#f14fun

[f14fun]

speed date (arvid linblad)

synopsis: in which case y/n, earns herself a hot blind date, not realizing that her best friend set her up with non other than f2 driver arvid linblad

smau x prose (11.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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I was goddamn royally fucked.

Considering that bright and early on Monday morning at 9:00 AM, I had a cumulative test for my Intro to Sociology course on social stratification, I should’ve been spending my Saturday night locked in my dorm, surrounded by sticky notes and highlighters, cramming like my life depended on it.

And, to be fair, it kind of did.

The University of London wasn’t just any institution—it was a beacon of prestige, a place where centuries of tradition met cutting-edge academic rigor. My concentration in International Relations wasn’t some fluff major either; it was the real deal, complete with rigorous coursework that challenged you to dissect the layers of global politics, economics, and, of course, sociology.

Getting into this university had been a Herculean task. Maintaining my grades here? Even more so. I wasn’t just chasing a degree—I was chasing First-Class Honours, the kind of distinction that could open doors to diplomatic corps, global think tanks, or even the United Nations. It wasn’t just expected by my parents; it was demanded by my own overachieving, anxiety-ridden brain.

Which was why I absolutely needed this course to go well. I needed that test score. I needed to drown myself in textbooks until the theories of Karl Marx and Max Weber were practically embedded into my brain.

But did I also need this blind date?

For purely entertainment purposes? Maybe.

For the sake of my rapidly deteriorating mental health? Definitely.

All thanks to Ollie, my friend-slash-brother-from-another-mother, who had somehow made it his life’s mission to “get me out there.” “It’ll be good for you,” he’d said with his usual laid-back grin when I protested. “You’re always locked up in that room of yours. Have some fun for once, yeah?”

My protests had been met with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Trust me, you’ll like him. He’s one of my best mates. Good guy, funny, decent-looking, and he knows how to hold a conversation. What more could you want?”

For starters, I wanted to know who the hell this mystery man was.

“What’s his name?” I’d asked, crossing my arms as Ollie lounged on my couch like he owned the place.

“You’ll find out on Saturday,” he’d replied, far too casually for my liking.

“Oh, come on!”

“It’s a blind date, love,” he’d said with an exaggerated eye roll. “The point is in the name.”

“And what if he’s horrible?”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test.”

“He’s not,” Ollie had said, his grin widening like he’d just cracked the code to the universe. “And if he is, you can ditch halfway through and blame it on your precious sociology test. Or, better yet, fake food poisoning—classic, foolproof.”

“Great plan, Ollie,” I deadpanned, glaring at him. “I’ll just dramatically clutch my stomach and sprint to the bathroom. Real subtle.”

He laughed, propping his feet up on my coffee table like the annoying pest he was. “Hey, it works. And besides, you’re good at theatrics. Remember last month when you staged that coughing fit to get out of that guest lecture?”

“That was different,” I snapped. “I actually thought I was dying.”

“Oh, totally,” he said, smirking. “Dying of boredom.”

I threw a pillow at his face, which he caught effortlessly, still grinning. “You’re so annoying.”

“Annoying but lovable,” he replied, tossing the pillow back with that self-satisfied grin that made me want to both punch him and keep him around forever. “And you’ll thank me for this. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” I echoed, glaring at him. “Ollie, you’re about as trustworthy as a wet traffic cone. And let’s not forget the last time you tried to ‘help me.’ I’m still emotionally recovering from the guy who wouldn’t stop talking about his crypto portfolio.”

“That was one time,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically as he sprawled across my couch, looking far too comfortable in my space. “And, in my defense, how was I supposed to know he’d turn out to be a walking NFT?”

I glared harder, arms crossed. “He handed me a business card with a QR code that said, ‘Scan for my life story.’”

Ollie burst out laughing, kicking his feet up on my coffee table like he owned the place. “Okay, fine, I’ll admit that one was a misfire. But this guy? Top-notch. No QR codes. Just vibes.”

“Great. Because ‘vibes’ are definitely what I’m looking for,” I muttered, sinking into the armchair opposite him. “I should be studying right now, not signing up for another one of your social experiments.”

“Studying?” Ollie repeated, raising an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday night, Y/N. Even nerds need a night off. Besides, I’m leaving in two weeks for testing. Who knows when I’ll be back to sprinkle a little chaos in your life?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. That was the thing about Ollie—he was infuriating, but I missed him when he wasn’t around. He’d been my unofficial big brother since university, and now that he was off racing for Haas in Formula One, our hangouts were fewer and farther between. The thought of him jetting off for the season again made me soften, just a little.

“Fine,” I said begrudgingly. “But if this date sucks, I’m holding it against you for the next decade.”

“Deal,” Ollie said, sitting up and extending a hand like we were sealing a business agreement. I ignored it, rolling my eyes instead.

“And when you’re back in March, you’re buying me dinner,” I added.

“Done,” he said, grinning. “You want it in London or a paddock somewhere?”

“London,” I said firmly. “I’m not flying to Bahrain just to watch you crash into someone.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d crash,” he shot back, a mock-offended hand over his heart.

“Bold of you to assume you wouldn’t,” I replied, smirking.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he said, shaking his head but laughing anyway. “Anyone else would’ve blocked your number by now.”

“And you’re lucky you’re going back to testing soon,” I said, throwing a pillow at him. “I can only take you in small doses.”

“Oh, you love me,” Ollie said with a grin, catching the pillow effortlessly. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone in a few weeks. But until then, you’re stuck with me.”

God help me, he was right.

After Ollie left my dorm, grinning like the smug instigator he was, I decided to do what any responsible student would do: bury myself in my notes and try to salvage what little control I had over my life.

Friday night was a blur of highlighters, scribbled index cards, and frantic Googling about Karl Marx’s theory of class conflict. My desk, which had started out reasonably tidy, quickly turned into a war zone of open textbooks, coffee mugs, and half-eaten snacks. By the time I checked the clock, it was 5:00 AM, and I was drooling on my sociology notebook.

The guilt of falling asleep mid-study session hit me like a freight train when I finally woke up. My neck was sore, my back was stiff, and my face had a lovely imprint of the notebook spiral on it. The sun was already creeping through the blinds, and I groaned, wiping at the dried drool on my chin.

I stumbled into the dorm kitchen in my pajamas, too bleary-eyed to care who saw me, and threw together the saddest breakfast imaginable: a grilled cheese sandwich made from stale bread and the last two slices of American cheese in my fridge. The toaster barely worked, but it was functional enough to melt the cheese, which I considered a win. Sitting on the counter, I wolfed it down like a goblin, crumbs falling onto my notebook as I tried to multitask.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of intense cramming. I barely moved from my desk, save for bathroom breaks and refilling my mug with instant coffee. Page after page of social stratification theories blurred together, my brain buzzing with terms like "bourgeoisie," "proletariat," and "meritocracy." Time felt irrelevant—until it wasn’t.

When I finally glanced at the clock, it was 7:03 PM.

And my date was at 8:00.

Ohhhhh, I was so fucked.

Panic slammed into me like a freight train. My pen froze mid-sentence, and my eyes darted to the mess around me: papers, empty coffee cups, and my disheveled appearance reflected back at me in the dark screen of my laptop. My hair looked like it had fought a losing battle with a blender, and I was still wearing the same pajamas from the night before.

“Shit,” I muttered, pushing myself up from my desk so fast my chair squeaked. “Shit, shit, shit.”

How had I let this happen? Oh, right—because I’d convinced myself that I could juggle both being a straight-A student and surviving Ollie’s matchmaking. My brain, now functioning on fumes, reminded me of one very important fact: I was absolutely not ready.

“Okay, okay, I can fix this,” I said out loud, pacing my dorm in a panic. “Just... start with the basics. Shower. Clothes. Makeup. Don’t think about the fact that you’re already screwed.”

Grabbing my towel and a pair of flip-flops, I bolted down the hall to the shared dorm bathrooms, clutching my toiletries like a soldier heading into battle. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I pushed open the door, the faint smell of cheap soap and mildew hitting me immediately. I grimaced. Shared dorm bathrooms were the bane of my existence, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The showers were already occupied, voices bouncing off the tiled walls as girls chattered about everything from classes to their plans for the weekend. I tried my best to tune them out, ducking into the furthest stall and locking the door with a shaky hand.

“Fastest shower known to mankind,” I muttered to myself, tossing my towel over the door and setting my shampoo precariously on the tiny shelf. I slipped off my flip-flops and stepped onto the gritty floor of the shower stall, wincing as I reminded myself not to think about what might be lurking there.

I turned on the water, and it blasted me with ice-cold fury. “Shit!” I hissed, dancing out of the spray until it warmed up. Time was ticking, though, so I forced myself under the stream, quickly lathering up my hair and scrubbing like my life depended on it.

All the while, the conversations outside the stall droned on. Someone was laughing loudly about their roommate’s terrible cooking, and another voice chimed in about their date going horribly wrong. “Same, girl,” I muttered under my breath, rinsing shampoo out of my hair.

I grabbed my loofah and scrubbed every inch of myself with the kind of fervor that could’ve sanded a wooden floor. When I reached my feet, I braced myself, balancing on one leg like a flamingo to scrub in between my toes. “Germs don’t take a day off,” I whispered like it was a mantra.

Then came the worst part: shaving. I fumbled with my razor, slathering a generous amount of body wash on my legs before dragging the blade over my skin as quickly as I dared. My hand slipped once, the razor catching on my shin. “Ah, fuck!” I yelped, wincing as a thin red line appeared.

“Are you okay?” someone called from outside my stall, their voice tinged with concern.

“Fine!” I lied, my voice too high-pitched to sound convincing. “Totally fine!”

I rinsed my leg, the water stinging as it hit the scrape, and forced myself to finish shaving the other leg, gritting my teeth the entire time.

Finally, I turned off the water and grabbed my towel, wrapping it around me as I tried to ignore the suspiciously squelchy sound my flip-flops made against the wet floor. I’d survived, barely, but I still had to face the monumental task of getting dressed and making myself look presentable in less than 45 minutes.

I pulled off an impressively athletic sprint back into my dorm room, water still dripping down my legs and towel barely clinging to my body as I slammed the door shut behind me. The clock on my desk glared at me with unforgiving numbers: 7:25 PM.

“Shit, shit, shit, I'm a bloody mess,” I muttered, rushing to my closet and yanking the door open. The already crammed space seemed to mock me with its lack of options. Dresses? Too cold. Skirts? Not the right vibe. Pants? Too boring. My hands moved frantically, rifling through hangers as I tossed rejects over my shoulder like a tornado. A floral skirt flew across the room, followed by a crop top and a pair of boots I hadn’t worn in months.

“Why do I own so many clothes but nothing to wear?” I groaned, holding up a sequined dress and immediately tossing it aside. The pile on the floor grew, and my patience shrank.

Finally, at 7:35, I resigned myself to something both practical and chic: a grey cape jacket paired with black thermal tights, sleek black shorts, and knee-high boots to keep warm. It wasn’t exactly runway-ready, but it looked polished enough to get Ollie off my back for not trying. I caught a glance at myself in the mirror and nodded. “This’ll do,” I muttered, yanking the cape’s zipper closed with a sigh of relief.

With 12 minutes left, I tackled my hair and makeup. A quick spritz of heat protectant, a few frantic waves with my curling iron, and a generous application of hairspray made my hair passable. My makeup routine was an Olympic sprint: concealer, mascara, blush, and the lightest swipe of gloss. I blinked at myself in the mirror at 7:47 PM, flushed and frazzled but somehow looking... decent?

“Good enough,” I said to my reflection, grabbing my purse and darting out the door.

By the time I flagged down a cab, the streets were choked with rush-hour traffic. As the driver punched in the destination, the fare popped up on the screen, and I winced. “Seriously? Highway robbery,” I muttered, climbing in anyway. There was no time to be cheap—not when I was already cutting it this close.

As I climbed into the cab, the driver, an older man with a kind smile and a thick accent, turned to me. “Where to?” he asked.

“Maggiore,” I replied quickly, rattling off the address Ollie had texted me earlier. I tugged the seatbelt across my lap, my fingers twitching as I locked it into place. The cab lurched forward, merging into the sea of traffic, and I leaned back against the seat, watching the clock on the dashboard mock me with its relentless ticking. 7:49 PM.

Rush hour in London was like wading through molasses, and the minutes seemed to fly by while the car barely crawled forward. I tapped my fingers against my knee, glancing out the window as red brake lights reflected on the glass like a taunting light show. 7:50. Why had I thought this was a good idea again?

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with curiosity. “You look nervous,” he said, his voice casual but warm. “First date?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah,” I admitted, my cheeks heating as I adjusted the hem of my cape jacket. “A blind one, actually.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing chuckle. “That explains the fidgeting. Don’t worry, miss. Blind dates aren’t all bad. Sometimes they’re even fun.”

“Fun,” I repeated, laughing nervously. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He chuckled again, his eyes returning to the road. “Don’t overthink it. Worst case, you’ve got a good story to tell your friends, eh?”

I sighed, leaning my head against the window. “I guess you’re right. But if it’s a disaster, my friend who set this up is going to pay.”

He laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made me relax—if only a little. “Sounds fair. Just enjoy yourself. You never know—this date might surprise you.”

“Here’s hoping,” I murmured, checking the clock again. 7:52 PM. My fingers tightened on my purse strap as the cab inched forward. I could feel my pulse quickening, every tick of the clock reminding me how little time I had left.

The cab driver must’ve noticed, because he added, “You’ll get there on time, miss. I’ll make sure of it.”

I gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to calm the swirl of nerves in my stomach. This was fine. Totally fine. Except it wasn’t, because I was about to walk into a room and meet someone I’d never even seen before. And if they were anything like the train wreck of Ollie’s last matchmaking attempt… well, I was in for a very long night.

“Thanks,” I said softly, glancing out the window as we finally pulled into a quieter street, closer to Maggiore. The clock flashed 7:57 PM, and my heart skipped a beat. Showtime.

The warm buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air as I stepped into Maggiore, my eyes darting around the restaurant. Ollie had been vague about what his friend looked like—typical—but he had, in his infinite wisdom, left me with the oh-so-helpful clue: “Just look for the kind of guy you’d consider handsome.”

Great. Because that wasn’t subjective at all.

I scanned the room, my gaze skimming over tables of couples and groups until it landed on a man sitting by the window. He was tall, well-dressed, and had a brooding, almost annoyingly good-looking air about him. The kind of guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a perfume ad with just the right amount of perfectly styled hair. Handsome? Sure. Probably Ollie’s type of wingman? Definitely.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way over, my heart hammering in my chest. “Excuse me,” I said hesitantly as I reached the table. “Are you… Ollie’s friend?”

The man looked up, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

I blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the curious look in his deep-set eyes. “You’re not…? Oh my god, never mind,” I stammered, heat flooding my face. “I, uh, I think I’ve got the wrong table.”

As I stumbled backward, practically tripping over my own feet, the guy by the window—Mr. Brooding Handsome—watched me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. Before I could escape to the safety of my actual date, he leaned forward slightly, his sharp jawline catching the dim light of the restaurant.

“Wait,” he said, his voice smooth, rich, and entirely too confident. “You’re not just going to walk away after that, are you?”

I froze, blinking at him. “After what?”

“After mistaking me for your date.” He smirked, and the way his lips curved up was so irritatingly perfect it made my brain short-circuit. “I mean, not that I’m complaining. You can sit here if you want—I’m sure whoever you’re actually looking for wouldn’t mind waiting.”

I stared at him, my brain firing off alarm bells. What the hell is happening right now?

“Uh, thanks, but I think I’m good,” I said, trying to muster a polite smile while edging away.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his smirk deepening. “I wouldn’t mind getting stood up if it meant spending the evening with you.”

Oh, God. Kill me now. Was he actually flirting with me? This was not part of the plan.

“Wow,” I said, managing to sound more annoyed than flattered. “Do you just have a stockpile of lines ready for moments like this?”

Mr. Brooding Handsome smirked again, completely unfazed. “Only for the ones who deserve them.”

I stared at him, deadpan, and decided to throw the ultimate curveball. If this guy was going to make me uncomfortable, I might as well return the favor. “You do realize I’m a minor, right?”

His smirk vanished faster than you could say awkward silence. His eyes widened, his expression morphing from confident to horrified in record time. “Wait, what? You’re—you’re underage?”

I didn’t even blink, keeping my expression as serious as I could manage. “Yeah. Seventeen. What are you, some kind of perv?”

His face drained of color so fast I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I—I didn’t know! You don’t look—” he stammered, his words tripping over each other in a desperate attempt to backpedal.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” I said, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Classic.”

“I didn’t mean— I wasn’t—” He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, clearly spiraling. “I need to repent, like immediately. This is horrible.”

Before I could drive the nail in any further, a sudden burst of laughter cut through the awkward tension, loud and unrestrained. I froze, my head whipping toward the sound, and for a moment, my brain short-circuited.

At the next table sat quite possibly the prettiest boy I had ever seen in my life.

He had this full head of unruly dark curls that looked like they’d been styled by the wind, framing a face so symmetrical it could’ve been carved by Michelangelo himself. His sharp jawline softened by a cheeky grin, and his deep brown eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and curiosity as he laughed like he couldn’t help himself. He wore a crisp white collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, and the first couple of buttons undone, hinting at effortless charm. He looked like he belonged in a summer movie montage or an editorial spread, not sitting casually in a restaurant grinning at my misfortune.

And the kicker? His smile. The kind of smile that could make a nun forget her vows—and right now, it was aimed squarely at me.

I stared, completely floored, as he tilted his head slightly and wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. “Wow,” he said, his voice warm and smooth, like melted chocolate. “That was the single most entertaining thing I’ve seen all week.”

My face, already red from mortification, went nuclear as I realized two things in quick succession:

This boy had witnessed my entire interaction with Mr. Brooding Handsome.

This boy was my date.

“Kill me now,” I muttered under my breath, forcing myself to look away from his stupidly perfect face.

“You’re Y/N, right?” he asked, still grinning as he gestured toward the empty seat across from him. “I’m Arvid. Ollie’s friend.”

I froze, my stomach doing somersaults. Ollie knows. He knows exactly what kind of face card would render me absolutely useless.

“You’re Arvid?” I managed to squeak out, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

“Guilty,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence, the kind that made the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt seem like a deliberate act of seduction. “And you must be the infamous Y/N he told me about. The one who, apparently, would rather fake food poisoning than go on a blind date.”

I shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “That was private.”

"Hah!" he chucked.

Arvid reached down beside his chair, pulling out a bouquet of assorted flowers wrapped neatly in brown paper. Bright yellows, soft purples, and cheerful whites filled the bundle, with not a single rose in sight. My jaw dropped slightly as he handed it over with a casual smile, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“These are for you,” he said, his voice warm but teasing. “Before you accuse me of trying too hard, Ollie did warn me you’d need some convincing to show up.”

I blinked, taking the bouquet automatically, the vibrant colors almost distracting me from the fact that a ridiculously hot stranger had just handed me flowers. “These… aren’t roses.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “Nope. I figured you’d appreciate that. I may or may not have done some research.”

“Research?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “What, did Ollie give you a dossier on me or something?”

"Well... maybe yes," He responded bashfully.

"Thank you very much," My cheeks turned red, grateful, and also astonished that this Greek God of a man wasn't just dashingly handsome, he was also chivalrous.

"You are very welcome," He smiled, a real wide one too. “Are you going to sit, or are you going to keep terrorizing random men in the restaurant?”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my face burning as I buried it in the menu. “I hate you already,” I muttered.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, his tone light and teasing. “I’ll grow on you. Give me, like, an hour.”

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “You sound awfully confident for someone who just witnessed me humiliate myself in front of half the restaurant.”

Arvid leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his grin not wavering for a second. “Oh, trust me. Watching you mix up your date and traumatize that poor guy? That was the highlight of my week.”

I glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

“Of course I am,” he admitted shamelessly, leaning back in his chair and casually adjusting the cuff of his rolled-up sleeve. “Though, in my defense, Ollie did tell me you’d be entertaining.”

I blinked, my stomach twisting. “Ollie told you... what, exactly?”

“Everything,” Arvid said, his grin widening. “Who you are, what you study, the fact that you once tried to sneak an entire pan of brownies into a movie theater—”

My jaw dropped. “He did not tell you that.”

“He absolutely did,” Arvid replied, laughing. “And honestly? Respect. That’s commitment.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t be too mad,” Arvid said, his voice still laced with amusement. “He was just being a good friend. Besides, it’s not like I went into this blind.”

I froze, slowly lowering my hands. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he began, his tone so casual it immediately put me on edge. “Ollie might’ve shown me your Instagram. And your TikTok.”

My stomach plummeted. “Excuse me?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, though the sheer horror in it was unmistakable.

Arvid grinned, leaning back in his chair like he had just dropped the most casual bombshell in history. “What? It’s not like I went deep into the archives. Just the highlights.”

“The highlights?” I sputtered, my voice cracking. “What exactly does that mean? Oh my god, how far did you scroll? What did you see?”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he shook his head. “Relax, Y/N. I’m not some creep. Just, you know… the usual stuff. Your workout videos. Your, uh, thirst traps—”

I nearly choked on my own breath. “Thirst traps?!”

He nodded, looking far too amused for my liking. “Yeah, you know the ones. Dancing in your dorm, flexing after workouts. Oh, and that one where you were doing lunges in, like, the sweatiest shirt I’ve ever seen. You called it ‘Hot Mess Energy’ or something.”

I slapped my hands over my face, groaning into them. “Oh my god. This is my worst nightmare. My literal worst nightmare.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, though his teasing grin said otherwise. “I mean, I appreciated the honesty. Not everyone has the guts to post their sweaty, post-gym selfies for the world to see. Very authentic.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, my mortification climbing by the second. “You saw those? All of them?”

“Not all of them,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Just the ones Ollie said would give me ‘a sense of your personality.’ And honestly? You’re hilarious. That video where you did the 0.5 camera angle thing and made your forehead look like it was five feet wide? Comedy gold.” He let out a dad laughed and I paled even more then I thought I could. What was my life. I was going to kill Ollie after this.

I dropped my hands onto the table, glaring at him with every ounce of dignity I could muster—which wasn’t much. “Arvid,” I said slowly, “if you’ve seen all of that, why are you even here?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said, gesturing vaguely at myself, “why would you agree to this date after seeing… that?”

His grin softened, and for a moment, he looked almost earnest. “Because I liked it,” he said simply. “You’re not trying to be someone you’re not. You’re just… you. And, for what it’s worth, sweaty workout Y/N is still pretty damn cute.”

I stared at him, my cheeks flaming so hard I was surprised they didn’t spontaneously combust. “You’re just saying that,” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the edge of the menu.

“Nope,” he said, popping the “p” with a smirk. “In fact, I think the 0.5 angle thing is kind of endearing. It shows you don’t take yourself too seriously. And honestly?” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart stutter. “It’s hot.”

I blinked, my brain short-circuiting as my self-consciousness warred with the undeniable fact that this absolute Greek god of a man had just called me hot.

What kind of fucking fanfiction life was I living in.

“You’re lying,” I said weakly, though my voice lacked conviction. My cheeks were on fire, and I suddenly wished the dim lighting in the restaurant was just a little dimmer.

Arvid leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why would I lie? I’ve seen the TikToks, Y/N. You’ve got confidence—and honestly, that’s more attractive than someone pretending to be perfect all the time.”

I groaned, slumping forward until my elbows hit the table. “I’m never posting online again.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his tone softer now, almost reassuring. “It’s part of what makes you you. I like that you’re not afraid to be a little messy. It’s refreshing.”

I glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For someone who spent his life racing cars at insane speeds, he was surprisingly grounded. Or maybe he was just really good at charming people. Either way, I hated that it was working.

“So,” I said, desperate to shift the focus away from my TikTok antics, “Ollie told me absolutely nothing about you. Care to fill in the blanks?”

He shrugged, resting his chin on his hand, the picture of casual confidence. “Well, here’s something—Campos Racing just signed me. First year in F2.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to process the words. “Wait… Campos Racing? F2?”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Yep. Signed the contract a few weeks ago. I’m officially moving up.”

I gawked at him, my mind racing. “Hold on. Ollie didn’t tell me you were a driver. He just said… God, he didn’t say anything except that you were his ‘friend.’” I gestured at him dramatically. “This feels like vital information, Arvid!”

He laughed, his curls bouncing slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Ollie’s probably just being Ollie. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, congrats,” I said, trying to recover from the shock while still glaring in my mind at Ollie for leaving me unprepared.

“It’s huge,” he admitted, the pride in his voice impossible to miss. “I’ve been karting and working my way up through the junior series for years. Getting this contract feels like… I don’t know, everything I’ve been working toward finally paying off.”

“And you’re just casually dropping that into the conversation like it’s no big deal,” I said, giving him an incredulous look. “You realize that’s insane, right?”

Arvid chuckled, shrugging as he leaned back in his chair. “I mean, it’s just what I do. I don’t really think of it as a big deal. It’s my job.”

“Your job is racing cars for a living,” I said, emphasizing the absurdity of it all. “You have to admit, that’s a bit cooler than your average 9-to-5.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin turning slightly sheepish. “But honestly, it’s just a lot of training, traveling, and trying not to screw up in front of thousands of people.”

“I watch Formula 1 sometimes,” I admitted, shifting slightly in my seat. “Well, I try to when I have the time. But F2? Not so much. I mean, I know it exists, and I know it’s the step before F1, but I barely have time to keep up with one series, let alone two.”

“Fair,” he said, nodding. “F1 gets all the glitz and glamour, so it makes sense people don’t pay as much attention to F2. But we’re where the real grind happens.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Oh, so you’re saying F2 drivers work harder than F1 drivers?”

“Not harder,” he said with a laugh. “Just… differently. F2 is all about proving yourself. Every race feels like a job interview. You mess up, and it could cost you everything.”

“Yeah, it’s a big step,” he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. “This is my first year. It’s a lot of pressure, but it’s what I’ve been working toward since I was a kid.”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite myself. “That’s actually pretty cool. I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who’s chasing a dream like that.”

“Thanks,” he said, his grin softening. “I wasn’t sure how much you’d care, since Ollie said you’re more into F1 than anything.”

“Yeah, well, Ollie didn’t tell me anything about you,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “I came in completely blind, so thanks for the heads-up, Ollie.”

