwhelmed by how stunning she looked my gosh
username if no man wants her, I'll gladly have her all to myself 🤗
username i died a little when she read my sign and told the entire arena what her favorite song was at the moment 😭😭😭
➥ username my jaw dropped when she said 'English Love Affair' by 5SOS bc i LOVE that song with my whole being 🩷
➥ username don't you find it strange? i mean, with all the cheating rumors going around rn?
➥ username can we not? it's just a song man, let that woman breathe
yn_updates @yn_updates
In her latest interview, Y/N played a little snippet of 'Lie' that she'll be performing in Mexico tomorrow!!
💬 11k 🔃 4k ❤️ 496k 🖇️
username @username
The piano, the vocals, the fucking rasp — I'm so done for, it's not even funny anymore 😭
username @username
we're losing our minds over the first minute of it, and she's laughing like it's nothing!! that girl is invincible
username @username
"Breakfast is cold, as cold as our bed / I'm watching you choke down the words that you said" Madame?? I'm gonna ask you nicely to hand over his information so I can beat his ass ☺️☺️☺️
username @username
"I watch you devour, mistake me for bread / Well boy, is you fed?" — that would've been my favorite line if it weren't for the chorus 😮💨
username @username
"Please don't take this as a threat / All I'm saying is if you don't love me no more then / Lie, lie" — you can hear her rage in every other lyric, but this one is softer and more vulnerable 🥺
username @username
Soo, I need to bring a milk chocolate bar and a separate bag full of tissues to her concert tmrw? Ok, noted ✍️
🗓️ July 2025 | United Kingdom
yn_updates @yn_updates
Y/N in Quadrant's newest YT video — rating the F1 drivers based on their fashion and music taste 🎶
💬 529 🔃 3k ❤️ 371k 🖇️
username @username
I need to know her skincare routine asap, she's glowing ✨
username @username
who would've thought going from barely acknowledging each other to being the loudest and most chaotic duo was an option for these two
username @username
when two ultimate jokesters end up in a room together, you know you're screwed 😂
➥ username @username
I love how she got gradually more unhinged as the video went on 😭 her humor is on another level
username @username
immediately putting LH44 in P1? queen has taste alright 🙂↔️
username @username
only she can rock that hairstyle sns 🙌
username @username
Hearing her diss Oscar's questionable fashion made me realize just how close these two must be
➥ username @username
girlie turned red every time his name was mentioned 😬
➥ username @username
I take that as a win tho!! We learned a lot about their high school days and just their dynamic in general
username @username
weekly study sessions in the library? him helping her with her assignments? also hating coffee? him giving her a keychain charm and her still having it?
➥ username @username
Definitely not a good look for her now that he's in a relationship with her sister 😗 and has been for 7 years!!
yn_zneimer
🎵 Better without you • Chris Honor, ChammyVal, KORE
liked by oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer and 550k others
yn_zneimer love being home 🏎️💨🇬🇧
view comments
username we're almost halfway through the tour and i'm not handling it well 😭💔
username should I take that third slide as a sign?
username did anybody clock the song choice? what are you hinting at missy 🧐
lilyzneimer ❤️❤️❤️ ♥︎ by author
username the fashion stars are back!! my absolute favorite, Hattie Piastri and Y/N Zneimer 😍
ynhq we're rocking that wallpaper!! ♥︎ by author
hattiepiastri ⭐⭐⭐ ♥︎ by author
lando delete this‼️you're leaking my secret strategy‼️
➥ yn_zneimer what strategy? pushing glowing buttons? 🤣
➥ lando 😑😑😑
oscarpiastri Making friends, are we? ♥︎ by author
➥ yn_zneimer no friends, only enemies
➥ username did she just-
➥ username quote him? she totally did 😂
username even their interactions on here are starting to weird me the fuck out 😬
➥ username do you think Lily would leave a comment if her boyfriend was having an affair with her sister?? i don't think so
➥ username you guys seriously need to either stop or get admitted to a fucking psych ward atp
🗓️ July 2025 | Belgium
yn_zneimer posted a story!
♥︎ by lnfour, lando and 80k others
➥ lilyzneimer gotta give it to him, that's a brilliant way to sell a product 😂 ♥︎ by author
🗓️ August 2025 | Summer Break
yn_zneimer
🎵 Angel Numbers / Ten Toes • Chris Brown
liked by lizzymcalpine, oscarpiastri and 943k others
yn_zneimer the prettiest destination for a business trip 🇮🇹☕❤️
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username i need to be casual about this, but nothing about this is actually casual and i'm on the verge of having a breakdown 😗
ynhq workin' hard or hardly workin' ♥︎ by author
username what do you mean THE Y/N Zneimer is taken?!? 😭 how could you do this to us girl 😭 who am i supposed to relate to now?
username not a single imperfection on that face 😍
username the tea isn't hot, it's fucking boiling
lilyzneimer 🥰🥰🥰 ♥︎ by author
username why do I feel like I've seen that back before?? could it be her situationship from last year?
➥ username oh i hope not, that man was fooling with her heart like it weighed nothing
tatemcrae that glow? mama 😮💨 ♥︎ by author
username everything in this post is making me salivate 🤤
username what if it's Oscar? and hear me out, the guy that was in ynhq's story yesterday? you cannot tell me that's not the same mop of hair
➥ username should I call your mom or the mental hospital? your choice
worldwide_gossip
liked by f1gossipofficial, username and 203k others
worldwide_gossip‼️BREAKING NEWS‼️
Oscar Piastri was spotted in Italy with none other than Y/N Zneimer, who appears to be sitting outrageously close to the athlete 👀
The person who took the photo even dares to say that Oscar was most likely sitting between Y/N's legs! If you thought the cheating rumors were loud back then, they’ll surely be even louder now 🔊
We're curious to see how they'll handle the situation this time, if they even plan to
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username they look like they were put in timeout for misbehaving 😭😭😭
username you can clearly tell they aren't enjoying themselves like at all
username i hope this is just a silly misunderstanding and that they aren't having an affair 🥲
➥ username to be honest with you, this screams anything but an affair
username I'm pretty sure it's just the angle that makes it seem like he's sitting between her legs 🙌
➥ username1 hi! i'm the one who took the photo and i swear to you, he was sitting between her legs, her elbow was resting on his thigh
➥ username still doesn't really explain why they look so detached from reality
➥ username1 as i was about to leave, Margaret came over — she and Y/N started bickering a little and i overhead Margaret say smth like "suck it up, he's doing it and so are you" but that's about it
➥ username maybe Oscar will be featured in the music video?? that'd be the most logical explanation for this chaos
🗓️ September 2025 | New York City
yn_zneimer
🎵 September • Sparky Deathcap
liked lizzymcalpine, oscarpiastri and 649k others
yn_zneimer NYC BABYY 🗽 Can't believe the tour has come to an end already 🥹
Thank you all for making my dreams come true. And thank you Lily for being my pillar, my nr. 1 supporter, but most importantly my little sister
'Crazy in Love' will be yours in October ❤️
view comments
username time is an illusion.. I don’t care what anyone says, time is a fraud and I don't like it
lilyzneimer 🥹🥹🥹
lilyzneimer from singing me lullabies to performing in front of thousands
username what am I supposed to do with my life now? Can we rewind a bit pls? I don't wanna go back to my boring ass routine 😭
nicolepiastri you were meant to be a star, my love ❤️
hattiepiastri my top artist ⭐
username seeing the Piastris support her will always bring tears into my eyes 😭
sabrinacarpenter here's to many more 🥂⭐
tatemcrae you're coming to mine next year idc
itsbellakayyy thank you for giving me an opportunity to shine by your side ❤️
djotime 👏👏👏
lando invite me next time
➥ yn_zneimer no 😚
➥ username this is something I'm sure I won't get fucking used to 😭 weirdest combination ever but I love it
username see how she mentioned Lily in her caption? haters, read it every single day 😁 maybe that will finally open your eyes
🗓️ October 2025 | Marina Bay, Singapore
worldwide_gossip
liked by username, wagconfession and 648k others
worldwide_gossip British singer and songwriter Y/N Zneimer, older sister of Lily Zneimer—Oscar Piastri’s ex-girlfriend—has stunned her fans with her latest hit called 'Crazy in Love'!!
The McLaren F1 driver makes an appearance towards the end of the music video, where he and Y/N share a seemingly passionate kiss 💋
Some lyrics suggest that there was once a fleeting moment of romance between the two — but when exactly this happened is unclear!!
view comments
username at first I cheered, then my eyes fell out of their sockets, I put them back in just to pull them out again bc what the actual fuck 😃
➥ username this just summed up all of the stages I went through as I read the article
username my jaw is on the floor and I don’t think it’ll ever get back up
username what kind of homie hopping is this? 🤨
username soo that's why they were seen together in Italy, they were filming the music video
username her manager set her up with her sister's ex? oh, i would crash the fuck out if somebody did that to me 😤
username 8 billion people to choose from btw
username IS THAT REAL CHAT?!?
username for the sake of my mental health that's AI 🙏
username that was the juiciest kiss I’ve ever seen in my 18 years of being on this planet
username can we talk about how significantly his shoulders relaxed when their lips met? that man was starving for an opportunity like this his whole life 🙌
username dare I say the hottest pairing we could’ve gotten from Margaret? yes, yes I dare 🙂↕️
username this wasn’t on my 2025 bingo card but I kinda dig it ngl
username that wasn’t a kiss, that was a full-blown make out sesh jeez 🥵
username it's the way he shuddered when she tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck for me 😝
username it wasn’t the kiss that got me kicking my feet and all, it was his hand placement 😖
➥ username I genuinely lost it when he slipped his hands under her top-
username 👏 he 👏 didn’t 👏 let 👏 her 👏 pull 👏 away 👏 y’all 👏
username that wet pop when they separated gollyy 😩
➥ username not to mention how the screen went dark with it ahh
username he was devouring her so politely 😭 no aggression, just pure passion
username that man has been in love with her since day 1 and I’ll die on that hill if I have to ✌️
🗓️ | Race Day
op81fanpage @op81fanpage
GUYS!! Oscar and Y/N arrived to the paddock together 😭
We screamed when she stopped to talk to us, the nicest woman ever!! We asked what she was doing here and she said: "Just supporting Osc" 🥹 They are growing on me FAST
💬 5k 🔃 3k ❤️ 971k 🖇️
username @username
I love how she didn’t sign anything and just came over for a chat, my heart can’t handle her modesty 😭😭
username @username
I melted when she ran after Oscar with a little boy’s cap and asked him to sign it 🥹 then he just stopped walking and watched her return it to the kid with this sheer softness on his face like AHHH
username @username
I hope I’m not the only one who noticed this, but their hands kept brushing and how he kept turning to make sure she was okay- 🥲
username @username
did you all forget who she is? 😐
➥ username @username
Oscar and Lily broke up in March, he has been single for 7 months — if he wants to be with Y/N, so be it 🙌 His whereabouts are his and his only, don’t be intrusive and negative
🗓️ November 2025
username @username
we haven't seen Y/N in the paddock since Singapore and I can officially say that I'm getting kinda hungry 😭
💬 529 🔃 3k ❤️ 371k 🖇️
➥ username @username
no because same!! The past few races were hell for not only us, but Oscar as well ☹️ he needs her there
➥ username @username
she sang at Lizzy's tour last night but maybe she'll find the time to come to Las Vegas?
➥ username @username
she won't make it to Las Vegas either, they're doing a short meet n greet in Los Angeles (similar to the one in Washington) ❤️
➥ username @username
she looked so out of it in Washington ☹️ the photos ynhq posted afterwards broke me, we need a y/nscar reunion asap
ynhq posted a story!
♥︎ by lilyzneimer, lando and 47k others
🗓️ December 2025 | After Abu Dhabi
yn_zneimer posted a story!
♥︎ by oscarpiastri, lilyzneimer and 81k others
➥ oscarpiastri is it gonna be about me again?
➥ yn_zneimer don't get too smug about it
➥ oscarpiastri I would never, my love 😊 ♥︎ by author
oscarpiastri posted a story!
♥︎ by opeightyone, lilyzneimer and 851k others
➥ yn_zneimer what did we say?
➥ oscarpiastri I am allowed to brag about my girlfriend, am I not?
➥ yn_zneimer darling, everyone knows it's about you 😭
➥ oscarpiastri Well, might as well plead guilty
➥ oscarpiastri For good messure 😁 yn_zneimer reacted with a 😭
Summary: Oscar gets drunk at a party and won't leave your side
Song: See You Again · Kali Uchis
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🤭🫶
Word count: 7.0k
MASTERLIST - F1
"I swear, if you don't stop clinging to me like a koala, I'm going to start charging rent," you mutter, trying—and failing—to pry Oscar's fingers off your waist.
He grins, loose-limbed and heavy against your side, the warmth of him seeping through your jacket. "But you're comfy," he slurs, as if that explains everything.
The party noise swirls around you both—laughter, the thump of bass, someone shrieking over spilled beer—but Oscar might as well be deaf to it. His focus is singular, and unfortunately, it's you.
You'd known he was a lightweight. Known he shouldn't have taken that fourth shot. But watching him try to argue with a potted plant twenty minutes ago had been funny, right up until he'd latched onto you like you were his personal life raft.
Now, every time you shift, his grip tightens, as if you might dissolve into the crowd if he blinks.
"Oscar," you say, exasperated, as he nuzzles his forehead against your shoulder. "You're gonna regret this tomorrow."
"Don't care," Oscar mumbles into your collarbone, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet. "Tomorrow-me's problem." His fingers twist into the fabric of your shirt like he's anchoring himself to the earth.
You sigh, but there's no real heat in it—just the fond, familiar ache of loving someone who turns into a human barnacle after three drinks.
Across the room, Lando catches your eye and mouths help you with an exaggerated grimace, miming choking himself.
You flip him off half-heartedly, but your free hand absently cards through Oscar's hair, smoothing down the wild tufts where he'd been leaning against you. He makes a noise like a contented engine, pressing closer.
"You're embarrassing me," you lie, because the truth is you'd let him carve his initials into your ribs if he asked right now. The party blurs at the edges, unimportant next to the weight of him, the way his lashes flutter against your neck when he blinks too slow.
Someone bumps into you, sloshing beer dangerously close to your shoes, and Oscar—drunk, stupid, yours—instantly straightens like he's been electrocuted.
"Hey," he says, too loud, pointing a wobbly finger at the offender. "Watch it. This is my—" He hiccups. "—favorite person." The guy backs off, hands up, and you bury your face in Oscar's shoulder to hide the grin splitting your face.
The guy retreats into the crowd, but Oscar stays upright for approximately three seconds before collapsing back against you with all the grace of a felled tree.
“Did you see that?” he mumbles into your collarbone, breath hot and uneven. “Protect’n you.”
His fingers find your waist again, possessive even in their clumsiness. You’re pretty sure he’s trying to glare at the room at large, but his eyes keep crossing, and it’s unfairly endearing.
“Yeah, yeah, my hero,” you deadpan, but your voice cracks halfway through, and now Lando is across the room making kissy faces at you. You flip him off again, but Oscar catches your wrist mid-gesture, blinking up at you with sudden, alarming intensity.
“What?” you ask, bracing for drunken philosophy or a declaration of love so saccharine it’ll rot your teeth.
Instead, he frowns. “You’re… sparkly.”
You blink. “What?”
Oscar squints at you, his eyebrows knitting together in drunken concentration. "Like… glitter," he insists, poking your cheek with one uncoordinated finger. "But not the cheap kind. The good kind. The kind that—"
He stops, frowns deeper. "Why are you sparkly?"
You snort, batting his hand away. "I'm not sparkly, you're just drunk off your ass."
But Oscar isn't listening. He's too busy leaning in, his nose brushing against your temple as he inhales dramatically. "You smell sparkly too," he declares, as if this makes perfect sense.
His breath ghosts over your skin, warm and tinged with the sharp tang of whiskey. "Like… lemons. But fancy."
"You're an idiot," you say, but you're laughing now, unable to help it. His entire face lights up at the sound, like you've just handed him the moon.
Oscar’s grin widens, lopsided and bright, as if your laughter is the only thing anchoring him to reality. “See?” he slurs, tapping your nose with his index finger. “Sparkly.”
His hand drops to your shoulder, then slides down your arm like he’s mapping you, committing every inch to memory. “Also soft. And warm. And—” His words dissolve into a hiccup, and he blinks, owlish, as if surprised by his own body’s betrayal.
You roll your eyes, but your chest feels too tight, too full. “You’re gonna forget all this tomorrow,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but Oscar’s head snaps up like you’ve accused him of treason.
“No,” he says, suddenly grave. His fingers tighten around your wrist, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. “I remember everything about you. Always.”
The intensity in his voice is startling—too raw for a drunk man clinging to you in the middle of a crowded party. For a second, you forget how to breathe.
Then he ruins it by swaying violently to the left, nearly taking you both down. You grab his shoulders, steadying him, and he beams at you like you’ve just performed a miracle.
“My hero,” he echoes, throwing your own words back at you with a dopey smile.
The music shifts to something slower, bass thumping lazily against your ribs, and Oscar—predictably—tries to sway along with it, nearly kneeing you in the thigh.
"Dance with me," he demands, words sticky-sweet with alcohol, and before you can protest, he's spinning you both in a lopsided circle that sends a nearby couple scrambling out of the way.
His hands are everywhere—your waist, your shoulders, the back of your neck—like he can't decide where to anchor himself.
"You're gonna make me puke if you keep spinning like that," you warn, but he just laughs, breathless and bright, and pulls you closer until your foreheads bump.
"Then I'll hold your hair back," he says, like it's a romantic promise. His nose brushes yours, clumsy with affection, and for a second, you let yourself imagine this is some grand romantic moment—until he trips over his own feet and sends you both crashing into a nearby couch.
The impact knocks the air from your lungs, but Oscar just giggles, sprawled half on top of you, his fingers tangled in the hem of your shirt.
"Oscar," you wheeze, "you're crushing me."
He doesn’t move. Instead, Oscar nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, exhaling a sigh that smells like cheap whiskey and mint gum. “M’not,” he argues, though his entire body is a dead weight pinning you to the couch.
One of his knees is wedged uncomfortably between yours, and his elbow is digging into your ribs, but his fingers are gentle where they fiddle with the frayed edge of your shirt. “You’re just… squishy. In the good way.”
You groan, shoving at his shoulder, but he’s immovable, a drunk, human boulder. Across the room, Lando is openly cackling, his phone raised to film the disaster. “I swear to god, Oscar, if you don’t get off me—”
“Or what?” he challenges, lifting his head just enough to blink down at you, his eyes hazy with alcohol and something softer, something that makes your stomach flip.
His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and there’s a smudge of what might be salsa on his chin. You should be annoyed. You are annoyed. But then he grins, slow and dopey, and your resolve crumbles like wet sand.
“Or I’ll tell everyone about the time you cried during Finding Nemo,” you threaten, half-hearted.
Oscar gasps, scandalized, and tries—badly—to clap a hand over your mouth. “That was one time,” he hisses, but his fingers slip off your face as he overbalances, nearly face-planting into your chest.
