You and Oscar have always been friends, through the academic rivalry that started it all, to the friends group which intertwined. to the warmth of his hand next to yours when you walk from class becoming a constant. Friendly banter, far too many late nights and shared troubles. Friends, that is what you have always been. Friends... is that really all it is?
pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader
THEY SAY each person brings something to the table when they arrive.
You know it to be true. And you know you bring nothing but caffeine and quotes of Shakespeare muddled in Mozart and Bach which cause your friends to groan and Lando to smile with glee.
The clock is about to strike two, your hands are flying across the keyboard of the Piano in the last music room of the Campus.
There is no sound, nothing except the keys pressed in octaves and the rustle of pages as you flip them without stopping. It is art, one which had willed you to start fifteen years ago and now continued to stay with you far after.
Its Mozart, Moonlight Sonata- and the keys bleed the red your fingers are threatening to expose as you strike a particularly harsh chord on. From the corner of your eye, you can see the wooden door open, hear it creak against the carpeted floor and you don’t need to even look to know who it is. He stands by the stage exit, hands crossed just as you reach the last bar. And then when its over, he claps.
You turn, the leather seat beneath you soft but its when your eyes land on him that a smile breaks across your face.
From across you, hair golden in the dim lighting under the marble arches of the hall- Oscar Piastri smiles.
A rogue smile which shows his teeth and yet is softer than the snow you know decorates the field outside. “Rumours were saying the campus pianist was about to murder her instrument”
“Well the rumours were right” you’re gathering your music sheets, boots tapping against the wooden floor just as you descend the stairs. Your coats in your hand, and its without stopping that Oscar falls right into your stride, hands already reaching for the books you hold to let you wear your coat.
“Professor Raikonnen told me he wants it done for the weekends Concert, the arpeggios are a pain in the left hand- Don’t know how he expected it but I’ll manage”
Oscar only hums, stepping out and immediately your hands smash into your pockets. Its cold, the start of December’s chill creeping into your bones while the snow leaves imprints on the stone walkways as students clamber in and out of the halls.
“Vettel had me stay back to give in the Plato assignment, told me to tell you if you don’t give it in by Monday hes docking off half the grade” the Aussie hums, eyes already trained towards the group that they’re walking towards, settled down below the tree dead in the centre of the courtyard.
Its a strange friendship, you and Oscar had. One that had started from one too many competitions in getting the highest grade in classes you both shared, to a begrudging alliance for a project, to a now unbreakable bond which somehow ended in you to attacked (almost) by the hip in every instance.
The cold wind that blows pulls at your hair, makes his own fall over his eyes while bright brown eyes strain towards the edges of the field, all while you shift the bookmark in your annotated book.
“It is right to give every man his due,” Your voice is slightly hoarse, and yet you watch as he nods. The golden light of early dawn falls over his shoulders like a cape, and curse the literature degree you have- maybe it is the only explanation to the way you can describe him.
“Is that youre topic?” He questions, voice rough as he raises his hand the minute he hears a resounding whoop from the apple tree.
“Nah- Love is the name for our pursuit of wholeness- you know it.”
“Bit much for someone who doesn’t believe in the concept no?” And its right as you come to a halt in front of the group, the crunch of show beneath your feet that you tilt your head at the smiling brunnete.
“It was the easiest pick” His smile only widens.
“Oh look who graces us with their presence, welcome your majesties-“ Its lando who barges into the convo, a hand thrown across your neck as his infectious smile has you scoff slightly.
“Mhhm,” its George who speaks now, a sparkling mirth in his eyes as he turns over to Oscar. “And whatever were you doing?”
“Waiting for her,” and its the way Oscar replies, without the slightest pause- just factual- that makes your heart beat just the slightest bit faster.
You all are an odd bunch, one which had come together one psychology group project two years ago and somehow ended up staying together for far longer. The walk together shuffles people in groups which linger together yet slightly in front and behind each other, Lando trailing in between you and Oscar- who only listens as the Curly haired Brit rants on about his day.
George and Alex follow suit, hands around a hot chocolate- and upon noticing your gaze, hand it right over to you. Max and Charles walk ahead, Charles with his signature scarf wrapped round his neck, hands explaining more than his mouth all with silent stormy blue eyes followed his suit.
And then there is Oscar, with his brown eyes and straight gait. With eyes that always seemed to capture your own, and spoke in curt words and yet managed to make each word more memorable than the last.