Arvid laughed, his curls bouncing slightly. “To be fair, I came in knowing way more about you than you did about me, so maybe it balances out.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered, my face heating up again as I thought about all the embarrassing TikToks and Instagram posts he’d probably seen.

“Seriously, though,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You might not know much about F2, but if you ever want to come to a race, let me know. I’ll make sure you get the VIP treatment.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “That’s… nice of you,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “But I’d probably just embarrass myself.”

“Doubt it,” he said, his grin turning teasing again. “Though I’d pay good money to see you try and explain tire strategy to someone.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, his voice warm and light, “you’re still sitting here.”

Before I could respond with something witty—or tell him off for being annoyingly charming—the waiter arrived, and the moment took a sharp left turn.

It was Clara. Of course, it had to be Clara. The girl from my Intro to Economics class, who was practically infamous for her ability to sniff out drama and turn it into the juiciest gossip on campus. She was the type of person who could glance at someone’s outfit and instantly know who they were meeting, where, and why.

And right now, she was staring at me with her sharp, piercing eyes—eyes that missed nothing. Her perfectly arched eyebrows lifted slightly, just enough to suggest that she recognized me, though she didn’t say it outright. But the look was there, subtle but unmistakable. It was the look of someone who knew they had stumbled onto something interesting. The kind of look that could turn my mortifying night into Monday morning entertainment for the entire Economics department.

My stomach twisted as her gaze flickered from me to Arvid, and then back again, like she was cataloging every detail for later. The tailored white collared shirt, his effortlessly confident posture, my flushed cheeks—she was filing it all away, I just knew it. Clara didn’t need words to spread gossip. Her looks alone could set a chain reaction of whispers in motion.

For a moment, I considered pretending I didn’t recognize her. Maybe if I avoided eye contact, she’d assume I was just some random girl with no connection to her perfectly curated world of university drama. But the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth told me otherwise. She knew. She knew.

“Hi,” she said brightly, flipping open her notepad, her voice so professional it almost made me forget the glint of amusement in her eyes. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Her tone was perfectly polite, but her sharp gaze lingered a second too long, and my stomach dropped even further. This wasn’t just a casual encounter. This was Clara seeing something she’d want to dissect later, probably over a cappuccino with her friends.

I forced a tight smile, gripping the edge of the table like it might somehow anchor me. “Uh, a few more minutes, please,” I said, my voice coming out higher than I’d intended.

Clara’s lips twitched again, and for a horrifying moment, I thought she might say something more. But instead, she just nodded and walked off, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and slumped back in my chair. “Of course it’s her,” I muttered under my breath.

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into an amused grin. “Friend of yours?”

“Not exactly,” I muttered, glancing at Clara’s retreating figure. “She’s in my Intro to Economics class. And she’s… well, let’s just say she’s the kind of person who loves to be in the know.”

“Ah,” he said, his grin widening. “A campus gossip.”

“Worse,” I replied, leaning forward. “She’s the campus gossip. If she recognizes me—and I’m pretty sure she does—this date is going to be all over campus by Monday morning.”

Arvid tilted his head, clearly more entertained than concerned. “You’re worried she’s going to spread the word that you’re out with a Campos Racing driver?”

I shot him a look. “No, I’m worried she’s going to turn this into some kind of soap opera. She’s probably already coming up with theories about why I look like I’ve been holding my breath for the past five minutes.”

He chuckled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t mind the idea of people talking about us.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re the ridiculously hot guy in the story. I’m just the awkward mess who thought she could get away with ordering hot water and lemon in a place like this.”

“Ridiculously hot, huh?” he teased, leaning forward with that damn smirk of his.

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I take it back. You're bloody annoying never mind."

Arvid and I continued talking for a minute, then we scanned our menus when we realized it was in fact dinner time, and we must eat during dinner.

The waitress—Clara, from my Intro to Economics class—returned with her notepad and a polite but overly curious smile. Her gaze flickered between me and Arvid, and I could tell she was already mentally storing this entire scene in her little database of gossip.

“Have you decided on drinks to start?” Clara asked, her voice light and professional, but her eyes were practically screaming, I know you.

I shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let my nervousness show. “I’ll have hot water with lemon,” I said, folding my hands on the table like I hadn’t just committed financial suicide by agreeing to eat at this place.

Clara gave me a quick nod, but before she could jot it down, Arvid chimed in, “I’ll have the same.”

My head whipped toward him, my eyebrows shooting up. “You drink hot water with lemon?”

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging as his lips curved into a smirk. “Not usually. But I figured I’d give it a try. You look like you know what you’re doing.”

Clara glanced between us, clearly amused, and jotted down the order. “I’ll bring those right out,” she said, but not before giving me one last look that screamed we’re going to talk about this in class, aren’t we?

As soon as she walked off, I turned back to Arvid, narrowing my eyes. “You don’t have to order the same thing as me, you know. It’s not a personality quiz.”

“True,” he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “But I thought it might give me some insight into you. What does hot water with lemon say about someone?”

“That they’re broke and trying to save money?” I shot back, hoping my sarcasm would mask how flustered I felt.

He laughed, the deep, warm sound sending a strange, fluttery sensation through my chest. “Nah, I think it says you’ve got taste. And discipline.” He winked, and I felt my face heat for the hundredth time that night.

I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking another glance at him while pretending to adjust my napkin. Seriously, how does someone even look like that? His curls, dark and unruly, framed his face like they were sculpted to perfection. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut through my sanity. Then there was the smirk—the one that somehow managed to be both infuriating and heart-stopping at the same time. It wasn’t fair. No one should look that good and be charming. It felt like some cosmic joke, and I was the punchline.

His gaze flicked up from the menu, and of course, he caught me staring. Again. A slow smile spread across his lips, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a glint of knowing mischief.

“See something you like?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

My face ignited, and I quickly looked away, pretending to be very interested in the tablecloth. “In your dreams,” I muttered, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me.

He laughed softly, the sound somehow both infuriating and intoxicating. “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know.”

“Hiding what?” I shot back, glaring at him with what I hoped was righteous indignation but probably just looked like I was panicking.

“That you’re flustered,” he said smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “And, dare I say, a little impressed.”

“I’m not flustered,” I lied, crossing my arms as if that would protect me from the sheer intensity of his presence. “And definitely not impressed.”

“Sure,” he said, his grin widening. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

Before I could come up with a halfway decent retort, Clara reappeared with our drinks. She set the glasses of hot water with lemon down in front of us, her sharp gaze flicking between Arvid and me like she was analyzing every interaction.

“Have you decided on food?” she asked, her voice polite but laced with curiosity.

Arvid gestured toward me, clearly amused. “Ladies first.”

I swallowed, feeling Clara’s gaze boring into me as I opened the menu again. The prices glared back at me like some cruel joke, but I wasn’t about to let either of them see me sweat.

“I’ll have the Grilled Sutton Hoo chicken,” I said finally, forcing my voice to stay steady. “With the mushrooms and the… uh, truffle sauce.”

Clara jotted it down, her lips twitching like she was holding back a comment. She glanced at Arvid, who hadn’t stopped watching me with that insufferable smirk.

“And for you?” she asked.

“I’ll have the Slow Cooked Herefordshire Beef ‘Daube,’” he said easily, barely glancing at the menu. Then he looked at me, his grin softening into something that felt almost… warm. “And we’ll share the pork belly starter, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine,” I said, pretending not to notice the way my heart skipped at the way he looked at me. “But only because I’m starving.”

Clara nodded, her gaze lingering on us for a moment longer than necessary before she walked off. As soon as she was out of earshot, I slumped back in my chair, groaning softly.

“Relax,” Arvid said, his voice light and teasing. “You’re acting like she’s going to write a full exposé about us.”

“She might as well,” I muttered, dragging my hands down my face. “She’s in my Econ class, and she’s always gossiping. By Monday, everyone’s going to think I’m dating you.”

“And?” he said, raising an eyebrow, a glint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the casual confidence in his tone. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, his smirk softening into something dangerously charming. “I’m just saying,” he began, his voice dropping to a smooth, teasing lilt, “if we were dating, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might even be pretty great.”

“Oh, really?” I shot back, raising an eyebrow, trying desperately to mask the heat creeping into my cheeks. “And what exactly makes you think that?”

He shrugged, his curls shifting slightly with the movement, and somehow, even that looked annoyingly perfect. “For starters, you’d never have to worry about a boring meal. I’d make sure we’d always go to places like this—or better. Nice food, good wine, desserts you’d dream about afterward.”

“Wow,” I said dryly, though my voice betrayed a hint of nervous laughter. “So generous of you.”

“I’m not done,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in, his eyes locked on mine. “We’d do fun things, too. Not just fancy dinners. Weekend trips. Walks through new cities. Ice skating, even if you’re terrible at it.” He winked, and I felt my stomach flip. “And I’d make sure you always had the best view of whatever race I was in. VIP, every time.”

I tried to scoff, but the idea was so vividly painted in my head that I couldn’t help the way my traitorous mind entertained it for a split second. “Sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, sitting back in his chair. “I’m just saying, people might gossip about us, but at least they’d be talking about something good.”

“Something good?” I echoed, crossing my arms and fixing him with a mock glare. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not really,” he replied, shrugging again. “I just know what I bring to the table. And if I were your boyfriend, Y/N, you’d never have to question it.”

My heart stumbled at the casual way he said it, like he wasn’t just throwing it out to mess with me, like he meant it. My face flushed so hot I was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of my ears.

I quickly reached for my glass, taking a long sip of hot water with lemon just to avoid his gaze. “You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, my voice muffled by the rim of the glass.

"Mhm," he smirked, titled his head, and looked at me, his gaze piercing through all defenses that I put up.

What the fucking hell. No boy had ever done this to me. I hate this.

I didn’t respond right away, mostly because I couldn’t. The thought of him painting this ridiculously idealized picture of dating—us dating—was doing things to me that I wasn’t ready to admit, even to myself.

“Dream on, Campos,” I muttered finally, setting the glass down and forcing myself to meet his gaze. “It’s going to take a lot more than good food and fancy dates to win me over.”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with something that made my heart skip. “Challenge accepted.”

And just like that, he had me right where he wanted me—half-annoyed, half-intrigued, and entirely unable to look away.

I took another sip of my hot water with lemon, using the motion to buy myself a moment to collect my thoughts. Arvid was entirely too good at throwing me off-balance, and the way his dark eyes never seemed to leave mine didn’t help.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence with that maddeningly smooth voice, “tell me about you. Ollie said you’re studying something impressive.”

I raised an eyebrow, setting my glass down. “Ollie said that?”

“Well,” he admitted, a teasing smile tugging at his lips, “his exact words were, ‘She’s a genius who’ll probably run the UN someday, but she’s also stubborn as hell and will definitely challenge you to an arm-wrestling match if she’s had too much caffeine.’”

I sighed, "He may be correct on that account."

Arvid laughed, the sound warm and infectious. “So, is he right? About the UN, I mean. Not the arm-wrestling—though I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

I lowered my hands, rolling my eyes. “I’m studying International Relations at the University of London. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, though. Mostly, it’s a lot of reading, writing, and pretending I understand what my professors are saying half the time.”

“Sounds pretty impressive to me,” he said, his voice genuine enough to make me glance at him. He was leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the room.

I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “It’s… something I’m passionate about. I like understanding how the world works, why countries act the way they do, and how policies shape people’s lives. It’s a lot to take in, but I love it.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “You’re the type who stays up all night before exams, surrounded by books and snacks, stressing over every little detail.”

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a laugh that was more exasperated than amused. “You have no idea. That’s literally what I was doing before this date.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening with curiosity. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Well,” I began, setting my glass down and crossing my arms, “Ollie showed up unannounced last night and decided to chat my ear off about who-knows-what Formula 1 nonsense, completely derailing my study schedule. He finally left at, like, midnight, and by then, I was already behind.”

Arvid nodded, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Sounds about right for Ollie.”

“So,” I continued, gesturing animatedly, “I stayed up until five in the morning—yes, five—trying to cram for my Intro to Sociology test on social stratification. Somewhere around 3:00 AM, I drooled all over my notes and woke up with half the syllabus stuck to my face.”

He snorted, barely containing his laughter. “Please tell me there’s a picture.”

“Thankfully, no,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes. “But when I woke up, I ate the most pathetic grilled cheese sandwich ever, made in my dorm kitchen, and went right back to studying. I didn’t even realize the time until it was 7:00 PM, and that’s when I panicked because I remembered you.”

“Flattered,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what happened next? Let me guess: world’s fastest shower?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” I rolled my eyes, already cringing at the memory. “The shared dorm bathroom was packed. Everyone was gossiping, and I was just trying to scrub between my toes without hearing about Sarah’s boyfriend drama. Oh, and I shaved my legs so fast that I actually cut myself. Twice.”

“Ouch,” he said, his smirk softening. “I hope you at least had decent water pressure.”

“Barely,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Then I had to sprint back to my room, only to realize that none of my clothes looked right. I threw half my wardrobe onto the floor before deciding on this.” I gestured to my outfit. “At 7:35.”

“And you still managed to look incredible,” he said, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that made my stomach do flips.

“Stop,” I muttered, though my face heated up against my will. “Anyway, I finally finished getting ready, grabbed a cab, and spent the entire ride freaking out about being late. All because Ollie thought it would be funny to set me up without telling me anything about you.”

Arvid laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like quite the journey. I’m impressed you even made it here in one piece.”

“Barely,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “And now I’m sitting across from you, telling this embarrassing story while you look like you just walked off a magazine cover.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands, “I had to make a good impression. Ollie said you’d be a tough critic.”

"Well I can say your fit is impressing me, and serving cunt at 100%," I cheekily grinned.

Arvid burst out laughing, the deep, warm sound filling the space between us. His dark eyes lit up, and he tilted his head, clearly amused by my choice of words. “Serving cunt at 100%, huh? That’s probably the best compliment I’ve gotten all year.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, sitting back with a smirk, feeling oddly triumphant for making him laugh like that. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m still a tough critic.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied, his grin widening. “I know better than to let my guard down around you. You’re like a tiny ball of chaos, and I have to stay sharp.”

“Tiny?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes. “Did you just call me tiny?”

“Well, yeah,” he teased, leaning forward again. “You’re what, five-four? Five-five?”

“Five-four and a half,” I corrected, crossing my arms. “And don’t act like you’re a giant, Mr. Five-eight.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock defense, “five-eight is still respectable. I could still pick you up with one arm.”

My face went hot, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was leaning. “Don’t even think about it,” I said, trying to sound stern but feeling the flutter in my chest betray me.

Arvid smirked, clearly relishing my flustered state, and then—because he was insufferable—he flexed his arm casually. The motion sent his bicep straining against the fabric of his shirt, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his veins ran along his forearm, prominent and defined.

I swallowed hard, my face heating up even more. Why does he have to look like that?

“Do you work out often?” I blurted before I could stop myself, instantly regretting it.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into a knowing grin. “Yeah, pretty much every day. It’s kind of essential, you know, for driving.”

"Mhmm," I responded, letting him explain. I totally knew this, I just liked the sound of his voice when he spoke.

He laughed, the sound deep and warm. “You’d be surprised how physically demanding it is. A lot of it’s about endurance—keeping your neck and core strong to handle the G-forces. And grip strength for controlling the wheel during long stints. Plus, I spend a lot of time on reaction drills and cardio.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ve heard Ollie does those things too.”

Arvid raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a grin that was pure mischief. “Yeah, but let’s be honest. Ollie’s kind of a twig. I’m actually buff.”

I snorted, the laugh bubbling out of me before I could stop it. “You did not just say that.”

“Sure,” Arvid said, leaning forward again with a glint of mischief in his eye. “But let’s face it. Ollie couldn’t bench press a wet towel. He’s got the build of a breadstick.”

That did it. I burst out laughing, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. “You did not just say that!”

“Hey, I’m just being honest,” he said, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “It’s not a bad thing. Breadsticks are great. They’re just… not very sturdy.”

I was still laughing, my shoulders shaking as I tried to get it together. “Poor Ollie,” I managed, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “You’re terrible.”

“And you’re way too nice to say it, but you know I’m right,” he teased, his grin growing. “Besides, if we ever went to the gym together, I’d let you choose the playlist. That’s gotta count for something.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow. “So now you’re inviting me to the gym? This is escalating quickly.”

“Not really,” he said, leaning back with a sly smile. “I’m just planning ahead. You know, keeping my options open.”

“For what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “For humiliating me on a treadmill?”

“Hardly,” he said with mock offense, his hand going to his chest like I’d deeply wounded him. “Do I look like the kind of guy who’d do that?”

I gave him a slow once-over, letting my eyes linger on his annoyingly perfect posture and the barely-contained smugness on his face. “Honestly? Yes. You absolutely look like that guy.”

He laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, closing the already diminishing space between us. “Okay, fair. But I’d only push you on the treadmill so I could catch you when you fall.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my brain short-circuited for a second. Was he always like this? So quick, so smooth, and so completely aware of how to make my pulse race?

“Wow,” I said, regaining composure just enough to throw him a smirk. “You’ve really got a whole playbook of lines ready to go, don’t you?”

“Not lines,” he said, his tone shifting to something warmer, more deliberate. “Just the truth.”

I blinked, thrown off balance by the sincerity in his voice. Before I could find a comeback, he leaned back again, his grin morphing into something impossibly charming. “Besides,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself, “if we’re talking about treadmills, you should know I’d never humiliate you. I’d just pace you. Keep you steady. Maybe even give you a motivational pep talk.”

“A pep talk?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You don’t exactly strike me as the motivational speaker type.”

“Oh, I can be,” he said, feigning seriousness as he clasped his hands like some kind of motivational coach. “Picture this: ‘Come on, Y/N! Just one more kilometer! Think of all the overpriced lattes you’ll earn after this!’”

I burst out laughing, the image of him cheering me on while I panted my way through a workout was too much. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin widening. “But I’d still get you through that workout. And afterward, I’d make sure we went somewhere to refuel properly. Burgers, fries, the works. You know, balance.”

“Balance?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Coming from someone whose entire job is throwing their body around a track at 200 miles per hour?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I’m an expert on controlled chaos.”

“You are chaos,” I shot back, unable to stop myself from smiling.

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make my heart do something stupid, “you’re still smiling.”

“I—” I started, but Clara, our ever-curious waitress, appeared again, interrupting the moment.

“So,” Clara said with a sweet but suspiciously knowing smile, “are we ready for that pork belly starter?”

“Yes,” Arvid answered immediately, glancing at me with a look that said he wasn’t done with the conversation. “And can we also get another round of hot water with lemon?”

I glared at him. “Are you mocking my drink choice now?”

“Not at all,” he replied, completely serious. “It’s growing on me. Kind of like you.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as Clara smirked and walked away. This boy was going to drive me absolutely insane—and, annoyingly, I was starting to think I might enjoy the ride.

As the food arrived, the conversation between us found an easy rhythm. The slow-cooked pork belly, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, was practically melting in my mouth, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of approval.

“Good?” Arvid asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a bite of his own.

“Better than good,” I admitted, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “It’s probably illegal for food to taste this nice.”

He grinned, gesturing with his fork. “You should’ve seen the catering at my last F2 event. This is basically Michelin-starred dining compared to that.”

“What did they serve?” I asked, curious.

He chuckled, setting his fork down. “Let’s just say I’m not entirely convinced it was chicken.”

I laughed, almost choking on a piece of pork. “Okay, but I thought you F2 drivers were supposed to have these super-healthy, protein-packed meals or something.”

“Oh, we do,” he said with a dramatic eye roll. “It’s just that sometimes, when you’re at a track in the middle of nowhere, the food options are… limited.”

“So you survive on protein shakes and dreams?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Pretty much,” he said with a grin. “Which is why this,” he gestured to the pork belly, “is basically heaven.”

By the time our main courses arrived, I’d learned more about his training routine, some behind-the-scenes F2 drama, and his guilty pleasure for cheesy reality TV—though he’d sworn me to secrecy on that last part.

I had just taken my first bite of my grilled chicken when he asked, “So, what about you? What’s the one thing you eat when you’re stressed?”

“Instant noodles,” I admitted, without a hint of shame. “Cheap, easy, and doesn’t require a fully functioning brain to make.”

Arvid laughed, shaking his head. “Let me guess. Ollie’s given you a lecture about that.”

“Every time he catches me eating it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s convinced it’s going to kill me.”

“Well,” Arvid said, leaning forward with a playful glint in his eye, “if it does, can I have your notes on Intro to Sociology? They sound pretty thorough.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

As we finished our meals, I reached for the menu to double-check the bill when I realized Arvid was already signaling for the check.

“What are you doing?” I asked, frowning.

“Paying,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.

“Wait—no!” I protested, sitting up straighter. “We’re splitting it.”

“Too late,” he said, handing over his card with a charming grin. “You can thank me later.”

I stared at him, flustered and a little impressed. “You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer the term ‘chivalrous,’” he replied, standing up and nodding toward the door. “Come on, let’s get dessert.”

“Dessert?” I asked, grabbing my bag and following him out. “Isn’t that cheating your diet or something?”

“Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I figured I’d make an exception. For you.”

My face burned at his words, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it as we walked a few blocks down to a quaint little dessert shop. The place was cozy and full of charm, with mismatched furniture, colorful murals on the walls, and the scent of freshly made waffle cones wafting through the air.

“Okay, this is adorable,” I admitted as we walked up to the counter.

“Best ice cream in London,” Arvid said confidently. “Ollie and I found it last year after one of his races.”

I scanned the menu, my eyes widening at the sheer variety of flavors. “How do you even pick?”

“Easy,” Arvid said, stepping up to order. “You go with whatever makes you happiest.”

“Philosophical and hungry,” I teased. “Impressive.”

He grinned, ordering a double scoop of salted caramel and pistachio in a waffle cone. When it was my turn, I went for chocolate and hazelnut, mostly because it sounded indulgent enough to match the mood.

We found a small table by the window, and as I took my first bite, I couldn’t help but let out a satisfied hum. “Okay, you weren’t lying. This is amazing.”

“Told you,” he said, his gaze soft as he watched me. “I’ve got good taste.”

“Debatable,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “But this ice cream? Definitely a win.”

The conversation flowed easily as we ate, filled with jokes, stories, and just enough teasing to make my cheeks ache from smiling. For someone I’d been so wary of meeting, Arvid Lindblad was turning out to be… kind of perfect.

“Alright,” he said as we finished up, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Rate the date so far. Be honest.”

“Hmm,” I said, pretending to think. “The food was great. The company… tolerable.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it,” I shot back, surprising myself with how comfortable I felt around him.

“Maybe I do,” he said, his tone softer now, his dark eyes holding mine for just a moment too long.

My heart did a little flip, and I quickly stood up, tossing my napkin onto the table. “Come on. Let’s go before you start getting sappy.”

He laughed again, standing and following me out the door. As we stepped into the cool evening air, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, a little warmer. For someone who’d completely derailed my plans for the night, Arvid Lindblad wasn’t half bad. In fact, he might just be the best distraction I’d had in a long time.

As we stepped outside the ice cream shop, the night air was cool but not uncomfortable, and I glanced at Arvid with a small smile. “So, what’s the plan? Are you driving me back, or am I hailing a cab?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish for the first time all evening. “Uh, about that… I can’t drive you back.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait, what? You’re a race car driver, but you don’t have your road license?”

“Not yet,” he admitted with a chuckle, his curls catching the streetlights in a way that was entirely too distracting. “I figured I’d drive in Formula 1 before I bothered with driving on normal roads.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping slightly. “That is the most absurdly cocky thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Cocky?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “Or just confident?”

“Cocky,” I shot back, folding my arms. “And impractical.”

“Maybe,” he conceded, his grin never wavering. “But it’s worked for me so far.”

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Unbelievable. I have my license, and I’m younger than you.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, teasing tone that had been throwing me off all night. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you another time. But first—” He pulled out his phone, holding it out to me. “Put your number in.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool despite the way my heart skipped a beat. “You’re awfully confident I’ll say yes.”

“Well,” he said, his smirk widening, “you’ve already spent the whole night with me. What’s a few more texts?”

I huffed, grabbing his phone and quickly typing in my number before handing it back. “There. Don’t make me regret it.”

He looked down at the screen, saving my contact with a satisfied nod. “Oh, I won’t. In fact, I’ll text you as soon as you get home. Just to make sure you’re safe.”

“Smooth,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

He stepped closer then, his expression softening as he opened his arms slightly. “Can I at least give you a proper goodbye?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Fine. But no funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug that was surprisingly… nice. He smelled like cologne and something faintly sweet, and for a moment, I let myself relax against him.

When he pulled back, he gave me one last smile, his eyes lingering on mine for just a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N. I had fun.”

“Me too,” I admitted quietly, quickly looking away before he could see the blush creeping up my neck. “Take care, Arvid.”

He waved as I stepped into the cab, and as the car pulled away, I couldn’t help but glance back at him through the rear window. He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the confident, charming troublemaker he’d been all night.

By the time I got back to my dorm, it was exactly 10:57 PM. I glanced at the clock on my phone, shaking my head with a small smile. Full circle, I thought, dropping my bag onto the chair and sinking onto the bed.

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: made it home safe? or should I file a missing person’s report?

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I typed back. relax, I’m alive. barely, though. those ice cream calories nearly did me in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Arvid: guess we’ll have to hit the gym together soon. you know, balance.

I groaned, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. This boy is going to be the death of me.

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yourusername

liked by olliebearman, arvid.lindblad, and 1,203 others

yourusername: why this one.... this one lowkey ate.

view comments:

user1: okay cuntcore we get it queen

user2: ALRIGHT. girl is this a DATE??? hello answer my TEXTSSS.

user2: i know you are reading these y/n....

yourusername: i never said that it was a date

olliebearman: sure, sure...

user3: HUH shes a stunner i need to see what fugly ass man this is just to check if he can fight me for her

olliebearman: wait WDYM this one lowkey ate

olliebearman: answer my texts NOWWWWW

olliebearman: stop pretending you are studying it says you are active on insta

olliebearman: GIVE ME A LIFE UPDATE PLEASEEEEE

yourusername: never knew a bitch was so thirsty DAMN

olliebearman: i take credit i take all the credit guys

yourusername: you aired out my DIRTY LAUNDRY

user4: GIRLS GIRLS no fighting

user5: there is no way a MAN made you laugh harder than i did

yourusername: hate to be the bearer of bad news...

olliebearman: there is absolute no way he isn't even that funny

olliebearman: MY jokes are better than his common.

yourusername: once again, i hate to be the bearer of bad news...

user6: scrolling through her likes to see who this fool is

user7: AND he got her flowers? idk who this is but he a diva

yourusername: byeee he wishes

olliebearman: are you sure you are only saying this one ate because he paid for your meal AND your icecream...

yourusername: i don't know what you are talking about!