You catch him by the shoulders, laughing despite yourself as he mutters something unintelligible into your collarbone. His breath is warm, his weight familiar, and you’re suddenly, acutely aware of how close he is—how his knee is still wedged between yours, how his hips press against your thigh.
“You’re leaking,” you say, poking his cheek where a drop of sweat slides down his temple. He wrinkles his nose, trying to shake it off like a dog, but only succeeds in smearing it across your shirt. “God, you’re disgusting.”
“You love it,” he counters, grinning when you groan. His fingers find your wrist again, tracing idle circles over your pulse point. The touch is feather-light, almost absentminded, but it sends a shiver up your spine. You tell yourself it’s the AC.
Across the room, Lando wolf-whistles, and Oscar flips him off without looking, his focus still entirely on you. “Stop distracting me,” he murmurs, though he’s the one currently using you as a human pillow. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, and you swallow hard.
His thumb keeps moving—small, absent circles against the inside of your wrist—and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
The party noise fades into a dull roar, unimportant next to the weight of Oscar’s body pressing yours into the couch cushions.
Someone shouts something about a beer pong rematch, and Oscar mumbles, “Fuck off,” into your collarbone, his breath warm and damp through the fabric of your shirt.
“You’re gonna be such a menace tomorrow,” you sigh, but your fingers curl into the back of his hoodie, holding him there. His hair tickles your chin when he shifts, and you can’t help but press a kiss to the top of his head, quick and instinctive.
Oscar stills, then lifts his head with the slow, deliberate focus of someone three drinks past coherent. His eyes are glassy, his pupils blown wide, and for a second, you think he might actually kiss you—right here, in front of everyone, with salsa still on his chin.
Instead, he says, very seriously, “Your face is nice.”
You snort. “Thanks.”
Oscar blinks at you, slow and heavy-lidded, like he’s trying to decipher some profound mystery written in the lines of your face. “No, I mean—” He pauses, frowns, then pokes your cheek again. “It’s really nice. Like… symmetrical.”
His finger drags down to your jaw, tracing it with drunken reverence. “And your mouth does this thing where it—” He mimics your expression, scrunching his nose in a way that makes him look like a confused puppy. “—and it’s stupid. I hate it.”
“You’re such a liar,” you laugh, shoving at his chest, but he catches your hand mid-motion, lacing his fingers through yours with surprising coordination for someone who just face-planted into you.
His palm is warm, slightly clammy, and he squeezes like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
“M’not,” he insists, swaying even while seated. The couch creaks under his weight as he leans closer, his knee digging into your thigh.
“You’re just… you. And I’m—” He hiccups, then grins, lopsided and bright. “—really drunk. But also right.”
The music swells around you, bass thumping through the cushions, and Oscar’s head bobs along to a rhythm only he can hear.
His free hand lands on your knee, fingers tapping absentmindedly, and you’re struck by how familiar he feels—the way his touch maps your body like he’s relearning it every time, even after all these years.
Oscar’s fingers twitch against your knee, his grip slackening as the alcohol finally catches up to him. His eyelids droop, heavy as lead, but he forces them open with a determined blink.
“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head like a wet dog. “No sleeping. Gotta… watch you.” His thumb brushes your kneecap, rough and warm, and you snort.
“Watch me what? Breathe?” You flick his forehead lightly, and he scrunches his nose, swatting at your hand like it’s a bothersome fly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love,” he corrects, slurring the last word into something that sounds more like “luhv.” His grin is dopey, unfocused, and you’re hit with the sudden, overwhelming urge to bite his cheek.
Instead, you settle for rolling your eyes, but your fingers tighten around his where they’re tangled in yours.
Across the room, Lando lets out a loud, exaggerated yawn. “Get a room!” he shouts, tossing a crumpled napkin in your direction. It bounces off Oscar’s shoulder, and he whips his head around so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash.
Oscar scowls at Lando, his expression so comically offended that you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. "Rude," he announces to the room at large, waving an uncoordinated hand in Lando's general direction. "Very rude."
His fingers fumble against yours, squeezing like he's trying to prove a point, and you can't help the way your thumb strokes the back of his hand in response.
Lando just grins, tossing another napkin—this one balled up tighter—and it lands squarely on Oscar's forehead. Oscar blinks, cross-eyed, trying to focus on it as it slides down his nose and into your lap.
"Did he just—?" he starts, voice rising in indignation, but you’re already snatching the napkin and chucking it back at Lando with surprising accuracy. It hits him square between the eyes, and he yelps, clutching his forehead dramatically.
"Justice," you declare, and Oscar beams at you like you've just won the Grand Prix single-handedly.
"Justice," he echoes solemnly, nodding so hard his hair flops into his eyes. He doesn’t bother brushing it away, just keeps staring at you with that same dopey grin, his free hand coming up to poke your cheek again.
"You’re so good at that. Throwing things. And justice." His words slur together, blending into one long, affectionate ramble. "And existing. You’re really good at existing."
Oscar’s head lolls forward suddenly, his forehead thumping against your shoulder with a dull thud. “M’tired,” he mumbles into your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven.
His fingers twitch against your waist, slackening for a second before tightening again, as if his body is fighting a losing battle against the alcohol. “But I don’t wanna sleep. ‘Cause then I’ll miss you.”
You snort, running a hand through his hair—gently this time, smoothing down the wild strands sticking up at odd angles. “I’ll still be here when you wake up, idiot.”
He lifts his head just enough to squint at you, his eyes bleary and unfocused. “Promise?” The word comes out small, almost childish, and something in your chest clenches.
“Yeah,” you say, softer than you meant to. “Promise.”
The couch cushions shift as Oscar finally surrenders to exhaustion, his body going slack against yours with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. His breathing evens out almost instantly, warm puffs of air ghosting over your neck where his face is smushed against your shoulder.
Across the room, Lando mouths finally and makes a show of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. You flip him off, but your fingers stay tangled in Oscar’s hair, gently scratching his scalp the way he likes—not that he’d ever admit it sober.
Someone turns the music down, and the sudden drop in volume makes Oscar stir with a grumble, his nose scrunching adorably.
“No,” he mumbles, pressing closer like he’s trying to burrow into your ribs. His hand fists in your shirt, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your stomach where the fabric’s ridden up. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, thumbing away a smudge of salsa from his chin. His stubble rasps against your fingertips, rough and familiar.
Lando plops down on the coffee table in front of you, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “So,” he stage-whispers, “you gonna carry him home like a knight in shining armor, or—”
You kick Lando’s shin lightly, careful not to jostle Oscar too much. “Shut up,” you mutter, but your voice lacks any real bite. Oscar’s fingers tighten reflexively around your shirt, his knuckles pressing into your hipbone like a brand. “I’m not dragging his drunk ass across town.”
Lando leans in, elbows on his knees, his grin widening. “Aw, but it’d be romantic. Like a fireman carry. Very macho.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you resist the urge to flip him off again—mostly because Oscar’s grip on your hand would make it a logistical nightmare.
“I’ll settle for not dropping him on his head,” you say dryly, just as Oscar mumbles something unintelligible into your neck. His breath hitches, warm and damp against your skin, and then—alarmingly—he goes completely still. “Oh god, please don’t puke on me.”
Lando snorts, reaching over to poke Oscar’s cheek. “He’s out cold.” Oscar doesn’t even twitch, his lashes casting shadows over his flushed cheeks. “Like a baby koala.”
The couch creaks under Oscar’s dead weight as you shift, trying to dislodge his knee from your ribs without waking him. No luck—he’s out cold, his breath puffing warm and whiskey-sweet against your throat.
Lando leans in, poking Oscar’s cheek again with the tip of his finger. “Think he’s hibernating,” he stage-whispers. “Should we check his pulse?”
You flick Lando’s forehead. “Help me get him upright, you ass.”
Lando grins but obliges, sliding an arm under Oscar’s shoulders while you maneuver his legs off your lap. Oscar makes a soft, protesting noise, his forehead scrunching, but doesn’t wake.
His grip on your shirt stays stubbornly tight, even as Lando hoists him into a semi-upright position. “Christ, he’s like a sack of wet cement,” Lando grunts, adjusting his grip. “How do you deal with this every time?”
“Practice,” you mutter, prying Oscar’s fingers loose one by one. His hand flops limply into his lap, and for a second, he looks so young—hair mussed, lips slightly parted, a faint crease between his brows like he’s dreaming hard. You resist the urge to smooth it away with your thumb. Barely.
The party's neon lights flicker overhead as you hook Oscar's arm around your shoulders, his weight sagging into you like a deflating balloon.
"You're gonna owe me so many favors after this," you mutter, adjusting your grip on his waist as he mumbles something incoherent against your temple.
His breath smells like cheap tequila and the spearmint gum he'd been chewing earlier—a combination that shouldn't be as endearing as it is.
Lando trails behind you, dramatically miming holding a camera. "Say cheese, lovebirds," he stage-whispers, and you flip him off over your shoulder without breaking stride.
Oscar's shoe catches on the threshold as you haul him through the front door, sending you both stumbling into the cool night air. He blinks owlishly at the sudden change, his pupils dilating in the dim streetlight.
"Whoa," he breathes, swaying dangerously as he tilts his head back to stare at the sky. "The stars are—" He hiccups. "—spinning."
You tighten your hold on him before he can face-plant into the pavement. "That's the alcohol, genius."
Oscar’s knees buckle halfway down the driveway, and you barely manage to catch him before he becomes one with the asphalt. “Christ, Piastri,” you grunt, hauling him upright as he giggles into your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven. “You’re like trying to carry a bag of wet sand.”
“A sexy bag of wet sand,” he corrects, slumping against you with all the coordination of a newborn giraffe. His fingers fumble at your waistband, missing entirely and landing on your hipbone instead.
“Wait—why’re we outside? Did we get kicked out?” He gasps, scandalized. “Was it Lando?”
You steer him toward your car, ignoring his dramatic flailing. “No, you idiot, we’re going home before you start crying over Finding Nemo again.”
Oscar stops dead, nearly sending you both sprawling. “I told you,” he hisses, jabbing a wobbly finger at your chest, “that was one time—” His foot catches on a crack in the pavement, and suddenly you’re grappling with 70 kilograms of drunk F1 driver trying to hug the sidewalk. “The ground’s nice,” he informs the concrete, cheek smushed against it. “Cool. Like you.”
You sigh, grabbing Oscar’s hoodie like a scruffing a disobedient puppy and hauling him upright. “If you puke on my shoes, I’m divorcing you.”
“We’re not married,” he slurs, but he lets you maneuver him into the passenger seat with surprising compliance. His limbs flop bonelessly as you buckle him in, his head lolling against the window. “Yet,” he adds, blinking up at you with sudden, alarming clarity.
You freeze, seatbelt halfway clicked. “What?”
Oscar grins, slow and lopsided, and taps your nose. “Sparkly,” he declares, as if that explains everything. Then his eyes roll back, and he’s snoring before you can even shut the door.
The car engine purrs to life, a quiet hum beneath Oscar’s soft snoring. You adjust the rearview mirror just in time to catch Lando blowing an exaggerated kiss from the porch before disappearing back into the party.
Shaking your head, you reach over to tug Oscar’s seatbelt tighter—his head had started to droop forward at an alarming angle. He mumbles something unintelligible, his nose scrunching adorably before he settles again, lips slightly parted.
Streetlights flicker overhead as you pull onto the road, casting gold stripes across Oscar’s slack face. His hoodie rides up where he’s slumped, exposing a sliver of stomach above his waistband. You resist the urge to poke it. Barely.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, turning the wheel with one hand while the other absently brushes hair from his forehead. His skin is warm under your fingertips, flushed from alcohol and the stuffy party air.
A sudden bump in the road jostles him awake. Oscar blinks, disoriented, before his bleary gaze lands on you. “Hey,” he slurs, reaching out to pat your knee like he’s reassuring himself you’re real. His fingers are clumsy, missing twice before settling. “You’re driving.”
"Astute observation," you deadpan, swatting his hand away before it can wander further up your thigh.
Oscar hums, unfazed, and lets his fingers drape over your knee like a drunken limpet. The streetlights paint his face in gold and shadow, catching on the curve of his slack mouth.
"You're good at it," he announces, apropos of nothing. His thumb rubs circles against your kneecap, slow and deliberate. "Driving. And—" He hiccups, forehead thumping against the window. "—existing. Mainly existing."
The car fills with the scent of spearmint and whiskey as he exhales loudly, fogging up the glass. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he lifts a finger to draw a lopsided heart in the condensation. It drips almost immediately, and he frowns like it's betrayed him.
"Focus on not puking," you advise, turning onto your street. Oscar makes a wounded noise but obediently presses his forehead to the cool glass, his breath leaving fresh clouds with every exhale.
His fingers stay tangled in the fabric of your jeans, though—anchoring himself to you even in his half-conscious state.
The tires crunch over gravel as you pull into the driveway, Oscar’s head lolling against the window with every slight bump. He groans, fingers tightening reflexively around your knee. “Are we—” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “—are we there yet?”
“Yes, princess,” you sigh, shifting into park just as Oscar makes a frantic grab for the door handle. He nearly faceplants onto the pavement in his haste to escape the car, catching himself at the last second with a drunken wheeze.
“Grass,” he gasps, like a man discovering water after days in the desert, and flops onto the lawn with all the grace of a beached seal. His limbs splay out, fingers digging into the dew-damp blades. “Cool. Good.”
You circle the car, nudging his hip with your shoe. “You planning to sleep out here?”
Oscar rolls onto his back, arms spread wide like he’s trying to make grass angels. “Maybe,” he slurs, squinting up at you with one eye closed against the porch light.
His hoodie’s ridden up, exposing a strip of sunburned skin above his waistband. “It’s nice. Like… a big, green bed.” He pats the lawn beside him with drunken solemnity. “Join me.”
“In your dreams,” you mutter, but when you bend to haul him upright, he catches your wrist with surprising speed. His thumb finds your pulse point, pressing in time with the crickets chirping in the hedges.
“You’re sparkly,” he informs the night sky, as if it’s a vital meteorological report. His other hand flops toward your face, fingers brushing your cheekbone. “Even in the dark. How?”
You sigh, batting his hand away. “Alcohol poisoning. Up.”
Oscar’s fingers tighten around your wrist as you try to drag him upright, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who just tried to lick the grass.
“Wait,” he slurs, blinking up at you with sudden intensity. The porch light catches the flecks of gold in his irises, making them look liquid in the dark. “Before we go inside—I need to tell you something.” His voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial and grave. “It’s important.”
You brace for drunken nonsense—a declaration that the moon is made of cheese or that he’s secretly a wizard—but Oscar just swallows hard, his throat bobbing.
“Your ears,” he says, very seriously. “They’re perfect.” His free hand reaches up, thumb brushing the shell of your ear with reverent clumsiness. “Like… little seashells. But warmer. And—hic—attached to your head.”
You snort, swatting his hand away. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” he corrects, grinning when you roll your eyes. The expression falters as a gust of wind ruffles his hair, and he shivers violently, his teeth chattering. “Fuck, it’s cold.”
Oscar’s fingers tremble against your wrist as another gust of wind whips through the yard, sending a stray leaf spiraling into his hair. “See?” he accuses, pointing at it like it’s a personal affront. “Nature hates me.”
His attempt to flick it away only results in him smacking himself in the forehead, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing as he blinks, dazed.
“Up,” you command, hauling him to his feet with a grunt. He sways into you like a ship listing in a storm, his forehead thumping against your shoulder. “Jesus, you’re like a malfunctioning robot.”
“Beep boop,” Oscar mumbles into your collarbone, his breath hot through the fabric of your shirt. His hands find your waist, fingers slipping under the hem to press against bare skin. “Error: too cold. Please insert warm.”
You swat his wandering hands away, but he just whines, nosing at your neck like a starved puppy. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s not working.”
Oscar’s lips brush your pulse point, feather-light and whiskey-warm, and you freeze. “I know,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice slurred with sleep and alcohol.
His fingers trace idle patterns over your hipbone through your shirt, clumsy but deliberate. “That’s why I’m being hot instead.”
You bark a laugh, shoving his shoulder hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “You’re a disaster,” you inform him, wiping at your neck like you can scrub away the phantom press of his mouth.
Oscar just grins, lopsided and unrepentant, as he sways dangerously on the doorstep.
The key jams in the lock—because of course it does—and Oscar leans his full weight against your back, his chin hooking over your shoulder.
“Need help?” he asks, breath hot in your ear, as his hands slide around your waist to helpfully cover yours on the key. His fingers are warm and slightly sticky, his grip utterly useless.
“You’re hindering,” you mutter, elbowing him in the ribs. He wheezes but doesn’t let go, just nuzzles his nose against your temple like an overgrown cat.
The lock finally gives with a click, and you stagger forward as Oscar’s weight follows you into the dark hallway.
The door swings shut behind you with a thud, plunging the hallway into darkness save for the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds.
Oscar immediately trips over his own feet, sending you both crashing into the wall with a muffled oomph. His laughter is warm against your neck, breathless and whiskey-sweet.
"Shhh," you hiss, though you're biting back a grin. "You'll wake the neighbors."
Oscar presses a finger to his lips with exaggerated solemnity—then immediately hiccups, loud enough to echo. His eyes widen comically. "Not my fault," he whispers, as if the hiccup was a sentient being that had betrayed him.
You drag him toward the couch, but he digs his heels in at the last second, swaying like a sapling in a storm. "Wait," he insists, gripping your shoulders with drunken intensity. "Important question."
His brow furrows as he struggles to articulate whatever profound thought is trying to surface through the alcohol haze.
Oscar's mouth opens and shuts twice before he finally manages, "Do giraffes… have nightmares?" He blinks at you like this is a perfectly reasonable inquiry, his fingers tightening in your shirt.
You stare at him. The streetlight casts jagged shadows across his face, highlighting the salsa stain that's somehow migrated to his eyebrow. "What?"
His hands flap wildly, nearly smacking you in the chin. "Like—hic—if they dream about falling. Because they're so tall." He demonstrates by standing on tiptoe, immediately losing balance and catching himself on your shoulders.
His nose bumps yours. "Evolutionary disadvantage," he whispers conspiratorially, breath warm with tequila.
The fridge hums in the kitchen as you maneuver him toward the couch, his knees buckling every third step. "You're an evolutionary disadvantage," you mutter, just as Oscar's foot catches on the rug. He goes down like a felled tree, dragging you with him in a tangle of limbs.
Oscar’s lips collide with yours in the dark—more of a drunken headbutt than a kiss—teeth clacking together as he misses twice before finally landing.
His mouth is warm and off-center, his nose mashed awkwardly against your cheekbone. He tastes like spearmint gum and regret, his breath hitching when you instinctively bite his lower lip too hard.
“Ow,” he mumbles against your mouth, but doesn’t pull away. His hands fumble at your waist, fingers slipping under your shirt to press against bare skin. “You bit me.”
You swallow a laugh. “You aimed for me.”
He pulls back just enough to blink at you, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. The streetlight stripes gold across his forehead, catching the crease between his brows.
“M’not drunk,” he lies, swaying even while kneeling over you. His thumb brushes your hipbone, rough and warm. “Just… gravity’s stronger here.”