It would be a lie to say he was not attractive, hell- they all were. Lando knew it, George and Alex pretended they didn’t and Max despised it- but they all could tell, and Oscar- well, he was hard to read.
Your eyes furrowed slightly, the boy spent far too much time in the library- aerodynamics and physics his greatest companions and yet, here he was- in the middle of a group with people far too loud than the silence he liked but he was a part of it all.
“That reminds me, y/n- I need your help” lando chimed in, the hand which had been tucked into his pockets now reaching for your own. You blinked.
“Webber says I need to add a musical flair to my project, turns out writing about Beethoven’s tragedy can’t exactly fulfil itself if his music isn’t mentioned in detail- and-” the impish look is back on his face, back turned as he stands right in front of you now.
“-I promise I’ll get you those cookies you like from the bakery up North”
Its before you can reply that Oscar cuts in, “Mate- who picks a topic on which they know nothing?”
Lando only pouts in return, “do you think I can manage an essay on the Great William Talbot otherwise? Mate, I don’t read”
“And yet you took literature and arts as your majors,” you shook your head.
“The world expands for those who step out of their comfort zone.” The curly haired boy declared, eyeing George who sidled his way closer. “Oscie knows this far too well, how’s the music studies going?”
You pause. Eyes flitting towards the boy in topic, who suddenly seemed far too interested in anything other than her general direction. “Music studies?”
Lando, ever the unaware kicked a pebble out of his path. “He didn’t tell you? Saw his laptop yesterday, mate- I doubt Mozart and Bach will help you out in figuring out how to get dogs to space but-“
“I can have interests, Lando” Oscar sniped in, elbowing the Brit.
“But Bach? Mate- who even listens to that-“
“I am playing a piece by him,” you cut in and watch the words die down in Lando’s mouth, switched to an ‘oh’
“-if they’re not the most cultured people on the planet, Oscar have you not heard his bangers yet?”
“Its for the concert-“ you continued, kicking at the ground slightly. It burns a little, the feeling of a piece gone stray slightly, fingers itching for that control on the keys again. “Its rough, maybe better once I get the dynamics straight.”
“I missed it,” Oscar says, Lando only hums.
“Next time,” you reply, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets.
“Music rooms booked till Friday darling,” Lando cuts in, and its when he sees the slightest fall of your lips he pauses. “I think I can free it up if you want”
Perks of having a best friend far too popular with everyone in the campus, and you smile. Theres no point asking him whether he really could, he would.
“God, I’m tired” You groan though, the cold hitting you hard after five minutes of walking in it. You push your shoulder blades back, twisting your neck to get rid of the phantom cold settling in your limbs.
“I told you you should have slept earlier yesterday,” Oscar shoves his coat onto the coat rack as they settle into your dorm, its slightly packed now, as Max wallows onto the sofa and Lando disappears into the bathroom. Oscar sits on the kitchen stool, watching as you warm two mugs of warm water. “That all nighter you pulled made sure you didn’t remember anything you did”
“Speak for yourself Piastri,” you slide the cup towards him- glass squeaking on marble, and just for a second, fingertips brush against each others. “The shadows under your eyes look darker than my future in art at this point”
“Really-Vettel wanted my head this year,”
“Aren’t you the model student then” you tut out, sliding into the opposite chair. “You need to sleep, guest rooms free”
Oscar Piastri leaves the dorm two hours later, with hair mussed up and cheeks rosier than when he walked in. Y/n had left a while back, walking in late at eight o’clock to find the lights shut and a note on the kitchen table.
Vettel hinted at a quiz this Friday, you have him an hour earlier.
Just so we are on equal footing.
The next morning y/n meets Oscar at the theatre. There is a balcony hanging on the stage, vines winding round the pillar that is its support. Music plays as a dance number continues on the ground, and through it all- her eyes lock onto the boy standing near the curtains.
A headset is around his neck, brown eyes locked onto the stage lights as he fiddles with the buttons on his tablet.
“To die, to sleep-“ There is max, on stage- Charles next to him, a crown on his brow- saying his lines with the vigour of a king, “To sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there’s the rub”
The lights die down, all a stage light and for some reason- they suddenly don’t shine on the actors. No, they focus straight on the unsuspecting brunnete who blinks light a cat caught in the wrong letterbox and curses.