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[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81

📍santorini, greece

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (43K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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index guide:

01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess 02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment 03. Making a Splash In the Pool of Love 04. Dinner Table Tango (Put Me On TV Netflix) 05. Caffeine, Clem, and Capital-L Crushes 06. O-live-You And Other Things That Could've Been Said

summary:

On a summer getaway to Santorini, Greece, Y/N finds herself staying in a charming Airbnb with her family, soaking in the breathtaking views and vibrant atmosphere of the island. However, what was supposed to be a peaceful vacation takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that they’ll be sharing the house with none other than Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, who’s also vacationing with his family.

At first, the arrangement feels awkward, the two worlds of celebrity racing and her relatively normal life as a collegiate student colliding in the most unforeseen way. But as the days go by, the initial surprise gives way to something deeper. As they explore the sun-drenched beaches, dine in quaint tavernas, and experience the lively nightlife of Santorini, Y/N and Oscar find themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

As the sun sets over the Aegean Sea, and the lively energy of the island comes alive at night, Y/N and Oscar find themselves spending more time together, entertwined in a steamy and fast-paced romance. The backdrop of Santorini's iconic white-washed buildings, azure waters, and the laid-back Greek lifestyle set the stage for a summer romance that's as unexpected as it is intense.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C4)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (9.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────── 04: Dinner Table Tango (Put Me On TV Netflix)

Our usual dinners were low-key affairs—think microwaved leftovers, a quick pasta dish, or maybe some takeout eaten in front of the TV while my mom narrated the latest drama from whichever reality show was her current obsession. Tonight, though, was a whole different beast. It was like we’d accidentally wandered into a chaotic crossover episode of MasterChef meets a reality TV reunion: there were kabobs piled high on platters, enough side dishes to feed an entire neighborhood, and a whirlwind of personalities that made it feel like every seat at the table came with its own subplot.

Oscar’s dad, Chris, had turned the backyard grill into his personal stage, flipping kabobs with the flair of a man who was auditioning for his own cooking show. Each turn of the skewer came with commentary, like, “See that sear? That’s what you call perfection,” and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was preparing a meal for a panel of judges instead of a casual dinner. Nicole, Oscar’s mom, hovered nearby, nodding along as if she hadn’t heard his grilling philosophy a thousand times before, while my mom, Belle, politely sipped her wine, pretending to be fascinated by every culinary revelation.

At the table, Hattie, Edie, and Mae were buzzing with their usual sibling energy—Hattie and Mae were whispering about something that kept making them burst into giggles, while Edie was eyeing the dessert like it was the final boss in a video game she was determined to conquer. Every few seconds, they’d shoot each other knowing looks, their inside jokes and side comments flying faster than I could keep up.

I picked up a plate and tried to navigate my way through the lively chaos, eyeing a seat at the far end of the table where I could blend into the background. But as soon as I moved, Oscar was there—close enough that I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin from the sun and the pool. I placed my plate down, aiming for a spot near the drinks, but no sooner had I set my food down than Oscar plopped down next to me, grinning like this was all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

I moved again, feigning a casual stroll to the other end, but Oscar followed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sat down beside me once more. I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it, each move feeling like a dance where I kept trying to sidestep and he kept closing in.

I finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you planning to follow me all night, or are you just allergic to sitting anywhere else?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, that infuriatingly confident grin never wavering. “What can I say? You’re the best seat in the house,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, I promised you great dinner company, didn’t I?”

“You’re like a lost puppy,” I muttered, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “Except more annoying.”

He just laughed, nudging my arm playfully. “I prefer ‘persistent’—sounds cuter. But if being annoying gets me the best view, then I’ll take it.”

Nicole glanced over from across the table, her mom radar obviously picking up on the exchange. “Oscar, sweetie, why don’t you give her a little space?” she teased, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she was enjoying this far too much.

Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “Why would I? I’m right where I want to be.”

Belle, my mom, was clearly entertained, watching us like she’d just tuned into her favorite show. “You know, if he keeps this up, you might need to get him his own seat belt,” she joked, topping off her wine as she watched Oscar stick to my side like glue.

I rolled my eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but the warmth of his presence was impossible to ignore. “Don’t encourage him,” I mumbled, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill. Oscar’s persistence was absurdly charming, and no matter how much I tried to brush it off, his attention felt like its own kind of spotlight, casting everything in a new, exciting light.

The table was loud with laughter and overlapping conversations, skewers being passed around and plates filling up with everything from grilled corn to tangy salads. I tried to focus on my food, savoring the perfectly marinated kabobs and buttery potatoes, but Oscar’s constant presence kept pulling me back in, his playful nudges and whispered comments making it impossible to forget he was right there, next to me, watching every reaction.

“You really do have a knack for this,” I said, nudging him back just as he reached for another skewer.

Oscar flashed me a quick, sideways smile, his eyes twinkling. “For what, dinner? Or following you around like it’s my job?”

“Both,” I shot back, but the lightness in my voice betrayed how much I was enjoying the banter.

Oscar chuckled, spearing a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. “Well, I’m nothing if not dedicated,” he said, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “And hey, if I’m going to be annoyingly persistent, I might as well be charming about it, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice behind it, only a growing sense of ease that came from how effortlessly he slipped into conversation with me. “Is that what this is? Charm? I thought it was just a fancy word for stalking.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound that sent a shiver down my spine despite the warm evening air. “Stalking’s such a strong word. I prefer ‘being attentive.’ You know, keeping an eye on the competition.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispered, “Plus, it’s kind of fun to see you all flustered.”

I felt my cheeks warm instantly, and I shoved a forkful of salad into my mouth to cover up my embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” I mumbled around the bite, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Am I, though?” he teased, nudging my leg under the table with his foot. “Because it kind of seems like you like it.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. “You wish,” I shot back, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew he could see right through me.

Nicole, who had been listening to our back-and-forth with thinly veiled amusement, finally chimed in. “Oscar, honey, you might want to ease up before she throws you in the pool,” she said, winking at me. “But if she does, don’t worry—I’m sure you can swim.”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat, turning to his mom with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’m not worried. I think she’d just jump in after me.”

I tried to keep my composure, but it was impossible not to laugh at his relentless confidence. “Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I said, giving him a playful shove, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of exasperation and excitement at his attention.

Belle leaned over, her eyes twinkling as she passed me the breadbasket. “You’re handling him well,” she whispered with a smirk. “Most girls would’ve dunked him by now.”

I shot her a look of mock horror. “Trust me, it’s tempting. But I think he likes the attention too much.”

Oscar, who apparently had supersonic hearing when it came to anything involving himself, leaned in again, this time closer than before, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I definitely do. But between you and me, I think you like it too.” He raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes never leaving mine. “To good company and making the most of dinner.”

I clinked my glass with his, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person at the table worth paying attention to. “To you not annoying me for five minutes,” I countered, but my smile gave away how much I was actually enjoying every second of it.

Oscar’s grin only widened, his eyes never leaving mine as he took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment. There was a playful glint in his gaze, but something deeper too, something that made my chest tighten. It was as if this whole day—every flirtatious comment, every lingering look—had been building up to something unspoken, something that hovered just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

“So, what happens after five minutes?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity that made my breath hitch. “Do I get to keep my seat, or are you kicking me to the curb?”

I laughed softly, but the question hung in the air, feeling heavier than it should. “Depends,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Are you planning on behaving?”

“Not if I can help it,” Oscar replied, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was intense, like he was studying me, trying to figure out exactly what I was thinking.

I glanced away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. There was something about the way he was looking at me that felt new, unexpected—like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had. It was unnerving, thrilling, and terrifying all at once, and it made me feel like everything I thought I knew was suddenly up in the air.

The conversations around us continued, but they felt distant, muffled, as if the world had faded into the background. I could feel the weight of Oscar’s eyes still on me, searching, and for a moment, I found myself caught between the familiar and the unknown. Everything felt different, like the ground beneath me had shifted without warning, and all the little things I’d been so sure of were suddenly tangled up in emotions I hadn’t anticipated.

Oscar’s voice broke through my thoughts, quieter now, a touch more sincere. “You okay? You went quiet on me.”

I blinked, startled by how quickly my mind had wandered. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” he pressed, his eyes soft but probing, clearly not satisfied with my evasive answer.

I hesitated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “About how you’re… different,” I said, the admission making my heart race. “Today, everything’s just… not what I expected.” I trailed off, unsure how to put into words the strange mix of excitement and uncertainty that was bubbling up inside me.

Oscar watched me for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something gentler, more thoughtful. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low and earnest. “It’s weird when things change on you, isn’t it? Like you’re used to one thing, and then suddenly it’s all flipped around.”

He leaned in a little closer, his tone softening as if he was letting me in on a secret. “But I don’t mind it,” he continued. “Everything today… it’s been new, yeah, but it’s good. You’re good.”

I swallowed, the honesty in his words catching me off guard. It was one thing to joke around, to let the banter cover up what was simmering underneath, but this felt different—like he was asking me to see him, really see him, and maybe let him see me in return.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrored the uncertainty I was feeling, a quiet plea hidden in his smile that made my heart skip. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was something real, something that demanded a bit of courage I wasn’t sure I had.

Oscar’s usual cocky confidence had softened into something more tentative, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something that would make this strange, unexpected shift between us make sense. I could see it in the way his eyes flickered with unspoken questions, the way his hand hovered just a little closer to mine on the table, hesitant but hopeful.

He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped, biting his lip in a rare moment of hesitation. I could feel the unsteady rhythm of my own breathing, matching the erratic beat of my heart. It was like standing on the edge of something, knowing that one step could change everything and still not being sure if I was ready to take it.

“I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t expect this,” he finally said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His fingers brushed mine, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver through me, and the simple contact felt more intimate than any of the flirting or banter we’d exchanged all day. “I’m not usually… like this.” He laughed, but it was shaky, almost self-conscious. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one who’s kind of… thrown off.”

I glanced down at our almost-touching hands, the space between them feeling unbearably small and impossibly vast at the same time. The reality of what was happening—the shift from playful teasing to something deeper, more vulnerable—was terrifying and exhilarating. It was as if everything had turned upside down, leaving me with nothing to hold onto but the fragile, unspoken connection we’d built in the span of a few sun-soaked hours.

“I know what you mean,” I whispered, surprised at how raw my voice sounded. “I didn’t expect this either.” The words felt too small to capture the rush of emotions tangled inside me, but they were the most honest thing I could offer.

Oscar’s thumb grazed the back of my hand, a light, almost tentative touch, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through me. He smiled, a little lopsided and unsure, and it was so different from his usual bravado that it made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, and there was something so genuine in his tone that it knocked the breath out of me. “I’m glad we’re… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between us, as if trying to name the unnameable, the strange and beautiful thing that had sprung up between the jokes and the splashes and the shared looks that felt like secrets.

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Me too,” I managed, and the simple admission felt like a leap off that precarious edge we’d been teetering on. “I’m glad it’s… us.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, and for a split second, the weight of the moment hung between us, thick with unspoken possibilities. It felt like we were on the cusp of something important, something that neither of us was quite ready to fully grasp, and the vulnerability of it all was terrifying and exhilarating.

But then, in true Oscar fashion, he broke the tension with a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta admit, this whole ‘us’ thing is pretty great. But if you’re planning on crying, can you just give me a heads-up? I’m not emotionally equipped to handle that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from heart-to-heart to heart-to-humor. “Excuse me?” I laughed, trying to hide the relief that came with his playful deflection. “I’m not crying! And for the record, you’re the one who looks like you’re about to get misty-eyed.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, no judgment. I just thought I’d bring tissues to our next deep and meaningful, you know? Maybe some popcorn, too. Really set the mood.”

I snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the tension had eased, replaced by the familiar rhythm of our back-and-forth. “You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Oscar winked, clearly pleased with himself for lightening the mood. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of impossible, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” I shot back, but my heart felt lighter, the strange, heady mix of vulnerability and humor making the moment feel just right.

He laughed, clinking his glass against mine one more time. “Deal. But just so you know, this isn’t over,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing but sincere tone that was quickly becoming his signature. “This ‘us’ thing… it’s still happening.”

I met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth and maybe a little bit of hope. “Yeah,” I said, my smile softening. “It definitely is.” And with that, we let the conversation drift back to laughter and lightness, both of us content to leave the door wide open for whatever might come next.

Just as I started to relax into the ease of the moment, Mae’s voice cut through the noise like a dramatic trumpet blast. “Oh my god, did anyone else just see that?” she exclaimed, practically bouncing out of her chair. She was clutching her glass like it was some kind of award she was presenting to the whole table, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

Oscar and I both froze, caught like deer in headlights as everyone else turned to look at us, half amused and half confused. Mae’s eyes were sparkling with delight, clearly enjoying her self-appointed role as the dinner’s designated narrator of drama.

“Seriously, did no one catch that?” Mae continued, pointing between Oscar and me like she was conducting an investigative report. “That was, like, a full-on rom-com moment! Staring, smiling, subtle hand-touching—am I the only one paying attention to this masterpiece unfolding?”

I could feel my face heating up as the entire table’s attention zeroed in on us. Hattie snorted, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, while Edie gave Mae a playful shove. “Stop being so dramatic, Mae,” Edie said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “It’s not a soap opera.”

Mae, undeterred, waved her hands theatrically, clearly reveling in the spotlight. “No, no, you guys don’t get it. This is prime content! I’ve seen less chemistry on TV shows that have been running for five seasons!” She looked at us with mock seriousness, as if she was on the brink of tears. “Honestly, I’m emotional. I think I need a moment.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, half-embarrassed, half-amused by Mae’s antics. “Okay, Mae, take it down a notch,” he said, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

I tried to cover my face with my hands, laughing despite my mortification. “Oh my god, can we not make this a thing?”

Mae ignored me completely, turning to Nicole and Belle as if she were addressing a captivated audience. “Moms, did you see it? Do we need to start planning a wedding, or should I pace myself?”

Nicole chuckled, giving me a sympathetic smile as she sipped her wine. “Mae, sweetie, let them breathe. But I will say, I’m glad to see our Oscar isn’t just all talk.” She winked at me, clearly enjoying every second of this impromptu performance.

Belle, looking equally amused, raised her glass. “To young love… or whatever this is,” she teased, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

Oscar groaned, though he was clearly more entertained than annoyed. “Thanks, Mae. Really appreciate the live commentary,” he said, rolling his eyes but flashing me a quick, conspiratorial smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

He leaned closer, his voice low so only I could hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her back for that later,” he promised, his tone half-playful, half-serious, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to play it cool, but the way he lingered, just a little closer than necessary, made my heart skip.

Meanwhile, Mae was still basking in the glow of her own theatrics, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin. “Honestly, you’re welcome. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” she quipped, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she was the star of the show.

“Can we get a replay, though?” Hattie chimed in, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Like, maybe a slow-mo version? I feel like I missed the pivotal moment.”

Edie, not one to be left out, waggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah, can you guys just, like, do it again for the rest of us? We need to get the full experience.”

I buried my face in my hands, half laughing, half mortified. “You guys are the worst,” I muttered, but there was no real sting behind it. The entire scene was ridiculous, but it was the kind of ridiculousness that made me feel strangely at home, like I’d been dropped into the middle of this whirlwind of banter and suddenly found my place.

Oscar squeezed my shoulder lightly, his touch grounding me amidst the teasing chaos. “They’re just jealous,” he whispered, his voice edged with that same flirtatious charm that had been keeping me on my toes all day. “It’s not every day they get front-row seats to this level of entertainment.”

I shot him a look, trying to suppress a grin. “Oh, is that what this is? Entertainment?”

He shrugged, unabashed. “Well, it’s definitely not boring. And I think we’re pulling off the lead roles pretty well, don’t you?”

Mae pretended to dab at her eyes, clutching her napkin dramatically. “Look at them, already talking like a power couple. I can’t—my heart is too full.” She pointed a finger at us. “Y’all better invite me to the premiere of your inevitable Netflix series.”

“Mae, if you don’t dial it back, you’re getting written out in season two,” Oscar warned, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on me, a mix of amusement and something softer that made my pulse race.

Mae gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls like she’d just been gravely insulted. “You can’t cut out the comic relief! I’m the fan favorite. Besides, the show would be boring without me stirring the pot.” She leaned back with a smug smile, crossing her arms like she was daring anyone to challenge her.

Hattie snorted, jumping in without missing a beat. “Yeah, but we all know you’re the kind of character they kill off in a dramatic mid-season twist. Gotta keep the ratings up.”

Mae threw her head back, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “Please, they wouldn’t dare. The viewers would riot.” She turned her attention back to us, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “And speaking of plot twists, when’s the big kiss scene? I mean, I’m just saying, it’s been teased for like, three episodes already.”

My jaw dropped, caught between mortification and laughter as Oscar choked on his drink, struggling to keep his composure. “Mae!” I squeaked, covering my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks burn hotter than the grill. “Can we not?”

Mae shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just being honest. The audience wants what it wants.” She glanced around the table, gesturing to everyone with an over-the-top flourish. “I mean, look at us. We’re all invested.”

Oscar rubbed his temples, but he was smiling, shaking his head at his sister’s relentless antics. “Mae, you’re officially banned from all future dinners. You’ve peaked as an agent of chaos.”

Mae shot him a smug look. “I’d like to see you try. I’m basically your PR manager at this point, and you should be grateful. I’m giving you the best subplot.”

Nicole chuckled, shaking her head at her kids. “Alright, enough, everyone. Let’s give them some peace. I think they’ve been roasted enough for one night.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to regain some composure, but every time I glanced at Oscar, he was already looking at me, that easy, knowing smile still playing on his lips. Despite the theatrics, the jokes, and the lighthearted chaos of it all, there was an unmistakable comfort in being next to him, like we were in on some private joke the rest of the table was only half aware of.

As the conversation shifted back to other topics and plates clattered with second helpings, I found myself sneaking another glance at Oscar. He caught me looking and winked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “You good?”

I nodded, feeling that same flutter from earlier, the one that seemed to have settled somewhere deep in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, my voice light but sincere. “I think I’m better than good.”

But as the conversation around the table continued, the laughter and clinking of glasses filling the air, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to Mae’s earlier comment—the one about the “big kiss scene” that had practically sent me into orbit. At the time, I’d brushed it off, laughing it away as another one of her over-the-top jokes. But now, with the evening winding down and Oscar still sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the idea lingered, stubbornly refusing to be dismissed.

I glanced at him, catching the way he was half-listening to whatever Chris was saying about the grill, but his focus kept sneaking back to me, a subtle sideways glance here, a quiet smile there. It was like we were stuck in this unspoken loop, constantly circling each other without ever quite landing. And suddenly, Mae’s words didn’t seem so ridiculous. The thought of kissing Oscar—of actually closing that gap between us—wasn’t just some wild, far-off fantasy. It felt… possible. Real. And that was what scared me the most.

Because Mae wasn’t wrong—there was a tension between us, a pull that had been there all day, simmering beneath the surface. Every time Oscar leaned in a little too close, every shared look that lingered just a second too long, it was there, buzzing quietly, daring us to acknowledge it. I could feel it now, that quiet hum in the air that made every casual touch and playful nudge feel loaded, like we were teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

The thought of kissing him—of actually letting myself take that leap—sent a rush of nerves and excitement crashing over me. What would it feel like? Would it be like all the other moments today, funny and light but with that undeniable spark? Or would it be something else entirely, something that would make it impossible to go back to just playful banter and harmless flirting?

I stole another glance at Oscar, watching the way his lips curved into a smirk as he teased Mae about something I couldn’t quite catch. It was infuriating how easily he could shift from serious to silly, how he could make me feel so at ease one second and then completely unsteady the next. I wondered if he was thinking about it, too—if the idea of us had crossed his mind, lingering like it was now in mine.

My thoughts were interrupted as Mae, ever the observant troublemaker, caught me staring. She wiggled her eyebrows and shot me a knowing grin, clearly reveling in her role as the self-appointed matchmaker of the night. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, but the question she’d planted was still there, stubborn and insistent.

What would it be like, kissing Oscar?

It was a question that hovered between us, unasked but undeniable, and as the evening wore on, it only seemed to grow louder. And while I wasn’t sure of the answer, one thing was becoming clear: the idea of it wasn’t just Mae’s dramatic imagination running wild. It was mine too. And maybe, just maybe, it was only a matter of time before we found out for ourselves.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the backyard in soft hues of orange and pink, the vibe around the table shifted. Plates were cleared, glasses refilled, and the conversation became a gentle hum, winding down into the comfortable lull of a summer evening. The air was warm, carrying the faint, salty scent of the ocean just beyond the house. I could feel the day transitioning into something quieter, softer, like a whispered promise of what was to come.

Oscar nudged my arm gently, his smile easy and inviting. “Want to get out of here for a bit?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “I think I’ve had my fill of Mae’s commentary for the night.”

I laughed, grateful for the excuse to escape the watchful eyes of his sisters. “Yeah, before she starts live-tweeting this,” I joked, grabbing my sandals and following him away from the table. He led us down the path that cut through the backyard, winding toward the beach. The sound of laughter and chatter faded behind us, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet.

The sky was a watercolor canvas of fading light, the last streaks of daylight blending into deep blues and purples as we reached the shore. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels intentional, like the world had pressed pause just for us. Oscar slipped off his shoes, and I followed suit, the cool, damp sand squishing pleasantly between my toes. It felt cheesy and cliché, like something out of a movie, but I didn’t care. It was perfect.

We walked in silence for a bit, side by side, our footsteps falling in sync as the waves lapped at the shore. Every so often, Oscar would kick at the sand, sending little sprays of it up in front of us, and I’d laugh, nudging him back with my shoulder. There was no rush, no destination; it was just us, drifting along the edge of the water like we were caught in our own little bubble.

Oscar glanced at me, his face soft in the twilight. “You know, I think this is the part where we’re supposed to talk about something deep and meaningful,” he said, his voice teasing but light, the kind of tone that made everything feel a little less serious, a little easier to handle.

I smiled, rolling my eyes but playing along. “Oh, right. This is the part where we share our hopes, dreams, and darkest secrets, right? Because nothing says ‘deep conversation’ like walking barefoot on the beach.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, grinning. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. Tonight’s been… fun. Weird and chaotic, but fun.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle over me. “Yeah, it’s been… something,” I admitted, letting out a small laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. In a good way.”

We walked a little further, the quiet between us no longer uncomfortable but filled with the soft roar of the ocean and the distant calls of seagulls. It felt like the perfect cliché—sunset, ocean waves, and just enough awkwardness to keep it from feeling too polished. Oscar stopped suddenly, bending down to pick up a small, smooth shell and handing it to me with a mock-serious expression.

“A souvenir,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the fading light. “To remember this incredibly cheesy moment.”

I took the shell, laughing at how ridiculous and oddly sweet the gesture was. “I’ll treasure it forever,” I said, mimicking his serious tone, holding the shell up like it was a precious gem. “And when I tell people about this night, I’ll say, ‘There was this guy, and he gave me a shell on a beach at sunset. It was painfully corny, but somehow it worked.’”

Oscar chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey, corny works sometimes. Especially if the right person’s involved.” He looked at me then, his smile fading just enough that I could see the sincerity underneath all the jokes. “I like this,” he said, his voice softer. “I like… us.”

My heart did a little flip, caught off guard by the quiet honesty of his words. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, just simple and real, and that made it even better. “I like us too,” I admitted, feeling the last bit of sunlight brush against my skin as the horizon swallowed it whole.

Oscar stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as we stood there, toes in the sand, watching the sky darken. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, one that had been waiting for us all day, and now, with the ocean as our only witness, it didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt right.

The waves crashed softly in the background, a rhythmic soundtrack to the unspoken feelings that hung between us. I expected another joke, something light to keep the moment easy, but instead, Oscar’s expression shifted, his smile fading into something more serious, more introspective. He glanced at the horizon, the last slivers of light reflecting in his eyes, before turning back to me.

“You know,” he started, his voice a little lower, almost hesitant, “about that whole ‘sharing secrets’ thing…”

I raised an eyebrow, expecting another playful jab, but his tone had changed. There was a weight to his words that made my heart pick up pace, and I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Yeah?” I prompted gently, unsure where he was going with this but sensing it was important.

Oscar let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the sand as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I hadn’t seen from him before. “It’s… kind of a big deal. And it’s something I don’t usually talk about when I first meet someone.”

I felt a flicker of concern, mixed with curiosity. “Okay,” I said softly, trying to encourage him without pushing too hard. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip for a moment before meeting my eyes. “So… I’m not just some random guy who likes to crash neighborhood dinners and play chicken in pools.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I’m actually… a Formula One driver.”

I blinked, the words taking a moment to fully register. “Wait, what?” I said, half-laughing in disbelief, expecting him to crack a smile and tell me it was just another joke. But Oscar’s expression remained serious, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

“I’m a Formula One driver,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I race for a living. It’s my job, my whole life, really. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s… well, it’s a lot. I didn’t want to bring it up right away because, honestly, it changes how people see me. And I like how things are right now. Just… you and me, without all that other stuff.”

My mind reeled, trying to connect the dots between the Oscar I’d spent the day with and the image of a high-speed, glamorous world I’d only ever seen on TV. I had a million questions, but the first one that slipped out was, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression softening at my shock. “Yeah, I am. I travel all the time—races in different countries, press, sponsors, all of it. It’s not just a job; it’s this crazy, intense lifestyle, and it’s a lot to deal with. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to just be… me. Not the guy on the track.”

I stared at him, the quiet, easy-going Oscar who had been joking and flirting with me all day, now suddenly framed in a completely different light. I tried to picture him in a racing suit, helmet on, speeding at breakneck pace in front of thousands of fans. The thought was surreal, but the sincerity in his eyes grounded me, reminding me that he was still the same guy who had been by my side all day.