You snort, shoving at his chest. “Gravity’s normal, you’re just—”
Oscar kisses you again—or tries to. His mouth lands half on your chin, half on your lower lip, sticky with whiskey and the spearmint gum he’d been chewing earlier.
He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, fingers tightening on your waist as he adjusts his aim.
This time, he gets it right: his lips slotting against yours with surprising coordination for someone who just tried to lick the sidewalk.
It’s messy. All elbows and too much teeth and the sharp tang of tequila on his tongue. His knee digs into your thigh as he leans in too far, too fast, nearly sending you both toppling sideways.
You grab his shoulders to steady him, and he hums against your mouth, pleased, like you’ve just handed him the moon.
Then he hiccups.
The sound startles him so badly he jerks back, blinking down at you with wide, glassy eyes. “That wasn’t me,” he announces, grave, as if his own diaphragm has betrayed him.
His thumb swipes at your lower lip where he’d bitten it, clumsy and apologetic. “Sabotage.”
You snort, shoving at his chest, but he doesn’t budge—just wobbles slightly, his knee digging deeper into your thigh. “Get off me before you pass out mid-kiss.”
Oscar’s brow furrows. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he declares, and dives back in before you can protest. This time, his mouth lands squarely on yours, warm and insistent.
His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone.
Your fingers curl into Oscar's hoodie as his mouth moves clumsily against yours—too wet, too eager, his teeth catching your lower lip when he exhales sharply through his nose.
He makes a frustrated noise when you tilt your head to adjust the angle, his grip tightening on your jaw like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go.
"Can you be my girlfriend?" Oscar whispered against your lips, his breath warm and whiskey-sweet.
His forehead bumped yours as he swayed, fingers tightening in your shirt like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
You snorted, thumbing away a smear of salsa from his chin. "I already am, idiot."
"Oh, lucky me," he celebrated, voice slurring into your collarbone as he flopped backward onto the couch, dragging you with him in a graceless heap.
His arms locked around your waist like a drunken vice, his grin pressing against your shoulder blade. "Won the girlfriend lottery. Jackpot. Billion-dollar prize."
His fingers dug into your hips, thumbs tracing absent circles against the dip of your waist. "Should… should get a trophy. Or a—hic—a medal. Gold. Shiny. Like you."
The couch creaks ominously as Oscar’s dead weight drags you both sideways, his arms locking around your torso like a drunken octopus.
“No escaping now,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his breath hot through the fabric of your shirt.
His knee hooks over yours, pinning you in place with startling efficiency for someone who just face-planted into a lawn. “You’re stuck with me.”
You snort, attempting to wriggle free, but he tightens his grip with a whine, his fingers digging into your ribs. “Christ, Piastri, you’re like a limpet.”
“A sexy limpet,” he slurs, nuzzling his nose against your collarbone. His lips brush the skin above your collar, damp and slightly sticky from spilled drinks. “With… with really good taste in girlfriends.” The word stretches into three syllables, his tongue tripping over the consonants.
The streetlight outside flickers, casting gold stripes across Oscar’s slack face. His eyelashes flutter as he fights sleep, blinking up at you with hazy determination.
“Gotta watch you,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing circles against your hipbone. “In case… in case you disappear.” His voice drops to a whisper, as if sharing a secret. “Sometimes things do that. When I’m drunk. Like… like keys.”
You roll your eyes but let him pull you closer, his warmth seeping through your clothes. “I’m not gonna vanish, idiot.”
Oscar hums, unconvinced, and tangles his legs with yours, effectively trapping you. His socked foot brushes your ankle, cold and slightly damp from where he’d stepped in a puddle earlier.
“Prove it,” he challenges, poking your cheek. “Say something… unpredictable.”
“You’re a disaster.”
He gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Predictable betrayal.” His hand flops over your mouth, fingers splaying across your lips. “Shh. No more crimes.”
You bite his palm—gently—and he yelps, jerking back like you’ve scalded him. “Violence,” he accuses, cradling his hand to his chest. His lower lip juts out, wobbling. “After I nurtured you.”
“You spilled whiskey on my shoes.”
Oscar squints at your feet, swaying slightly even while lying down. “They… they look better now.” His forehead thumps against your collarbone as he loses the battle with gravity. “Art.”
You sigh, shifting to accommodate his deadweight, and he makes a soft, pleased noise, nosing at the hollow of your throat. His breath evens out within seconds, warm and whiskey-sweet against your skin. The streetlight paints his eyelashes gold where they fan across his cheeks, his grip slackening around your waist.
The couch groans when you try to adjust your position, and Oscar’s knee jerks reflexively, catching you in the ribs. “Stay,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his voice thick with sleep. His fingers twitch against your hipbone, blindly seeking purchase. “‘S comfy.”
“You’re a human furnace,” you mutter, but stop wriggling. Oscar hums, satisfied, and hooks his ankle around yours like a possessive koala. His sock is damp from where he stepped in a puddle earlier, cold against your skin.
The clock on the wall ticks softly, the sound blending with Oscar’s steady breathing. His lips part slightly, his exhales warm against your collarbone.
You card your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he likes, and he melts further into you with a contented sigh. His exhales grow slower, deeper, whiskey-sweet puffs against your collarbone.
The streetlight outside flickers once—a brief interruption in the gold stripes painting Oscar’s slack face—and then his grip finally goes lax around your waist.
His fingers twitch once, twice, then still entirely, curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt like he’s holding onto you even in sleep. You can’t resist brushing his fringe back, your thumb skimming the faint crease between his brows until it smooths out.
Oscar makes a soft, pleased noise, nuzzling into your touch without waking, his lips parting slightly around a slow exhale.
The ceiling fan wobbles overhead, its rhythmic hum blending with Oscar’s snuffled breathing against your collarbone. You shift carefully, trying to dislodge his elbow from your diaphragm without waking him, but he only grumbles and tightens his grip, his knee slotting between yours like a puzzle piece.
His sock—still damp from the puddle incident—brushes your ankle, and you suppress a shudder.
The streetlight bleeds through the blinds in amber stripes, painting Oscar’s slack mouth gold where it’s pressed against your collarbone. His fingers twitch against your ribs—half-hearted, even in sleep—as if he’s still trying to keep you tethered.
You shift carefully, dislodging his knee from between yours, but he makes a soft, protesting noise and slings an arm over your waist, dragging you back.
“No,” he mumbles into your skin, his voice thick with sleep and tequila. His lips move clumsily against your shoulder, the words slurring into nonsense. “Mine.”
You huff but don’t fight it, letting his weight pin you to the couch. The clock ticks somewhere in the dark, each second punctuated by Oscar’s slow, whiskey-warm breaths.
His hair smells like party sweat and the cheap citrus shampoo he insists on buying, the scent familiar enough to make your chest ache.
Outside, a car door slams. Oscar flinches in his sleep, his grip tightening reflexively around your waist. “Shhh,” you murmur, thumbing the crease between his brows until he relaxes again.
His eyelashes flutter, casting shadows across his cheeks, but he doesn’t wake—just sighs and nuzzles closer, his nose bumping your jaw.
The ceiling fan wobbles overhead, its hum blending with Oscar’s snores. You shift carefully, trying to free your trapped arm, but he whines and digs his knee deeper into your thigh like a petulant starfish.
“Christ,” you mutter, resigned. His sock—still damp—brushes your ankle, and you grimace but don’t pull away.
The couch groans again as Oscar shifts, his elbow digging into your ribs with drunken precision. You huff, nudging him away, but he just sighs and flops his entire weight against you like a human weighted blanket—warm and impossibly heavy.
The streetlight outside flickers, casting gold stripes across his slack mouth where it’s pressed against your collarbone. His breath evens out, whiskey-sweet and steady, his fingers twitching against your hipbone even in sleep.
You blink up at the ceiling, fighting the pull of exhaustion, but the rhythm of Oscar’s breathing is contagious—slow and deep, each exhale a whisper against your skin.
His knee is still wedged between yours, an immovable barrier, and his sock—still damp—is somehow now tangled around your ankle like a drunken shackle. You should extricate yourself. You should. But the couch is softer than expected, and Oscar is a furnace, and—
Your fingers curl into his hoodie without meaning to, fisting the fabric as your eyelids grow heavy. The last thing you register is Oscar’s hum of approval, his nose nuzzling your jaw as he unconsciously pulls you closer.
The streetlight bleeds into gold streaks behind your closed eyes, and then—
💌Day 8 of #starry valentine: Free space! Figure Skating AU. You can blame the Olympics for this.
NEXT, CH5 ->
ALL CHAPTERS
(My Heart Is) In Your Hands - Gritty (Adjective) & Fragile (Adjective)
MASTERLIST, OC MASTERLIST, also on AO3!
Part of the #starry valentine event - see prompts here!
Word Count: 1k
Featuring: Oscar Piastri & Nina Reyes (OC) as pairs figure skaters, Lando Norris & Courtney Carter (OC) as ice dancers, minor mentions of the following - Domingo Reyes (OC) & Mark Webber as coaches (latter is a pairs coach and Mark used to be Oscar's singles coach), Zoey Valente (OC), Sofia Torres (OC), and Maria Estrada (OC) as singles skaters.
Tags/Warnings: Figure Skating AU. I changed their birthdates from what is 'canon' but I clarify how old they are in each part. Mentions of the media and its implications, past divorce, past abusive parent, general anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort I have quite limited knowledge of figure skating and though I have researched/asked friends I may still get things wrong, apologies!
Summary: During Worlds 2024, what Nina had been neglecting to tell Oscar and the rest of the team suddenly comes to light, forcing her to explain and confront it.
Notes: Yes I did research the schedule for Worlds 2024 so that I could know which discipline was on the rinks when lol I am DEDICATED. Sorry that this chapter is slightly late! I'm falling behind on writing the finale but it's worth the wait I promise <3 Enjoy
gritty (adjective): showing the courage and strength of mind to continue doing something difficult or unpleasant.
fragile (adjective): easily broken or damaged.
2023-2024 Season
The article dropped during their sixth season together.
Worlds. March 19th. Mere days before pairs were due to take the ice for their short program.
Her dad went into damage control immediately and said that Nina and Oscar wouldn't speak to the media. The rest of the team refused to answer any questions about it. Oscar hadn't talked to her about it. Nina refused to leave her room until their scheduled practice, only letting her dad in.
"I'm so sorry," he sighed next to her on her bed, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. "This…this shouldn't have happened, I shouldn't have-"
"It's okay." Nina didn't like sound like she meant that, but she couldn't change her tone. "It's mother. This is so typical."
"I'm sorry," her dad repeated. "I can talk to Mark, get him to talk to Oscar, and-"
"No, no, it's okay. I'll talk to him."
The key had been forced from her neck, anyway. There was no point in hiding.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She sat up and inhaled, letting her shoulders rise and fall and relax. In the place of her tense muscles she needed some confidence. "It's…long overdue, anyway. Oscar and the girls should've already known this, I just-…I was scared."
He pulled her into a hug with a hand around her shoulders; Nina let herself relax into it. "I know, I know. I'm sorry."
"Dad, it's okay." The best thing she could do to comfort him was to hug him back tighter. "You don't have to keep apologising."
"Okay, okay." He gave a small laugh and rubbed her shoulders. "But if you need anything…"
That pulled a smile from her. "Just shout and you'll be there?"
"Exactly. Always," he replied with a small smile of his own.
Nina took a deep breath, trying to slow down her thoughts. "How's Ali? Alex?"
"They're okay," he said with a heavy sigh. The implications of the article were hard to estimate, but they weren't inconsequential. It would take up most of the off-season. "We'll talk later. Discuss it as a family after Worlds."
They'd have to discuss what to do about the article. PR wise, legally (Nina was eighteen, after all, so any sort of defamation lawsuits were more complicated), all that stuff, but all that stuff was much less important than how her friends felt about her. As her dad left, she thought about how to breach the topic and miserably came up with nothing.
Nina walked to practice alone and hated every second. Oscar usually joined her but they hadn't even had breakfast together, hadn't shared a single word all day, so obviously she walked to the practice rink alone. This wasn't right. None of this was right. Even her phone was full of things that were wrong. Social media was not going to get any attention from her for several days, but her friends had reached out. Sofia, on behalf of the girls:
Sofia: Hey hun! I just wanted to let you know that we're all here for you
Sofia: I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell us more about your mother. You can reach out and we'll listen, I promise
Sofia: If you want to talk, we're here. Always, okay? Love you xx
Then there was Lando's:
Lando: hi, just checking in
Lando: im so sorry it dropped like this. she's an asshole
Lando: see you after practice, okay?
Lando: lmk if you need anything
Lando: and pls talk to oscar
Lando: love you
He would reiterate this with Courtney as backup as the ice dancers left the ice to let the pairs on with just a look and raised brows. Talk to him, they implored, and Nina had every intention to listen to them.
Oscar was right beside her and all they shared was the necessary: an 'are you okay?' from him and a plain lie from her. On the ice, it was just a focused practice session—clockwork, two cogs that fit perfectly and turned in sync, like machinery with a strong but sterile connection that only endured so long as there was a choreography to follow—and it was like that for all hours on the practice rink, then on the main rink, all of it. Oscar never brought it up, the only hint that he'd even heard about the article was him checking in before they took to the ice. His 'I've got you' prevailed despite it all, but the look was shaky and blurred as though Nina had strained the connection with the small betrayal, making it fragile.
And yet he insisted he had her, regardless of the massive secret that had been weighing her down.
Only when they were back at their accommodation, back in a private place away from anyone that could leak their conversation for their own gain, did Oscar breach the topic.
"Hey," he said gently but she flinched anyway, turning to face him so suddenly that he took a step back. To pretend she was comfortable, Nina took a seat on her bed. Tense as she'd been that morning, but unable to relax her shoulders. Oscar cleared his throat and continued, "We should probably-"
"Talk?" She squeaked, anxious and jittery as if her mother was watching. And she was, she knew when Worlds was, that's why she dropped the article. Maximum impact. "Yeah. Yeah, we should- we can-"
"Not if you're not ready." With an inhale, he stepped towards her and she froze so that she wouldn't move away. "Just…" He let the air out and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm here." His gaze was intense, staring right through her until he started pacing in the space between her bed and his. "And I'm sorry if I ever did or said anything that meant that you didn't trust me with that."
Nina flinched. He carried on.
"The kind of stuff she said- what happened, I-" His pacing was slow but erratic, stopping when he cut himself off and staring again when he found his words. "I've only heard rumours. I haven't read the interview."
"You haven't?"
"No." Finally, he settled. It was as though his thoughts had calmed and he had lined them all up as he sat on his bed, across from hers. The space between them felt like a chasm; he was trying his hardest to breach it. "I'd rather hear it from you, if you want to tell me."
"I do, I-…It's not because I don't trust you. I do. I just…" She sighed and interlaced her hands tightly as if they could hold her together, as if she needed to be held together. There wasn't any way to sugar coat how she felt, so she inhaled and met his eyes and bluntly murmured, "That's who I am. Where I come from. That horrible woman…I'm half her. And I was afraid that if you knew that…You'd hate me."
Oscar's face scrunched into confusion. "What?"
"I only exist to do figure skating." His eyebrows furrowed and implored Nina to continue, so she swallowed and elaborated. "Ali refused. Wanted to do something else. So…she had me. I obviously wasn't supposed to know, I just…I overheard her telling him off. Harshly. Yelling. Saying things I really don't want to repeat, but it was…basically how I was better because I was continuing the family legacy. So when our parents told us about Alex, I…" She hated that Oscar's expression was softening and morphing into pity, so she lowered her gaze and focused on her hands instead. "I panicked. Yelled about it because I was afraid I somehow wasn't good enough. That's- actually how dad found out and it was the catalyst for the divorce. I guess."
Her words had come out faster than she thought, a slightly crazed ramble that made her lungs beg for oxygen, so she took a couple deep breaths. Oscar didn't interrupt at any point and didn't reach out; Nina didn't even want to imagine what his expression looked like. Just thinking of the disgust that would settle on his expression when she continued made bile rise up her throat.
"Then I-…" This part was the worst. This was the part that might sever his trust in her forever. It tasted bitter in her mouth though it was the truth because not even years of therapy had completely undone the shame she felt for her choice. "I chose to stay with her after the divorce. I chose her over dad, all because I wanted to keep skating, because she told me dad wouldn't let me, and- it was all self interest. I was a selfish, and stupid, and-"
"You were a kid."
Her head lifted before she could stop it, forcing to meet his intense stare. All anxiety had nearly faded, however, because his argument simply wasn't good enough. "So?"
"Nina, you-" He cut himself off with an inhale, suppressing anger that wasn't meant for her. "Your mother manipulated you so you'd stay with her. And you were a kid. You couldn’t have known better."
"I could have," Nina replied desperately. "I could have trusted dad, or Ali, or just not cared so much about this damn sport that it made me choose my mother."
"They put you in an impossible position." His determination surprised her. His eyes were almost glowing and it was like he believed the fire behind them could convince her of his words. It couldn't. "Your mother didn't make it any easier by trying to convince you to stay with her."
"She didn't try," she spat with an anger meant only for her past self. "She succeeded. I gave in, I fell for it, I-…" but it burnt out as fast as it had appeared as she recalled she didn't deserve that anger, and her tone mellowed down to a pathetic mutter. "I was stupid."
Oscar shook his head. "You weren't."
"It's stupid." She ignored him. She had more to say, more shame to vent out. "I love doing this, I love skating, I love skating with you, but…every time I'm up on that podium I know the foundation of my skills is because of her. And I was afraid that if you knew who I come from-"
"That doesn't define you-"
Nina ignored him again. "You'd hate me. So I didn't tell you. And I'm sorry about that. It's not because I don't trust you. I trust you more than anyone, I just…I couldn't lose that. I don't want to lose you."
The words came out before she could swallow them back and she found a knot in her throat when she tried, threatening to spill over if she spoke any more. It startled her, so she quickly looked down and wiped her eyes before any tears could escape them. Shadows shift on the floor as Oscar stood and crouched in front of her, not touching her or saying anything but just meeting her eyes. Letting her know he was there for her wordlessly. She dropped her gaze to her lap, to her hands, but she felt his eyes on her still.
"You're not going to lose me," he murmured softly, though it was gritty and determined like it was a promise that could make it through everything. Finally, she believed him.
As if giving him permission to reach out, she disconnected her hands and lifted them towards him. His hands were in hers immediately, holding them tightly as if he'd noticed that they'd been holding themselves together and had decided to help. He kept his hands in hers as he sat next to her, still looking at her with a concern she could feel without meeting his eyes. Nina couldn't bring herself to just yet.
"That was all in the article?" He asked with a whisper, a little horror and disbelief in his words
"Oh. No." With an inhale, she forced her eyes to look at him, meeting the concern she knew she'd encounter. "The article was about the divorce and how I was on her side until dad manipulated me."
Those words didn't reassure him—his eyes widened. "Oh."
He had asked about the article. He hadn't asked for her life story.
Nina cringed with a wince. "Sorry. You- you didn't ask me to-"
"It's okay," he interrupted to reassure her quickly. "I'm…I'm glad you trusted me. And I'm sorry."