It makes her laugh, watching how he scrambles for the correct direction- and its right as it leaves her lips, that Oscar’s head rises, eyes scanning the ground before immediately locking on her.
It is rather funny, how y/n realises she’s intertwined with Oscar Pastries life. Its when they’re sitting in the hall, where he sits one bench across- lips pursed as he spills ink onto his paper, the sweatshirt he wears sitting loosely across his shoulders, while the coffee next to her grows cold as she scribbled her own answers just as fast.
Call it whatever it is, she doesn’t plan on losing to Oscar.
Not now, in nothing.
The ruffle of papers getting collected slowly gives way to the tapping of her feet as she nods to Oscar waiting at the doorway. “How was it?”
“Do you want me to answer that?” And its with the expression on his face, the slightest condescending smirk that she knows hes done extremely well.
“Depends,” she smiled back, getting 100 was an understatement for her in this one. “Do you want to know how badly you’re falling in this one?”
“Oh how the miserable hope,” he mocks, tone light as you scoff.
“And how the hopeful dream,” you retort, an elicited yell leaving your lips as suddenly his hand flicks at your head.
“Don’t touch my beautiful head Piastri!”
You don’t even know when he breaks into jog till you’re sprinting after him, the cold sun shining light through coloured window panes that blur as you chase him. “You’lle pay for that”
“Might want to catch me first sunshine” he singsongs, head turning ever so slightly as he rounds a corner and-
You almost knock yourself into the pillar. Your heart is beating a little too loud to be adrenaline.
He had never called you that before.
“And so the propulsion system ejected the wrong way, calibrations off by a few millimetres but-“
The light is soft in the late haunts of the library. Its empty, except for two lone figures crouched over a steaming model and a pile of books towering over both their heads.
Oscar talks with a steady tone, voice low and eyes pointed towards the calculations littering lined pages all while you watched. “Well, it was enough to make it all go haywire”
“Did you try taking friction into account?” your fingers graze the drying ink.
“Didn’t know you thought so low of me sunshine,” and there it is again, at midnight whispered so softly and so normally it almost makes you reel in your seat.
“Uh-“ the blush that threatens to creep up your face delves into your sleeve as you lie down on the wooden table, eyes flickering shut ever so slightly. “You know that’s not what I meant”
Oscar- for some reason, doesn’t reply. Instead, his eyes linger on your own for slightly too long- caremal brown catching on your own right before a hand moves a paper about to pierce your nostril. “Tired?”
Its one word, and you only hum in reply. That’s one thing about Oscar, it doesn’t take too much talking to get your points across and yet you both understand each other far better than most.
“When are you going to be done?” You yawn , shivering at the cold that drags itself through marble and stone arches above you.
“Tomorrow” you’re eyes are shut as you hear a pen scribble again, another slight hum leaving your lips.
You could always go back.
You know you could, but there’s just something comforting about the whole scene- of lying on cushioned couches with your hands brushing against his ever so slightly and the smell of old books and moonlight covers the room like a invisible blanket thrown over your shoulders.
Its not your first time either, nor is it his. You’ve lost count how many times he dragged himself to sit by you in this same seat (reserved for the two of you at this point) as you mulled over your own assignments, then switched to the sofa as he commented on his own.
“do you want coffee?”The thought of caffeine makes your stomach rumble. Its an addiction for you at this point, sleep not coming unless you had at least a litre in your system.
“The machines broken though,”
You move you’re feet. Blinking wearily. “I was talking bout the cafe down the street” you say, the clock strikes two just that second and- just before you could turn to look at the brunnete, you had the laptop shut followed by the slightest shuffle of books- and then there is a hand stretched out towards you.
“Lead the way sunshine” there it is again, Oscar with that smile on his face which lopsides from the right and brown eyes soft in the candlelight which illuminates the surroundings.
He really should stop it- you think- it doesn’t seem to help your heart.
And so ofcourse- when the chance comes, two weeks later- two weeks of nonstop beating of your heart in a way it really shouldnt, two weeks of endlessly waiting to see if the cause of it all seems to see the effect its taking from you- you decide that its going to take a days worth of being locked up to figure out the cause of it all.
“Right then,” the lock turns in its place- curtains drawn even though the sun has finally tilted away from its position in the centre of the campus, and a cold cup of coffee lies waiting for you at the table.