“Wow,” I breathed, still trying to wrap my head around it. “I mean… that’s incredible. And intense. I can’t even imagine…”

Oscar shrugged, his expression a mix of pride and exhaustion. “It’s got its moments. The adrenaline, the rush, it’s amazing. But it’s also lonely sometimes. It’s hard to know who’s around for me and who’s around for what I do. That’s why it’s been so… nice today. Just hanging out, no expectations, no pressure.”

I nodded, my mind still racing to keep up, but my heart settled on one thing: the vulnerability in his voice. “I get why you didn’t say anything,” I said softly. “I’m glad you told me, though. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything for me. I still see you the same way.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, a hint of relief passing over his face. “Thanks. That means a lot,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know who I really am. Not the headlines, not the highlight reels. Just… Oscar.”

I reached out, squeezing his hand lightly. “Well, Oscar, the Formula One driver,” I teased gently, “you’re kind of stuck with me now. So I hope you’re ready for that.”

He laughed, a sound filled with genuine warmth, and squeezed my hand back. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his smile returning. “But I promise, no pit stops on our beach walks.”

We kept walking, but now my mind was buzzing with questions I couldn’t quite hold back. The idea of Oscar—this funny, charming guy—also being a professional race car driver was a lot to process. My curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to him, trying to piece together this new version of him I was just starting to understand.

“So, what’s it like?” I asked, my voice tinged with excitement and genuine intrigue. “I mean, racing. The whole lifestyle… is it really as glamorous as it looks?”

Oscar smiled, his eyes distant for a moment as if recalling a million memories at once. “Sometimes it is. The travel, the fans, the adrenaline of the race—it’s all surreal. But it’s not always as glamorous as people think. There’s a lot of pressure, a lot of sleepless nights. You’re constantly on the move, training, dealing with the media, and sometimes you barely get a moment to yourself.”

I nodded, hanging onto every word. “Do you ever get scared? I mean, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “Every time I get in the car, there’s this moment of fear, like a little voice in the back of my mind reminding me how dangerous it is. But once the lights go out and the race starts, it’s all instinct. You don’t really think—you just drive. It’s weird, but the fear kind of becomes part of the thrill.”

I could hear the passion in his voice, and it struck me how much more there was to him than I’d realized. “Do you ever… wish it was different? Like, that maybe you could slow down?”

Oscar chuckled softly, kicking at the sand as we walked. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s exhausting. But then there’s this moment when you’re flying down the track, everything’s a blur, and it’s just you and the car. Nothing else matters. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt.” He paused, turning to me with a small, earnest smile. “And then there are nights like this, where I get to just be a normal guy hanging out on the beach. It’s a nice change of pace.”

I found myself smiling, charmed by his openness. “I can’t even imagine living like that—always on the go, never really having time to just… be. But it sounds incredible, in a crazy sort of way.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking out at the ocean, the moonlight catching the edges of his profile. “But it’s also hard to let people in. Everyone has expectations, and sometimes it’s hard to know who actually sees you and who just sees the guy in the helmet.”

I squeezed his hand, wanting to offer some kind of comfort. “Well, I see you, Oscar. And not just the driver. I see the guy who’s annoyingly persistent, who’s actually kind of sweet when he wants to be.” I nudged him playfully. “And the guy who’s really bad at keeping secrets, apparently.”

He laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that made my heart swell. “Yeah, I guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.” He paused, then added, “But I’m glad you know. I wanted you to know.”

I studied him, feeling like I was seeing Oscar in an entirely new light—not just the charming guy who had been teasing me all day, but someone with layers, with dreams and fears that ran deeper than I’d ever guessed. “Thanks for telling me,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you’d share all this with me.”

Oscar smirked, but there was a hint of shyness behind it. “Yeah, well, you’ve got this way of making me spill my guts. You should be careful—I might start telling you my deepest, darkest secrets.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I’ve got a lot of questions, you know. Like, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a crowd? Or do you have a superstitious pre-race ritual? Maybe something involving, like, wearing your socks inside out for good luck?”

He groaned, but the playful gleam in his eyes told me he was enjoying this. “Socks inside out? That’s rookie level. I’m way more sophisticated—think lucky underwear, a very specific breakfast, and a pep talk to my car that would make me sound insane if anyone heard it.”

I snorted, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh. “You talk to your car? Please tell me you’ve named it.”

Oscar looked mock-offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “Of course I’ve named it! What kind of driver would I be if I didn’t? But that’s classified information—I can’t just give away my car’s name on the first beach walk.”

I rolled my eyes, still giggling at the idea of him having full-on conversations with his race car. “I think you’re just scared to admit you’ve named it something ridiculous like ‘Lightning McQueen’ or ‘Speedy McSpeedface.’”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know my car’s name is very dignified and deeply meaningful,” he said, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “And it definitely doesn’t sound like a character from a kids’ movie.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing him back. “Uh-huh. Sure. And do you also tuck it in at night and read it bedtime stories?”

Oscar threw his head back in laughter, his hand squeezing mine. “You’re killing me here. But hey, maybe you can come see it sometime—if you’re good, I’ll even let you meet her.”

“Oh, meeting the car? Wow, that sounds serious,” I teased, pretending to be deeply flattered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be inviting me to the races, front-row seats and all.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “Keep playing your cards right, and you never know. I might just need a good luck charm in the stands. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper, “it’d be a shame not to have the prettiest girl at the track cheering me on.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks again, the casual way he flirted throwing me off balance every time. “You’ve really perfected the smooth-talking driver act, haven’t you?” I teased, raising an eyebrow but unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Oscar smirked, his confidence unwavering. “What can I say? When you’ve got someone worth impressing, you pull out all the stops.”

I rolled my eyes, but the butterflies in my stomach were in full flight. “Well, I’m not that easy to impress. You might need more than just a fancy car and smooth lines.”

He pretended to think it over, scratching his chin dramatically. “Hmm, okay. Let’s see… I’ve got fast cars, some world travel under my belt, and a pretty decent sense of humor, if I do say so myself. Oh, and I’m great at chicken fights in the pool.” He gave me a sideways glance, his smile playful but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. “But if that’s not enough, I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, keep working on it. I’m a tough crowd.”

Oscar slowed his steps, his voice turning softer as he leaned a little closer. “I like a challenge.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, the playful banter gave way to something a little deeper. There was that same flicker of vulnerability from earlier, like he was letting his guard down just a bit more, and it made my heart skip. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just met his gaze, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between us like a quiet hum.

“Careful,” I finally said, trying to keep the mood light even though my pulse was racing. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Oscar grinned, but his eyes were still locked on mine, the flirty bravado softening into something more genuine. “I think I can handle it,” he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that made my breath catch, like this wasn’t just another joke, another flirtation. It was a real promise.

Before I could respond, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so casual, yet it sent a rush of warmth through me, leaving me a little breathless. “You’re making this easy,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing, but his gaze was steady, holding mine with a kind of quiet intensity that made my heart race.

“Easy?” I managed to say, trying to sound composed but failing miserably.

He nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Yeah. You make it easy to want to keep trying.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words settling over me. It felt like we were on the verge of something bigger, something that went beyond the playful teasing and light-hearted flirting. And as cheesy as it sounded, standing there with the ocean breeze in my hair and the moonlight casting soft shadows around us, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of moment where everything could change.

But instead of saying anything profound, I just smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand still lingering near my cheek. “Well, if you’re trying to win me over with flattery and moonlit walks on the beach, you’re off to a decent start.”

Oscar chuckled, dropping his hand but staying close. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He paused, glancing at the ocean before looking back at me with that same mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You ready to head back?”

I nodded, feeling the tension in my chest ease as we started walking again, the easy rhythm between us falling back into place. “Yeah, but don’t think this lets you off the hook. You’ve still got some impressing to do.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Challenge accepted.”

And as we made our way back up the beach, the stars twinkling above and the sound of the waves following us, I couldn’t help but feel that this night—this cheesy, corny, perfect night—was only the beginning of something even better. There was an easy warmth between us now, a quiet understanding that whatever this was, we were both on board. As we reached the house, the familiar noise of chatter and laughter spilled out onto the patio, pulling us back into the lively fold of everyone gathered around.

The second we stepped onto the deck, Mae was the first to spot us, her eyes lighting up like she’d just won the gossip jackpot. “Well, well, well, look who decided to rejoin the party,” she called out, clapping her hands together in mock celebration. “Did you two lovebirds enjoy your romantic stroll under the moonlight?”

Oscar shot her a warning look, but it only made her grin wider. “Mae, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” he quipped, trying to sound exasperated but failing to hide his smile.

Hattie, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed with a knowing smirk. “Oh, come on, Oscar. We saw you guys sneaking off together. What was it? A deep, soul-searching chat? Confessions of undying love?”

Edie snorted, adding her two cents with a dramatic gasp. “Wait, did he finally break out the big romantic moves? Did he tell you about his tragic backstory and show you his sensitive side?”

I laughed, shaking my head but feeling my cheeks flush under the teasing. “Wow, you guys really have an active imagination,” I said, trying to play it off casually. “We were just… talking.”

“Talking,” Mae repeated, her tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before the dramatic kiss in the rain scene.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was clearly more amused than annoyed. “For your information, Mae, we were just enjoying a peaceful walk without all the peanut gallery commentary,” he shot back, though his playful glare did little to stop the relentless teasing.

“Oh, right,” Hattie said, putting on an exaggerated, dreamy voice. “Staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings—totally normal, everyday stuff.”

Edie gave an exaggerated sigh, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “I swear, this is better than any rom-com. I feel blessed to witness it in real time.”

Oscar groaned, rubbing his temples but unable to keep the smile off his face. “You guys are the worst,” he said, shaking his head, but the laughter in his eyes was unmistakable.

Hattie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gave Oscar a nudge. “So, did you tell her your big secret yet?” she asked, her tone half-joking but laced with just enough seriousness to make it feel like there was more to it. “You know, the one where you’re not just some guy who likes moonlit walks and cheesy flirting?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed slightly. “Yeah, Hattie. I told her.”

Hattie smirked, turning her attention to me with a knowing look. “Well, good. Now you’ve seen the full Oscar package: charming flirt, terrible dancer, and, oh yeah, a race car driver who’s apparently allergic to being straightforward about it.”

I laughed, catching the hint of truth beneath her teasing. “Yeah, he told me. It was quite the plot twist,” I said, shooting Oscar a playful glance. “I mean, I thought I was just hanging out with some guy who likes chicken fights in pools, and then bam! Turns out he’s a high-speed adrenaline junkie.”

Oscar let out a half-hearted groan, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips. “See? This is why I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Now I’m the guy who goes from chicken fights to explaining how I don’t die doing my job.”

Edie leaned forward, her grin wide. “Oh, come on. You love it. And honestly, I think it’s pretty cool she didn’t bolt when you told her. That’s a win in my book.”

I shrugged, feeling oddly proud of myself for rolling with the revelation. “I mean, you could’ve told me you were a secret agent or something, and I’d probably still be here. But don’t get any ideas—I’m not driving any getaway cars for you.”

Hattie raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To not scaring her off with the ‘I drive at 200 mph for a living’ thing. Honestly, it’s about time someone just saw you for, you know, you.”

Oscar smiled, his eyes flickering with gratitude. “Thanks, Hattie. And yeah,” he turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder lightly, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if my sisters are determined to embarrass me at every turn.”

I laughed, leaning into the warmth of his side hug. “Hey, I’m just glad I got to hear the big secret firsthand. And for the record, you’re a lot more than just the guy on the track.”

Mae pretended to wipe away a tear, her voice cracking with fake emotion. “Look at them, so supportive. I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Oscar groaned again, but his eyes never left mine, filled with a quiet, earnest appreciation that made the teasing worth it. “You guys are relentless.”

Edie smirked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve got a front-row seat to the Oscar Romance Special. We’re just waiting for the next episode, preferably with more kissing.”

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by her bluntness, and Oscar’s face turned a shade of pink I’d never seen before. “Edie,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing as a laugh escaped him. “I think you’re confusing our lives with one of your trashy reality shows.”

Mae jumped in, wagging her finger dramatically. “Excuse me, but if you’re going to give us reality TV vibes, at least make it entertaining. We need more dramatic confessions and less awkward hovering. I mean, seriously, when’s the big kiss scene?”

I looked at Oscar, my face heating up at the thought, but I decided to play along. “Well, Oscar, if you’ve got any more romantic revelations planned, you’d better warn me so I can, you know, brace myself.”

Oscar leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper just for me. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m full of surprises. And if you think that was my best move, you’re in for a wild ride.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool but failing to hide my smile. “Wild ride? Wow, is that a racing pun or are you just that confident?”

He chuckled, giving me a quick wink. “Both. But you’ll have to stick around to find out which one’s more accurate.”

Mae let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god, just kiss already! You’re both practically oozing romantic tension. It’s painful to watch.”

Oscar’s grin turned devilish, and he leaned back, his eyes flicking to me with a playful glint. “See what I have to put up with? I swear, it’s like having a peanut gallery that’s also my personal cheer squad.”

I nudged him with my elbow, unable to keep from laughing. “You should be grateful. Not everyone gets this kind of enthusiastic support.”

He nodded, feigning deep thought. “You’re right. Maybe I should embrace it. I mean, it’s not every day you get heckled into flirting.”

Hattie jumped in, pointing her fork at us. “Yeah, and if you’re going to flirt, at least do it properly. We want fireworks, people.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll work on my technique. But I can’t promise anything with all these eyes watching.”

I rolled my eyes, but the playful energy between us was impossible to ignore. “No pressure or anything,” I said, smirking at him. “But apparently, you’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Oscar leaned closer, his smile turning sly. “I thrive under pressure,” he said, his voice low and smooth, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Guess I’ll just have to make it memorable.”

His words hung in the air, flirtatious yet full of that quiet promise that left my heart racing. And as the night went on, filled with more teasing and playful banter, I realized that every joke, every look, was just another layer to the electric, unpredictable thing that was building between us.

Mae clinked her glass dramatically, interrupting my thoughts. “To Oscar, the wannabe Romeo, and to his leading lady, who’s clearly got the patience of a saint. Cheers to the saga we didn’t know we needed.”

I laughed, lifting my glass and meeting Oscar’s gaze. “Cheers,” I said, feeling the thrill of whatever this was settle comfortably around us. Because no matter how ridiculous or flirtatious it got, there was no denying that this was one ride I didn’t want to get off anytime soon.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C2)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.1K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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02: Love, Sweat, and Secondhand Embarrassment

"Clemmy I swear I wanted to die that entire time. Whoever I offended in an alternate universe I am so so sorry, I truly believe karma is real now," I lamented, voice weak.

Burying my head in my pillow, I could finally appreciate the cool blast of AC (well, it was a little bit of air conditioning but a little is better than nothing) I scratched my right leg that was hoisted up onto the blue duvet cover. If not for the horrible comedic timing of everything, in that moment, I might have said that I was enjoying myself.

On the other line of the phone, thousands of miles away, it was a completely different story.

"What the fuck," Clementine could barely muster out because she was laughing so hard.

"I still don't think any part of this story is funny, Clem," I roll my eyes and trail off.

"But it is! You genuinely should consider a career in stand-up comedy. If you recounted all of this in front of a paying live audience, I'm just saying it could make you a millionaire overnight," Clementine wheezed.

"Oh, shut up, bitch," I retorted, trying to suppress a smile despite my mortification.

"You know it's true though!" Her girlish giggles rang through my room. I could see her face through the screen and it looked like visible tears were streaming down her face from how funny she found this to be.

"I am completely and utterly humiliated. There is no way I can go downstairs and face everyone right now," I whined. It was true, as twenty minutes ago, mid-Facetime with Clementine, I heard the door to the foyer open and heard a lot of new noises.

New people. The neighbors. The rest of the Australians.

Crikey, mate.

There was no way I could face them. And since Oscar was probably their son (he looked way too young to be a father) he had probably already told them about the wretched and humiliating mishap.

"Seriously, Clemmy, you don’t get it," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice but failing miserably. "This is not just some embarrassing story. This is my life, and I have to face these people now."

Clementine’s laughter finally started to subside, and she took a deep breath. "Okay, okay, I get it. But you have to admit, this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of disaster. You can’t just ignore it. It’s like the universe is telling you to embrace the chaos."

I sighed, feeling a bit more grounded with her calming tone. "Yeah, well, I’m not exactly feeling the universe’s love right now. I feel like I’ve been dropped into some kind of sitcom. And what if they think I’m a total klutz? I can’t even begin to imagine how Oscar must’ve described me."

"It'll be fine. You are a pro at handling horrible situations. I mean, I can really only think that you have had more bad experiences with guys than good ones!" Clem tried to reassure me.

"Wow, thanks," I deadpanned. "Way to make a girl feel special."

Clementine's voice was full of playful sympathy. "Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve survived everything life’s thrown at you so far. Besides, look at it this way: if they’re judging you based on this one incident, they’re missing out on getting to know the amazing person you are."

"Yeah, because nothing says 'amazing' like face-planting into a pile of shampoo and knocking over a bunch of cleaning supplies," I said, sarcasm dripping from my tone.

Clementine laughed. "Exactly! And let’s be honest, if they do judge you for this, they’re definitely not worth your time. Besides, Oscar might even think you’re charming in a clumsy, endearing kind of way. You never know."

"You should really consider a career in therapy. If I lay here and close my eyes for a bit and sleep for three hours surely your advice will work," I retorted.

"Oh be so serious with me now,"

"I am! Now I can add a new skill to my LinkedIn profile," I said, trying to stifle a giggle. "How about 'Expert in Catastrophic Bathroom Mishaps: Master of Turning Shower Encounters into Slapstick Comedy'?"

Clementine burst into laughter. “That’s quite a title! It’s like you’ve got a whole new niche market for yourself.”

“Right? I’m just waiting for the endorsement from ‘The Association of Embarrassing Bathroom Incidents,’” I said, imagining a badge with that exact title. What a big, fat, fucking joke.

“Or maybe you'll become the keynote speaker for the 'International Conference on Unexpected Water-Based Accidents,’” Clementine added, her voice full of amusement.

“I’ll make sure to include a workshop on ‘How to Survive a Bathroom Collision with Dignity and Humor,’” I said with a chuckle. “And don’t forget the seminar on ‘Turning Slip-and-Fall Disasters into Networking Opportunities.’”

“A career to consider!” Clementine laughed. “And you know what? I’ll be your first fan. Just remember to keep me updated on how your new ‘disastrous bathroom mishap’ career is going.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” I promised with a smile. “Thanks for the laugh. It’s nice to know that even in the middle of a fiasco, I can count on you to turn it into a comedy show.”

"What can I say, I will never turn down listening to a free shit show," Clementine winked at me through the camera.

"Clem! What the hell!" I waved my manicured pointed nail at her.

"Bye! Don't die from embarrassment before you come back!" She quipped, then promptly hung up.

I lay sprawled on my bed, dreading the thought of going downstairs and facing the group of new neighbors. The whole idea made me cringe. I was just about to mentally prepare myself for the awkward introductions when a sudden knock on my door jolted me upright. My heart raced as I called out lazily, “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Oscar standing there. His eyebrow was raised, and he wore a cheeky grin that did nothing to ease my nerves.

"Well, well, well," he said with an amused smirk. "Looks like you’ve been having quite the chat with 'dearest Clemmy,' haven’t you?"

My face flushed beet red, and I stuttered, struggling to find my words. “W-What are you doing here?”

Oscar leaned casually against the doorframe, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Oh, you know, just overheard you and Clemmy talking about our little mishap. I believe you mentioned something about me being ‘a charming yet infuriating Aussie who managed to turn your bathroom break into a comedy skit.’”

I blinked, stunned into silence. My mouth opened and closed, but no coherent words came out. The sheer embarrassment was overwhelming. Oscar’s casual demeanor and his cheeky grin only made things worse.

“What can I say, my name was called,” Oscar continued with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If someone keeps calling you hot, I mean, wouldn’t you be too curious to listen?”

His smirk only made my breath hitch and my fingers tremble a little more. I could feel my cheeks burning, and I struggled to come up with a response. The playful glint in his eye and his casual attitude did nothing to alleviate my embarrassment. Instead, they only made me feel more flustered.

I took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “W-Well, I guess I didn’t think anyone would be actually listening.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow playfully, his smirk widening. “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But it was too good to pass up. Especially the part where you called me a ‘human wrecking ball.’”

My face flushed a deeper shade of crimson. “Great. Just great,” I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sure I’ve made a fantastic first impression.”

Oscar chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Look, it’s all good. I’ve seen worse first impressions. Trust me. At least you didn’t accidentally set off the fire alarm or flood the place.”

I managed a weak smile, still feeling the sting of embarrassment. “Yeah, well, I’ll try to keep any future disasters to a minimum.”

Look at me, constantly embarrassing myself in front of hot guys. This was the exact reason why I was still bitchless and socially awkward at the ripe age of twenty-one. I could navigate a spreadsheet like a pro, ace exams, and even master the perfect contour, but put me in a room with a cute guy, and I turned into a walking calamity.

I sighed internally, already dreading the inevitable teasing I’d get from Clemmy once she found out I had, yet again, failed to keep my cool around a guy. Maybe I should’ve just stayed in the bathroom and let the ground swallow me whole.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, studying me with a curious look. “You know, you seem like a completely different person right now. Way quieter, more shy… less daring.”

My face flushed with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “That’s not true,” I snapped, crossing my arms defensively. “I’m exactly the same as I was before.”

Oscar’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on me. “Sure, if you say so. But the girl who almost took me down like a rugby player in the bathroom seemed a lot more fearless.”

My nose flared as I shot him a glare, feeling the fire of indignation rise within me. Who did he think he was, making assumptions about me? I’ll show him just how brave I can be, I thought, my fists clenching. If he wanted to see daring, then I’d make sure he regretted ever doubting me. The nerve of this guy! He might have been hot, but that didn’t give him the right to push my buttons like this.

Oscar gave me a lopsided grin, clearly pleased with himself. "Anyway, everyone’s heading downstairs to meet each other. Figured I’d let you know, since, you know, it’s probably not the best idea to hide out up here forever."

My stomach twisted with nerves at the thought of facing everyone after that humiliating encounter. The idea of meeting new people while still reeling from my disastrous introduction to Oscar was daunting. But there was no way I was going to let him see how nervous I actually was. I took a deep breath, nodding stiffly. "Fine, let’s get this over with."

As we walked out of the room and toward the stairs, I could feel Oscar’s presence behind me—large, imposing, and annoyingly close. My face heated up, and I silently cursed myself for blushing yet again. Why did this guy have to make everything so difficult?

It was like shooting a sitting duck. A little small talk, a smile, and baby, I was stuck. I was a grown woman, for god’s sake, not some teenager swooning over a crush. But there I was, getting flustered over a guy I barely knew. Get a grip, I told myself, trying to shake off the absurdity of the situation. This wasn’t supposed to happen—I wasn’t supposed to be this easily charmed.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated, gripping the railing a little longer than usual. I could feel Oscar’s gaze on me, and it only made my nerves worse. Just as I was about to take the first step down, his hand brushed against mine. The contact was brief but enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. His hand was rough with calluses, moderately enveloping mine in a way that felt both comforting and disarming.

What was it about this guy that made me feel so uncharacteristically off-balance? As I tried to steady my racing thoughts, I reminded myself that I had to keep it together. After all, I wasn’t about to let some smooth-talking Aussie turn me into a lovesick fool—no matter how much my traitorous heart seemed to enjoy the challenge.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes were drawn to two adults who were deep in conversation with my mom. Their warm, friendly demeanor and unmistakable Australian accents told me they were Oscar’s parents. They seemed just as lively and outgoing as he was, which only added to the strangeness of this entire situation.

Then, I spotted Oscar’s siblings—a trio of sisters who looked like carbon copies of him, yet each had her own distinct vibe, like different fonts of the same typeface. They were laughing and joking with each other, their bond evident in the way they effortlessly engaged in light-hearted banter. I felt a pang of envy, wishing I had siblings to share that kind of closeness with.

My daydream was abruptly shattered when Oscar’s large, warm hand clasped onto my shoulder, his fingers pressing gently but firmly against my skin. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through me, making me jump slightly as a flush of heat rushed to my cheeks. His chuckle, deep and amused, rumbled behind me, the sound wrapping around me like a teasing caress. He was standing on the step just above me, close enough that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. His presence was unmistakably felt—broad, solid, and way too close for comfort, yet somehow not close enough.

His fingers lingered on my shoulder, almost as if he was testing my reaction, and I could feel the warmth radiating from his touch, seeping into my skin. The space between us seemed to shrink with every passing second, and I could barely concentrate on anything but the weight of his hand and the steady beat of my heart hammering in my chest.

Oscar leaned in slightly, his voice low and smooth as honey. “Jumpier than I thought,” he drawled, his tone dripping with playful mischief. “Didn’t take you for the shy type. Especially not after our little bathroom tango.” His grin widened, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a way that was both infuriating and ridiculously charming.

My pulse quickened at the way he was looking at me—those eyes sparkling with amusement, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. I swallowed hard, my mind racing to come up with a retort, but all I could focus on was how his hand, still resting on my shoulder, felt both protective and possessive. The air between us crackled with a tension that was impossible to ignore, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

I could quite literally cut the sexual tension with the dullest fucking butterknife in the world.

I tried to muster a sharp retort, something that would wipe that smug grin off his face, but my brain was too busy short-circuiting to cooperate. All I could manage was a stuttered, “I-I’m not shy! You just—caught me off guard, that’s all.” The words tumbled out, weak and unconvincing, and I mentally cringed at how feeble they sounded.

Oscar’s grin only grew, clearly enjoying my flustered state. He leaned in a little closer, his gaze locked on mine with a playful intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “Off guard, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “So, you’re saying if I hadn’t surprised you, you’d be able to keep up?”

I opened my mouth to respond, determined to regain some semblance of dignity, but nothing clever came out. Instead, I just stood there, caught between wanting to pull away from his teasing and feeling inexplicably drawn to his warmth. His hand slid from my shoulder, and the absence of his touch left a surprising chill in its wake.

Realizing that my window for a comeback was closing, I finally managed to sputter, “Y-Yeah, exactly.” I immediately cursed myself for sounding so pathetic. Not exactly the sharp comeback I was hoping for. His smirk deepened, and I could tell he wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Oscar replied, his tone still dripping with amusement. He straightened up, giving me a quick wink before stepping down to the next stair. The playful glint in his eyes told me he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin, and he was loving every second of it.