All she could offer was a nod. In turn, he offered his shoulder for her to rest on, and she gladly took it. Something about it was freeing. Nina had finally told him, and he was still here. He still trusted her. She hadn't lost him, and she exhaled as the weight of that possibility left her shoulders.
There were other weights on them, however.
The words just spilled out of her as if a dam had been opened and she just wanted to tell him everything. To trust him with everything. "It feels like I'm just pleasing her. Following her dreams."
"You're not following her dreams, you're following yours."
Nina lifted her head in shock. It wasn't the first time she'd heard that sentiment—it had certainly been suggested in therapy—and it wasn't going to sink in just because one more person had said it. Despite that, she couldn't ignore how perfectly the words landed and made her heart flutter. Oscar was speaking before she could even process.
"You're doing this in spite of her and everything she put you through."
Her heart hammered against her ribs and she couldn't chalk it up to anxiety anymore.
She didn't get a chance to reply. A small knock at the door interrupted them and made Nina stand up so quickly that she tripped on her own feet and would have fallen forward and onto Oscar's bed. Of course she didn't, though—Oscar had held her up like he always did, having stood up even faster to catch her.
I've got you, his eyes said when she eventually met them with a thank you.
"It's probably the girls," she said with a small smile as they untangled. "Is it okay if I-"
"Of course." His smile was cautious but bright, like he was ready to comfort her further if needed. "Can I-"
"Yes," she replied, ignoring her heart still hammering against her ribs. "You can stay."
Nina was right—it was the girls, along with Lando, all with various ranges of pity and concern in their eyes as they stood at the door. Handling it seemed like too much on her own, but as she let them in she saw Oscar and his comforting yet firm gaze from across the room and knew she wouldn't have to. She already knew what he was saying without even thinking about it.
Maybe he'd had her off-ice all along.
Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I'm definitely finishing this one before the Spider-man AU (that chapter 2 is barely planned I cannot lie) but hopefully I won't be late again!
Any and all interactions are very much appreciated!
Being Oscar Piastri’s race engineer was supposed to be professional. Unfortunately, that’s hard when your driver flirts with you over the team radio, the entire McLaren garage ships you, and the internet thinks you’re his girlfriend. pairing. Oscar Piastri x fem! engineer! reader. warnings. workplace romance, idiots in love, mutual pining lowk, teasing,humor & crack. based on this request; for my dearest @piestri 🫶🏻 hope you like it!
f1
f1 familiar faces arriving for the quali day! 👋🏻
❤️ liked by alexandramalenaleclerc and 1,1 M others
user1 the leclerc family 😍😍
user2 everyone arriving with their girlfriends and then there’s oscar arriving with his engineer 😭
⤷ user3 and it’s not for the first time too 👆🏻
user4 rebecca looks gorgeous omg
user5 cute couples and oscar and y/n 😭
⤷ user6 she probably knows more about him than a girlfriend would tbh
user7 why do oscar and y/n actually look like a couple though 💀
⤷ user8 FR!! i refuse to believe they’re just coworkers…
⤷ user9 this man spends 23 races a year listening to her orders of course they look like that
user10 admin is trying to tell us something…
yourusername
yourusername last slide is a jumpscare
❤️ liked by oscarpiastri and 223,3 K others
oscarpiastri pace slow today
⤷ yourusername driver slow today 💀
⤷ user11 LMAOOOOO
⤷ user12 are they flirting….
⤷ user13 probably…
user14 they argue like a married couple already😭
⤷ user15 no wonders when they work together since oscar’s rookie season
user16 iconic!! you’re such an inspiration 🥹🧡
user17 she absolutely chose that photo on purpose😭😭😭
⤷ user18 y/n: 1, oscar: 0
user19 i just know lando is gonna be the ambassador of this ship
user20 it’s lowkey giving siblings or dating😭
oscarpiastri
oscarpiastri starting p1 tomorrow (thanks to y/n for such a motivating message)
❤️ liked by yourusername and 1,3 M others
yourusername and u said the pace was slow.. 🙄
⤷ oscarpiastri sorry for doubting you
⤷ user21 i’m unwell
user22 he’s literally flexing that she thinks he’s the goat, I can’t breathe
⤷ user23 flexing with being praised by your engineer is crazy work
mclaren excellent work 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
user24 @/oscarpiastri @/yourusername you guys are already married in my head btw
user25 ok someone explain why I ship them so hard right now
⤷ user26 everyone does!! 😩😩
user27 if this isn’t a love story in the making i don’t know what is 😭
lando @/willjoseph why don’t you write this kind of messages for me
mclarenf1
mclarenf1 Our favorite ‘definitely not dating’ duo has just arrived into the paddock! 😏
❤️ liked by lando and 997,1 K others
user28 and ofc they arrived together 😭
user29 NO FREAKING WAY I THOUGHT THIS IS A FANPAGE 😭😭
user30 when the official team account joins the allegations 💀
⤷ user31 they really said: we see the chemistry too 😭
yourusername i feel violated….
⤷ mclarenf1 sorry girl you looked too good in the photo to not to post them 🥹
⤷ user32 admin is hilarious 😭
user33 i know the garage gossip must be INSANE
user34 when the TEAM starts joking about it you know it’s serious 😭
⤷ user35 the whole garage tease them all the time 100%
mclarenf1
mclarenf1 Congratulations to Oscar on the win! 🧡🏆 (We hope Y/n agreed to that dinner 👀)
❤️ liked by yourusername and 1,1 M others
user36 the hug is NOT giving “just coworkers” 😭
user37 EVEN MCLAREN IS SHIPPING THEM??? 😭😭😭
⤷ user38 i love this team oml
user39 i hope she said yes!!!
user40 ngl they’ve been lowkey together in our hearts since 2023
lando she said yes dw guys
⤷ user41 OMG LANDO CONFIRMED IT 😭😭😭 THIS IS NOT A DRILL
⤷ user42 THANK YOU LANDO
⤷ user43 I’M DEADDDD
⤷ user44 lmao they will skin him alive for exposing them like this😭😭
writers, you can and should be proud of your fic even if you personally are not satisfied with it. because even if you think it's "not good", you can be proud of the fact that you wrote it and it's something you created. you can be proud of the fact it's not ai.
repeat after me, it's something you put your soul and dedication in — and that's something ai could never achieve.
SUMMARY: it won't be that bad to hope for something to happen between you and oscar, right?
REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WARNINGS: angst but happy ending, inspired by my favorite movie 'sixteen candles', alternative universe wherein oscar is not an f1 racer but a uni boy, a little cliche (just bc), not proof read, and a little typographical errors
WORD COUNT: 15.1k
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i honestly don't know what to say. this had been in my drafts for months now (since last year), and also, happy 2026. a lot of things had happened to me, that's why i have to be inactive for a while. been dealing with some stuff. i offer this word vomit of a fic to you guys. i hope you'll like it :)
p.s. i'm not completely sure when i'll be able to do an update again with my op81 socmed au. i need to get my shit together first. also, i might disappear again right after, so i'm very sorry in advance.
The sound of your mother’s laughter filtered through the thin walls of your house that one Saturday morning. She was talking to someone over the fence—again. You didn't really have to look to know who she was talking to. There was only one person she chatted with animatedly at eight in the morning on weekends—Mrs. Piastri. You were still in your Pajamas, brushing your teeth when you heard your mother call your name.
“—and she’s up now, she’s awake!”
You froze mid-brush, toothbrush hanging limply from your mouth. “No,” you mumbled around the foam, “no, no, no—”
But by then, it was already too late. There was a light knock at the door connecting to the side gates of your houses, followed by an all too familiar voice.
“Your mum says you’re awake.” Oscar said, tone flat but amused.
“I hate this neighborhood arrangement.” You said, spitting out the toothpaste, and out onto the hallways.
Oscar leaned against the doorframe, wearing that usual half smirk he did whenever he was amused with you. His hair was messy, a clear sign that he had just woken up too, but he already looked too effortlessly put together for someone who had just rolled out of bed. You noticed, with slight annoyance and something else you did not want to name, that he wore the same black hoodie he always did when it was chilly.
“Morning to you too,” he replied, eyes flicking over your sleepy state. “You’ve got, uh…”
“What?”
He motioned vaguely to your mouth, “toothpaste.”
“Oh, uh,” you wiped it quickly, cheeks heating up. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, biting back a grin. “Mum said you’re coming to campus early for your Saturday class. You still need a ride?”
You sighed, heading back to your room to get dressed. “Yeah, just give me ten minutes.”
Ten minutes, of course, turned into twenty-five. By the time you walked out of your front door, bag slung over your shoulder and hair hastily tied up, Oscar was already leaning against his car—arms crossed, pretending to check the time on his phone like he always did.
“You know,” he said dryly, opening the passenger door for you, “for someone who complains about my driving, you sure love making me wait.”
You slid in at the front seat with a mock glare. “You don’t drive fast. You drive like an eighty-year-old man who’s terrified of speed bumps.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow as he got inside the driver’s seat. “Well I’m sorry that I value my life and my passengers by not dying in traffic.”
“Tragic.” You said, buckling in.
“You’re so dramatic.” He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched.
“Comes with studying medicine.” You said, clicking on his dashboard screen.
The speakers hummed softly before you connected your phone via bluetooth, and, as always, you went straight to your favorite playlist—basically a whole spotify playlist of songs from your favorite rom-com movies of all time. The intro chords of Stephen Bishop’s song, It Might Be You filled the car, and you turned the volume up just enough to make Oscar groan.
“Again?” He said, dragging out the word.
“Yes, again!” You said brightly, leaning back in your seat. “This song is a masterpiece, don’t tell me it doesn't make you feel things!”
“It’s from 1982.”
“So? It is literally the golden era of love songs.” You tapped your fingers on your thigh in rhythm. “This song is about fate, you know. About finding the right person when you least expect it. It’s timeless, Oscar.”
He gave you a sidelong glance, that subtle little smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve given this speech, like, fifty times now.”
“And yet you still don’t appreciate it enough!” You said, turning up the volume again and starting to sing along—loudly and exaggeratedly. “Time, I’ve been passing time, watching trains go byyyy—”
Oscar just groaned. “Oh my god.”
But he didn't stop you, he never did. By the time you reached the chorus of the song, you could see Oscar trying not to smile. You stretched your arm towards him dramatically, pretending like you were serenading him from the passenger seat.
“It might be you, all of my life!”
He burst out laughing, finally shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it, though.”
“Debatable.”
“Liar.”
It was always like this, the easy banter. The quiet moments that didn't need words. The comfort that came from years of friendship, the kind that made you forget where the line between ‘best friend’ and ‘something else’ really was.
You and Oscar grew up side by side—matching scraped knees, shared ice creams, your mothers gossiping over the fence while you and Oscar built lego towers that always collapsed. He was awkward even as a kid, quieter than most, but you would always find his dry humor very charming. Somewhere between high school and university, though, he had grown taller, jaws became sharper, and his smile more boyish—and somewhere along that blurry timeline, you had started falling. But you had never told him, you never would.
Oscar had that effect on people—being the kind of quiet that made you want to fill the silence, the kind of presence that felt safe, steady, and real. Maybe that’s why it hurts sometimes, because you knew that while you were quietly memorizing the way he smiled, Oscar probably just thought you were being your usual loud, dramatic self.
Halfway to campus, the song had already switched to another track. The moment you noticed it was no longer It Might Be You, you reached for your phone again to replay it.
Oscar swatted your hand lightly. “Nope.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve listened to that one enough.”
“I’m not done absorbing the emotions!” You protested.
He just gave you a look that said he had heard this line before. “You listen to that song like it’s your religion.”
“That’s because it is,” you said solemnly. “It’s the perfect love song. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to just know someone’s the one?”
He blinked, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Of course not, never said it was,” you said softly, staring out the window. “But I think you just feel it. Like one day, you wake up, and you realize you’ve been looking at the same person all along, and all of a sudden, it makes sense. It’s them.”
“You really believe that?” Oscar replied, a little quieter now.
“I do.” You smiled faintly.
He nodded slowly, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, I can tell.”
You laughed softly at his reply, but your chest felt warm in that painful, familiar way. You wanted to tell Oscar that it’s you. That every time you sang that song, it was not just for fun. It was because every word of it reminded you of the way he had been there for years—steadily, unknowingly, and the boy next door who had somehow become the center of your heart.
But you didn't say it. Instead, you just turned the volume back up, singing the chorus again while Oscar shook his head with the fond, quiet smile that you had grown too attached to, and in that car, between laughter, music, and unspoken feelings—you decided that if you had to carry this secret forever, it was okay with you. Because, even if he never knew, even if he never felt the same way, it still might be him.
All your life.
It was one of those rare evenings when the roles were reversed. Usually, Oscar would be the one leaning casually against the wall across from your lecture hall, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, scrolling through his phone while waiting for you to finish class. But tonight, it was you standing outside his lecture hall—tired but still patient, your tumbler being held by your right hand, and your books being clutched by your left hand against your chest.
The corridor buzzed faintly with voices from the other rooms—footsteps echoing, people laughing, and the faint squeal of rubber soles against tile. The light outside had dimmed into a dusky orange, the kind that seeped through the hallway window and painted the white walls gold. You checked the time on your phone, Oscar’s running late.
“Come on, Piastri.” You murmured softly, shaking your head.
You tried distracting yourself by doom scrolling between different apps, but your focus kept slipping towards the door of their lecture hall. You could faintly hear a professor’s voice inside, muffled and monotonous. You smiled to yourself, picturing Oscar fighting to stay awake, pen tapping lightly against his notebook as he zoned out. When the door finally opened, a flood of students poured out—some were chatting, yawning, and rushing towards the vending machines. Then, there he was.
Oscar walked out, laughing softly at something that was beside him had said, and that someone was Lily Zneimer. You froze for a split second, the same smile you had been wearing faltering just slightly. Of course you knew who Lily was, everyone in the faculty did. Bright, kind, effortlessly composed—she’s the type of person that people would usually gravitate towards.
You had worked on a charity project together once, where you went to an underserved remote area, she’s the one that the engineering faculty sent to go with you. Lily was genuinely lovely, the kind of girl who said your name softly when she spoke to you, who remembered details about people, and who always had encouraging words to offer. Now, she was walking next to Oscar, her hair falling gracefully over her shoulder as she laughed at something he said. He looked very relaxed, hands in his pockets, that faintly amused smirk on his lips, the one you always saw when he was in a good mood.
There was a small pinch in your chest. You didn't know why exactly, or maybe you did, and you just don’t want to admit it yourself. You took a quiet breath, straightening up, and decided to just wait until they were done talking, since you didn't want to interrupt. So you just stood there, pretending to check your phone, pretending that your pulse was not doing that weird thing it did whenever Oscar smiled.
After a few moments, Oscar’s eyes lifted and spotted you down the hall. His expression softened, and that familiar, small, lopsided smile appeared on his face. The one that always felt a little too fond, too easy. You lifted your hand and gave him a small wave, smiling back. He nodded slightly before turning to say something to Lily—probably to say goodbye, you guessed. She smiled at him, and then waved before walking in the opposite direction, her friends calling out to her from down the corridor. Just like that, it was you and him again.
Oscar walked towards you, his bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly disheveled from running his hand through it, which is something he did often when he was tired or distracted.
“Hey,” he greeted, voice easy and casual. “Sorry, class ran a bit over.”
You smiled, forcing the cheerfulness into your tone. “It’s fine. I figured you’d be late, engineering people, right? Always overachieving.”
“Right,” he chuckled. “Because med students never stay late in the lab or anything.”
You grinned at him faintly, brushing off his teasing. Then, because you couldn't help yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could even try and stop them.
“You and Lily looked good together.”
You said it with the intention of it only being a joke, with tone light and sing-song, as if you were just teasing Oscar. You even raised an eyebrow and nudged his arm slightly, like you were daring him to laugh. However, you did not expect him to go along with it.
Oscar looked down at you, smiling faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You blinked.
He shrugged that looked entirely too casual, and then said, “she’s nice. I kinda have a little crush on her, actually.”
The words hit you like an ice cold rush of water. For a second, you could not breathe properly. You tried to school your face into something neutral, supportive, but you could only feel your chest tighten anyway. You forced a laugh, one that came out softer than you meant it to.
“Oh? Really?”
“Yeah,” Oscar nodded, shoving one hand into his pocket, tone almost bashful—but in that kind of quiet and awkward Oscar way. “I don’t know…she’s smart, funny, and kind of easy to talk to.”
“She’s really sweet,” you said lightly, smiling. Even though it felt like your cheeks were made of glass. “And she’s one of the best in your year, right? You two make sense, actually.”
Oscar gave a small laugh. “You think so?”
“Yeah, of course.” You replied, staring ahead as the two of you started walking towards the university parking lot. “You’re both on the same program, probably understand each other’s brainy conversations about mechanical…curcuits? Or whatever you guys talk about.”
“Oh wow,” he said, glancing sideways at you with a teasing grin. “You really have no idea what we do, do you?”
“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p,’ and laughing softly. Grateful that Oscar took it as a joke. “I just pretend to understand whenever you talk about equations.”
He smirked, kicking a small pebble on the path ahead of him. “Good to know. I’ll stop pretending to understand all the medical terms you throw around, then.”
“That’s fair.” You chuckled faintly, gripping your books and tumbler a little tighter.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but heavier than usual. Usually, your walks with Oscar back to the car were filled with banter—snide remarks, shared laughter, and your voice bouncing off his quiet hums. But tonight, it was a little bit different. You could hear the faint rustle of leaves, the low chatter of students heading home, and beneath all that, the steady rhythm of your heart trying to pretend that everything’s fine.
You looked at Oscar from the corner of your eye—his relaxed posture, the way his hair fell into his eyes, faint trace of a smile that was still lingering on his lips as if he was lost in thoughts, which you think that he’s probably thinking about Lily.
“Soooo,” you swallowed hard, smiling, and forced a bright tone. “Are you gonna ask her out?”
Oscar laughed softly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” You echoed.
“I mean,” he glanced at you, eyes amused. “She’s great, yeah. But I don’t think I’d have much of a chance.”
You frowned. “And why not? You’re Oscar Piastri. You literally have people in our year who blush when you talk to them.”
“That’s not true.” He rolled his eyes.
“It is,” you said. “Trust me on this one, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. You just don’t notice because you’re too busy pretending you don’t care.”
Oscar chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You give me way too much credit.”
“Eh, maybe.” You replied softly.
But your voice came out quieter this time, barely above the sound of the gravel under your shoes. You smiled faintly, looking up at the darkening sky, and tried not to think about the dull ache that was growing somewhere deep in your chest. You wanted to say something else, something that would change the subject, lighten the mood, but the words stayed trapped behind your smile.
So instead, you kept walking beside him, shoulders brushing against each other every now and then, your laugh a little too soft, voice a little too casual, and somewhere in the quiet, between the sound of your footsteps and the memory of that song that always played inside of his car, you realized something—maybe the most cruel part of loving someone in silence is not that they do not love you back, but that they could look at someone else the way you had been looking at them all along.