Its a method for you- if you don’t know what you’re dealing with, you isolate to figure it out and so here you are- with your legs pulled up to your chest and blanket draped over your legs as you lay conformably on the bed.
You’re an English literature major for gods sake, complex emotions are your calling and yet- the sigh that escapes your lips makes you want to die. Because deep down, you already know what it is- deep down you already know exactly what feeling you’re dealing with- and god, its terrifying you.
Denial is a strong stream and yet the drying course is coming closer to you each second you waste staring at your ceiling.
“This shouldnt have happened” You don’t know who you’re talking to, the bear toy sitting on your desk only glares condescendingly back. Your opinion is rather mild, not one of outright shock because well- deep down, you knew you had been expecting it.
Deep brown eyes, bunny teeth and a smile which seemed to make the class shine brighter when it was directed towards you- you were a human after all.
“This really complicates things,” the teddy bear continues to stare back. Your voice is slowly seeming to catch some emotions and it doesn’t take long for you to hear your phone ring next to you and its without checking, out of habit you pick up the familiar ringtone-
“Y/n? I haven’t seen you all day where-“
And then promptly slam it shut with a yelp.
Ofcourse it was Oscar Piastri.
And ofcourse you had fallen for him.
“Ignorance is not bliss when the truth haunts you’re dreams y/n,”
It starts with a late night call to Lando, one where you sit on your bed with the lamp shining yellow and you can hear the low beat of bass as Lando puts you off speakerphone.
Its a Saturday night, what did you expect?
“Im not ignoring it,”
“So you’re ignoring him then?”
The directness makes you sit up straighter. There is a dull echo of your own heartbeat in your ears now, the sheets rustling as- well, hes not wrong is he?
“Im not ignoring him” the excuse is lame on your tongue, dying down in the last syllables like the tea going sour on your bedside.
“And the sky is neon green-“ is the deadpan, followed by a slight rustle and a muffled yell of ‘im good thanks’ from the Brit.
“Hes here, yknow-“ Ofcourse he doesn’t specify who it is, he doesn’t need to because the image form in your eyes alright. “Looks miserable but hes here”
“Is this an invitation?” You’re already reaching towards your closet. There is a certain sense in knowing you’ve done someone wrong, and it doesn’t sit right with you for long.
Ignoring Oscar had never been your goal- not the end goal of it after all, but this feeling? Was enough to make you question too much of your own self you didn’t want to dive into. After all, who did want to know that their closest friend was turning into something far more intimate in the depths of your own head and heart.
You cut the call before responding, the place isn’t far- a short walk from your own dorm over to his own- the music hits you right before the smell of cheap beer and booze. You walk in half expecting to stumble over someone in the doorway, and you’re half right when a drunk George Russel bumps straight into you five steps in.
“Oh- y/n- you are here?” The words are a slur, and you can only nod.
“Where’s Oscar?” You shout over the music, eyes already straining to catch a glimpse.
“Ofcourse you’re looking for him-“ George only chuckles, drinking another sip from a cheap cup before pointing off into the distance. “Hes somewhere there- im assuming the denial era is over then?”
“What denial era?” You know he knows you’re lying, what with the way his eyebrows slant.
You’re already walking as you see him smile.
Oscar Piastri sits in the middle of a dance party with the will of an eight year old grandfather who doesn’t know whether to join into the fun or chaperone it. The plain white shirt hes wearing is slightly lifted at the waist and its before you can raise a hand to speak, that his wandering eyes rest on you.
For a split second, you’re both caught- brown meeting your own and oh- you missed this. That is, until they slowly sweep right over you and towards the opposite end of the hall.
“Oscar” the couch next to him is cold, and its even when you make your way there that he doesn’t look at you. “Oscar” you try again.
“Im sorry are we back on talking terms now?” His voice is cold, the cup in his hand draining empty as he still keeps his gaze pointed away.
“I didn’t mean to” you’re reply is weak, and you know it when you see him scoff.
“Right-yeah-sure, that’s what they all say”
“No- I-“ the words aren’t flowing right-
“Don’t bother apologising y/n,” he cuts you off “-I know to take hints when someones not interested”
You’re mouths already open and suddenly- pause.
Stop- the noise around you seems to die down to a dull buzz because what?
Oscar makes a sound at the back of his throat, hand running through his hair before he turns to look at you. “What what? I mean- I knew I was laying it on a bit thick, but really, I thought you reciprocated, but now I guess I was wrong” hes ranting now.