As he moved past me, I finally found my voice—too little, too late—and muttered under my breath, “Cocky bastard.” But it was quiet enough that I hoped he didn’t hear it. To my dismay, Oscar paused, turning back with a raised eyebrow and an even wider grin.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Care to repeat it?”

My cheeks flamed as I quickly shook my head. “Nope, nothing. Let’s just… go meet everyone.”

Oscar’s grin didn’t falter as he took a step closer, still looming above me. “You know,” he began, his voice casual but with that familiar teasing edge, “I’ve already met everyone else. Your mom, too. And I’ve gotta say, you two seem like complete opposites.”

I blinked up at him, caught off guard again. “Opposites?”

He nodded, leaning against the wall with that effortless ease he seemed to have perfected. “Yep. Your mom’s all smiles and warm welcomes. You, on the other hand… well, you’ve got this whole ‘ready to throw punches’ vibe going on.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or just messing with me again. “I do not have a ‘ready to throw punches’ vibe.”

Oscar’s lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh. “Oh, you totally do. But don’t worry,” he added with a playful smirk, “it’s kind of endearing. Keeps things interesting.”

I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Glad to know I’m so entertaining for you.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Hey, I’m just saying, opposites attract, right? Besides, your mom already likes me. You could take a few notes.”

His comment sent a fresh wave of warmth to my cheeks, both from irritation and something I couldn’t quite place. “I don’t need notes from you,” I shot back, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

Oscar just chuckled, giving me one last teasing wink before turning to head down the stairs. “Whatever you say, mate. Just try not to tackle anyone else while you’re at it.”

"Well well well, what do we have here?" A girl with short hair and a devious grin matching Oscar's grinned at me as well entered the kitchen. Shimmering her hands like "jazz hands", she rolled her eyes and rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

I turned to face the new arrival, immediately recognizing her as one of Oscar’s sisters—one of the three siblings who seemed to share his penchant for mischief. Her cropped hair and sharp, playful eyes made her look like she’d just stepped out of a rom-com where she was the resident troublemaker, always stirring the pot and having a laugh at everyone else’s expense.

“Hey, party people,” she said, her voice dripping with a teasing lilt. She shot me a grin that was almost a mirror image of Oscar’s, mischievous and knowing, like she was in on some inside joke I hadn’t been let in on yet. I could feel the same heat from before creeping up my neck. Why did it feel like these siblings were reading me like an open book?

“Looks like someone’s already made a grand entrance,” she continued, flicking her eyes between me and Oscar with an amused smirk. “Oscar’s been talking about you nonstop since we got here. Said something about a ‘bathroom fiasco’ that deserves an award?”

I shot a glare at Oscar, who was leaning casually against the counter, looking far too pleased with himself. “Did he now?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the mortification clawing at me.

The girl laughed, light and musical, but with an edge that told me she was fully enjoying every bit of this. “Oh yeah, he’s been filling us in. But don’t worry, we’re used to his tall tales. I’m Hattie, by the way,” she added, extending a hand with exaggerated enthusiasm as if we were meeting on the set of a game show rather than in my kitchen.

I hesitated for a beat before shaking her hand, trying to muster a smile that didn’t look too forced. “Nice to meet you, Hattie. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she interrupted, her grin widening. “You’re the girl who almost took out my brother. Honestly, I’m impressed. No one’s ever managed to knock him off his game quite like that.”

I glanced at Oscar, who was watching the exchange with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. Maisie’s comment hung in the air, both a compliment and a lighthearted jab. I couldn’t help but feel like I was once again the butt of some inside joke between the siblings.

“Yeah, well, it’s a special talent of mine,” I said, trying to sound casual but feeling like every word was being scrutinized. “Guess I just have that effect.”

Hattie laughed, the sound bright and unapologetically amused. “Oh, I like you already. But hey, if you’re gonna hang out with us, you better be ready for a little friendly chaos. And maybe a few more unexpected collisions.”

Oscar gave a soft snort of laughter, and I could feel his eyes still on me, assessing, teasing, and—annoyingly—almost impressed. I tried to ignore the butterflies that seemed to be staging a full-on rebellion in my stomach. Clearly, this family thrived on playful torment, and I had somehow found myself right in the middle of it.

“Don’t worry,” I said, straightening up and forcing a confident smile. “I think I can handle whatever you guys throw at me.”

Hattie's eyes sparkled with mischief, and she gave me a mock salute. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to the chaos, mate.”

Oscar chuckled again, giving me that damn wink before pushing off from the counter. “Oh, she’s ready for it. Trust me, she’s already made quite the impression.”

The other two girls strolled in, each with their own distinct energy that filled the room. One had a fierce, confident look, dark hair tied up in a messy bun, and a leather jacket that screamed ‘cooler-than-you’ vibes. The youngest, a curly-haired, bright-eyed whirlwind, practically bounced into the kitchen, her infectious smile lighting up the space.

“So,” I said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the sudden influx of new faces. “I’ve met Oscar, obviously, and… Hattie, right?” I glanced at the girl who had first greeted me, who nodded with a playful smile. “But I’m afraid I haven’t gotten your names yet,” I continued, pointing between the other two sisters.

The girl with the leather jacket gave me a wry grin, leaning casually against the counter. “I’m Edie,” she said, her voice dripping with casual confidence. “The cooler, smarter middle child.”

Mae, the youngest, immediately chimed in, rolling her eyes at her sister. “And I’m Mae, the fun one,” she said with a giggle, her curls bouncing as she hopped up onto a stool. “Edie’s just mad she wasn’t born with my charm.”

Edie snorted, pretending to be offended. “Please, you’re like a tiny tornado of chaos. But yeah, I guess she’s not wrong,” she added, shooting me a smirk. “Mae’s got a way of making everything a little… livelier.”

I couldn’t help but smile at their playful back-and-forth. “Nice to officially meet you all. And thanks for the heads-up on your brother’s antics,” I said, glancing at Oscar, who was watching the exchange with an amused glint in his eye.

“Oh, trust me,” Hattie added, her grin widening as she nudged Oscar with her elbow. “We’ve got years of experience keeping this one in line. You’re welcome to join the effort.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Wow, ganging up on me already? This is why I never bring girls home,” he joked, though there was a hint of genuine warmth in his voice, like he was more than used to—and secretly enjoyed—their teasing.

Mae leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just wait till we start telling you all the embarrassing stories. Oscar’s got quite a few, and we’ve got no problem spilling the tea.”

Oscar smirked, shifting his weight just enough to close the distance between us, his presence suddenly feeling a lot closer, a lot warmer. He leaned in with a casual ease, his movements smooth and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to make me squirm. His voice dropped into a playful, low tone, rich and velvety, each word dripping with deliberate charm. “Oh, don’t worry about them,” he murmured, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “I’d much rather hear your stories. You’re far more interesting than anything they could say about me.”

The way he looked at me was like I was the only person in the room, his eyes lingering on mine with a bold, flirtatious glint that sent a shiver down my spine. His grin was maddeningly confident, a little crooked, and devastatingly irresistible—the kind of smile that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. It was teasing, suggestive, and far too charming for its own good, like he was daring me to blush, daring me to react.

I felt the heat creeping up my neck, a slow burn that spread across my cheeks, making my skin prickle with the sudden awareness of how close he was. My mind scrambled for something clever to say, but his flirtatious tone, the way his eyes roved over my face as if he was reading every reaction, left me tongue-tied. It was like he was peeling back layers with just a look, searching for the part of me that he could fluster with a few well-placed words and that infuriating smile.

I tried to steady my breath, but his proximity was overwhelming. I could catch the faint scent of his cologne—fresh, with a hint of something spicy—and the subtle shift of his body as he leaned closer sent my senses into overdrive. Every nerve seemed to hum in response to his nearness, and I could feel my face burning hotter, betraying me with every second that I failed to look away.

Edie made a gagging noise, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Ew, Oscar, seriously? Can you not flirt for like five seconds? It’s embarrassing.”

Mae giggled, giving Oscar a playful shove. “Yeah, gross. No one wants to see that. Save it for when we’re not around, Romeo.”

Hattie snorted, shaking her head as she watched Oscar with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “He’s always like this. Thinks he’s Mr. Smooth. Don’t let him get to you.”

But Oscar only chuckled, clearly unfazed by his sisters’ teasing. He turned back to me, his grin widening as he caught sight of my flushed cheeks. “Aww, look at that,” he said, his voice soft and teasing. “Did I make you blush? How cute.”

I quickly tried to hide my face, mortification bubbling up as I realized there was no escaping the heat radiating from my cheeks. “N-No, you didn’t,” I stammered, though the pink tint on my face said otherwise.

Oscar’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in just a little closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not very good at hiding it, you know. It’s kind of endearing.”

I could practically feel my cheeks getting even more red, if that was even possible. His sisters snickered behind us, enjoying the show as much as they enjoyed tormenting him.

Mae nudged Hattie, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “He’s really laying it on thick, huh? Someone needs to put a leash on this one.”

Hattie snickered and turned to me, giving me an exaggeratedly sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, he does this to everyone. It’s part of his ‘charm offensive.’ Just don’t let him get away with it too easily.”

“Yeah, make him work for it,” Edie added with a laugh. “And don’t let that blush fool you. He’s got enough of an ego without you feeding it.”

Oscar just shrugged, clearly unbothered by his sisters’ ribbing. He kept his eyes on me, his smile softening just slightly. “They’re just jealous because they know I’m right. You really are something else.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to fight the smile that was creeping onto my face despite my best efforts. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, crossing my arms in an attempt to compose myself.

Oscar leaned back, finally giving me a bit of space but not without one last wink. “Impossible’s my specialty,” he said, the playful challenge hanging in the air.

Hattie clapped her hands together, breaking the charged silence that had wrapped around us. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s change the scene before this kitchen gets any steamier,” she said with a sly grin, glancing between Oscar and me. “What do you say we all head out to the pool? It’s hot as hell today, and I could use a swim.”

Mae’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, and she bounced on her toes with excitement. “Yes, please! I’ve been dying to jump in all morning. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Edie shrugged, pushing off the counter. “Sounds like a plan. Beats sitting around here watching Oscar make a fool of himself,” she said, shooting her brother a pointed look that he brushed off with a careless smirk.

I hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden change in plans. The thought of the pool—cool water, bright sun, and lounging with these new, vibrant personalities—was tempting, but my mind immediately jumped to what that would mean: changing into a bikini, being under the sun's scrutiny, and, worse, the idea of Oscar’s eyes on me again, but this time with even less to hide behind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my heart was starting to race for an entirely different reason now. “Just give me a minute to get changed.”

As I slipped back into my room, I rummaged through my suitcase, finding the bright bikini I had packed on a whim but hadn’t quite planned on wearing in front of a whole audience of strangers. It was a pretty number—a little more revealing than I was used to—but suddenly, the idea of wearing it around Oscar felt daunting. My insecurities bubbled up: the nagging thoughts of whether my stomach was flat enough, if my thighs looked alright, or if the faint stretch marks I tried so hard to ignore would be too noticeable under the bright afternoon sun.

I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I tugged at the fabric, trying to adjust it in a way that made me feel more comfortable, but the nerves wouldn’t settle. I could already imagine Oscar’s eyes lingering on me, his playful smirk turning into something more appraising, and the thought sent a rush of heat to my cheeks. God, why was I letting this get to me? It was just a pool. Just a bikini. Just Oscar. But the more I tried to rationalize, the more those little fears crept in, whispering doubts that made my stomach churn.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, adjusting and readjusting the strings and trying to silence the negative self-talk, that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a sudden knock rattled my door. My heart leaped into my throat, and I spun around, my breath catching as I called out, “W-Who is it?”

“It’s me,” came Oscar’s familiar voice, muffled but still clear enough to send a jolt of nerves through me. “Just checking to see if you’re alright in there. You’ve been quiet, and, well, didn’t want you chickening out on us.”

His tone was light, but there was something softer in it, something that caught me off guard. It wasn’t the usual teasing or the cocky one-liners I’d grown accustomed to in the short time I’d known him. This felt… genuine. A flicker of concern threaded through his words, almost like he actually cared if I was okay. My cheeks flushed anew, this time from the unexpected warmth of his attention rather than embarrassment.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my cover-up as I tried to piece together my swirling thoughts. Was this the same Oscar who had been smirking at me in the kitchen, flirting shamelessly in front of his sisters? The same Oscar who seemed to relish every moment he made me blush or stumble over my words? It was strange, almost disarming, to hear him like this—concerned, attentive, with none of his usual bravado.

My heart fluttered at the thought. What if there was more to him than just the cheeky guy who lived for teasing? I couldn’t help but feel a small, unexpected tug in my chest, an urge to believe that this side of him was real and not just some act. But then, just as quickly, my rational side kicked in, reminding me that I’d known Oscar for all of three hours, most of which had been spent flustered and caught up in his whirlwind of charm.

Was I reading too much into this? Was I letting my own insecurities and wishful thinking color my perception of him? It was hard not to, especially when he swung so easily between flirty and sincere, keeping me constantly off-balance. I barely knew this guy, yet here I was, letting my mind wander into dangerous territory, imagining depth and sincerity that might not even be there.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my thoughts. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions—didn’t want to let a few kind words make me think I’d seen some hidden side of him. But it was hard not to feel flustered when his voice had softened like that, when he’d taken the time to check on me instead of just joking about how long I was taking.

The knock on my door, the concern in his tone—it all felt so different from the playful Oscar who’d swaggered into my life just a few hours ago. Maybe it was nothing, just a moment of decency, a brief glimpse of something real behind the jokes and teasing. Or maybe I was just overthinking, desperate to see something more in him because he’d managed to get under my skin in a way I wasn’t quite prepared for.

I sighed, feeling my cheeks heat up once more as the realization hit me—I was blushing again, and not just from embarrassment this time. There was something about Oscar, something that made me want to believe he was more than the carefree charmer he projected. But whether that was true or just wishful thinking, I couldn’t be sure. Not yet.

“I-I’m fine!” I called back, trying to steady my voice, but it came out shaky, betraying the mix of anxiety and embarrassment that had settled in my chest. “Just… getting ready.”

There was a pause on the other side of the door, long enough that I thought he might have walked away. But then, Oscar’s voice cut through again, softer this time, and with a teasing edge. “You sure? I promise no one’s gonna judge you out there. Least of all me.”

The reassurance felt sincere, but I couldn’t help the way my mind raced with all the what-ifs. What if he did look? What if I didn’t look good enough? What if this stupid bikini made me feel more exposed than I could handle? I glanced at myself one last time in the mirror, trying to summon the confidence that I usually wore so easily, but right now felt like it was hiding somewhere I couldn’t reach.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I finally managed, forcing a smile I hoped he couldn’t hear through the door. “Just... give me a sec. I’ll be right out.”

“Take your time,” Oscar said, his voice fading as he finally moved away from the door. “But don’t take too long. You don’t wanna miss the fun.”

As his footsteps retreated, I let out a shaky breath, trying to collect myself. I ran a hand through my hair, giving myself one last pep talk before heading out. It was just a pool day, I reminded myself. Just a stupid pool day with some new people and a guy who was way too good at making me blush. And maybe, just maybe, it would be fun—if I could get out of my own head long enough to let it be.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C1)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess

I wasn't jealous before we met. Now every woman I see is a potential threat. The once timid, tame, collegiate girl I was before I met you has turned me possessive, it isn't nice.

And it’s all your fault, Oscar Piastri. You’ve taken the calm, rational part of me and set it on fire, leaving nothing but the green-eyed monster in its place. Oscar Piastri, you have turned me into a jealous mess, filled with envy and desperation I never thought possible. It’s like you’ve invaded every corner of my mind, making me obsess over the thought of you, the idea that someone else might take you away from me.

Even in my wildest, most fantasmic dreams, I would never have predicted that a spontaneous trip to Santorini, Greece, would spark the greatest lustful romance of my life. It was supposed to be a simple escape, a break from the pressures of college life. But the moment I laid eyes on you, everything changed. The calm, composed person I used to be unraveled with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment we spent together under the Mediterranean sun.

But here I am, in a whirlwind romance that’s as exhilarating as terrifying, driven by emotions I didn’t even know I had. And the craziest part? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This chaotic, intense passion has awakened something in me that I can’t ignore, something that makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.

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Three weeks ago, I was drooling on page one hundred thirty-eight of my physics textbook on thermodynamics, barely awake and running on fumes. I was practically strung out on Monster Energy Drinks and those overpriced, sugary lattes from the campus vending machine—the only thing keeping me from completely passing out on the spot. The dense equations and dry theories blurred together on the page, making it impossible to focus. My brain begged for a break, but I kept pushing, hoping the caffeine would magically make the material stick.

News flash, it didn't.

So, when Mama casually mentioned that we’d be vacationing in Santorini for summer break, it was like a lifeline had been thrown my way. Suddenly, the fog of exhaustion lifted, and a thrill of excitement surged through me. It was as if a dormant part of me, buried beneath layers of stress and routine, had been awakened, eager for the unexpected adventure that awaited.

The idea of trading my study desk for the stunning views of Santorini seemed almost surreal. My thoughts raced as I imagined wandering through the picturesque streets, soaking in the sun, and immersing myself in a world far removed from the rigors of academic life. It was an escape I hadn't known I needed, a break from the monotony of textbooks and equations.

I pictured myself strolling along the charming alleys lined with whitewashed buildings and vibrant bougainvillea, the scent of the Mediterranean Sea mingling with the aroma of fresh local cuisine. The thought of exploring ancient ruins and savoring sunsets that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink felt like stepping into a dream.

And not to mention, a part of me was inkling for a dream-like, rom-com-esque summer romance. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery could bring that fantasy to life.

As I swiped through images of ancient ruins, bustling cityscapes, and pristine beaches, I couldn't help but imagine myself in those exotic locales, experiencing the same thrilling adventures and romantic escapades. It was hard not to get swept up in the fantasy, picturing myself in those picture-perfect settings, with someone special by my side. It could quite literally be anyone, at this point. My horrific failed romancing attempts as well as my "not quite mediocre", yet "not quite stellar" looks were keeping me away from all the hotties.

The contrast between the vibrant, sun-soaked images on my screen and the monotony of my daily grind was stark. Quite embarrassing, frankly.

It fueled my desire for something more; something that broke away from the predictability of my studies and everyday responsibilities. Each scroll made the dream of a spontaneous adventure feel more urgent, intensifying my longing for a chance to immerse myself in the extraordinary.

Girls that I had grown up with were posing like models. Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan. And I wanted to be just like them.

Teeny tiny bikinis tied by a loose string, new ear and a belly piercing, flip-flops, and red tan lines. Margaritas, mojitos with lime, white wine. Loud club music, the nightlife of a girl in a foreign country, and dark blue eyeshadow and glitter. Flocking around older guys with them, locking lips with handsome strangers in bars, and flaunting all their escapades (or namely, their sexcapades) It was all so racy, daring, and outgoing. All of these things were unlike me, but I was a girl who dreamed of having fun. So you never know, I could suddenly change overnight.

The thought of stepping into that world, even just for a summer, was both thrilling and terrifying. It was a side of life I had only seen through screens, and part of me wondered if I was capable of embracing it. What would it feel like to let go of all my inhibitions, to live without worrying about consequences? To be that carefree girl who dances until dawn, flirts shamelessly, and collects stories too wild to share with anyone but your closest friends?

I couldn’t help but wonder if that girl was buried somewhere inside me, waiting for the right moment—or the right place—to emerge. Maybe Santorini would be the setting for my own little transformation, a place where I could shed my quiet, reserved self and become someone who seizes the moment without hesitation. After all, isn’t that what summer is for?

And when Mama told me about our trip to Santorini, that possibility suddenly seemed within reach. The idea of a vacation to such a dreamlike destination felt like the perfect catalyst for the change I’d been secretly craving. But more than that, it was a surge of joy and gratitude that hit me, knowing how hard she worked to make this happen. Growing up, it was just the two of us—Mama working tirelessly to provide for me and make every day special despite our modest means. She had always done her best to ensure that I had the opportunities I needed, even if it meant making sacrifices. The idea of a vacation, something so seemingly extravagant, was a rare treat, and I was thrilled beyond words.

To say the least, the envy was palpable, a green-eyed monster gnawing at me, craving the excitement and connection that seemed to radiate from every carefully curated Pinterest-worthy post.

Yeah, you can say that that excitement might not have lasted that long.

"Wait, wait, wait, repeat that please?" I questioned, exasperated by both the shitty wifi in my dorm room as well as my mother's purposeful exclusion of information. I sat criss-crossed in my twin-xl dorm room bed, surrounded by the comforting clutter of my college life. My phone rested precariously on the edge of my left knee (balancing carefully as I too, was practicing balancing my temper), its screen flickering with a weak signal as I struggled to catch every word Mama was saying. To my left, a wall was covered in an eclectic array of Polaroids and dimmed fairy lights, creating a soft, warm glow against the stark white of the dormitory walls. The space felt cozy but cramped, with textbooks and scattered notes littering the desk beneath the small window, which offered a view of the bustling campus below.

"Well I thought it would be a wonderful surprise for you," Mama said, elated over the fact that this bit of information was quite important. She wore a gigantic stretching grin on her face, a strict contrast to the curvature of my dimpled frown.

"By purposely excluding that we would be sharing a house with another family?" I incredulously asked, my left eyebrow arching up, my mouth turning into an even more prominent downward frown. Fuck, the shitty dorm wifi is acting up again. Now on Facetime, I was stuck like that. Great. I was eternally engraved into my phone as an unhappy bitch.

"You can make wonderful friends! I heard that they are your age," Mama wiggled her eyebrows. Figures. Of course, she would turn an opportunity that seemed to actively pray on my downfall into a splendid opportunity for me to, *shudders*, socialize.

"I don't need new friends, and there are four of them! That's a lot of people," I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the hair and finger-combing the stray bits of hair out of my face. Socializing was a lot for me sometimes. The thought of mingling with a whole new group felt like a daunting task, especially when my comfort zone was so tightly packed within the walls of my current routine. Each new interaction felt like a potential minefield of awkward conversations and missteps, a far cry from the cozy familiarity of my small circle. (Okay, a circle may be an exaggeration. Maybe a direct line would be a better description to describe the relationships around me: small, minimal, clean)

"Four kids your age, and two parents. This is the perfect mixing pot for you to make friends," Mama pointedly replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't need friends," I lied.

"That's a lie," Mama accused. Well, not accused. She was right, but I wouldn't give that to her. I was innately stubborn. Wonder where I got that from…

"Of course not! I have a great social life, thank you very much," I lied, again. Blinking slowly, I tried to not let my eyes expose me.

"You haven't brought a boyfriend home ever. And you have one friend total." Mama snapped back.

"Well, Clementine is a very amazing and loyal best friend," I narrowed my eyes.

"Amen to that one," I could hear Clementine's voice echo from her bunk bed next to me. She was mindlessly scrolling through her phone under her light-blue comforter, yet this nosy bitch was still listening to our conversation.

"Mind your business Missus Nosy," I sassed at Clementine.

"Whatever, your business is mine. You forget we are literally ten feet away from each other." She groaned as she flipped to face me from under the comfort of her blankets. Mama laughed and I grimaced again.

"Seriously, you should branch out. As a young lady, you must learn to explore your choices-" Mama continued, and I could feel a heartfelt lecture incoming.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it I know." I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do with this family?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

"You’ll figure it out," Mama said with a reassuring tone. "It's an opportunity to meet new people and have some fun. Plus, they might have interesting stories to share."

"Right, because nothing says 'fun' like having to navigate the quirks of a new family while on vacation," I said, sarcastically. "I suppose I could use a few new stories to tell."

"That's the spirit! And who knows, maybe you’ll end up having a great time. Sometimes the best adventures come from the unexpected," Mama said optimistically.

"I guess we’ll see. Just don’t be surprised if I spend most of my time avoiding their overzealous attempts at bonding," I replied, half-joking.

"Fair enough," Mama laughed. "Just promise me you’ll at least give it a chance. And who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. I promise," I said with a resigned sigh. "I'll give it a chance, even if it means putting up with a bunch of new faces."

"That’s all I ask," Mama said, her voice softening. "I’m looking forward to this trip, and I hope you will be too."

"Me too, I guess," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Just don’t expect me to become best friends with everyone right away."

"Deal," Mama said with a smile. "And remember, it’s supposed to be an adventure."

"Adventure. Got it," I said, rolling my eyes again but smiling this time. "Let’s hope it’s more exciting than a group project."

"Exactly! Now, get ready for a summer you won’t forget," Mama said, her tone upbeat.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, "I’ll do my best."

As the call ended, I shook my head, trying to shake off the unease. Interrupting me from my daydreaming, Clementine cleared her throat.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'll do my best." She mocked me in a high-pitched voice.

"Girl shut up," I groaned, throwing one of my various squishmallows at her head.

"Branch out my ass, you need to get cronked." Clementine gestured enthusiastically. Yes, she was the most extroverted person that I knew, and I loved it about her. We were just two opposite ends of a stick, and I did have a lot to learn about her charisma as well.

"What you just described is quite literally the evil alter-ego version of me, you know that right?" I deadpanned. Throwing back the squishmallow at me, she continued.

"Oh, come on! Loosen up and have some fun," Clementine replied with a flourish. "You’re too stiff, girl. You need to embrace the chaos and just go with it. And you know that you really want to have fun." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Okay yes fine, you got me." I rolled my eyes again.

"It's the summer somewhere new, be happy! You can be anyone that you want for a bit." She said.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe if the wifi wasn’t being a pain, I’d have a better attitude," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Blame it on the wifi all you want," Clementine said, laughing. "But seriously, you’re going to have a blast. Just let yourself get loose. Besides, how often do you get to have spontaneous adventures like this?"

"True," I admitted, "but it’s a lot easier for you to say. You thrive on chaos. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Okay, make me sound like some ravenous gossip party monster, Mrs. Malnourished-From-Any-Entertainment," Clementine rolled her eyes.

"Hey!!" I sputtered, trying to feign madness. I failed, as I immediately burst out laughing.

"And I swear you’re going to learn to love all the chaos too!" Clementine said enthusiastically. "It’s all about stepping out of your comfort zone. You’ve got to live a little!"

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling. "Alright, Miss Extrovert, I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to start dancing on tables or anything."