The days began to fall into a rhythm that you didn't quite enjoy, but accepted it anyway—because that’s just how things were now. Every afternoon, the familiar routing repeated itself. You would finish your lab work, exhausted but patient, and then make your way towards the engineering building to wait for Oscar.
Waiting for Oscar used to be a small and comforting part of your day. You would lean against the wall outside his lecture hall, maybe scroll again through your phone, sometimes you’ll hum to yourself while counting the minutes until he gets out. Usually, he would be the first one to spot you, his face lighting up a little as he waved and walked over to you. But lately, that small, familiar joy had been replaced by something that is quieter, something that pressed against your chest whenever the door opened and you saw him walking out beside Lily.
You did not mind, that it was fine—unless that’s what you tell yourself. But you were starting to get really good at lying to yourself, and today was no different. You stood by the side of the hallway, your bag heavy on your shoulders—filled with your lab coat, goggles, notes, and everything else from your day of endless experiments and dissections. Your other hand held your tumbler, which you hadn't even opened yet because you were too tired to care. The white tiles under your shoes gleamed faintly under the hallway lights, and the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the space around you.
It had been a long day. A very long day. The kind of long that made your limbs ache and your mind fog over. You had been at the lab since eight in the morning, measuring, testing, writing, redoing—and now, it was almost seven in the evening. You didn't even have any energy left to scroll through your phone. You just stood there, staring blankly ahead, exhaustion heavy in your bones.
When the door to Oscar’s lecture hall finally opened, your eyes automatically flickered towards it. Students filed out in twos and threes, chatting quietly as they passed, and there he was again—Oscar, walking beside Lily, papers in hand with the faintest smile on his face. You didn't know if it was because you were tired or just completely something else, but seeing Oscar and Lily together made that familiar dull ache return. It was not jealousy, not really. It was something that is much softer, sadder. The kind of pain that came from watching something slip away from your grasp that you never really had in the first place.
They look good together, you couldn't simply deny that. Oscar was tall and quiet, awkward in the way that made people want to lean in closer, whereas Lily was poised and warm, the kind of girl who made everything around her seem lighter. Then there’s you—you were just there. Standing on the sidelines, with your heavy bag and tired eyes.
You waited until they finished talking. You didn't want to interrupt, you never did. You watched Lily laugh softly at something Oscar said, the sound echoing faintly down the corridor. You watched the way he looked at Lily—not with intensity, but with quiet interest. You had seen that look before, it was the same one Oscar had when he found something fascinating, something worth understanding. It took him a little while before his eyes finally lifted and found you.
When they did, his face broke into that familiar, gentle smile—the one that felt like it belonged only to you. You gave him a small wave, returning his smile with one of your own, though yours was a little tighter, a little more tired. Oscar said something to Lily, probably goodbye, and she smiled before heading in the opposite direction, her books hugged to her chest. You exhaled quietly as he walked towards you, pushing his hair back with his hand.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft but bright. “You’ve been waiting long?”
You shook your head, forcing a little smile. “Not really. I just got here.”
It was a complete and total lie—you had been there for nearly twenty minutes, but you didn't have the energy to make Oscar feel bad.
He frowned slightly, studying you. “You look exhausted.”
“I am,” you admitted with a quiet laugh, rubbing your shoulder. “We had back-to-back lab sessions today. My brain’s basically mush.”
Oscar chuckled softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Mush, huh? Is that the medical term?”
“Yeah,” you gave him a small grin. “Very scientific.”
He smiled, and for a moment, it felt like things were normal again. The easy rhythm of your friendship falling into place. But your body was too drained to keep up the usual banter, so the silence stretched longer than it usually did. As the two of you started walking towards the parking lot, you could hear the faint crunch of gravel beneath your shoes, and the rustling of trees overhead. Oscar glanced sideways at you a few times, like he wanted to say something, but each time, he stayed quiet.
“You and Lily seem to be spending a lot of time together lately.” You said finally, trying to keep your tone light, casual.
“Yeah,” he nodded, not catching the way your fingers tightened slightly around your water bottle. “We got paired up for this big project. Counts for, like, half our final grade.”
You nodded. “That’s great. You two make a good team.”
“Yeah, she’s—” he started, then paused. “She’s really smart. Organized, too. Keeps me on track.”
You forced another smile. “Sounds like you need that.”
“Probably.” He grinned faintly.
You modded, looking straight ahead. You didn't say anything else. You don’t trust your voice right now to sound as casual as you wanted it to. But, inside your mind, your mind wouldn't stop spinning. You told yourself that it was okay, that this was just how things went sometimes. You had known Oscar your whole life, and if anyone deserved something good, it was him, and Lily—she was as good as they came. Of course they would make sense, they would fit together in a way that you and Oscar never would.
Lily Zneimer was perfect. She was soft spoken, radiant, effortlessly graceful—she is the kind of girl who made people look twice, and you, well, you were just you. Loud, quiet other times, always somewhere in between. You were good at what you did, sure—top of your class too, focused, ambitious, but you are not Lily Zneimer. You couldn't compete with someone like her, not that you ever planned to. But still, that didn't make it hurt any less.
Oscar’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’re really quiet today,” he said, glancing at you with concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” you blinked, then looked up at him and smiled faintly. “Just tired. Labs all day, remember?”
“You sure?” He asked again, gaze lingering a little longer than usual.
“I’m sure,” you chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just running on fumes.”
“Okay,” he said, tone still laced with a hint of worry for you. “You can sleep in the car if you want.”
You laughed quietly. “Tempting.”
Oscar laughed a little at that, unlocking the car door for you. As you slid into the passenger seat, you rested your head lightly against the cool window, eyes falling shut for a moment. You could hear him starting the engine, the faint hum of it filling the silence. For a brief second, you wished things could go back to how they were before—before Lily, before the paired project, before the quiet ache that had taken up residence in your chest. But you knew better. Some things were not meant to stay simple, and some things—like loving someone who didn't know, were meant to hurt quietly, in ways you would ever understand.
You just stayed silent, eyes closed, pretending to rest. When Oscar glanced your way again, concern was evident in his eyes, you smiled faintly to yourself—because even though your heart was aching, you still loved him enough to be happy that he might have found something who could make him smile that way.
The hum of the fluorescent lights inside the laboratory had long stopped being comforting. By now, it was a dull, persistent reminder of how late it was, how tired you were and how much you wanted to go home. The faint scent of disinfectant clung to the air, mixing with the sterile tang of metal instruments and faint traces of alcohol from the day’s endless experiments.
You glanced up at the clock above the door, nearly eight in the evening. You let out a quiet sigh, shoulders sagging as you placed your pipette down, double checking the label on the last sample before closing the lid on your lab kit. Other students were already packing up too, the scraping of chairs and quiet chatter echoing faintly against the tiled walls.
“Fucking finally,” you muttered under your breath, wiping your forehead with the back of your sleeve. “I can’t feel my brain anymore.”
Noelle, your lab partner gave you a tired laugh as she zipped up her bag. “Go home, you look like you’re about to fall over.”
“Don’t tempt me.” You smiled faintly.
Once everything was neatly tucked away—notes, gloves, goggles, and medical tools, you slung your bag over one shoulder and grabbed your tumbler, still half-full from this morning. The hallway outside was dim and quiet now, most classes were already done for the day. You could feel the weight of the week pressing down on you—fatigue seeping deep in your bone, dryness of your throat, and stiffness in your hands.
As you pushed the lab door open, you let out a breath that you did not realize that you were holding—relieved that the long day was finally over. But then, you stopped on your tracks, because standing just outside the lab, waiting, was Oscar. Next to him was Lily.
For a brief moment, your mind went blank. Your footsteps faltered just slightly as your eyes took in the sight of them—Oscar in his usual hoodie and jeans, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed, and expression relaxed as he said something to Lily that made her laugh. Lily’s hair gleamed under the hallway lights, posture perfect and graceful, as if she was not the least bit tired despite the late hours. You didn't know what to feel exactly, there was a strange twist in your chest, mix of surprise, confusion, and that small stubborn ache that had been sitting in you for weeks now. Still, you smiled, tight lipped and polite, clutching your tumbler a little too firmly in your hand.
“Hey.” You greeted, voice soft, and trying to sound normal.
Oscar’s eyes lifted at the sound of your voice. His expression quickly changed—a familiar kind of warmth lighting up his face, the kind that always made something inside you flutter, despite your best efforts.
“Hey,” he replied, pushing off the wall. “You took your time.”
You gave him a small laugh, it sounded weak but genuine enough. “Sorry, the lab ran late again. We had so many samples to process today.”
“Med students are built differently,” Lily chimed in, smiling kindly at you, and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could never do that many hours straight.”
You smiled back at her. “Trust me, neither can I.”
Oscar chuckled softly, watching the exchange between you and Lily. You glanced down at your watch, it was already 8:12 pm. The realization that they had both been waiting thus long hit you, and something about that did not sit quite right in your chest.
“You should've gone home first,” you said, looking up at Oscar. “I could've just taken the bus.”
“Not a chance.” Oscar replied almost instantly. “Mum would actually murder me if she found out I left you here alone.”
His reply made you pause. For a heartbeat, you didn't know what to say. Though the words themselves were plain and simple, teasing, but the way he said it—a small hint of protectiveness in his tone, made you feel things. It made your chest ache in that familiar, traitorous way.
“Right,” you smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. “Can’t risk your mum’s wrath.”
“Exactly.” He grinned.
“Let’s go then,” you shifted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, trying to ignore the heaviness in your limbs and the slight wobble in your heart. “Before I actually fall asleep on my feet.”
Oscar nodded, starting to walk, but then he glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey, is it okay if Lily rides with us? She didn't bring her car today.”
“Oh,” you said softly, Oscar’s question catching you off guard. “Yeah, of course.”
“Are you sure?” He asked, tone careful.
“Yeah,” you repeated, managing a small smile. “It’s fine.”
It really was fine. It had to be.
The three of you started walking together towards the university parking lot, the night air was cool and quiet. You listened absently as Oscar and Lily talked about their project, something about simulation codes and structural testing that you don’t have any idea about. Their conversation flowed easily, it was the kind of conversation that only happens between people who understand the same language.
You trailed behind, nodding occasionally, not wanting to intrude in their conversation. When you finally reached Oscar’s car, you automatically went towards the backseat, only to realize that Lily had done the same thing. You both reached for the door handle at the same time, pausing awkwardly.
“Oh—sorry,” Lily quickly said, pulling back her hand from the door handle. “You sit there, please.”
“No, it’s okay.” You shook your head with a polite smile. “You can sit in front.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, hesitant. “I don’t want to impose—”
“Really, it’s fine,” you insisted, tone gentle. “Go ahead.”
Lily looked at you for a moment before smiling gratefully. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
As you settled into the backseat, you buckled your seatbelt and rested your head briefly against the cool window, the city lights outside flickering faintly in the reflection. You caught a glimpse of Oscar as he got into the driver’s seat, adjusting the rear view mirror.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Yeah.” You and Lily said almost at the same time, and both laughed softly.
The car ride started quietly, the hum of the engine, the occasional sound of the tires rolling over the uneven pavement, and ghe faint murmur of Oscar and Lily’s conversation upfront. You chime in every now and then when they addressed you—small things and polite responses. But mostly, you just listened.
There’s no doubt that Lily was easy to talk to, you could see why Oscar liked her. She had this natural warmth that made the space feel lighter, her laughter easy and sincere. Every now and then, she would turn slightly in her seat to ask you something about your classes or how medicine compared to engineering, and you would answer with a smile. Though your words would always come out quieter and slower. You didn't trust your voice not to sound off.
From where you were seated, you could see the way Oscar would glance at Lily whenever she spoke—curious, attentive, and with that subtle smile tugging at his lips. You had seen that kind of expression before, Oscar had once looked at you like that during your late night study sessions or car rides that were filled with laughter. Now, it was all hers. You just decided to turn your gaze towards the car window instead, the soft glow of passing streetlights blurring into streaks of gold and white.
By the time you reached Lily’s place, you had managed to compose yourself again. She unbuckled the seatbelt and turned slightly to look at you from the front seat.
“Thanks again for letting me hitch a ride,” she said kindly. “You’re seriously too nice.”
You smiled. “It’s no problem. Get home safe, okay?”
“I will,” she said, and then looked at Oscar. “Thanks, Oscar. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.” He replied, voice soft, and his smile lingering as Lily stepped out of the car.
The door on the front seat closed gently, and then silence. The air inside Oscar’s car felt heavier now, quiet—almost deafening after all the light conversation. Oscar started driving again, hands steady on the steering wheel. You leaned your head against the window, feeling the cool glass against your skin, reflection faint in the passing lights. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke, until Oscar decided to break the quietness.
“You okay?”
You blinked, forcing a small hum. “Mhm? Yeah. Just tired.”
“Long day?” He glanced at you through the rearview mirror, eyes soft.
“Very,” you replied, smiling faintly. “I don’t think my legs remember how to function anymore.”
Oscar chuckled under his breath. “You’re gonna burn yourself out if you keep pushing like this.”
“Well, it’s basically in the job description for my program.” You said, voice tired but teasing.
He smiled at what you had said, but nothing else. The car fell into that quietness again, save for the low sound of the tyres against the road. Every now and then, you would catch him glancing at you in the mirror—quick, concerned looks that he probably did not even realize he was doing. When he finally pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt, giving him a tired but genuine smile.
“Thanks for the ride. Goodnight, Oscar.”
“Anytime,” he said softly. “Get some rest, yeah?”
You nodded, stepping out of the car. “You too.”
Oscar waited until you reached your front door before he parked his on the garage of their house next to yours. You turned the key in your lock, exhaling deeply as you stepped inside. It wasn't until you were settling your bag down that you had realized that your tumbler was missing. You immediately frowned, checking the pockets of your bag, the counter, your jacket—nothing. Then it hit you, you must have left it in the backseat of Oscar’s car.
“Of fucking course.” You murmured to yourself, sighing and shaking your head.
You would get it from him tomorrow.
You never did get your tumbler back from Oscar. You realized it two days later, when you opened your bag to reach for it after class, and your hand met only the empty space. A hollow sigh escaped you, one that carried more than just the frustration of losing something small. You knew exactly where it was—on the floor of Oscar’s car, maybe rolling under the seat or tucked beside the door. You could have texted him, you could have asked, but somehow you didn't, because lately, Oscar was not just Oscar anymore. Yeah, he was Oscar, but now it became Oscar and Lily.
You thought it was just convenience. The two of them had been partners in a group project, so it made sense that they spent time together, working late, talking through code or design drafts. But the project had ended weeks ago, and still, Lily rode with you both now to and from university. You saw him and Lily together sometimes inside the university campus together—laughing, sharing those small, comfortable looks that you used to think only you understood. And maybe that is when realization had hit you again—maybe Oscar did finally made his move.
Meanwhile, you were sill the one staying late in the lab, surrounded by the sterile hum of machines and the echo of your own exhaustion. The embarrassment began to creep in slowly, until it became impossible for you to ignore. Every night you would leave the lab and find them both waiting for you—Oscar leaning casually against his car, Lily beside him, their silhouettes framed by the yellow glow of the campus lights. It was kind, maybe even sweet of him, but you just could not stand the thought of Oscar waiting there for you with Lily. You felt like an intruder in something that used to be yours.
One evening, after another long and draining day, you finally decided. You had just finished logging your lab results when you saw a message pop up on your phone.
Oscar [7:34 pm] : outside whenever you’re done :)
You [7:34 pm] : hey, if you’ve already been waiting for 15 minutes or so, you don’t have to stay.
You [7:35 pm] : you can just go home first, I’ll be fine.
Oscar [7:36 pm] : nah, it’s fine. we’ll wait.
You [7:36 pm] : oscar, seriously.
You [7:36 pm] : you don’t have to wait for me, especially since lily’s with you.
You [7:37 pm] : i can just take the bus or grab an uber ride home, it’s late anyway.
Oscar [7:40 pm] : you know mum will kill me if she finds out i left you here alone lol
You [7:41 pm] : then i’ll tell her it’s fine.
You [7:41pm] : i’ll talk to her myself if i have to.
You [7:42 pm] : i promise i’ll get home safely, okay?
Oscar [7:43 pm] : you sure?
You [7:43 pm] : yep :)
Oscar [7:44 pm] : 👍🏻
That was basically how it started with you going home alone at night. The first few nights felt strange, lab corridors were too quiet, the hum of the vending machine too loud. You got used to hearing your own footsteps echo as you walked to the bus top, the weight of your bag pressing down on your shoulder. You had plugged in your earphones and listened to the faint hum of your playlist that you didn't really pay attention to, mind too full and too emoty all at once. Yet, every night as you stepped out of the lab, you would find yourself glancing towards the parking lot out of habit, just to check and see.
Sometimes, you would caught a glimpse of Oscar’s car in the distance, headlights cutting through the dark, Lily in the passenger sear beside him. You would swallow down that quiet, stupid ache that bloomed in your chest and quickly look away, pretending you hadn't seen anything.
During your in-between breaks, it was all the same. You would sit at one of the benches by the university courtyard, notes open in front of you but your attention slipping elsewhere. Across the quad, you would see them together—Oscar carrying his backpack with that casual slouch of his, and Lily laughing at something he had said. They always walked close enough that their shoulders brushed. That small, simple sight would be enough to send a stinging feeling through your chest.
It was not jealousy to be exact. Or maybe it was. You didn't know anymore. It was more like realizing that something you had quietly cherished for years was slipping away—not taken, nor broken, just fading. Slowly and quietly, like it had never really belonged to you in the first place.
Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, you and Oscar had started to drift apart. There was no argument, no falling out, just a gradual softening of things—conversations that used to be easy now felt forced, messages that used to come instantly now came hours later, if at all. Oscar became busy with Lily, you became busy with your own stuff. That was all there was to it. When you did see each other, it was different. Polite, a little distant, like two people who used to share everything but now didn't know where to start.
Then, your new class schedule came out, it felt like it was the quiet ending of it all. Your classes were now in the afternoons, while Oscar’s were still in the mornings. There was no point in riding together anymore. You didn't even mention it to him, there was no need. The change just happened naturally, besides he didn't asked.
Somewhere between the late nights in the lab and the quiet rides home alone, the rhythm you once had with Oscar had unraveled. Not in a sudden snap, but in a slow and steady unraveling that you could not stop. It was fine, people drift apart, that this was just a phase—part of growing up. Yet, every now and then, as you walked home with your bag heavy on your shoulder and the city lights flickering faintly in the distance, you couldn't help but think of the tumbler you left behind—the one still sitting at the back of Oscar’s car.
Weeks had quietly slipped by, the kind that blurred together in the haze of university life—labs, lectures, late nights, and the quiet sting in your chest that followed you around like a shadow. Somewhere in between those days, things began to shift again, though not in the way you expected.
Your parents had sat you down in the kitchen one Saturday morning. You were still in your pajamas, hair tied in a messy bun, sipping coffee while trying to finish your lab notes. Your mother cleared her throat first, exchanging a quick glance with your father, and you immediately knew something was coming.
“Sweetheart,” your mother began, tone gentle but deliberate. “We’ve been talking, you father and I, about your car.”
You looked up from your notebook. “Uh, what about it?”