“I mean, ofcourse I should have known, and it doesn’t have to be weird- I mean, a one sided attraction can die down fast enough-“
“Who said it was one sided?” You blurt out.
And suddenly, before you can fully grasp what’s happening there’s a hand on your wrist, dragging you up and through the Maze of the dorm till the cool wind greets your face and streetlights across the area cast a yellow path in front of you.
Oscar stands in front of you, eyes wide and hand still not leaving your wrist and yet there is shock in his eyes. “What did you say?”
You don’t care about the change of place, the absolute seriousness this conversations becoming- the musics nonexistent now, the crickets chirping in the background matching to the beat of your breathing.
“Who-“ you swallow, “who says its one sided”
“You don’t mean that” the intensity of his gaze surprising you, “you of all people can’t mean that”
“If only my heart was as cold as I pretend it is, maybe I could get over this”
Its poetry, confession in its most beautiful form cause what else is there left for you to say. Its a whisper, a breathe to the wind as you say it and entwine your fingers from where he holds them.
Maybe it is the night that makes you bold, maybe it is him.
What else can you say now that he knows? What else can make him believe?
“I-“ there is a certain reverence in his gaze as he swallows, looks even closer towards you. “I am not dreaming?”
And it makes you laugh, the way hes blinking in confusion- the small smile gracing his lips in the part of him which knows this is real- and so you only continue- “a la folie amore”
That’s all it takes for him to snap out of the stupor, all it takes for him to close in the two steps hes distant from you till you can feel his breathe on your tongue and hands reaching for your neck. “Shakespeare, definitely not dreaming then”
Oscar Piastri kisses you like a warm breeze in the middle of a winter night. He kisses you with the gentleness of a deer discovering its footings for the first time with hands entwining around your neck while yours are clasped behind his own.
There’s a smile on his lips when he pulls away, you know your face is red from the way you can feel the warmth spreading to your feet. His eyes never leave yours, fingers brushing her your cheek and god- its beautiful. Hes beautiful.
“I was thinking we wouldn’t get to this part,” you joke slightly, right before you feel his nose brush against yours as he leans in for one more kiss and it makes you almost fall apart.
“Iv been waiting for much longer sunshine,” he replies right as you break apart, dimples shining under pale yellow light. “Thought it would be fair”
“Love is merely a madness,” you tease, tilting your head slightly and smile widening as you see him laugh.
“I do love nothing in this world, as well as you-“ his words are light as he speaks back, quoting the first book you both remember reading together in dim lit libraries before presenting a debate with far too many thoughts on warring sides.
“Ist thou mocking mine love for thee?” And you take a step back, hands raised as if holding a sword and Oscar watches you with an amused look- hand held out as if waiting for you to step back into his grasp.
“Ist thou laughing at my pining for thee?” The accent is terrible- and Australian trying to sound English.
“That is a terrible accent” you’re laughing, already reaching for his hand- stuck in the daze of confession.
“It Is the reason I took debate and not acting sunshine,” the nickname makes your cheeks warm.
“I can imagine you in Hamlets costume,” you nod sagely, biting at your cheek.
“You do know that story ends in tragedy right?”
“Is that really a good example to take right now?”
The dorm leaves itself in your wake as you make your way around the campus, there is no set destination- no end to this new revelation you had both encountered and yet- its the way your feet drag themselves towards the same stone lit archways, towards the same table sitting next to dusty books you both had combed through together that you can’t help but smile.
“Well then Romeo,” the dusty shelves brush your back as you lean slightly, eyes never leaving Oscar’s- who makes a blanched face at the word.
“But they do it for love” you singsong, hands raised and blinking as he leans over- brushing his lips over your own.
“Since when did you read much ado about nothing?”
“I am not dressing up as a man mind you-“
“Aren’t you hard to please sunshine,”
You don’t have to patience to reply. There is far too much energy in your body and far too less restraint at the way hes looking at you.
“How bout you kiss me and we make it y/n and Oscar”
Oscar doesn’t need a second to agree to that.
my first ever written story :) god I love academic friends to lovers oscar piastri, CAN SOMEONE GET ME MY OWN PLS IM NOT ASKING FOR MUCH
as always, I hope you enjoyed and do comment your thoughts I really appreciate them :)
taglist : @lalqu @obxstiles