"Hey, you never know!" Clementine teased. "You might surprise yourself. Besides, it’s all about making memories, right?"

"Make memories, youthful nature, spring in my step, all right I get it man!" I yell, burrowing my face in my pillow, also conveniently getting a mouthful of hair. Yum.

"And don't forget it's actually time for you to get laid," Clementine said in a sing-songy type of voice.

"Clementine!" I exclaimed. She really had no filter, this girl…

"What? I'm just saying," Clementine shrugged, her grin widening. "A little romance never hurt anyone, right?"

"Yeah, but could you not be so… blunt about it?" I replied, trying to regain my composure. "I mean, it's one thing to tease me about dancing on tables, but this is pushing it."

Clementine laughed, unabashedly. "Oh, come on. You're going to a beautiful place with a bunch of people your age. It’s practically a recipe for adventure. And who knows? Maybe this will be the summer you meet someone special."

"Or maybe it’ll be the summer I learn to tolerate sharing a house with strangers," I said, rolling my eyes. "But thanks for the… encouragement."

"Hey, I’m just trying to help you make the most of it," Clementine said, her tone softening. "Sometimes a little push is all you need to open up and see things differently."

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. "Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll keep an open mind. But no promises on the whole ‘getting laid’ part."

"And plus, I have absolutely no skills in approaching any guy ever. You know this," I cried in despair. Clementine laughed, recalling all the times when my horrible romancing skills failed me. Note, there are way too many to mention, so why do I even bother to find a boyfriend in the first place…

"Oh, I remember the summer fair incident," Clementine said, her laughter bubbling up. "You were trying to strike up a conversation with that guy at the cotton candy stand, and you got so flustered you ended up spilling your drink all over him."

"Please don't remind me of that, oh no," I groaned.

"And then, in an attempt to salvage the situation, you accidentally knocked over the cotton candy machine. The whole thing turned into a sticky, sugary disaster. You actually looked beet red it was so funny," Clementine continued laughing.

"I still cringe thinking about that," I groaned, hiding my face. "I was so embarrassed I avoided that fair for months."

"And let’s not forget that one party during Midsummer's last year," Clementine said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh let's not bring that one up from the archives-" I started to say.

"Girl you need to stop pretending that you can actually dance," Clementine giggled.

"Hey! I actually didn't know that he was a professional dancer, okay? Showing me up that badly was so embarrassing, I did want to die so bad at that moment," I recalled.

"I was trying to save your horrid fate," Clementine continued.

"You can't just gesture to me at a party and try to whisper yell, it's so loud. That would've never worked," I argued.

"Well from the sidelines it was actually pretty funny seeing you trip and then knock over those plastic cups," Clementine continued.

"Yeah? It wasn't funny when I landed in that bowl of punch face-first though," I whined.

"Yeah! Of course, it wasn't because my car smelled like the rancid mix of alcohol and punch for weeks," Clementine complained.

"That's my revenge for you. You should've yanked me out of the dance circle the minute I stepped foot in there. Why I did it, I have no idea to this day," I lamented.

"Ugh, meanie," Clementine laughed at me.

"That was such a mess, though" I admitted, cringing. "I had to help clean up while everyone tried not to laugh at me."

"But hey," Clementine said, her tone softening. "All those awkward moments make for great stories, and they don’t define who you are. Sometimes, it’s those hilarious failures that end up being the most memorable."

"Fine, Mom," I droned on. "You have a point."

Clementine’s eyes twinkled with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "Exactly. And besides, who knows? Maybe this summer will be the time you finally get it right. You’re going to be in a new place with new people. It’s a fresh start."

"I suppose," I said, still feeling a bit skeptical but warming up to the idea. "I guess there's something to be said for making a fool of yourself in a new environment. It might not be so bad if everyone’s in the same boat."

Okay, I lied again. It was that bad.

(Guys I promise that I'm not a serial liar, I just exaggerate. A bit.)

The overwhelming heat of Greece, and pretty much the heat of the Mediterranean hit me like a truck immediately when I landed. It was dry heat, no humidity no nothing. Just good ole heavy heat. Sweating through the airport terminal, then customs, to the shuttle, my bra was pretty much damp by the time I had stepped onto the cobbled ground in front of our air b&b.

Beaded sweat was clouding my vision, completely ruining the pretty vision I had when I put gel on my forehead to curl my baby hairs. I was seeing stars (mostly perspiration). It was hot. I was getting a hot flash/nearly dying of heatstroke.

The dreamy images of Santorini I had envisioned from my cool, comfortable dorm room felt like a distant fantasy now. The picturesque streets, which I had imagined as quaint and inviting, seemed more like a maze of sun-baked stone. My excitement was quickly replaced by a wave of discomfort and disorientation.

“Welcome to paradise,” I muttered sarcastically to myself, feeling like I was melting into the pavement. I glanced over at my mom, who was also looking a little wilted but trying to maintain her usual upbeat demeanor.

“This is just the beginning,” she said, her voice cheerful but slightly strained. “It’ll get better once we get settled in.”

I hoped she was right. For now, though, all I could think about was finding a cool, shaded spot and trying to regain some semblance of composure. The fantasy of a perfect summer seemed to be melting away as quickly as the ice in my now lukewarm drink.

I fumbled with the keys to the front door, my fingers slick with sweat. The lock was stubborn, refusing to cooperate as I struggled to get inside. My mom was at my side, trying to help but also looking equally overheated.

“Maybe I should have warned you about the heat,” she said, her voice strained but still optimistic. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

“I think ‘a bit’ is an understatement,” I managed to reply, finally pushing the door open and stepping into the cooler interior. The contrast was immediate, but the relief was short-lived as I realized the air conditioning wasn’t working properly.

“This is not how I pictured it,” I admitted, feeling my earlier excitement wane. The romanticized version of this trip was crumbling under the harsh reality of the Mediterranean heat and my physical discomfort.

My mom looked around, her face showing a mixture of apology and determination. “We’ll get it sorted,” she said. “Let’s just unpack and try to cool off. Maybe a cold shower will help.”

I nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I just hope the heat doesn’t turn this whole trip into a sweaty ordeal.” To foreshadow, it pretty much was like that the entire trip.

As soon as I stepped inside, the first thing that hit me was the chaotic array of shoes scattered haphazardly across the floor. There were sneakers, sandals, and flip-flops in a disordered spread as if a small army had shed their footwear in a hurry. The once inviting entrance now resembled a makeshift shoe rack, cluttered with mismatched pairs and abandoned shoes.

“Mama, it looks like we’re not the first ones here,” I said, my voice tinged with annoyance as I kicked aside a stray sandal. “It’s a mess.” I could feel my frustration mounting as I took in the scene. The once appealing idea of arriving at a neatly prepared vacation home now seemed overshadowed by the disorder and lack of preparation.

God, I hoped that whoever was here didn't make the whole place look like the dorm room of a stinky, smelly, teenage boy.

Mama quickly scanned the surrounding areas. “Oh, I didn’t realize. They must have arrived before us. They’re probably out exploring the city.”

“That’s just great,” I said, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. “They’re already out having fun while we’re stuck schlepping our luggage.”

With a sigh, I grabbed two huge pieces of luggage and began dragging them up a narrow flight of stairs. Each step felt like a small victory, but the sweat pouring down my back made every movement feel like a monumental effort. I didn’t even know my butt could sweat that much. It was as if my entire body was engaged in a desperate battle against the oppressive heat. My clothes clung to me in a way that made me feel like a walking puddle.

Every few steps, I had to stop and catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead and cursing under my breath. The heat inside the house, combined with the physical exertion, had me feeling utterly drenched. My damp hair stuck to my neck, and I could smell the distinct, unpleasant odor of sweat mingling with the heat.

“Can you believe this?” I called down to my mom, trying to keep my frustration in check while I heaved one suitcase up another step. “I’m already drenched, and we haven’t even started unpacking. I feel like I’m swimming in my sweat!”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it once we get settled,” she said from below, her voice slightly muffled by the distance. “Just hang in there. Take that cold shower, aye? It’ll make you feel better.”

Her optimism was appreciated, but it did little to ease the burning frustration I felt. I finally managed to get both suitcases into our room and collapsed onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated. My legs felt like jelly, and I flopped down with a dramatic groan. The mattress, thankfully cooler than the air, felt like the only respite I’d had all day.

“I’m taking a shower,” I announced, my voice flat with exhaustion. “I need to cool off before I melt into a puddle. This heat is seriously getting to me.”

Grabbing all my toiletries in one hand (which would be moderately regrettable in approximately a minute), my phone and a towel haphazardly slung over my shoulder, I sped-walked to the nearest bathroom. My appearance was nothing short of disastrous: a loose beige bra that clung awkwardly to my sweat-drenched skin, and tightly fitted black spandex shorts that felt like they were melting into my sweaty legs. But, by golly, I was determined to take a shower. I assured myself that no one was there but Mama and me.

That is what I thought.

Clearly, that thought changed when I threw open the bathroom door to be met with a wall of steam and the startling sight of a pasty, pale chest belonging to a random white guy. In a comedy of errors, we collided headfirst into each other. He let out a yelp of surprise as I stumbled backward, dropping my toiletries and towel in the process.

“AHHH!” We both screamed in unison, our voices mingling in a perfect pitch of panic and disbelief. My phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor, the emergency contact screen flashing in alarm and my phone's flashlight being turned on as it bounced. The towel, now airborne, landed atop the guy’s head like a makeshift hat, which only made the situation more absurd. My toiletries, scattered like fallen soldiers, rolled across the tile in every direction.

In the frenzy, the guy’s shampoo bottle, which had been precariously perched on the edge of the sink, took a dive and exploded into a foamy mess, splattering us both with a thick layer of bubbles. I slipped on the slick tile, my foot skidding out from under me and sending me crashing into a pile of wet towels.

In the chaos, I tried to grab onto the nearest thing for support, which ended up being his bicep. My fingers closed around the surprisingly smooth and firm muscle, and I couldn't help but notice how it felt like a warm, solid rock under my touch. The unexpected contact sent a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I found myself blushing furiously as I tried to steady myself.

Never mind the sudden fucking romance, I was flailing and falling, and it was embarrassing as hell.

As I yanked on his arm, he lost his balance and we both went tumbling to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, shampoo, and toilet paper. The sheer force of our combined weight caused the guy to slam into the opposite wall, sending a shower of misplaced toiletries and a small avalanche of cleaning supplies cascading down on us. We landed in an awkward, sprawled mess, my leg draped over his and his arm pinned beneath my back, all while the air was filled with the scent of minty shampoo.

"What the actual fuck," The weird white guy said. I was surprised to hear an Australian accent escape his mouth, quite different than the accents I heard every day.

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed in disbelief, trying to stand up, but wincing because my head and bum hurt very much.

He groaned, trying to sit up and shift me off his chest. "I'm Oscar. From Australia."

"Oscar who?" I asked, still struggling to comprehend the situation while attempting to fix my disheveled hair.

“Oscar from Australia,” he deadpanned, his frustration evident. His wet hair, still dripping from his recent shower, clung to his forehead, adding to his slightly disheveled look. Despite his frown, which was more a mix of irritation and bemusement, there was something oddly cute about him. His features were sharp but softened by his annoyed expression, and his damp hair only added to his rugged charm. The heat of the bathroom made his skin glisten slightly, and the combination of his tousled hair and pouty frown gave him a kind of adorably exasperated vibe. "You know, as in the guy whose bicep you just clung to like a life raft in a storm."

"Well, excuse me, Oscar from Australia," I retorted, finally managing to get to my feet but still wobbly. "I didn’t exactly plan on meeting you in such a—uh—personal way."

Oscar smirked, flicking some shampoo suds off his hand. "Yeah, well, this wasn’t how I planned to greet my new neighbors either. I was expecting someone who could walk without tripping over thin air, but hey, I guess we can’t all be that lucky."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Great. So not only am I dealing with a mess of shampoo and toiletries, but now I have to navigate an awkward introduction with some guy who thinks he’s important enough to be 'Oscar from Australia.'" I honestly did not give a fuck if he was called "Oscar from Bumfuck Nowhere" or "Oscar the Prince of Bahrain", he needed to chill the fuck out.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, still struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, you know, ‘Oscar from Australia’ doesn’t have a very high bar for first impressions apparently. But hey, at least you’ll remember me, right?”

I rolled my eyes, snatching my towel off his head. "Yeah, I’ll definitely remember you as the guy who managed to turn my bathroom break into an episode of slapstick comedy."

Wiping a loose tear that streamed down my face due to shampoo getting in my eyes, I continued. "I just wanted a goddamn shower after that long plane ride and the bloody heat from outside man. What the hell…" I drifted off.

Oscar’s face twitched between amusement and exasperation. Honestly, now that I am thinking about it, his countenance was definitely leaning more toward exasperation and frustration. "I’m sorry my ‘Australian charm’ is such a disaster for you. But you know, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting tackled by a very disheveled girl either."

I huffed, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest, and my posture was a rigid display of frustration. My shoulders were hunched slightly, and I tilted my head to one side, making it clear I was not in the mood for further nonsense. My face was a portrait of annoyance—my brows were furrowed deeply, and my lips were pressed into a thin line. A flush of irritation spread across my cheeks, and my eyes, which had been rimmed with the remnants of shampoo, glared at Oscar with unfiltered exasperation. Every muscle in my expression seemed to scream, "Seriously?" as I struggled to keep my composure amidst the chaotic aftermath of our unintended collision.

"Oh, so now I’m ‘disheveled’? You might have noticed I was in the middle of trying to clean myself up when you decided to become a human wrecking ball."

Oscar chuckled despite himself. "Look, I didn’t mean to turn your bath into a soap opera. It was an accident—just like your epic phone drop and shampoo explosion." The audacity of this guy to even put my "epic phone drop" in air quotes. What a comic. Haha, totally funny.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get tackled by a random guy in the shower. Maybe you could’ve picked a less dramatic way to introduce yourself."

This "Oscar from Australia" guy was really starting to annoy me.

To be fair, I may have been escalating the whole thing because I truly do feel like a different person the moment heat washes over me. And this whole situation—sweaty, disheveled, and now dealing with a ridiculously charming yet infuriating Australian—was the cherry on top of my chaotic day.

Oscar shook his head, a smirk still tugging at his lips. "Well, if you ever need a more dramatic first impression, you know where to find me." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the steamy mess of the bathroom.

The jokes on him, first impressions are first and quite permanent. They don't change.

As I stood in the shower, still reeling from our chaotic confrontation, I finally managed to get my shower running. The cool water cascading down my back felt like a small slice of relief after the sweltering heat and tension of the past few minutes. I glanced at my reflection in the misty mirror, trying to scrub away the remnants of shampoo and irritation. My hair, now a tangled mess of suds and frustration, clung to my face as I attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

It struck me suddenly—amidst the chaos and embarrassment—that something had shifted within me. I had been more assertive and bold than I ever remembered being, and this unexpected encounter had stirred confidence in me I hadn't recognized before. I didn’t just let the situation unfold; I stood my ground, even if it meant facing down a charming yet infuriating Australian.

Blushing slightly, I scolded myself silently. Really? Hurling myself at a guy I just met the moment I get to Santorini? It was like I’d thrown my usual reserved self out the window along with my dignity.

This wasn't Love Island. And he certainly wasn't the steamy-hot Australian guy from Casa who would be able to woo my heart in mere milliseconds.

Sweet lord, Clementine told me to reset myself this vacation. I had singlehandedly managed to reset my personality in three minutes.

As I rinsed the last of the foam from my hair, a sudden pang of regret hit me. I had never actually told Oscar my name. How had I managed to skip such a basic part of an introduction amid our chaotic collision? The thought gnawed at me, adding another layer to my mortification.

To him, I was probably that weird, really sweaty, and kind of stinky vacation girl with a pissy attitude. Now I am not saying that that isn't a spot-on accurate description of me, but it kind of hurts that I didn't behave better.

A lack of decorum on both of our parts, I'll conclude.

I couldn’t help but replay the moment when I’d bumped into him—his rock-solid chest meeting mine with surprising warmth. My eyes had instinctively trailed down from his broad shoulders to the defined abs that quite literally were making eye contact with me. The firm, unexpected contact of his body against mine had sent a jolt through me, making me acutely aware of how close we’d been.

Even now, the memory of that fleeting contact made me blush deeper, and my face felt like it was on fire. The way his chest had felt—solid and warm—seemed to linger, leaving an imprint on my senses. I recalled how his abs had pressed against me, their tautness undeniable from even where I was standing. It was almost embarrassing how my eyes had involuntarily traced those contours, as if they were a new and intriguing landscape I had never seen before.

Ugh, what the fuck. I desperately needed a Facetime to debrief all of this confusing absurdity with dearest Clementine.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C3)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (5.9K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────── 03: Making a Splash in the Pool of Love…Yikes

There were two types of people at the pool: those who gracefully slipped into the water like elegant swans, and those who cannonballed in with all the subtlety of a collapsing deck chair. I, unfortunately, was in a third category entirely—one reserved for the terminally awkward, perpetually flustered, and inexplicably magnetized to the deep end of mortification.

Oscar’s sisters were already in the water, splashing each other like some synchronized squad of professional pool gremlins. Mae was attempting what looked like a half-hearted handstand, her legs wobbling in the air before she toppled over, sending a spray of water in every direction. Edie was lounging on a float, sunglasses perched on her nose, lazily steering herself with one foot as if she were on a private yacht instead of a neon pink flamingo. Hattie, meanwhile, was narrating the entire scene like a sports commentator, complete with dramatic sound effects and questionable Australian accents.

And then there was Oscar, sitting poolside with all the ease of someone who belonged there, flashing that same infuriatingly smug grin every time he caught my eye. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a surf magazine—lean muscles, tousled hair, and the kind of relaxed confidence that made you both admire and want to dunk him underwater simultaneously.

Simply put, that sight, holy hell; absolutely delectable.

I was perched on the edge, feet dangling in the cool water, trying to summon the courage to just jump in and get it over with. But of course, that was when Oscar decided it was the perfect time to make things ten times worse.

“C’mon, what are you waiting for?” he called, tipping his sunglasses down just enough to look at me over the rim. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little water.”

I shot him a glare, but my attempt at intimidation was ruined by the fact that I was gripping the edge of the pool like it was my only lifeline. “I’m not scared,” I retorted, though my voice wavered. “I’m just… enjoying the view.” Which, unfortunately, sounded way more flirtatious than I intended.

Great. Just great.

Oscar’s grin widened, and he pushed himself up, sauntering over with a casualness that made my pulse race. “The view, huh? Glad I’m providing some entertainment,” he teased, crouching down beside me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I’ve gotta say, you’re missing out. Water’s perfect.”

And before I could protest, he stood up, gave me a cheeky wink, and cannonballed into the pool, sending a wave of water crashing over my legs and half-soaking my cover-up. I let out a yelp, half in surprise and half in pure exasperation as Oscar surfaced, slicking his hair back and laughing like he’d just pulled off the prank of the century.

“Welcome to the splash zone!” Mae cheered, throwing up her arms in mock celebration as Oscar floated by, still grinning like he’d won some imaginary competition.

I wiped the water from my face, feeling my resolve finally crack. It was either jump in or spend the rest of the afternoon as Oscar’s personal splash target, and I was too stubborn to give him that satisfaction. With one last deep breath, I stood up, tossed my cover-up to the side, and took the plunge, diving in with more determination than grace.

As I broke the surface, sputtering but exhilarated, Oscar swam up beside me, his smile impossibly bright. “There you go,” he said, flicking water at me playfully. “Now you’re officially one of us.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “One of the loonies, you mean.”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with something that looked a lot like admiration. “Exactly. Welcome to the club.”

Before I could catch my breath, Oscar splashed me again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Alright, now that you’re here, we’re playing a game of chicken. Me and you against Edie and Hattie. They’ve been running their mouths all day about how they’re undefeated.”

I blinked, caught completely off-guard by the suggestion. “Wait, chicken? You mean the one where you sit on someone’s shoulders and try to knock the other team down?”

Oscar nodded, his grin wide and challenging. “That’s the one. And don’t worry, I’m a solid base. You just have to keep Edie and Hattie from cheating, which is honestly the real challenge.”

I hesitated, glancing over at Edie and Hattie, who were already gearing up and flexing like they were entering an Olympic event. Edie perched confidently on Hattie’s shoulders, waving like a gladiator preparing for battle. The thought of sitting on Oscar’s shoulders, with everyone watching—and worse, his hands around my legs—made me momentarily freeze. Not to mention, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be manhandled by a guy I’d only known for three hours, no matter how distractingly good-looking he was.

“Nah, I think I’ll just watch,” I said, trying to sound casual, even though my heart was thumping at the mere idea of the closeness. “I’m not really… a chicken kind of girl.”

Oscar wasn’t having it. He swam closer, his expression teasing but with a hint of something else, a playful determination that made it clear he wasn’t going to let me off that easily. “C’mon, don’t be a chicken about playing chicken,” he coaxed, his tone dripping with challenge. “It’ll be fun. Plus, I promise I won’t drop you. I’ve got a good grip.”

I shot him a skeptical look, my cheeks heating up again. “And why exactly should I trust you?”

Oscar’s smirk widened as he shifted his stance, flexing his biceps with dramatic flair, his movements comically slow and deliberate. He struck a pose like a cheesy fitness model from a 90s infomercial, his muscles bulging as he exaggerated each flex with a ridiculous amount of confidence. The water glistened on his tanned skin, catching the sunlight in a way that would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so over the top. He raised one arm and gave it a solid flex, his bicep swelling noticeably, and with a playful wink, he leaned in and kissed it like it was the crowning achievement of his life.

“Because these guns,” he declared, pausing to flex the other arm for good measure, “are the most reliable thing you’ll ever sit on.” He threw in a cocky wink that would’ve made any movie villain proud, followed by an exaggerated smooch to his own bicep that echoed like a cartoon sound effect.

Mae burst out laughing, nearly choking on her drink. “Oh my god, Oscar, you absolute dork. Stop embarrassing yourself!”

Edie rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they’d get stuck. “Seriously, bro, you’re one cheesy line away from handing out autographed photos.”

Oscar ignored them, continuing to pose as if he were standing in front of a crowd of adoring fans. He shifted his weight, flexing his triceps now, turning slightly to show off the muscles rippling along his back, all while maintaining that smirk that screamed, I know I look good, and I’m not sorry about it.

I couldn’t help but laugh, torn between genuine amusement and secondhand embarrassment. He was so shameless, so ridiculously over-the-top, that I almost didn’t notice the way his muscles moved with effortless strength beneath the surface. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I could feel my cheeks heating up despite myself. The confidence, the sheer audacity of it all, was so uniquely Oscar, and I couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves—or something else—that danced in my stomach.

I snorted, half-laughing, half-cringing at his display. “Oh my god, that was the worst line I’ve ever heard. Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “And besides, you get to help me take those two down a notch. It’s a win-win.”

I looked at Edie and Hattie, who were already smirking at us from across the pool, and I felt a sudden surge of competitiveness rise up. Fine. If Oscar wanted a partner, I’d give him one—and maybe wipe that smug look off his sisters’ faces while I was at it.

“Alright, fine,” I relented, rolling my eyes but unable to suppress a grin. “But if you drop me, I’m holding it against you forever.”

Oscar’s smile was blinding. “Deal.” He turned around and crouched slightly, patting his broad shoulders. “Hop on. I’ll keep you steady.”

I climbed onto his back, trying not to think too hard about how solid he felt under my hands, or the way his muscles flexed as he gripped my legs to steady me. I could feel every inch of his strength, and it was both comforting and ridiculously distracting. The water sloshed around us as he rose, effortlessly lifting me onto his shoulders. My heart pounded, but I tried to focus on the game instead of the feel of his strong, tanned skin under my hands.

“Hold on tight,” Oscar said, his voice light but filled with excitement. “We’re going to take them down.”

As we squared off against Edie and Hattie, the pool’s surface rippled around us, creating a vibrant, sun-dappled stage for our impending battle. I could feel every subtle shift of Oscar’s body beneath me, his muscles tensing and flexing as he adjusted his stance, effortlessly finding the right balance to keep us steady. Each small movement sent little jolts of energy through me, and I couldn’t ignore the sheer strength radiating from him, his back firm and his shoulders broad under my grip. He gave his shoulders a little roll, almost like a warm-up, making sure I felt every deliberate flex, each slight adjustment meant to show off his easy power.

“Comfortable up there?” he asked, his voice laced with that familiar teasing edge. He tilted his head back just enough so I could see the playful spark in his eyes, his cheeky grin widening as he caught my expression. He looked absurdly pleased with himself, like this was all part of some grand performance and I was his main audience.

“Oh yeah, super comfy,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm, but I couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at my lips. It was impossible not to smile; his energy was contagious, and the way he kept subtly flexing as if daring me to notice was half infuriating, half amusing. I squeezed my thighs around his neck for stability, feeling the corded strength in his shoulders respond instinctively. It was like being on top of a coiled spring—every movement precise, controlled, and brimming with unspoken confidence.

He chuckled, his laughter vibrating through me. “Good to hear. I’m not just holding you up—I’m making sure you’re getting the five-star experience.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t deny the exhilaration bubbling up inside me. Despite my initial reluctance, there was something undeniably thrilling about being perched on his shoulders, high above the water, surrounded by the sounds of splashing and laughter. The sun was warm on my skin, and the water glistened around us, catching the light in dazzling, ever-shifting patterns. And then there was Oscar’s energy—playful, supportive, and just cocky enough to make me want to win this silly game purely out of spite.

Oscar shifted beneath me, his muscles rippling as he adjusted to keep me perfectly balanced. His hands gripped my legs firmly, his touch sure and steady as if to remind me that, no matter how chaotic things got, he wasn’t letting me fall. I caught a quick glimpse of his grin, the way he was clearly enjoying every second of this, and it was impossible not to feel a rush of adrenaline mixed with something softer, something that made my heart beat just a little faster.

“Ready to take them down?” he asked, giving his shoulders another purposeful flex that sent a shiver through me, his playful arrogance on full display. “I’ve got the strength; you just bring the attitude.”

I tightened my grip, feeling a surge of competitive spirit rise within me. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of that,” I shot back, smirking down at him. “Just keep flexing, and we’ve got this in the bag.”

Oscar laughed, his eyes flicking up to meet mine with a look that was half challenge, half flirtation. “You got it. Hang tight, and let’s show these amateurs how it’s done.”