“The mechanic says it’s done for. Completely.” Your dad gave a small sigh, pushing a few papers aside. “He doesn't recommend repairing it anymore.”
“Seriously?” You blinked. “I thought it just needed a new transmission.”
“He said even if he replaced that, the engine’s going to gove out sooner or later. It’s been over ten years, love. It’s time to let it go.” Your mother said softly.
“So…no car for me anymore?”
“That’s the thing.” Your father smiled, a little too amused for your liking.
That was when you noticed the small envelope your mother slid across the table. Curious, you carefully opened it, and inside was a key fob. New, shiny, and completely unfamiliar.
“Wait,” you blinked, looking up, completely caught off guard. “Is this—?”
“Your new car!” Your mother said excitedly. “Well, technically it’s ours until you graduate, but you’ll be the one driving it. It’s parked in the driveway.”
Your jaw dropped. “You got me a new car?”
“An SUV,” your father added. “Something reliable. You’ve been coming home late from the lab almost every night, and we don’t like the idea of you taking the bus alone. It’s not safe.”
“I can’t believe this.” You were still in disbelief, clutching the key fob.
“You’ve been working hard, sweetheart.” Your mother reached over, squeezing your hand. “You deserve something that makes things a little easier.”
“Thank you.” You said softly, meaning it.
“We also know about everything.” Your mother’s gaze softened even further as she added. “About Oscar, and how you feel a little embarrassed about him waiting for you with Lily.”
“What?” You blinked, heart tightening just slightly. “You knew about that?”
“You think we don’t notice?” Your father chuckled under his breath. “You’ve always been open with us, honey. We know you insisted on going home alone. We trust you.”
Your mother tilted her head. “You know, you could've just told Oscar to stop waiting for you. You’ve always been so considerate of everyone else’s time.”
“I did,” you said softly, stirring your coffee. “I did told him, and I told Aunt Nicole about it too. She was sweet about it, just worried, I think.”
“Of course she was,” your mother said. “They’ve always treated you like family.”
You smiled faintly at that. “Yeah, they have.”
By the time Monday rolled in, you were already used to seeing your new SUV sitting proudly in the driveway, a crisp shade of silver gleaming under the sunlight. You hadn't driven it to university yet, though—your schedule had been packed, and today, you were running late. Your 1:30 pm class starts in fifteen minutes, and you haven't even left the house. You were half-dressed, hair still damp from fhe shower, scrambling to shove your notes and laptop into your bag.
“You’re going to be late if you don’t move faster!” Your mother called out from downstairs.
“I know!” You called back, juggling your tumbler and stethoscope case before nearly tripping over your shoes.
After the whirlwind of chaos, you slung your bag over your shoulder, grabbed your keys, and called out a breathless goodbye to your parents.
“I’ll be home late! Don’t wait up!”
You jogged down the front steps, clutching your bag and keys, and then you froze. Leaning casually against the hood of his car parked right outside your house was Oscar. He looked completely at ease, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly down as he scrolled through his phone. The sight of him, so unexpectedly familiar, made your heart stumble in your chest.
“Oscar?” You blinked, momentarily stunned.
He looked up immediately, faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Took you long enough.”
“What are you doing here?” You frowned slightly, walking up towards him. “I’m running late, I don’t have time to talk.”
Oscar shrugged, straightening up. “Good thing I’m driving then.”
“What?”
“Your class starts at 1:30, right? Mine too. We can go together, saves you time.” He replied, gesturing to his car.
“You don’t have to do that anymore, Oscar.”
“What do you mean I don’t have to?” He frowned slightly, pushing off his car.
“I mean, you don’t have to drive me anymore.” You said, fumbling with your keys. “Not unless my car breaks down again, which, I’m hoping won’t happen anytime soon.”
He blinked, confused. “You got a new car?”
“Yeah! My parents surprised me with a new one.” You said, proud and breathless as you gestured towards the shiny silver SUV parked a few feet away. “Apparently, they got tired of worrying about me going home alone from uni.”
“Exactly.” You smiled, walking towards your car, pulling open the passenger door and tossing your bag inside the front seat. “So really, thank you for driving me every day for the past few months. I owe you so much for that.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” He tilted his head, looking at you quietly.
“Come on, I definitely do.” You laughed softly, brushing it off. “You were basically my chauffeur for how many months. Just text me what you want in return—coffee, food, free tutoring, not that you really need it since you’re already smart, anyways. So whatever you want and it’s yours.”
Oscar let out a quiet scoff, almost amused. “That’s not how it works.”
“Well, too bad,” you said, grinning as you shut the car door. “Consider it a deal.”
Oscar stuffed his hands into his pockets again, brows furrowing slightly, like he wanted to say something more. But before he could, you nodded with a teasing lilt.
“Anyways, you should go now too. I’m sure you’ll still be picking up Lily along the way.”
You meant to what you said as a lighthearted joke, but something in his face changed slightly. There was a flicker of something you couldn't quite place. You didn't notice though, as you were already walking around to the driver’s side, smiling softly.
“Thanks again, Oscar.” You said sincerely, before opening the door and sliding in. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
Oscar hesitated, standing there for a few moments longer. Then finally, he nodded. “Yeah. See you.”
You waved at him through the car window as you started the engine, his reflection caught faintly in the glass—standing there beside his car, watching as you drove away for the first time in a long while. For the first time in months, you were the one leaving Oscar behind.
Days slipped into a peaceful and quiet rhythm—but the slower and duller kind of days, and somehow, it’s familiar enough that you learned to live with it. Waking up, driving to university in your new car, attending your classes, spending hours in the lab, and driving home. Alone.
But in all honesty, it took you a while to get used to the silence. You did not realize how much space Oscar’s presence had occupied in your day until it was gone. The sound of hum humming absentmindedly to some song on the radio, sarcastic little comment that he would throw in whenever you ranted about an exam or quizzes, or the quiet moments when neither of you talked but the silence never felt heavy.
Now, it did.
The first few days were the hardest. You would reach for your phone instinctively after class, about to text him ‘I’m done’ like you always did—only to stop halfway, your thumb hovering over the screen before you locked it again. You reminded yourself that this was fine, this was what you wanted—indepence, distance, and control over your own feelings. But still, sometimes, when you passed by the engineering building, you couldn't help but glance toward the entrance, half-expecting to see him there with his backpack slung over one shoulder, waiting.
Now, when you did see him, he wasn't alone.
In no time, Oscar and Lily had become a familiar sight around the campus—walking side by side, talking, laughing softly at something only they understood. It was as if they had their own little bubble. You never lingered long enough to stare, of course. Whenever you happened to cross paths with them, you would pretend to be busy or in a hurry, clutching your bag a little tighter and keeping your eyes trained on your phone. But you always made sure to greet them, at least politely.
“Hey, Oscar. Lily.” You would say with a small smile, your voice steady, but your heart not.
They would smile back, both kind and genuine. Lily would wave and Oscar would give you that small nod of acknowledgement, the same one he used to give you when you were waiting outside his classroom. But now, it all felt…different.
The last straw happened when you were sitting in the student lounge, halfway through revising your notes, when you overheard a group of engineering students talking a few seats away. Their voices carried easily through the quiet room.
“—so apparently, Oscar and Lily have been hanging out a lot lately.”
“Yeah, they’re not officially together yet,” another chimed in. “But, like, they might as well be. They’re basically inseparable.”
It all felt like a cold bucket of water had been splashed at you. You froze for half a second, pen hovering over your notebook. You told yourself to ignore it and just focus on the lines of text in front of you, on the ink, on anything else. But you heard it anyway.
“They’d make such a cute couple, to be honest.”
You forced a small, bitter smile and looked down at your notes again, pretending to reread the same sentence for the tenth time. You even nodded slightly to yourself, as if agreeing to something unspoken. But on the inside, it felt like something had quietly folded on itself—small, sharp, and painful.
By the time afternoon rolled around, you were already running on fumes. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
You woke up late this morning, spilled coffee on your notes, forgot your ID inside your locker, missed a quiz because your lab session ran over time. Hell, you even dropped a petri dish, and while your professor had been very patient about it, the humiliation alone made your throat tighten. It was one of those days where the universe decided to test you, one small inconvenience at a time—as if it wanted to see how long you could hold it together.
Apparently, not very long.
Your last class ended later than usual. You stayed just long enough to hand in your lab report—movements stiff and mechanical. When the professor dismissed everyone, you packed up your things quickly, shoving your notes and laptop into your bag without any care at how messy it was. You didn't say goodbye to anyone, you just straight up left.
Your footsteps echoed against the empty hallways, breathing uneven as you clutched your keys in one hand and pushed open the door to the parking lot. The sun was already beginning to set, orange light bleeding across the concrete. It should have been a very pretty sight, but right now, it just felt so heavy. At a distance, you spotted your car from the distance, the familiar silver SUV that your parents had given you, now sitting quietly in its usual spot. You walked faster, not wanting to see anyone or talk to anyone.
Not Oscar. Not Lily. No one.
The moment you reached your car, you fumbled with the keys, and finally unlocked it with trembling hands. You opened the back door and threw, literally, your bag inside—the sound of your things hitting the seat and some of your things on the car floor echoed louder than it should have. You even threw your tumbler, the clanking of the metal sound reverberated as it hit the closed car door on the other side, you then slammed the door shut, and sank into the driver’s seat, body sagging against the leather.
You did not even start the engine.
Instead, what you did was you just sat there in complete silence. The kind of silence that was defeaning—no music, no laughter, no voice calling your name. Just your heartbeat, loud in your chest. And then, without any warning, something in you cracked. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, fingers white against the leather. The pressure built in your chest, a mix of exhaustion, frustration, and sadness—all of it all balled up and tangled until you could no longer tell them apart.
And before you even could stop yourself, you let out a scream. A raw, broken sound that tore from your throat before you even realized it was happening. The scream filled the car—loud, ugly, and desperate. It was the kind of sound that you did not even know you were capable of making.
Then came another. And another. Until the scream turned into sobs.
You leaned forward, resting your forehead against the steering wheel, shoulders shaking as the tears came—hot, unrelenting, and unstoppable. You didn't even know what exactly you were even crying for. Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was Oscar and Lily, and maybe it was everything all at once. You had been holding everything in for so long, telling yourself that it doesn't matter, that you were fine, that you had gotten used to it. But you weren't fine at all, you hadn't been for a while.
You covered your face with your hands, breaths coming in shaky bursts as tears fell down on your cheeks.
“I’m so tired.”
Your voice cracked, barely audible over the sound of your breathing. You were not just tired physically—though you were, completely. You were tired emotionally, mentally, in ways you could not explain. Tired of pretending it was okay, when in reality, it was not.
You just sat there for a long while, letting the tears run freely, until your chest finally began to loosen. The sky outside had darkened by the time your breathing steadied again. You wiped your face with a tissue from the tissue box inside your car, sniffling, and throat raw.
You started the engine, the soft hum of the car filling the silence. The headlights flickered on, cutting through the fading dusk. And even though the ache in your chest was still there—small, stubborn, and lingering, you took a deep breath and drove away. Trying to leave everything in the parking lot.
Weeks bled into months. A slow and colorless passing of time that made everything blur altogether. Your life had fallen into quiet predictability—classes, assignments, grocery runs, and long nights spent catching up on readings. The routine was steady, unchanging, and almost peaceful.
Almost.
The strange part was how easy it had been to slip out of rhythm with Oscar. There wasn't a fight, no harsh words exchanged, and no dramatic ending to your friendship. It just faded. One day you were sending each other memes and quick texts about random things, and the next, days turned into weeks of silence. Then it eventually became months.
You always reminded yourself that you’re both busy. He had his program, his relationship—or whatever it was going on with Lily. You had your coursework, internship preparations, and your life. You lived on the same street as him, yet somehow it all felt like worlds apart. Sometimes, when you would pass by the Piastri’s house, you would see his car parked outside, lights inside the house turned on, and laughter faintly spilling out from inside. You had wondered if he was there with Lily, or just his family. You would wonder if he ever thought of you at all.
Still, life went on.
So when the two-week break had been announced, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was exactly what you needed. A pause, a breather from all the stress. And somewhere within those two weeks was your birthday, though this year, you would be spending it alone. Your parents had been upfront about it, they had a business trip abroad that would last a month, meaning they would miss your actual birthday. But they had celebrated early before leaving—a quiet dinner, thoughtful cake, a few gifts, and warm hugs. You told them not to worry, that you would be fine, and you’ll just treat your special day as your usual self-care day.
As the day approached, you couldn't help but think of Oscar.
Part of you hoped, stupidly, that maybe he would remember. That he would text you, and that he would show up at your door the way he always used to every year, grinning, holding a box of your favorite cake, and hearing him say, ‘you didn't think I’d forget, did you?’. But you didn't let that hope take root, you tried to be rational—it was not fair to expect anything anymore, things were already different now. Changes are always inevitable, and you can’t be stuck in the old usual routine that you used to have every year for your birthday.
When your birthday came, the day started in silence. You woke up to your phone buzzing with notifications, and your parents calling you on facetime. As you answered, you were greeted with an off-key ‘happy birthday’ from halfway across the world. Somehow, it made you cheer up on a glum day, laughing softly, your chest warming at the sight of their smiling faces.
“So what will you be doing today, sweetheart? Is Oscar coming over?” Your mother asked.
There was a slight hesitation before you answered, keeping your tone light. “I’m not sure, mom. He’s probably busy, but I’ll do something small here. Maybe bake myself a cake or something.”
“Send us photos, okay?” Your dad chimed in. “We’ll celebrate again properly the moment we get back.”
You promised them that you would, said your goodbyes, and hung up. Even Nicole, Oscar’s mother, sent you a text later that morning.
Aunt Nicole [10:43 am] : Happy Birthday, darling! Hope you’re enjoying your day ❤️
You [10:45 am] : Thank you, aunt Nicole! Hope you and everyone are doing well 🤍
You scrolled through your messages after that, your thumb subconsciously pausing over one contact—Oscar’s. The chat history was old now, filled with the kind of warmth that made your stomach twist when you reread it. You locked your phone before you could even think too much about it.
The hours passed by quietly. You baked yourself a small cake—vanilla sponge with whipped cream and strawberries, your favorite. You had done it more out of habit than excitement, but despite everything, it still felt nice. Plus, you love the smell of sugar and butter filling the kitchen. It didn't matter if you were celebrating alone, birthdays were just normal days, after all. But still, you found yourself glancing at your phone every so often, the screen lighting up with random notifications—group chats, university announcements, and social media, but never the one name you were hoping for.
By eight in the evening, the whole house was silent, save for the faint sound of the movie playing on the tv. Sixteen Candles. You had it paused midway through, the screen frozen on a frame, wherein Samantha’s disappointed face. You let out a soft sigh that sounded a little too much like hers—the irony was not lost on you.
You looked back from the couch you’re seated at, and stared at the untouched cake sitting on the dining table—frosting still perfect and a single candle standing straight at the center. The candle lighter you had used earlier was placed beside it, right where you had left it.
So, you stood up from the couch, stretched a little, and walked over to the table. The air smelled faintly sweet. You picked up the candle lighter, flicked it on, and watched the small flame catch onto the wick. The tiny flame flickered in the dim light of the dining room, its glow reflecting faintly on your face. You sat down on the dining chair, resting your chin on your palm as you stared at the candle, the warmth of it soft but lonely. You let out a quiet laugh—empty, almost bitter.
“Happy birthday to me.” You whispered to yourself, under your breath.
Then, softly, you blew out the candle. The smoke curled upward, fading quickly into the still air. You remained on your seat for a moment longer, chest heavy, the silence around you settling deeper. Then you reached for your phone, screen lighting up immediately. There was a message from your mother in the family group chat.
Mom [8:23 pm] : How did you celebrate today, sweetheart? Did Oscar come over? 🎂❤️
You stared at the message for a while, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then you began to type.
You [8:30 pm] : Yeah, Osc came over! We just finished watching movies, and had some cake. It was fun! 🤍
You read the message twice before pressing send. A harmless lie, something small, and something that would make them worry less. Once the message was delivered, you turned your phone face down on the table and stood up. You walked back to the couch, pressing play on the movie again. The screen came alive, showing Samantha’s disappointed expression melting into a shy hope. You pulled a blanket over your legs and hugged a pillow to your chest.
You had seen Sixteen Candles more times that you could even count, you even made Oscar watch it with you once. He would groan halfway through, teasing you endlessly for loving something so corny, but he would stay until the end. You smiled faintly at the memory, even as your throat tightened, because right now, you felt exactly like Samantha—forgotten on her own birthday.
And no matter how much you try to convince yourself that none of it really matters, you couldn't just help the way your heart ached quietly in your chest. Wishing that somewhere out there, he would at least remember.
Throughout the two-week break, there was nothing from Oscar. No texts, no quick ‘hey,’ not even a reaction to an instagram story of the cake you baked. It was pure silence—defeaning, frustrating, painful silence. It’s fine, or so you thought. Tried to make peace with the fact that maybe things really did change for good between you and Oscar. You were not angry, just tired. You knew he had Lily, and you knew that meant you were not the center of his world anymore. You didn't even have the right to demand such things from him, let alone his time, much less expect him to remember your birthday. But still, when you found out from mutual classmates that he had spent your birthday out with Lily, something inside you wilted quietly.
The ache didn't come and swallow you all at once, instead it came in a form of little waves. You would be fine, then hear a song, or see a photo, or remember something he once said, and it would sting. You learned to breathe through it, to let the ache pass, to remind yourself that none of it was Oscar’s fault.
It was now the last night of your two-week break, and you had done nothing the entire day. You just let yourself wallow, drown in old romantic comedy movies, the classics and comforting ones. When Harry Met Sally, 10 Things I Hate About You, Pretty Woman, Notting Hill. You even found yourself laughing at the predictable endings, even though your chest tightened a little every time the credits rolled in and the couple kissed. By the time the final movie ended, it was already nine in the evening. The tv screen dimmed into darkness, and the only light came from the small lamp near the couch. You exhaled softly, stretching your arms over your head before standing.
“Alright,” you murmured to yourself, brushing off invisible crumbs from your sweater. “It’s time to hit the sack.”
You picked up the throw pillows that had fallen off of the couch and onto the floor, neatly arranging them back on the couch. Then you grabbed your empty mug from the coffee table, the one that still smelled faintly of cocoa, and made your way towards the kitchen. The house was quiet, eerily so, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound filling the silence.
As you were halfway to turning off the lights, you heard a knock coming from the front door. The knock was sharp, clear, and really unexpected. You froze for a second, fingers hovering over the light switch, frowning. Glancing at the wall clock—9:07 pm. Who would even be at the door at this time of hour? You didn't order anything. A neighbor? That’s unlikely, everyone on your street was quiet by this hour. Your heartbeat picked up a little as the knock came again, slightly softer this time.
You padded towards the door, floor cool against your feet despite wearing socks. You peeked through the small gap between the curtains, just for precautionary measures. When your eyes finally landed on who it was, your breath caught in your throat.
Oscar.
He was standing there, under the faint yellow glow of your porch light, hair slightly messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. He was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, shoulders slightly hunched like he was not sure if he should even be there. In his hands was a big brown paper bag, and your eyes immediately recognized the logo printed on the side. It was a paper bag from your favorite bakery.