Edie shot us a look, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re going down!” she called out, already reaching forward with determination.

“We’ll see about that!” Oscar taunted back, adjusting his stance and giving his sisters a cocky nod. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the best rider in the game.”

The match was on, and I focused all my energy on staying balanced and pushing back against Edie’s determined attacks. Oscar’s hands gripped my legs tightly, holding me steady as we twisted and turned in the water. I could feel his muscles working beneath me, and every so often, he’d flex just a bit more than necessary, as if to remind me of the strength holding me up.

“You sure you don’t mind all this muscle under you?” Oscar teased, glancing up with a flirtatious smile. “I mean, I can tone it down if it’s too distracting.”

I laughed, half-exasperated, half-flustered by his shameless flirting. “Just focus on the game, muscle man.”

Oscar chuckled, giving me another little flex just for show. “Oh, I am. But if it helps, think of this as a free ride. Gym membership included.”

With one final push, I managed to shove Edie just enough to throw her off balance, sending her toppling back into the water with a dramatic splash. The victory was sweet, made even better by the stunned look on Hattie’s face as she struggled to keep her sister afloat. Edie resurfaced with a gasp, water streaming from her hair as she spluttered and shot me a half-impressed, half-annoyed glare.

“Ha!” I cheered, throwing my arms up in triumph, barely managing to keep my balance on Oscar’s shoulders. “We won!” My voice echoed with a mix of disbelief and exhilaration, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride.

Oscar laughed, his joy bubbling up as he spun us around in a celebratory twirl, the water splashing up in playful waves around us. I squealed, clutching his head to keep steady, but the sound was full of delight rather than fear. It was impossible not to get caught up in the moment, the sudden thrill of winning, and the infectious energy of everyone’s laughter.

“Told you we’d win,” Oscar said, looking up at me with that signature grin—broad, boyish, and brimming with a proud satisfaction that was almost contagious. He squeezed my legs slightly, just enough to remind me of his grip, his strength, and the fact that he’d been holding me up the whole time. “I never lose when I’ve got the right partner.”

I blushed, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me at his words. The compliment was wrapped in that same playful bravado, but there was something genuine beneath it that caught me off guard. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and I tried to play it cool, though my grin was impossible to hide. “Well, I guess you’re lucky to have me, then,” I teased, flicking a bit of water down at him.

Oscar chuckled, adjusting his hold and giving his shoulders a little roll as if to flex just one last time. “Lucky doesn’t even cover it,” he quipped, his voice dipping into something almost sincere, and I found myself momentarily lost in the playful glint of his eyes.

Meanwhile, Hattie was already splashing water at Edie, who was still bobbing indignantly in the pool. “You got beat by a newbie!” Hattie crowed, laughing at her sister’s expense. “I thought you said you were unstoppable?”

Edie scowled but couldn’t suppress a grin, brushing her wet hair out of her face. “Alright, alright, you got us. But don’t get too cocky—we’ll be back for a rematch,” she said, pointing a challenging finger at me. “Next time, you’re going down.”

Mae paddled over, clapping her hands in mock applause. “That was epic! New girl just dethroned the queens of chicken. How does it feel to be pool royalty?”

I couldn’t stop laughing, the adrenaline still coursing through me as I basked in the impromptu victory. “Feels pretty damn good,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly even though I was still buzzing from the rush. “But I’ll let you guys keep your crowns. I’m more of a co-ruler kind of girl.”

Oscar tilted his head back, looking at me with a playful admiration that made my heart skip a beat. “See? She’s humble, too. The whole package,” he said, giving me a slight squeeze with his shoulders that made me tighten my grip reflexively.

“Okay, seriously, stop flirting,” Mae groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically as she splashed water at us. “It’s getting nauseating.”

Hattie laughed, shaking her head as she swam closer. “Yeah, tone it down, Romeo. No one wants to watch you make goo-goo eyes while you’re being a human ladder.”

Oscar just grinned, unbothered by their teasing, and looked up at me with an exaggerated wink. “Sorry, can’t help it. It’s not every day you get to team up with someone who makes winning look this good.”

I laughed, trying to ignore the way my cheeks flamed up at his unabashed flirtation. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, but my voice was light, and I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest. For a moment, everything felt easy—like we were just two kids messing around, laughing, and letting the summer sun work its magic.

Mae, ever the bundle of energy, suddenly clapped her hands together, splashing water everywhere. “Alright, next game! We’re playing pool volleyball. Hattie, Edie, you’re with me. New girl and Romeo are on the other team,” she announced, pointing dramatically between us. “Time to see if you two are a one-hit wonder.”

Oscar’s eyes lit up at the challenge. “Oh, we’ll take you down,” he declared confidently, wading over to grab the neon volleyball bobbing nearby. “We’re basically undefeated at this point. Right, partner?”

“Undefeated for exactly one game,” I teased, but I couldn’t help feeling a competitive spark reignite. Mae quickly set up the makeshift “net,” which was really just a length of pool noodle stretched across the center of the pool, anchored down with pool chairs. It was half crooked, barely staying afloat, and not remotely official—but in that moment, it felt like the real deal.

Edie and Hattie took their places with Mae, who was already taunting us from across the water. “Ready to get wrecked? This is our turf, and we don’t go easy,” Mae called out, bouncing the ball a few times as if she were prepping for a major league serve.

Oscar leaned in close to me, his shoulder brushing mine under the water as he whispered, “They’re just sore losers. We’ve got this.”

The game kicked off with a wild serve from Mae that went soaring way over everyone’s heads and smacked into the side of the pool with a splash. “Nice aim,” I called, biting back a laugh.

“Shut up, it’s a warm-up!” Mae shot back, blushing as she retrieved the ball. She tried again, this time with a little more finesse, and the game was on.

Oscar and I found our rhythm surprisingly quickly, moving in sync as if we’d been playing together for ages. He’d bump the ball effortlessly, sending it just high enough for me to set it up perfectly, and I’d watch as he leapt out of the water with an exaggerated show of power, slamming it back over the noodle with a loud splash. Every point we scored, Oscar would raise his hand for a high-five, which quickly devolved into splashing water at each other playfully.

“Nice spike, partner!” I called, the thrill of teamwork coursing through me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun doing something so simple. There was no pressure, no awkwardness—just pure, unfiltered enjoyment.

“Same to you!” Oscar responded, winking at me as he adjusted his swim shorts, the action so casual yet somehow making my heart skip a beat. “You’re making this too easy.”

The banter kept flowing as we played, each side fiercely determined not to lose. At one point, Hattie attempted a dramatic dive to save the ball, splashing wildly and nearly taking Edie down with her. “Friendly fire!” Edie yelped, giggling as they both resurfaced, water streaming from their hair.

Mae, ever competitive, huffed and glared at her sisters. “C’mon, focus! They’re not even that good!”

Oscar chuckled, elbowing me gently, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Hear that? We’re ‘not even that good.’ Guess we’ll have to try harder.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard by the not-so-subtle innuendo laced in his words. The way he said it—low, playful, with just the slightest hint of mischief—made my face heat up instantly. I could feel the blush creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks, and there was no hiding it. It was like my skin had betrayed me, broadcasting exactly how flustered I felt.

I tried to play it off, clearing my throat and splashing water at him as a distraction. “Y-Yeah, maybe you should work on that,” I shot back, aiming for a confident tone, but my voice wavered just enough to make Oscar’s grin widen. His eyes were locked on mine, sparkling with a knowing look that made my stomach flip.

“Is that a challenge?” he teased, his smirk growing as he leaned a little closer, clearly enjoying how flustered I’d become. “Because I’m always up for trying harder.”

I sputtered, feeling the heat intensify across my face. This wasn’t fair—he was effortlessly charming, and I was just trying not to combust on the spot. “I meant at volleyball, obviously,” I muttered, though my flustered state made the retort sound weak. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Oscar laughed, the sound rich and teasing as he splashed me back. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he said, but the playful glint in his eyes told me he was fully aware of how his words had landed. “But hey, if you’re blushing this much already, maybe we really should up our game.”

I could practically feel my cheeks burning, and I desperately tried to focus on anything other than the way his grin made my heart race. “You’re impossible,” I managed to say, but my tone lacked any real bite. It was hard to stay annoyed when he looked at me like that, with his eyes dancing between flirtation and genuine enjoyment.

Oscar just shrugged, still grinning as he pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. “Only when it’s this much fun,” he said, giving me one last playful wink before turning his attention back to the game.

With one final serve from Oscar, the ball sailed perfectly over the net, and Edie reached for it just a second too late, sending it skimming across the water and out of bounds. The game was ours, and we celebrated like we’d just won an Olympic gold.

“Victory!” Oscar shouted, throwing his hands up in triumph before pulling me into a playful, wet hug, lifting me off my feet briefly before setting me back down with a splash. “We’re officially unstoppable.”

I laughed, caught up in the infectious joy of the moment, even as I tried to shove him away playfully. “We’re a pretty good team,” I admitted, feeling the heat in my cheeks again as I realized how much I meant it.

“Good? We’re amazing,” Oscar corrected, his grin wide and genuine. He was still holding onto my arm, and the closeness between us was impossible to ignore. “And just for the record, I’m always down for a rematch. Same team?”

I looked at him, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, the cool water around us, and the flutter of excitement that had been there all day. “Same team,” I agreed, smiling as I splashed him one last time. “But only if you promise to keep showing off.”

Oscar’s laugh rang out clear and carefree, echoing across the pool. “Deal. With you around, I can’t help it.”

Before I could fire back a playful retort, the sound of my mom’s voice cut through the afternoon air. “Hey, everyone! Dinner’s almost ready!” she called from the patio, waving a spatula like a dinner bell. “Come dry off and get ready to eat!”

Immediately, the savory aroma of grilled kabobs wafted toward us, filling the air with the smoky scent of marinated chicken, bell peppers, and onions, all sizzling perfectly on the grill. My stomach rumbled in response, and I could already imagine the burst of flavors—the juicy, seasoned meat, the slight char from the grill, and the sweet tang of roasted vegetables. I could smell warm, buttery corn on the cob, the faint, sweet scent of freshly baked bread, and the mouthwatering aroma of garlic butter wafting from a pan of golden potatoes roasting nearby. The sharp, tangy scent of freshly made tzatziki filled the air, mingling with hints of lemon zest and olive oil, making the whole backyard smell like a perfect summer feast.

I glanced at the others, who were already paddling toward the pool’s edge, eager to get their hands on the spread. “Guess it’s time to eat,” I said, half to myself, but Oscar was still watching me with that easy smile, his gaze lingering a little too long.

“Need a hand?” he asked, swimming over and extending his arm to help me out. His eyes stayed locked on mine, but as I reached up to take his hand, I could feel the weight of his gaze trailing over me—curious, appreciative, and making my pulse quicken all at once.

“Uh, sure,” I mumbled, feeling awkwardly aware of the way the water dripped off my skin, each droplet tracing a cool path down my legs. Oscar’s grip was firm and warm as he pulled me up, his fingers wrapping around mine with an effortless strength that sent a jolt of awareness straight to my core. His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, and when he finally did, the absence of his hand felt oddly significant, like a small but noticeable void.

For a brief moment, everything else seemed to blur into the background—the laughter from the pool, the faint sizzle of the grill, the warm chatter of his sisters in the distance. It was just the two of us, and I was hyper-aware of every detail: the way his eyes traced the water cascading off my legs, the slight upward curve of his lips as if he found the whole scene incredibly fascinating, and the way his gaze felt almost tangible, brushing over me like a warm caress.

I reached for my towel, wrapping it around myself in a clumsy attempt to shield against the sudden vulnerability of his stare. I tried to focus on drying off, rubbing the soft fabric over my arms and shoulders, but every time I looked up, Oscar’s eyes were still on me—intense, unwavering, and far too distracting.

He leaned casually against the pool’s edge, his wet hair slicked back, the sun catching droplets on his skin that made him look like some kind of Greek statue come to life. But it was his expression that really caught me off guard—his usual playful smirk had softened, replaced by something more thoughtful, almost contemplative. It was like he was seeing me differently, not just the girl who had been splashing and laughing with him all day, but someone who held his attention in a way that felt new and unexpected.

“You alright there?” Oscar asked, his voice low and a little rough around the edges, pulling me out of my tangled thoughts. He didn’t look away, and his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—curiosity, admiration, maybe even a hint of something deeper.

“Yeah, just… you know, drying off,” I replied, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrayed me, coming out breathless and light. I patted my hair with the towel, desperately hoping it would distract from the heat creeping up my neck and cheeks. But his gaze stayed locked on mine, like he was searching for something in my expression that I didn’t even know was there.

Oscar’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “You sure? You look a little… flustered,” he said, the teasing back in his tone, but softer, gentler than before. There was a hint of something else in his voice too, something that made my heart skip.

I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off even though I could feel my blush deepening under his scrutiny. “I’m not flustered,” I said, but it sounded weak even to my ears. “It’s just… hot out, and the water’s cold, and…” I trailed off, realizing I was babbling.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my struggle to keep my composure. “Sure, blame the weather,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar flirtation that made my pulse quicken. “But for the record, you’re pulling it off pretty well.”

I bit back a smile, unable to meet his eyes directly as I wrapped the towel tighter around me. “Thanks, I guess,” I mumbled, feeling simultaneously embarrassed and oddly exhilarated by his attention. He made it impossible to just shrug things off, to pretend like his lingering gaze didn’t affect me when, in reality, it felt like the most charged thing in the entire backyard.

Oscar pushed off the pool’s edge and stepped closer, his presence warm and solid, droplets of water still glistening on his skin. “You know,” he said, voice low and intimate, “I’ve seen a lot of people get out of pools, but none of them have ever managed to make it look like… this.”

I stared at him, caught between laughter and mortification. “Like what? Wet?” I shot back, trying to diffuse the tension, but it only made him smile more, a lazy, appreciative smile that sent another wave of heat rushing to my face.

“No,” he replied, taking a beat as if considering his next words carefully. “Like you’re the best thing I’ve seen all day.” His voice was quieter now, more earnest, and the sincerity in his eyes made my breath hitch.

The world seemed to tilt just a little, the sounds around us fading into the background as I searched for a response that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete idiot. “You… you’re ridiculous,” I said, barely managing to keep my voice steady. But there was no hiding the way my cheeks were blazing or the way my heart was pounding in my chest.

Oscar just grinned, seemingly pleased with himself as he picked up his own towel and started to dry off, though his eyes kept drifting back to me every few moments. It was like he couldn’t help himself, like something about this silly, sun-soaked afternoon had shifted between us in a way that neither of us fully understood yet.

I tried to play it cool, focusing on the scent of the food that was calling us closer. But it was hard to ignore the electric current in the air, the way Oscar’s eyes lingered on me with an intensity that made me feel seen, maybe even a little wanted. The warmth of his gaze seemed to burn hotter than the sun, like he was committing every detail of me to memory—the way my hair clung damply to my shoulders, the flush of my skin, the shy smiles I kept trying to hide.

I fidgeted with my towel, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but Oscar’s attention never wavered. He stepped closer, his expression still caught between playful and sincere, as if he was searching for something in my reaction that would let him keep pushing the boundaries. His fingers grazed the towel slung over his shoulder as he looked at me, and there was a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before—a kind of unspoken question hanging between us.

“You don’t have to be so modest, you know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with that familiar edge of teasing that I’d grown so used to. But there was a gentleness there, too, a hint of something more genuine. “It’s okay to let people see how great you are.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift from playful banter to something more personal, something that made my heart stumble. “You’re really laying it on thick today, huh?” I said, trying to laugh it off, but the words came out shakier than I intended.

Oscar shrugged, his smile turning softer, less cocky. “Only because you make it easy,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The way he said it—without hesitation, without the usual bravado—made my pulse quicken, and I had to look away, pretending to adjust my towel just to break the intensity of his stare.

But he wasn’t letting up. As we walked toward the patio, his gaze never strayed far, occasionally dipping down as if he couldn’t help but take in every detail. I could feel the weight of it, warm and steady, and it made my skin tingle in a way that was both exhilarating and unnerving.

We reached the table where the food was spread out—a colorful array of kabobs, salads, and bowls brimming with sides. My mom was fussing over the final touches, sprinkling fresh herbs over a platter of roasted vegetables, while the others were already grabbing plates and chatting animatedly. But I was still caught in the lingering tension of Oscar’s words, the way he’d looked at me like I was something special, something worth noticing.

“Hey,” Oscar said softly, catching my arm just as I reached for a plate. His touch was gentle, a light brush of his fingers that sent another wave of heat rushing through me. “I meant what I said, you know. You really are… something else.”

I turned to face him, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. His eyes were serious, searching mine as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. And for once, I didn’t have a sarcastic comeback or a teasing remark. All I could do was nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks, Oscar.”

His smile widened, this time more genuine than any of the smirks he’d flashed all day. “Anytime,” he said, his voice full of unspoken promises that made my chest tighten.

As I picked up my plate and moved to join the others, I could still feel the weight of his gaze on me, warm and unyielding. It was a look that said everything and nothing all at once, a silent acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, this was more than just a poolside flirtation. And as we sat down to eat, surrounded by the familiar hum of conversation and laughter, I couldn’t help but wonder where this unexpected spark between us would lead—or if I was ready to find out.

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taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

[f14fun]

Just for Our Eyes - Park Sunghoon (C1)

synopsis: in which case Y/N, a camera-toting girl with more confidence in her lens than her words, skips class and stumbles into an abandoned ice rink—only to find sunghoon, a boy who skates like silence and sees more than he lets on. between shared secrets, photographs never meant for the world, and messages left unsaid, something begins to bloom—soft, quiet, and entirely theirs.

prose au (5.1K) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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Look, in my defense, I wasn’t trying to uncover any dark, mysterious, emotionally tortured secrets today.

I was just skipping math.

Again.

And I don’t even hate math, okay? I just hate it when numbers start pretending they’re letters and suddenly I’m expected to know what “cos(θ)” is. The unit circle is hard to look at, and suddenly even harder to understand. No thanks. Not when I could be doing something far more important. Like napping. Or dramatically sighing by a window somewhere.

So there I was, speed-walking behind the gym like a very cute fugitive, when I heard the sound.

Scrrrchhh. Swish. Tap. Swish.

My brain said: squirrel. My heart said: ghost. My very dramatic imagination said: figure skater haunted by the ghost of the Olympics.

And because I have absolutely no impulse control, I tiptoed toward the abandoned rink—the one Coach Min swore was “out of order” but really just looks like a Pinterest board had a mental breakdown in there.

And then... I saw him.

Black hoodie. Skates. Alone. Moving like he wasn’t even touching the ice. Like the laws of gravity took one look at him and said, “We’ll allow it.”

I think my jaw might’ve dropped. Which was rude, honestly. I don’t usually let boys make me gasp unless they’re fictional or handing me free food.

But he didn’t see me. He was busy doing a spin so smooth I almost clapped. I stopped myself. Barely.

Anyway, my fingers reached for my phone like they had a mind of their own. Not to record—I'm not that creepy (yet). I just needed to remember this moment. Mysterious ice boy. Secret skater. Vibe of a tragic K-drama lead with a soundtrack playing somewhere in the snow.

Before I could even unlock my screen, he skated right up to the edge of the rink and—

Paused.

Like paused, paused.

I froze too. Not because I’m shy (I’m literally allergic to silence), but because this felt sacred. Like if I moved too fast, he might vanish into a cloud of mist and unresolved trauma.

He wasn’t looking at me. Not really. He was facing the boards, one gloved hand resting on the edge, the other reaching up to pull his hood down.

And that’s when I saw his face.

I know beauty is subjective, but this boy? This boy looked like the human version of a plot twist. Sharp jawline, calm eyes, and the kind of expression that says, “Yes, I’ve seen pain. And yes, I drink iced lattes in the winter.”

It was rude. Honestly. People shouldn't be allowed to look like that on school property. Especially not while doing fancy little turns in complete silence like a poem in motion.

He still hadn’t seen me. So naturally, I panicked.

And by panicked, I mean: I cleared my throat dramatically, like a Victorian ghost trying to get attention during a séance.

“Nice pirouette,” I said, stepping into the doorway like I definitely hadn’t been standing there for five full minutes narrating his life in my head. “Or is it called a triple lutz? Or... toe loop? Skatey swirl? I don’t know. I failed P.E.”

He turned.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, I expected him to glare, or shout, or skate away in cold, broody silence.

Instead, he blinked slowly and said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Which was fair. But also rich, considering he clearly wasn’t supposed to be here either.

“Says the mystery boy on secret ice,” I replied, folding my arms and leaning against the doorway with my best I’m-totally-chill-and-not-spiraling smile. “I could report you, you know.”

He didn’t laugh.

Of course he didn’t laugh.

Instead, he just stared at me with that terrifying combination of calm and judgment that only people with perfect posture and trauma can pull off.

“I mean, obviously,” I added quickly, throwing in some frantic jazz hands because I’d lost control of the situation somewhere between “I could report you” and “this hot guy is scary, oh man.” “I’m not gonna snitch. I’m barely passing algebra. Do I look like someone who follows rules?”

Still nothing.

Okay, cool. He was either a robot or one of those beautiful loner types who only speaks in plot-relevant sentences. Tragic.

“You’re… skating?” I offered, because apparently my brain had given up on intelligent conversation and was now just narrating the obvious.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

“No,” I said. “Yes. No. I—okay, yes, I was just wondering if this is like… your thing? Skating alone in secret rinks behind abandoned gym doors while looking like a moody Vogue ad?”

He finally exhaled. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a laugh. Somewhere in the middle. And then, just as I was about to pass away from sheer embarrassment—

He smirked.

A tiny one. Barely there. But it was real.

“Do you always talk this much?” he asked.

“Only when I’m nervous,” I replied automatically. “Or bored. Or awake.”

Another pause. He looked down, did a little pivot on his skates, and then—like it was the most casual thing in the world—he said, “Don’t tell anyone.”

And then he pushed off, gliding backwards again like he was being pulled by the music of my crushed soul.

“Wait, that’s it?” I called. “You’re just gonna emotionally mic drop and skate away?”

But he was already mid-turn, hoodie flaring slightly with the movement, back to being all broody and cinematic.

“I don’t even know your name!” I shouted, taking one dramatic step onto the bleachers like I was in a telenovela.

He didn’t stop.

But just before he reached the far end of the rink, I heard him say—soft, but definitely on purpose—

“Exactly.”

By lunchtime, I’d nearly convinced myself I imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was a mirage. A highly attractive hallucination born from skipping math and not drinking enough water (hydrate or dydrate everyone!) Stranger things had happened—like that one time I sleepwalked into the kitchen and started giving my toaster a pre-volleyball game pep talk. (I don't even play volleyball?!)

But then I found myself aggressively stirring my carrot and lentil soup, staring into it like it might give me answers.

“You’re just soup,” I muttered to the bowl. “You can’t help me.”

“Talking to your food again?” Yizhuo’s voice was smooth and amused, like it always was. She slid into the seat next to me looking like the human version of a sparkly Instagram filter. Effortlessly perfect. Not even fair.

“I’m reflecting,” I said, very maturely. “Deep introspection. Respect the process.”

Except I wasn’t reflecting.

I was daydreaming. Hard.

I leaned over my soup dramatically, letting the steam hit my face like it was some kind of cleansing ritual.

And then— His face appeared.

In the soup.

I screamed. Like, externally. Out loud. In the middle of the cafeteria. Not full-volume scream, okay, I’m not a menace. But definitely a loud, startled yelp that made at least four people at the next table look over, mid-chicken-nugget bite.

“Are you okay?” Yizhuo asked through laughter, already tapping my arm because she knew. She knew. She always knew when my brain decided to malfunction mid-lunch.

I blinked down at my bowl. No face. No mysterious boy. Just soup. Mildly orange. Steaming. Innocent. Mocking me.

“Yup!” I said brightly, like I hadn’t just imagined a boy materializing in root vegetables. “Totally fine. Just—hot soup. Caught me off guard. Happens.”

Minjeong, across the table, gave me the squint.

“Soup attacked you?”

“Violently,” I nodded. “Unprovoked.”

Jimin shook her head and offered me a napkin like I’d done this before (I had). Aeri snorted into her carton of chocolate milk.

“You sure you’re okay?” Yizhuo asked again, still smiling like she already knew the real answer. Which was rude, because I didn’t even tell her about mystery skater boy.

“Yes,” I said, stirring my soup again with suspicious eyes. “I’m just… existential today.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“I mean, same,” Aeri said. “But, like, mine’s about failing physics. Not… hallucinating soup men.”

“Soup men,” I repeated, flatly. “Thanks for that.”

Minjeong raised a brow. “Are you having one of your main character episodes again?”

“I don’t have main character episodes,” I scoffed. “I am the main character.”

“Yeah, of a high school rom-com where you fall in love with a cafeteria worker and dramatically sing about it,” Jimin chimed in.

“Honestly,” I said, dipping a piece of bread into my soup, “I’d watch that.”

They all laughed, and I smiled too, trying very hard not to visibly stare into the middle distance like a Jane Austen heroine haunted by an anonymous boy in skates.

I would not be weird about this. I would definitely not Google “how to casually run into someone at an abandoned ice rink without seeming like a stalker.”

I would just eat my soup. Be normal. Be chill. Be—

“Wait,” I said suddenly, voice sharp.

Everyone paused.

“Do we know,” I continued carefully, “if anyone at this school… like… ice skates?”

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Like… professionally,” I added. “Or secretly. Or—I don’t know—dramatically?”

“Why would we know that?” Aeri asked, squinting at me like I’d just asked if any of them moonlight as circus acrobats.

“I just think it’s a cool sport,” I said quickly. “The jumps! The glitter! I’m a fan of artistic twirls!”

Yizhuo narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound like you're trying to sell us Olympic propaganda?”

“Do you have a crush on someone?” Minjeong asked, because she always went straight for the jugular.

“No,” I lied, face entirely too warm. “I just believe in… skating rights.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “You’re so weird,” Jimin muttered fondly, stealing my bread.

But nobody answered my question.

Because apparently, no one at this school skates.

Which either meant: A) He wasn’t from here. B) He was a ghost. C) He was a figment of my imagination sent to teach me the value of patience and edge control. Or D) …He was hiding something.

And I? I was very good at finding things people were trying to hide.

Okay yeah, I rescind that statement.