You blinked, disbelief clouding your mind. You thought that Oscar standing there, with a paper bag from your favorite bakery was just a figment of your imagination. That the exhaustion was playing tricks on you. But then he shifted his weight from one foot to another, glancing towards the door expectantly. Your fingers tightened around the doorknob before you could slowly unlock it and opened the door—just a little, taking a peek first.
“Oscar?” You said, voice cautious, soft. “What are you doing here? It’s already late.”
Oscar looked up, meeting your eyes instantly. For a moment, neither of you had said anything. Then he cleared his throat, paper bag crinkling slightly as he adjusted his grip on it.
“Hey,” he started, voice low. “Uh, I know it’s late. I’m sorry for just showing up like this.”
You blinked, opening the door a little wider. The cool night air slipped inside, brushing against you despite wearing a sweater.
“It’s uh, it’s okay.” You said slowly, still trying what to make of the situation. “But why are you here? It’s already past nine.”
Oscar nodded quickly, looking a little flustered. That’s when you noticed it. He was talking fast, words tumbling over each other like he had rehearsed this a dozen times inside of his head but was now panicking.
“I know. I know it’s late, and you probably—well, I mean, you are probably tired, and I just—look, I messed up, okay? I know I did. I was supposed to come by last week, I wanted to come by, but then Lily—no, that’s not an excuse, I just—things got complicated, and time slipped away, and then I realized I didn't even—”
“Oscar.”
He stopped immediately, blinking at you.
“Slow down. Please.” you said gently, voice calm but firm. “You’re talking way too fast. I can’t understand you.”
He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His eyes dropped to the floor for a second before meeting yours again. The look in them was a strange mix of guilt, sincerity, and exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.” He said again, but this time, more slowly. “I should've come earlier. Or at least called you. I didn't mean to forget your birthday.”
“I, uh,” you started, not really quite sure on what to say. “It’s fine, really. You didn't have to—”
“I did,” he cut in softly, shaking his head. “You always spend your birthday with me, and I just…I completely spaced out. I don’t even have a good excuse for it, to be honest. I just realized it too late, and I felt like crap the entire week about it.”
You stared at him, hand still resting lightly on the door. He shifted the paper bag again, holding it up to you slightly.
“So,” he said, lips twitching into a nervous half-smile. “I brought this for you. Lemon chiffon cake from your favorite bakery downtown. They were about to close, but I begged them to let me buy one. And, uh, there’s also that strawberry tart you like, and a few of those cookies with the chocolate center thing you always steal from me.”
“Oscar.” You murmured softly, glancing at the paper bag, then back to him. Not really knowing what else to say.
“I know it’s late. And I know I’m probably the last person you want to see after disappearing for so long. But I couldn't not come.”
You stood there for a moment, staring at him. In front of you was the boy who used to wait for you outside your classes, who would make sarcastic comments just to make you laugh, who used to know you better than anyone. And now here he was again, at your door, eyes sincere, and holding a paper bag full of the little things that reminded him of you. You let out a quiet sigh and finally stepped aside.
“Come on in.” You said softly. “Before the neighbors think you’re some weird late night delivery guy.”
Oscar let out a small, sheepish chuckle before stepping inside. The faintest hint of relief flickering across his face.
You were not really dressed for the occasion—hair still messy from lounging on the couch, oversized sweater, and your pajama pants were wrinkled from laying on the couch for hours. You hadn't expected company, much less him. Oscar, meanwhile, stood by the door in his hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, looking entirely out of place in the softly lit living room that smelled faintly of cocoa and vanilla candles.
He closed the door gently behind him, offering you a small, awkward smile before walking towards the dining table. You followed him, a few steps behind, watching as he carefully set the brown paper bag on the table. He carefully set the brown paper bag on the table, and opened it, pulling out a box and two small containers—the lemon chiffon cake, strawberry tart, and cookies.
“You really didn't have to—” you started, but he was already halfway through unpacking.
“Yeah, I did.” He simply said, not even looking at you, voice low and steady. “Trust me.”
You pressed your lips together and leaned against the counter, watching him silently as he opened the cake box. Oscar looked oddly concentrated, brows furrowed slightly, tongue poking the inside of his cheeks as he carefully peeled back the parchment paper. You noticed then that he was handling the cake as if it were some fragile, priceless artifact.
Oscar reached back into the bag and pulled out a handful of small, thin candles—so many of them that for a second, you actually thought he was joking.
You blinked, confused. “Uh, just how many candles did you buy?”
He gave you a brief glance, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four?” Your eyes widened. “Are you serious? That cake is going to melt before you can even light the last one.”
“The bakery ran out of those number candles,” he said, completely unfazed as he started sticking them one by one into the cake. “So I thought, why not just go classic? One candle for every year.”
“That’s insane.” You muttered as he continued arranging the candles in uneven circles. “You’re going to burn the house down before we even finish singing.”
Oscar just laughed under his breath. “Relax, I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you? Really?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Because that looks like a fire hazard waiting to happen.”
“Trust me, I’ve handled worse.” He said, looking up briefly at you, the glint of amusement in his eyes softening the tension that had been sitting between you. “Remember that time you almost set your lab coat on fire?”
You frowned, though there was a reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. “That was one time, Oscar. And I was under pressure.”
“Sure, future doctor.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, and didn't say anything else. Instead, you just stood there and watched him work—placing each candle carefully, adjusting their angles, and occasionally stepping back like he was inspecting an art piece. There was something strangely comforting about seeing him like this again, moving around your kitchen like he had done it a hundred times before, with the quiet hum of familiarity filling the room.
When Oscar was finally done, he took a small step back, exhaling softly. The cake looked ridiculous, it was like a bunch of tiny white candles scattered all over like some chaotic constellation, but there was something endearing about it too. You opened your mouth to tease him again, but before you could, Oscar turned towards you. His expression had changed, the playful glint was gone, and was replaced by something that’s quieter and heavier. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly.
“I’m sorry.” He said, voice low. “I know I already said it, but I need to say it properly.”
You blinked twice, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Oscar, again, it’s fine. You don’t have to—”
“No.” He interrupted gently, shaking his head. “Please. Just let me.”
So you did. You hesitated, but nodded slowly anyway. He leaned against the edge of the table, eyes flickering briefly to the cake before settling on you.
“I was with Lily that day,” he said quietly, tone steady but filled with something that was almost akin to regret. “On your birthday. I shouldn't have been, but I was. And I’m not gonna make excuses for it.”
“It’s okay,” you said softly, forcing a small smile. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Yeah, I do. Because I think you deserve one—scratch that, you do deserve one.”
The air between the two of you was still. You could hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, the hum of the refrigerator, and the soft rustle of the candles’ wicks brushing against each other. Oscar took a quiet breath, voice dropping even more softer.
“I did try going out with her. I thought I liked her—I mean, I did like her, for a bit. She’s smart, kind, and easy to talk to.”
Okay, ouch? No need to rub it in, Oscar. No need to rub it in. You thought to yourself.
“But…it just didn't feel right. None of it did.”
You swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
“I realized it that night.” He glanced up again, eyes meeting yours, earnest and unguarded. “I realized that after I dropped her off, I was driving home, and for some reason, it felt all…wrong. Like I was forcing something that wasn't supposed to fit. I didn't know why at first.”
You just stayed silent, pulse quickening, and unsure where this conversation was going. Oscar gave a quiet laugh, almost self-deprecating.
“And I looked at my dashboard screen. The last song that played in my car was that stupid song that you kept on listening to a thousand times on repeat. The very same one you’d put on every single morning on the way to uni. I never changed it. Never even realized it was still there.”
You were about to complain how that song is not stupid, and a complete masterpiece. But he beat you to it, silencing you, and your heart lurching slightly.
“I just sat there,” he continued softly. “Staring at it, and then I saw your tumbler lying on the floor of the backseat—the one you always bring to class. I know because it’s the one that has those stupid cute stickers from your favorite video game. I don’t even know how long it’s been there. But seeing it there, hearing that song again…it hit me.”
Oscar paused, voice dropping lower. “You’ve always been there. A constant. Even when I wasn't looking, or when I was too stupid to notice, you were just…there.”
You didn't move. Couldn't move.
“I don’t know how I missed it for so long. I thought Lily was what I wanted, but when I was with her, all I could think about was—” he stopped himself, pressing his lips together. “I just knew it wasn't her. It was never her.”
Your heart was pounding as you remained standing there—staring at him as the meaning of his words began to sink in.
Oscar met your gaze again, eyes soft. “It might've taken me too long to realize it, but I think it’s always been you.”
The silence that followed was heavy but tender. It’s filled with years of friendship, stolen glances, and everything unsaid that finally found its way out.
Oscar didn't give you any chance to speak, because the moment your lips parted, ready to say something, anything, he simply reached out and took your hand. His touch was gentle, almost tentative, as if afraid you might pull away. His fingers wrapped around yours, grounding you back into the moment. Without a word, he guided you towards the dining table. You followed, still a little dazed, air thick with the quiet warmth of everything he had just said. You could only watch as Oscar leaned forward and began lighting the candles one by one. The flicker of each tiny flame reflected in his eyes, softening his features, and casting a warm gold against his skin.
It was oddly mesmerizing—the way he moved with such care, and expression tender. You stood there silently, the flicking sound of the candle lighter filling the quiet between you. Twenty-four little flames soon came to life, dotting the top of the cake like a constellation of light. And when the last candle was lit, Oscar exhaled softly, the match burning out between his fingers. He looked up at you and gave a small smile, boyish smile before he turned towards the light switch and flicked it off.
The room was instantly bathed in soft amber hues, with the only source of the light now being the flickering candles and pale blue spill of moonlight streaming in from the window. The shadows danced gently across the walls, and you swore your heart started beating louder, faster—like it somehow understood what was happening before your mind could catch up. You were about to ask what he was doing when Oscar turned back towards you, stepping closer again.
“Come here.” He said quietly, reaching for your hands again.
“What are you doing?”
“Get up.” He said softly, not answering your question.
Your eyebrows furrowed. “Uhm what?”
“Up on the table.” He said with a small smile still playing on his lips. “Trust me.”
“Oscar, there’s a cake with twenty-four lit candles on there. I’m not climbing up anywhere near that—”
“I’ll guide you.” He chuckled, squeezing your hand. “I promise I won’t let you fall. Just trust me, okay.”
“If we end up setting your hoodie on fire, I’m not responsible for anything.” You muttered.
“I’ll take my chances.” He said softly, lips quirking upward.
Oscar guided you carefully, one hand steady on your waist, the other helping you step up onto the sturdy wooden dining table. The candles wavered from the soft movement, wax beginning to melt in thin streams down the sides, but they held steady. Once you were sitting on top of the table, a little unsure, Oscar looked up at you, eyes catching the light in a way that made your chest ache.
“Okay, careful.” He said softly as he removed his sneakers, setting them aside neatly before climbing up in front of you.
“Be careful Oscar!” You warned, voice a little panicked. “If you fall, I’m not calling an ambulance. I’ll just pretend I don’t know you.”
He laughed. “You’d really abandon me like that?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re lying.” He gave you that lopsided grin that made your heart twist.
You huffed a quiet laugh, but your focus drifted again—to the cake between you, candles’ golden glow illuminating both your faces. The warmth of the light danced across the planes of his face, outlining his jaw, cheekbones, and the small curve of his smile. And then the realization hit you again.
The cake, flickering candles, sitting on top of the table, and the soft golden haze of light. It felt familiar, like a memory you had always loved.
“Oh my god…” you whispered softly, eyes darting between him and the glowing came. “This is—”
He smiled knowingly, finishing your thought. “Sixteen Candles.” He nodded, gaze locked on you. “You loved that movie so much. You even made me watch it with you, like, five times. You kept saying it was one of the most perfect endings ever filmed.”
“You remember that?”
“Of course I do,” he said softly. “You said it was your dream birthday scene—someone showing up after everything, lighting all the candles, and just being there.”
“I can’t believe you actually remembered that.” You murmured.
“How could I not?” He chuckled quietly. “You wouldn't shut up about it for weeks after we watched it. You said Jake Ryan was the gold standard of fictional boyfriends.”
“And you said he was overrated.” You laughed weakly, shaking your head.
Oscar grinned. “Yeah. Guess I didn't know what I was talking about back then.”
His eyes softened as he took in the sight of you bathed in the golden candlelight—your face glowing softly, and the flicker of the flames reflected in your eyes. For a long, quiet moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt warm, delicate—suspended in that fragile space between what had been and what was finally becoming.
“Make a wish.” He said softly.
You blinked, eyes flickering from the candles back to him. He was smiling, the kind of smile that didn't need words behind it—one that felt like an apology and a promise all at once.
“A wish?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You have to, it’s your birthday.”
You looked down at the cake again, at the twenty-four flickering candles melting slowly into the frosting, wax dripping like liquid gold. For years, you had always had a wish ready—some small hope whispered to the air before blowing the candles out. But tonight, sitting on top of the dining table with Oscar, everything felt different. You felt full—overwhelmed, but in a way that made your heart ache softly instead of break. When you looked back up at him, your eyes glimmered with a quiet kind of certainty.
“I don’t have to.” You said softly.
Oscar frowned slightly, confused, a small crease forming between his brows. “Why not?”
“Because what I’ve been wishing for, it already came true.” You smiled faintly, voice barely above a whisper.
His expression softened completely, every bit of tension melting away. Oscar’s lips parted slightly, gaze locking on yours with that familiar warmth that used to make your heart race when you were younger, but now, it simply steadied it. You could see it in his eyes, the unspoken understanding, the apology, the realization that maybe he had always been moving toward this moment too, even if it took him a while to see it.
Oscar gently moved closer, his hand brushing against yours. Then another step, until you could feel the faint warmth of his breath against your face. Neither of you said anything. You didn't need to. He leaned in slowly, hesitating just an inch away—as if waiting for your permission, that this was okay. And in that moment, you met him halfway.
Your lips met softly. There was hesitation at first, then it became something deeper, warmer, and more sure. The world seemed to fade around you. The flicker of candles, faint scent of wax and lemon, the hum of the night—all of it melted into the quiet press of your mouths. It wasn't fireworks or fanfare, it was tender, like the calm realization of something that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.
When you finally broke apart, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breathing in the same small space, and smiling through the soft rush of emotions. Oscar’s thumb brushed against your cheekbone, tracing gentle circles along your skin as if memorizing it. His voice came out low and breathless when he finally spoke.
“It’s you.” He whispered.
“What?”
He smiled faintly, forehead still resting against yours, voice softer now—almost trembling with truth. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all of my life.”
“You really went there, huh?” You said in a quiet laugh.
“What?” He chuckled, brushing away a tear that you didn't know had slipped down on your cheeks with his thumb. “I figured it was fitting.”
“Of course you’d quote my favorite song now.” You rolled your eyes gently, still smiling.
“It’s been stuck in my head since the day I realized it was about you.”
Your breath hitched again, and for a second, you didn't know what to say. But maybe you didn't have to, because in that moment, everything you both had left unsaid finally made sense—every missed glance, every late night car ride, and every time you had chosen to stay when you could have walked away. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his once more, lips curving into a small, genuine smile.
“You’re late.” You whispered teasingly.
“Yeah.” He admitted quietly, smiling back at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “But I’m here now.”
The candles continued to burn between you, their flames swaying gently, reflections of the warmth that filled the quiet space. You still remained seated on top of the dining table—two people who had spent too long circling each other finally finding their way home. Oscar brushed his thumb along your jaw once more before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment, gentle and reverent.
“You know, this is exactly how I imagined it would feel.” You couldn't help but chuckle softly.
“Then I’m glad I got it right this time.”
Then, Oscar leaned back just a little, thumb brushing your cheek once more before a sly grin began tugging at the corners of his mouth. You knew that look very well—half teasing, half trouble.
“What?” You asked, brows furrowing slightly as you studied him.
“I just remembered something.”
“What is it?” You raised an eyebrow.
“You owe me.” He said simply as he leaned in a little closer, eyes glinting playfully under the dim candlelight.
You blinked, a little confused for a second before realization dawned. You groaned softly, burying your face in your hands as you laughed.
“Oh my god, you actually remembered that?”
“Of course I did.” He said, tone teasing but light. “You told me to text you what I wanted in return for all the times I drove you to uni. I just didn't text.”
“So what?” You peeked up at him through your fingers, still laughing. “You’re finally cashing it in now?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” He said, pretending to think about it. “And I’ve decided—and no, I don’t want coffee, or food, or free tutoring, or your first-born child, before you even offer it.”
“Oscar!” You burst out laughing, swatting at his arm lightly.
“What?” He asked, feigning innocence, though his grin was impossible to miss. “You said anything. I’m just narrowing down the list.”
“Alright, fine. If not any of those, then what do you want?”
“A date.” He said simply, direct to the point. “With you.”
“A…a date?” You repeated quietly, voice barely above whisper.
“Yeah.” He said, smiling. “A proper one. No car rides, no quick coffee runs between classes, no late night study sessions pretending we’re not tired. Just you and me. That’s what I want.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.” He nodded once, then grinned. “Unless, of course, you’d rather pay me back with tutoring. I’ll just probably get all the answers wrong on purpose just to spend more time with you.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” He said, smiling widely. “But you like me that way.”
You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You really don’t forget anything, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you.” He said simply.
The words hung in the air between you, soft and unhurried, sinking deep into the quiet space that only the two of you occupied. You felt something inside you settling—peace, warmth, and something like home.
“Alright.” You said softly, smiling. “A date.”
“Good.” He whispered, gaze flicking down to your lips briefly before returning to your eyes. “Because I’ve been waiting a long time to ask you that.”
Before either of you could say anything else, the last of the candles flickered out between you—leaving the two of you standing in the soft glow of the moonlight, smiling. Hearts finally catching up to what your souls had always known.
hi! can i request for a singlemom! reader who doesn't know a thing for F1? with either LN1 or OP81? thankiess
The Anchor and the Aero - OP81
served with: oscar piastri x fem!singlemom!reader
chef's note: their worlds collide over a broken toy ambulance and a shared latte, Oscar doesn't see a "complicated" life or a "distraction." He sees a sanctuary.
portion size: 4.2k
The grass at the park was slightly damp from the morning dew, but your toddler didn't care. To him, the world was a giant obstacle course, and you were the exhausted referee trying to keep him from tackling a pigeon.
Your life was measured in three-hour increments: snack time, nap time, and "please don't put that in your mouth" time. You were currently rummaging through a diaper bag that felt like a black hole, searching for a stray wet wipe, when you realized the constant chatter of your four-year-old had drifted too far away.
"Leo! Stay where I can see—"
You looked up just in time to see your child skidding to a halt in front of a park bench. Sitting there was a young man in a plain black hoodie, looking intently at a laptop. Before you could intervene, Leo had already climbed onto the edge of the bench, thrusting a very sticky, very plastic Triceratops toward the stranger's face.
"He has three horns," Leo announced loudly. "And he eats bushes. Do you eat bushes?"
Your heart sank. You dropped the diaper bag and jogged over, already preparing your 'tired mom' apology. "Leo, honey, come here. Don't bug the man, he’s working."
The man didn't flinch. He didn't look up with that "please get this child away from me" expression you were so used to seeing from people in their early twenties. Instead, he slowly closed his laptop and tilted his head, looking at the dinosaur with genuine, quiet focus.
He didn't tower over the kid. He shifted his weight, dropping down from the bench to crouch on the grass so he was exactly at Leo’s height.
"I don't eat bushes," the man said, his voice surprisingly steady and calm. He had a slight Australian accent that smoothed out the edges of his words. "But he looks like he’s a very efficient eater. Does he have a name?"
Leo beamed. "His name is Carrot."
You finally reached them, breathless and slightly flushed. "I am so sorry," you sighed, reaching for Leo’s hand. "Sorry, he bothers everyone."
The man looked up at you then. He had clear, observant eyes and a demeanor that felt like the human equivalent of a still lake. There was no rush in his movements, no forced politeness.
"He’s not bothering me," he said simply.
He turned back to Leo, who was now explaining that Carrot also liked to hide in the sandbox. The man stayed in that crouch, nodding along, giving your child his undivided attention as if a plastic dinosaur was the most important thing he’d seen all day.
"I'm Oscar," he added, looking back at you with a small, unassuming nod.
"Y/N," you managed, finally catching your breath. "And that’s Leo. We’re usually a bit less... invasive."
"It’s alright," Oscar said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "It’s a nice change of pace."
He didn't try to strike up a long conversation or ask for your number. He just stayed there for a few more minutes, treating your child like a person rather than a nuisance, before quietly picking up his laptop and heading toward the exit with a polite wave.
You watched him go, noting the way he walked—unhurried, grounded. In your world of constant noise and chaotic schedules, his calm felt like a foreign language you suddenly wanted to learn.
-
Tuesday mornings were always the worst. It was the "forgotten library book and a missing shoe" kind of morning. By the time you made it to the local coffee shop after dropping Leo off at daycare, you felt like you’d already run a marathon.
You were juggling a heavy work bag and a lukewarm latte when you saw a familiar pair of sneakers under a corner table.
Oscar.
He was dressed in a plain grey sweatshirt today, his eyes fixed on a notebook. When he looked up and saw you, he didn't look annoyed by your disheveled appearance. He just gave that same, steady nod.
"Tough morning?" he asked. His voice was a low, grounding hum against the hiss of the espresso machine.
"I think I’ve aged three years since 7:00 AM," you sighed, sliding into the chair opposite him. "I'm Y/N, by the way. I realized I never properly introduced myself between the dinosaur crisis and the daycare run."
"Oscar," he repeated, though you already knew. "And don't worry about the aging. I think it suits the 'chaos manager' aesthetic you’ve got going on."
You laughed, a genuine one that cut through your stress. Over the next few weeks, these "accidental" meetings became a rhythm. You talked about the weather, the best places to get sourdough, and the ridiculous plotlines of the cartoons Leo watched.
You had no idea who he was. To you, Oscar was just a guy who traveled a lot for a "corporate job" and seemed to appreciate the silence of the suburbs. He never corrected you. In a world where everyone wanted something from him, he seemed to find a strange sanctuary in the fact that you just wanted to know if he’d tried the blueberry muffins yet.
One Saturday, you ran into him at the park again. Leo was having a full-blown meltdown because a wheel had snapped off his favorite plastic ambulance.
"It's broken forever!" Leo wailed, his face turning a bright shade of red.
"Let me see," Oscar said. He didn't hover; he just held out a hand.
Leo handed over the toy, sniffling. You watched Oscar’s hands—they were steady, his fingers moving with a precision that seemed almost clinical. He took a small multi-tool from his pocket, adjusted a tiny plastic pin, and clicked the wheel back into place with a satisfying snap.
He didn't just hand it back. He spent a moment spinning the wheel to make sure it was perfectly aligned.
"There," Oscar said, handing it to Leo. "Aerodynamically sound. Ready for the next emergency."
Leo’s eyes went wide. "You fixed it!"
Oscar didn't offer a flashy grin. He just gave Leo a small, high-five. "Good as new."
As you watched them, a warm, quiet realization settled in your chest. "He’s... good with them," you thought. He didn't treat Leo like a child to be managed, but like a person to be helped.
It was more than just being "nice." It was a patient, quiet kind of care that you weren't used to seeing.
It happened on a Thursday, the kind of day where the sun was finally peaking through the clouds and the local café was humming with the sound of laptop keys and milk steamers.
You were sitting across from Oscar, nursing a cold brew while Leo was busy "driving" his repaired ambulance across the wooden table, making loud siren noises that Oscar didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, Oscar was occasionally moving his sugar packet out of the way so the ambulance could "pass through the intersection."
"You have a lot of patience for someone who travels for 'consulting,'" you remarked, leaning back. "Most people would have moved to the quiet zone by now."
Oscar shrugged, his gaze steady. "I’m used to loud noises. This is actually quite peaceful."
That’s when the bell above the door chimed, and a group of teenagers walked in. One of them, wearing a bright orange cap, froze mid-step. He nudged his friend, whispering loudly, "No way. Is that... is that actually him?"
They approached the table tentatively. You assumed they were lost or looking for a spare chair.
"Excuse me," the kid in the orange hat stammered, his face turning a shade of red that matched his shirt. "Are you... are you Oscar Piastri? From McLaren?"
Oscar went still for a fraction of a second—a tiny hitch in his calm—before he looked up and gave a polite, slightly awkward nod. "Yeah. Hi."
"Oh my god! We’re huge fans! That overtake in the last sector was insane, man! Can we get a photo? Please?"
Oscar stood up, his height more apparent now, and spent a few minutes posing for photos and signing the back of a receipt. He was incredibly gracious, but you noticed he kept glancing back at you, almost like he was checking if the bubble had burst.
Once the teenagers scrambled away, buzzing with excitement, you stared at him. Leo was still making siren noises, blissfully unaware, but you were stuck on the name.
"Piastri?" you repeated, the syllables feeling foreign. "And what’s a... Mc-Laren? Is that a law firm?"
Oscar sat back down, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked more flustered by your question than he had by the fans.
"It’s a team," he said softly.
"A team for what?" you asked, genuinely confused. "Wait, what do you actually do?"
He looked down at his coffee, then back at you, his expression unreadable but slightly sheepish. “I drive.”
You blinked. You thought about his constant travel, the precision with the toy ambulance, and the "consulting" you’d imagined.
“Like… Uber?” you asked, dead serious.
A beat of silence followed. Then, the corners of Oscar’s mouth twitching, he let out a short, dry laugh—the most emotion you’d seen from him yet.
“Not exactly,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's a bit faster than an Uber. And the car is a lot more expensive."
"Oh," you said, feeling the weight of the realization. "So you're... famous?"
Oscar looked at Leo, who had now transitioned to crashed-car noises. "Only to people who like cars. To everyone else, I'm just the guy who fixes ambulances."
The "reveal" didn't change as much as you thought it would. You did a quick Google search that night—eyes widening at the speed of the cars and the sheer number of zeroes in his contract—but when you saw him the next day, he was still just Oscar. He was still wearing a plain hoodie, and he still looked slightly concerned that he’d forgotten to tell you he drove for a living.
Dates became intentional. They weren't glamorous red-carpet events; they were walks in the park while Leo napped in the stroller, or quiet dinners at your place after the "chaos-monster" had finally crashed for the night.
What struck you most was his boundary-setting. Oscar didn't try to be a "dad." He didn't try to buy Leo’s affection with expensive toys. He just... existed alongside your life.
Every time he invited you somewhere, or even just asked to come over, it was always preceded by a question.
"Is this okay?"
"Does Leo have a routine we need to stick to?"
"Do you need to leave early? I don't mind."
He was as precise with your boundaries as he was with a racing line.
You were supposed to go to a quiet Italian place—your first "real" date without a toddler present. But at 4:00 PM, Leo’s forehead felt like a stovetop, and by 5:00 PM, he was crying into your shoulder with a nasty ear infection.
You messaged Oscar, feeling a familiar weight of guilt.
“Hey, I’m so sorry. Leo is sick. Fever and earache. I have to cancel tonight. I’ll understand if you’re busy next time you’re in town.”
You expected a "No worries, get well soon!" and then silence for two weeks while he flew to Singapore or Japan. That’s how it usually went with guys who had "important" jobs.
Instead, an hour later, your doorbell rang softly—a controlled, two-tap knock.
You opened it, hair in a messy bun, wearing a shirt with a suspicious orange stain. Oscar was standing there holding two heavy paper bags.
"I'm not coming in," he said immediately, sensing your 'mom-mode' defensiveness. "I don't want to wake him or crowd the house. But the pharmacy said these drops are the best for kids, and I figured you probably hadn't had time to think about dinner."
He held out the bags. One had children's ibuprofen and a new, soft stuffed koala. The other smelled like high-end Thai takeout.
"Oscar, you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," he interrupted gently. He stayed on the porch, hands in his pockets. He didn't ask for a 'pity invite' inside. He just stood there in the porch light, looking at you with that same calm, steady gaze. "I'll be in town for three more days. If he’s feeling better, maybe we can just do coffee on the porch? If not... I’ll see you when I’m back from the next one."
He stayed for five minutes, just listening to you vent about the pediatrician's office, before waving and walking to his car. He stayed close, but he never invaded.
-
When Oscar invited you to the "home race," you pictured something like a local track meet—maybe a few bleachers and some loud engines. You packed extra snacks, a tablet for Leo, and wore your favorite comfortable jeans.
Then the car service picked you up. Then came the VIP credentials. Then came the Paddock.
It was a sensory assault. The air smelled of expensive rubber and high-octane fuel. People in crisp team uniforms hurried past with purpose, and every five feet, someone was holding a camera or a microphone. The noise wasn't just loud; it was a physical vibration that you felt in your teeth.
"Is there a parade?" you shouted over the whine of an impact wrench.
Oscar, already in his fireproof undershirt with his racing suit tied around his waist, appeared through a sea of mechanics. He looked different here—sharper, more focused, like a blade being unsheathed. But the moment he saw you looking overwhelmed, he bypassed a PR person trying to hand him a schedule and walked straight to you.
"It’s a bit much, isn't it?" he said, his voice miraculously calm despite the chaos.
"This is… a lot, Oscar," you admitted, clutching Leo’s hand. "I think I’m dressed for a car wash and I’ve accidentally walked into a space launch."
He reached out, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. "Yeah. You can stay with me." He looked down at Leo, who was currently staring at a McLaren car with his mouth hanging open. Oscar pulled a pair of heavy, team-branded noise-canceling headphones from a hook and fit them over Leo's ears.
"Cool?" Oscar asked.
Leo gave a frantic, excited thumbs-up. He looked like a tiny, fascinated astronaut.
For the next hour, Oscar kept you in his "bubble." He introduced you to his engineers as "his friend, Y/N," and made sure you had a seat in the back of the garage where you could see the monitors without being trampled.
As he climbed into the cockpit of the car—a machine that looked less like a vehicle and more like a weapon—he looked back one last time. He didn't give a "cool" driver wave to the cameras. He just gave you that small, private nod you’d come to recognize from the coffee shop.
You still didn't understand the rules. You didn't know what a "flying lap" was or why everyone was staring at a screen of purple and green sectors. But as the car screamed out of the garage, you realized one thing: The quiet man who fixed the toy ambulance lived in a world of thunder.
The race wasn't just a sporting event; it was a physical manifestation of everything you didn't understand about Oscar’s world.
From the back of the garage, you watched the monitors. The telemetry data looked like a heart monitor for a giant, and Oscar’s name—PIASTRI—was a constant, steady presence moving up the digital leaderboard. The mechanics around you were a blur of focused energy, their eyes glued to the same screens.
Then, it happened. A "bold move," according to the commentator in your headset. You saw the orange car dive into a corner that looked too narrow for a bicycle, let alone a car going 180 mph.
"Is he... is he supposed to do that?" you asked a nearby engineer.
The engineer didn't even look up, his grin wide. "That’s Oscar. He doesn't panic. He just executes."
You watched the onboard camera—the world was a shaky, high-speed blur, but Oscar’s hands on the wheel were disturbingly still. He wasn't fighting the car; he was part of it. The realization hit you like a physical weight: the man who sat on your floor and fixed a plastic ambulance was one of the most skilled human beings on the planet. He wasn't just nice. He was extraordinary.
When the race ended and the checkered flag waved, the garage erupted. Cheers, high-fives, and the rhythmic chanting of his name. He had finished on the podium—a massive achievement.
You expected him to be swept away. You saw the cameras swarming the pit lane, the flashbulbs, the celebrities lined up to shake his hand. You prepared yourself to be a footnote in his big night, already gathering Leo’s things to head to the car.
But then, the side door of the garage pushed open.
Oscar walked in, smelling of sweat and Nomex, his hair flattened by his balaclava. He was carrying his helmet in one hand. PR people were trailing him, holding clipboards and microphones, talking about "media pens" and "podium ceremonies."
Oscar ignored them.
His eyes scanned the crowded room, skipping over the sponsors and the team leads, until they landed on you and Leo. He walked straight past a reporter who was literally mid-sentence, stopping only when he reached your side.
"You're still here," he said, his voice a bit raspy from the heat. He looked exhausted, but the intensity in his eyes had softened back into that familiar, quiet warmth.
"We wouldn't have missed it," you said, still a little starstruck. "Oscar, that was... I don't even have words for what that was."
He gave a small, tired shrug, his gaze dropping to Leo, who was currently trying to "drive" a spare tire with his hands. "It was alright. A bit hot out there."
He didn't care about the cameras. He didn't care about the trophies. He just wanted to know if you were okay with the noise. In that moment, the "McLaren talent" vanished, and the man who stayed on your porch with Thai food was the only one left.
In the weeks following the race, Oscar became a permanent fixture in your shared vocabulary. It wasn't just that he was around; it was that he had become a constant in Leo’s world.
The questions started small:
"Will Oscar be at the park?"
"Does Oscar like broccoli?" (Oscar’s deadpan answer: "Not particularly, but I eat it for the aero.")
"Can Oscar see my drawing of the fast car?"
Oscar was remarkably patient. He never forced the bond. He didn't come in with "cool guy" energy trying to buy Leo’s love. He just showed up. He listened. He treated Leo’s 4-year-old problems—like a lost Lego piece or a stubborn shoelace—with the same analytical seriousness he gave his telemetry data.
One Sunday evening, after a long afternoon of "racing" in the backyard, Leo had finally reached his limit. He was sprawled across the sofa, fast asleep, his head resting on a cushion and his hand still clutching a small, orange die-cast car.
Oscar was sitting on the other end of the sofa, a book in his hand, but he wasn't reading. He was just looking at Leo. There was a look of profound, quiet gentleness on his face—a look he usually reserved for the moments right before he put on a helmet.
He caught your eye and tilted his head toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. He didn't speak; he didn't want to break the silence. He just gave you a questioning look, a silent request for permission.
You nodded.
Oscar stood up, his movements fluid and careful. He slid one arm under Leo’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting him with a practiced ease that made your heart skip. Leo didn't even wake up; he just sighed and tucked his face into the crook of Oscar's neck.
As Oscar carried him down the hall, you stayed on the sofa, the weight of the moment hitting you. This wasn't just a "casual thing" anymore. This wasn't a guy you were seeing between races. This was a man becoming a part of the foundation of your lives.
And that realization was as terrifying as it was beautiful.
-
The house was finally quiet, the only sound being the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant city traffic. You and Oscar were sitting on the back porch, a single light casting long shadows across the wooden deck. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat of the race tracks he usually occupied.
You watched him for a moment. He looked so normal here—hoodie sleeves pushed up, nursing a glass of water, his expression unreadable. But that was the problem. He wasn't normal.
"Oscar?"
He looked over, his gaze centering on you with that unnerving focus. "Yeah?"
"I’m scared," you said, the words tumbling out before you could overthink them. "This... us. It doesn’t make sense. Your life is private jets, world championships, and people screaming your name. My life is parent-teacher conferences, finding matching socks, and worrying about whether or not I remembered to buy milk."
You looked down at your hands. "You have a whole world I don’t belong to. And my life is... it's complicated. It's not just me. It's Leo. I can't just pick up and fly to Monaco on a whim."
The silence stretched. You expected him to give a "we'll make it work" speech or perhaps realize you were right and start backing away. Instead, Oscar just leaned back in his chair, looking out at your small, overgrown backyard.
"I like your life," he said simply.
You blinked. "What?"
"The 'world championships' part is just what I do for work," he continued, his voice steady. "It’s loud, it’s fast, and everyone wants something from me. But here? With you and Leo? It’s real. I don’t want to 'integrate' you into my world. I don’t want to change your routine or make you an F1 expert."
He turned his head to look at you, his eyes soft. "I just want to be a part of yours."
He didn't offer a grand solution or a map of the future. He just offered himself—the man who liked sourdough, fixed toy ambulances, and didn't mind a juice stain on his sleeve. For the first time, the "different worlds" didn't feel like a barrier; they felt like a balance.
You realized then that Oscar wasn't looking for a "grid girl" or someone to cheer in the paddock every weekend. He was looking for a home. And somehow, in the middle of your chaotic, toy-strewn life, he had found it.
A year had passed, and your life was still a beautiful, loud, and disorganized masterpiece. You still hadn’t mastered the art of the 15-minute school run without losing at least one shoe, and your kitchen counter was still a graveyard of half-finished drawings and stray crumbs.
And you still didn’t understand Formula 1.
You’d tried. You really had. You’d watched the documentaries, you’d listened to the podcasts, and you’d even tried to read a book on aerodynamics that Oscar had "accidentally" left on the coffee table. But to you, it was still just loud cars going in very fast circles. You knew he drove for McLaren, you knew orange was his color, and you knew that when the little light on his steering wheel turned green, he was supposed to go faster. Beyond that? It was all static.
But you learned about him.
You learned that he liked his toast slightly burnt. You learned that he went completely silent when he was processing a bad day, and that the best way to bring him back was to ask for help with a "catastrophic" LEGO emergency. You learned that for a man who lived his life at 200 mph, his favorite speed was the slow crawl of a Sunday morning.
It was a Sunday afternoon, the kind where the light filters through the curtains in long, golden dusty streaks. The TV was on, muted, showing a replay of a race from a different time zone.
Leo was wedged firmly between you and Oscar on the sofa, his small legs draped over Oscar’s lap. One of Oscar’s hands was resting on Leo’s hair, absentmindedly smoothing it down, while the other was linked with yours.
On the screen, a digital version of Oscar was battling for a position in a cloud of spray and sparks. It looked dangerous. It looked impossible. It looked like a completely different universe than the one you were currently sitting in.
You looked at the screen, then at the man beside you. He was wearing an old t-shirt, his feet were bare, and he looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him.
"Is he winning?" you asked, nodding toward his digital counterpart on the screen.
Oscar didn't look at the TV. He looked at Leo, who was snoring softly, and then he looked at you—the woman who didn't care about his lap times, only his heart. A small, genuine smile broke across his face—the kind of smile he never gave the cameras.
He squeezed your hand, pulling you just a little bit closer.