It started innocently enough. I got home, opened my laptop, and totally meant to finish my bio homework. Like, I even clicked on the Google Doc and everything. But then my cursor wandered. And my brain whispered:

"What if he’s famous?"

And honestly? My brain makes a lot of terrible suggestions. Like bangs. Or hot yoga. But this one? This one had potential.

So naturally, I opened Naver.

Search: “high school figure skater black hoodie Seoul boy” Zero results. Rude.

Next attempt: “teenage male ice skater Seoul private school mysterious”

Still nothing, except an article about some 9-year-old prodigy who once skated blindfolded and a BuzzFeed-style quiz titled “Which K-pop Skater Boy Is Your Soulmate?”

Tempting. But not helpful.

I tried every combo I could think of:

“broody boy ice rink Korea”

“skating competition quiet student Seoul”

“hot guy looks like he hates everyone but skates like a dream”

“black hoodie jawline Seoul ice ghost??”

At one point I just typed “boy” and glared at the screen like I expected the algorithm to hand him to me on a silver platter.

It didn’t.

But then… salvation.

I remembered something: Instagram location tags. God’s gift to nosy people everywhere.

I tapped the one for Mapo Ice Arena, the old rink tucked behind our school that everyone pretended was off-limits because the ceiling was leaky and the lights hummed like they were possessed.

After ten minutes of scrolling through selfies, smudgy ice pics, and one cursed video of someone doing a belly flop in skates (still not sure if it was a joke or a cry for help), I found it.

A blurry vertical clip posted by some hockey account called @rinkratskr.

Caption: “Who even is this kid?? That spin was insane?? #skatinglegend #openrinknight”

And there he was. My hoodie boy. Same gait. Same calm control. Same "I don’t know I’m being filmed but I still look like a cinematic dream" aura.

I paused. Zoomed in.

And there—tagged at the bottom—was the username: @/sunghoon.pk

Click.

Public account. Minimalist. Very him.

Seven posts. No bio. Profile pic: a backlit skyline, probably the Han River. He posted like someone who wanted to be found just enough. Like a trail of breadcrumbs but make it moody and artsy.

Mostly photos of scenery. A cracked skate blade. A black-and-white coffee cup. A picture of someone’s cat with no context. And one post that stopped me cold:

A shot of the rink. Empty. Blue-tinged. He was in the corner of the frame, barely visible.

Caption: “It’s quieter now.”

I exhaled slowly.

Because of course. Of course he posted like that. He was a poetic enigma wrapped in a triple axel. And I’d made awkward soup eye contact with him.

I leaned back in bed, stared at the ceiling, and muttered to no one:

The ceiling said nothing. Judgy.

The time? 1:06 a.m.

My chemistry reading? Still unopened. My brain? Hijacked by a boy who spins like silence and smirks like it’s a secret.

I closed my laptop with the kind of dramatic flair normally reserved for season finales and rolled over, shoving my face into my pillow.

“Get a grip,” I whispered into the cotton. “He’s just a guy. A random guy. A guy who ice-skates like he’s in a perfume commercial, sure, but still—just. A. Guy.”

My pillow offered no comfort.

It took me approximately forty minutes, three unnecessary scenarios of us bumping into each other at a convenience store, and one fake argument in my head that ended in a confession (??) before I finally fell asleep.

Only to wake up the next morning with a crick in my neck, exactly one minute before my alarm went off.

Which is a special kind of betrayal.

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I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sinking realization that I’d hit snooze three times without remembering.

Fantastic start.

The sky outside was that too-blue winter kind of bright, and the cold coming in from the window crack felt unnecessarily personal. I dragged myself out of bed like I was being summoned to war, tripped over my backpack, and muttered something in the general direction of gravity.

In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection for a long time.

My hair was passable. A little pillow-flattened, but it gave off that “I woke up like this but didn’t mean to” vibe. But my eyeliner?

A crime scene.

Attempt one: crooked wing. Attempt two: thicker crooked wing. Attempt three: somehow got eyeliner in my eyebrow. Attempt four: panic.

I finally gave up, grabbed my mascara like it was a magic wand, and aggressively swiped it on until my lashes could pass for intentional.

I called it “smoky desperation.” It was fine.

I was five minutes late to class. Not dramatic enough to make an entrance, but enough that everyone looked up when I walked in. My teacher paused mid-sentence, gave me a long look, then kept going.

I sank into my seat and took out my notebook like I had any intention of using it.

I didn’t.

Chemistry was—no offense to science—slowly sucking the will to live out of me. Something about molecular bonding or ion pairs or maybe it was how the fluorescent lights made everything look like a bad hospital dream. I don’t know.

I just knew that at 23 minutes in, my brain started playing static.

So I raised my hand.

“Bathroom,” I said.

My teacher didn’t even look up. Just waved me out like I was a regular escapee.

I took my bag. Casual.

Walked down the hallway. Normal.

Turned the corner and passed the bathroom.

Kept walking.

Turned again.

The moment I stepped into the rink, the cold slipped over me like a second skin. It was sharp, almost biting, but not unwelcome. My shoes echoed softly against the concrete as I crossed the threshold, keeping to the side, hoping not to disturb anything—or anyone. But it didn’t matter. He saw me almost immediately.

He was mid-stride, arms loose, gliding through a curve with perfect balance, when his eyes flicked toward the entrance. He slowed, not abruptly, but gradually, coasting until he reached the edge of the rink where I stood. There was no surprise on his face, no confusion, like he’d expected me somehow. The silence stretched for a second before he came closer, the dull scrape of his blades the only sound in the room.

“You’re back,” he said, calm as ever, voice low and even.

I blinked at him, caught off guard by how unbothered he looked. “Yeah,” I replied, a little breathless, trying to will my heart rate back to normal. “You… skate like you’re not touching the ground. You deserved to be photographed, it's truly amazing.”

His gaze didn’t shift. If anything, he studied me more closely. “Then you should photograph me.”

I froze, blinked. “What?”

He shrugged slightly. “I heard you do photography.”

That made my stomach dip. I looked down, almost instinctively, at the strap of my camera—my beat-up FujiFilm that never left my side, hanging from my shoulder like it belonged there more than I did. I hadn’t even realized I’d brought it today. I always did, without thinking.

“How—how did you know?”

He tilted his head like the question didn’t make much sense. “It’s hard not to notice when you carry it everywhere. I saw it last time. And I’ve seen you around school.”

That last part sat heavier than the rest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way he said it—casual but deliberate—or the fact that I hadn’t noticed him noticing me. I was usually the observer, the one watching moments unfold from behind the lens. To be seen like that, so plainly, knocked something loose in my chest.

“Oh,” I said, like a genius. “Right.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was still watching me, but not in a way that asked anything. It felt like he was just waiting to see what I’d do next.

I adjusted the strap of my camera, suddenly hyper-aware of its weight against my side. “If you’re offering,” I said carefully, “I’d love to.”

His mouth curved—not quite a smile, but something near it. “Good. Because I think better when I’m moving.”

And just like that, he turned, pushed off, and skated back onto the ice, his figure slicing through the cold air like it welcomed him back.

I sat down slowly on the cold bleachers, fingers instinctively wrapping around my camera like they always did when I didn’t know what to say. It was my FujiFilm X100V—silver with black leather grip, a little scuffed at the corners from too many school trips and spontaneous weekend walks, but I liked it better that way. The metal body felt familiar in my hands, like something that had always belonged to me, even before I knew how to use it properly.

I flipped the switch, felt the soft click vibrate under my thumb. The lens extended with its smooth little hum, and I thumbed off the lens cap, tucking it into my coat pocket like I’d done a hundred times before. But this time felt different. My hands weren’t clumsy, but they were careful, like I was afraid of making the wrong move.

I lifted the viewfinder to my eye and let the world shift.

He was moving again—arms loose, posture relaxed, that same quiet confidence in every motion. The camera softened everything around him, framed him in the square like a subject I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to find. Through the viewfinder, the rink lost its rusted edges, the cracks in the boards blurred away, and all that was left was him gliding through the middle like he was made for it.

I tapped the shutter. Once. Twice.

The sound was quiet, almost shy, like it didn’t want to disturb him. I adjusted the aperture—f/2.0, to catch the soft winter light filtering through the high windows—and widened the shot. He dipped into a turn, one foot crossing over the other, hoodie fluttering slightly with the motion. His jaw was set, brows just a little furrowed in concentration. I captured that too.

Every few seconds, I’d lower the camera just enough to see him with my own eyes. I don’t know why. Maybe to make sure it was still real. Maybe to remind myself that I was here—not behind a screen, not watching a video online, but here, in the cold, watching him carve his thoughts into the ice like it was paper.

The camera strap shifted against my neck as I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees for balance. My thumb hovered near the focus ring, adjusting just slightly as he moved closer, faster, a flash of motion that almost slipped out of frame. I caught it. I caught him. Not just the spin, but the moment right before—the gathering of energy, the breath he took as he prepared to push off. I liked that part the most.

I bit my lip and smiled a little to myself, heart warm despite the cold settling into my fingertips. The world always felt quieter when I had my camera up, like there was only the subject, the space between us, and whatever I chose to keep.

And him?

He didn’t perform. He didn’t look into the lens or try to impress me. He just kept skating like he forgot I was there—or maybe like he didn’t mind that I was.

I kept shooting, frame after frame, until I stopped worrying about whether they were perfect and just started chasing the feeling. The light. The way his hair moved under the edge of his hood. The way his skates sounded against the ice, steady and sure. The way I didn’t want to miss any of it.

Eventually, he slowed again, gliding into a soft stop near the edge of the rink. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at me, his chest rising and falling as his breath formed clouds in the air.

“Do I need to pose?” he asked, voice calm, teasing just barely.

I lowered the camera, smiled. “No. I like it better like this.”

He nodded, almost to himself, and turned away. He skated again, and I raised the viewfinder once more—this time, not just to watch him, but to remember what it felt like to see something beautiful in motion and be lucky enough to catch it.

He came back slower this time, his skates whispering across the ice until they drew him back to the edge of the rink where I was sitting. I had just lowered my camera, the screen still lit with the last photo I’d taken—him caught mid-turn, arms slightly out, eyes focused on some invisible line ahead of him. The moment looked like a dream. Not something staged, not something posed. Just real. Honest.

I watched as he glided to a stop, eyes on me, expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything right away, and I wasn’t sure if I should. The silence settled between us, not quite heavy, but full of everything unsaid. So, naturally, I filled it with words I didn’t think all the way through.

"We need to post these," I blurted, lifting my camera like it explained anything. "Seriously, you don’t even know how good you look out there. You’re like—skating poetry. It’s illegal to be this photogenic and not let the world know."

The change in him was immediate, like a light switching off somewhere behind his eyes. He didn’t smile. If anything, he looked away for a second, and the quiet stretched thinner. There was a subtle shift in his expression, a darkness—not quite sadness, but something older, heavier. His jaw tensed slightly, and he looked back up at me with a gaze that pinned me in place.

I hesitated, my hand tightening on the grip of the camera. "Or not," I added quickly, softer now. "It was just an idea. No pressure."

He looked down at the ice before meeting my eyes again. "Don’t post them," he said, his voice even but firmer than before.

I nodded, feeling like I’d overstepped some invisible line I hadn’t known was there. "Yeah, of course. Just for… me, then. I mean—not me, me. Like, us. Just for us. I guess."

He studied me for a moment longer before replying, voice quieter this time. "They’re for our eyes only."

Something about the way he said it lodged itself deep in my chest. The words weren’t romantic, not exactly. But they held weight. Like a promise. Like he had handed me something fragile and trusted me to hold it. My stomach flipped, and I hated how fast the words took root in my mind.

For our eyes only.

There was something about it—something unspoken and just barely intimate. A shared secret I hadn’t realized we were creating. My heart fluttered before I could stop it, and I had to look down at my camera to stop myself from staring at him like a total idiot.

I pretended to check my photos again, though I didn’t see any of them clearly. I was too aware of the stillness around us, of him still standing there, too aware of my own heartbeat thudding far too loudly in my ears.

When I finally looked back up, he was still watching me, calm and unreadable as ever.

"Yeah," I said aloud, trying to steady myself. "Just for us. Got it."

He nodded like it settled something between us. And maybe it did. Maybe that was the thing—these pictures weren’t for an audience. They were just for this moment. For him. For me.

After a pause, I blinked and realized something that made me sit up straighter. "Wait. How am I supposed to get them to you?"

He stepped a little closer to the railing, eyes steady on mine. "Give me your phone."

I opened my mouth to ask why, but before I could even finish the breath, he reached out, fingers brushing softly against mine as he took the phone from my lap. His hands were cold but sure, and there was something ridiculously confident in the way he unlocked it without asking and swiped straight into my contacts.

He typed quickly, efficiently, then passed it back like it was nothing.

There it was.

Park Sunghoon

Saved in my phone like it had always belonged there.

"Now you can send them," he said, glancing down at the camera that still hung from my neck.

I stared at the name on the screen, brain momentarily short-circuiting. "Oh. Okay. Cool," I managed, and then immediately wanted to faceplant into the bleachers.

Cool? That was the best I could do? He just casually slid into my contact list and I was out here saying cool like I was a malfunctioning robot.

He nodded once, like that settled it, and then turned back to the ice. His blades whispered across the surface as he pushed off again, not looking back. I sat there a little stunned, still gripping my phone, watching him disappear back into motion.

I watched for what felt like forever, my camera resting against my chest, heartbeat loud in my ears. I didn’t raise it to shoot again. Not yet. The moment didn’t ask to be captured. It asked to be remembered.

Eventually, he circled back toward the far end of the rink, movements slower now, more thoughtful. I watched him pause for a second, look toward the ceiling like he was thinking through something no one else could hear, and then spin again, this time looser, like he was skating to let go of something.

I stayed there, seated and quiet, camera in my lap, hands warm from where he'd brushed them. I kept staring at his name in my phone, the plain, unstyled contact card glowing against the screen like it meant more than it should.

I should’ve stood up. Should’ve gone back to class. But I didn’t. Not right away.

"Hey," I called out suddenly, not even realizing I was going to speak until the word left my mouth.

He slowed, turned in place, skating a half-circle before gliding back to the edge again.

"Why me?" I asked. "Why let me take the photos?"

He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t ask me to pose."

That was it. That’s all he said.

And yet, I felt it. The trust in it. The quiet weight of someone who didn’t want to perform anymore.

He turned again, without waiting for a response, and disappeared back into the curve of the rink. And I sat back, phone still in hand, heart still catching up.

I didn’t know what this was. But I knew what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t just about skating. It wasn’t just about photographs. It wasn’t just a fluke.

It was something that belonged to both of us now.

Just for our eyes.

I checked the time on my phone—I'd been there nearly twenty minutes, maybe more. Class had definitely moved on without me, and if I didn’t get back soon, someone was going to notice. Probably my chemistry teacher, who kept track of bathroom breaks like a hawk with a stopwatch.

I shifted, standing up slowly, letting my bag slip back over my shoulder, camera still hanging at my side. Sunghoon had slowed again, watching me from a short distance away. I hesitated, unsure whether to say goodbye or just slip out the same way I came.

But then he spoke.

"Find me at lunch," he said simply.

I blinked, halfway to turning. "Huh?"

He didn’t elaborate, just offered a faint shrug. "You’ll find me."

My brows knit together, caught somewhere between confused and amused. "That’s totally not weird at all," I muttered under my breath, but I knew he heard me because the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, barely there.

Before I could ask what that even meant, he was already skating away again, like that was all he intended to say. I stood there for another second, still slightly stunned, before finally forcing myself to move, slipping back out of the rink and into the hallway.

The warmth hit me like a wave, and I walked toward class with my thoughts racing ahead of me. I didn’t know where I’d find him at lunch. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. But I knew one thing for sure.

I would look.

And I had a feeling—some quiet, ridiculous feeling—that he would be there waiting.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the beginning of something neither of us had a name for yet.

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author's note: trying something new by writing out an enha fic, lemme know what you think and if you want more parts (or more enha fics in general) comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C6)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (8.8K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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06: O-live-You And Other Things That Could've Been Said

The moment we stepped outside, the heat hit us like a solid wall. The sun was already high in the sky, radiating a fierce, unrelenting intensity that made the air shimmer like a mirage. It felt like stepping into an oven, the kind where the heat clings to your skin and settles in your bones, refusing to let go. The cobblestones beneath our feet were warm to the touch, and the faint breeze that occasionally swept by offered little relief, more like a faint exhale of hot air than anything truly cooling.

Mae immediately fanned herself with her hand, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. “Oh my god, it’s not even ten yet and I’m already melting. I swear, this island is trying to roast us alive.”

Edie tugged at the collar of her tank top, flapping it to get some air. “I don’t know how people live like this. I can feel my makeup sliding off my face. At this rate, I’m going to look like a Picasso painting by noon.”

Hattie pulled her hair into a messy bun, beads of sweat already forming at her temples. “We’re officially in a sauna. A beautiful, picturesque sauna that’s actively trying to kill us with heatstroke.”

Oscar wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his shirt clinging to his back. “You guys are such drama queens,” he said, though his own forehead was glistening with sweat. “It’s not that bad. Just… extremely, painfully hot.”

Mae shot him an incredulous look, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not that bad? I can practically see the soles of my shoes melting into the pavement. If I pass out, just drag me to the nearest air-conditioned place and leave me there.”

Oscar chuckled, glancing over at me. “You holding up okay, or should we start taking bets on who drops first?”

I fanned myself with my hand, feeling the heat radiate off the ground in waves. “I’m fine, but I might have to invest in one of those little handheld fans soon. Or, you know, a personal ice bath.”

Oscar shot me a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling despite the beads of sweat gathering at his temples. “An ice bath, huh? That’s my kind of recovery. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to cooling down after a race. Maybe I could show you how it’s done—F1 style.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile on my face was impossible to hide. “Oh, so what, we’re going to do some pit stops for hydration and tire changes along the way too?”

Oscar laughed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Only if you’re up for it. I can be your personal pit crew. We’ll keep it professional, of course… until we get to the ice bath part.”

Mae groaned loudly, rolling her eyes as she overheard. “Please, Oscar. Save the flirting for after I’ve downed a liter of water and found some shade. We’re all dying here, and you’re still trying to turn this into a date.”

Oscar just shrugged, unbothered, and shot me a wink. “What can I say? I’m dedicated to the full experience. And hey, if it involves ice baths and a little friendly competition, I’m all in.”

I nudged him playfully, feeling a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the weather. “Well, if you can handle the heat on the track, I’m sure you can handle a little morning market stroll. But I’m holding you to that ice bath promise—I might just need it after this.”

Oscar smirked, leaning in closer. “You got it. I’ll even make sure it’s got all the F1 essentials—like speed, precision, and just enough flirtation to keep things interesting.”

His teasing sent a shiver down my spine despite the scorching heat, and for a moment, I almost forgot about the sun beating down on us. But then another wave of hot air hit, reminding us all just how relentless the day was going to be.

Hattie, overhearing our exchange, fanned herself dramatically and shook her head. “Alright, you two, keep it cool… literally. We’re about five minutes away from turning into human puddles, and I’m not prepared to deal with that kind of meltdown.”

We all laughed, the tension easing as we continued down the path, our steps a little lighter despite the oppressive heat. And as Oscar’s playful banter echoed in my ears, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, a little F1-style cool-down wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Edie let out a groan, shielding her eyes with her hand. “At this point, I’d settle for a bucket of ice water to the face. I don’t care about looking cute; I just want to survive.”

As we trudged along, the heat wrapped around us like a heavy blanket, every breath feeling thick and labored. The chatter continued, but now it was peppered with complaints and exaggerated groans, each of us trying to find some humor in the absurdity of the oppressive sun. The market couldn’t come soon enough, and as we walked, we silently vowed to find the nearest shade—or, even better, a cold drink—before any of us truly combusted under the relentless summer blaze.

Oscar fell into step beside me, close enough that our arms brushed as we walked. “Bet you five euros Mae buys something completely useless within the first ten minutes.”

I grinned, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. “I’ll take that bet. But I think it’s going to be Edie who cracks first. She’s got that look in her eye—like she’s on a mission to buy something she doesn’t need.”

Oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re on. This might be the easiest money I’ve ever made.”

We continued down the winding path, the sun already blazing above us and making every surface shimmer with heat. The air was so thick and warm, it felt like walking through a giant hairdryer, and every step seemed to bring a fresh wave of stickiness that clung to our skin. The occasional shade from an overhanging tree felt like a blessed oasis, but those moments were fleeting, and soon we were back in the relentless glare.

Mae groaned dramatically, pulling her hair up into a messy bun as she fanned her neck with her hand. “I swear, this is how people end up in documentaries about survival. If I faint, just drag me to the nearest gelato stand.”

Edie, already looking flushed and slightly disheveled, tugged at her tank top. “Forget gelato; I’m about two minutes away from dunking my head in the nearest fountain. I can’t believe people live like this.”

Hattie chimed in, her voice laced with mock despair. “I feel like I’m being slow-cooked. If this is a test of endurance, I’m failing spectacularly. Someone tell me why we thought coming out in this heat was a good idea?”

Oscar glanced at me, his smile wicked. “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ve got it all under control. We’ll get to the market, find some shade, and then maybe I’ll set up an ice bath demo right there in the middle of the square. I’m sure it’ll be the highlight of everyone’s day.”

I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “Oh yeah, nothing says local culture like a makeshift ice bath. You’ll have an audience in no time, and I’m pretty sure they’d crown you the king of market day.”

Oscar flashed me a grin, his hand brushing mine as we walked. “As long as you’re there to cheer me on, I’m ready to make it happen. We can call it ‘Beat the Heat: The Oscar Edition.’”

Mae, overhearing us, rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’m not paying to see that, but I’ll definitely take a video. It’s going viral, for sure.”

Oscar shot her a mock glare. “Only if you promise to catch my good side. And for the record, I’m pretty sure this ice bath idea is going to save lives today.”

Edie snorted, already scanning the stalls in the distance as the market came into view. “Oscar, you’re not saving lives. You’re just trying to impress your new audience,” she teased, giving him a playful nudge. “But hey, if it gets us a cold drink faster, I’m all for it.”

The market was a sensory overload in the best possible way—vibrant stalls overflowing with fresh fruits, handmade trinkets, and colorful textiles flapping in the light breeze. The mingling aromas of spices, fresh bread, and grilling meats filled the air, and every few steps, a vendor would call out to us, trying to lure us in with their wares. The place was alive with people—locals haggling with vendors, tourists snapping photos, and children darting between stalls with sticky fingers and delighted grins.

Oscar and I wandered through the aisles, pausing occasionally to admire a particularly colorful display of woven baskets or to sample a piece of sweet, juicy melon that a vendor insisted we try. It was a chaotic, joyful atmosphere, and despite the heat, I found myself genuinely enjoying the experience.

That is, until we reached a stall filled with every kind of olive you could imagine. From glossy black olives marinated in herbs to bright green ones stuffed with garlic, the selection was endless. Oscar, with his usual mischievous glint, picked up a toothpick and speared an olive, holding it out to me.

“Come on, try this one. I promise, it’s the best thing you’ll ever taste,” he said, his voice dripping with the confidence of someone who’d already decided the outcome.

I eyed the olive suspiciously, but the look on his face was so hopeful and endearing that I couldn’t refuse. I took the olive, popped it into my mouth, and almost immediately regretted my decision. The taste hit me like a freight train—intensely salty, bitter, and pungent, with a weirdly spicy kick that felt like it was attacking my taste buds from all sides.

I gagged, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure, but it was no use. My eyes watered, and I felt the immediate, burning need to spit it out. But before I could, I accidentally inhaled, choking on the olive’s briny juice in the most unattractive way possible. I doubled over, coughing and sputtering, as the taste continued to assault my senses.

Oscar, realizing what had happened, tried to help by patting me on the back, but his well-meaning thumps only made things worse. I stumbled forward, knocking into a rack of precariously balanced jars filled with pickled vegetables. The entire display wobbled ominously before tipping over with a loud crash, sending jars shattering to the ground and splattering their contents all over my sandals.

“Bloody fuck!” Oscar yelped, jumping back as brine and pickled peppers splashed up around us. He reached out, grabbing my arm to steady me, but we were both already slipping in the mess.

I finally managed to spit out the offending olive, doubling over in laughter as I wiped tears from my eyes. “Oh my god, that was—what the hell was in that olive? I think I just tasted hell!”

Oscar, trying to suppress his own laughter, looked down at the mess we’d made. “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t think it would be that bad! You looked like you were being possessed by some ancient demon.”

“Note to self,” I managed between gasps, “never, ever take an olive recommendation from you again.”

Oscar grinned sheepishly, still holding onto my arm to keep us both from slipping. “Deal. But hey, at least it’s a market memory we won’t forget anytime soon.”

We worked together to gather the scattered jars, our hands brushing occasionally, sending small electric jolts through my already flustered system. The vendor, a grumpy old man with a thick mustache and a fierce scowl, continued muttering under his breath, clearly unimpressed with our attempts to make amends. I offered him a sheepish smile, trying not to slip on the brine-soaked pavement, while Oscar dug into his wallet, pulling out a few euros to cover the damage.

As we finished up, Oscar turned to me with that infuriatingly charming grin of his. “Well, that’s one way to make an impression. I’d say we’re officially banned from the olive section.”

I laughed, wiping my hands on my dress, which was now speckled with flecks of pickling spices. “At this rate, we’re going to get banned from the whole market. I mean, who knew olives could be so dangerous?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Dangerous? I’d say they were just misunderstood. But hey, if you want to blame me for this epic disaster, I’ll take the fall.” He struck a dramatic pose, hand over his heart, like a martyr taking the blame for a noble cause. “I, Oscar from Australia, solemnly swear to never force-feed you another olive as long as we both shall live.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress my grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re apologizing. Otherwise, I’d still be gagging over that monstrosity you made me eat.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a mock whisper. “Lucky? I think you’re just softening up to me, olive incident and all.”

I pushed him lightly, but the warmth in his gaze didn’t falter, and I found myself caught in the easy rhythm of his teasing. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head. But you’re definitely going to owe me an ice cream after this.”

Oscar smirked, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Ice cream? Please, we’re in Greece. You mean gelato,” he corrected, his voice dripping with playful mockery. He stepped closer, his tone teasing but his proximity making my heart skip a beat. “And trust me, I know the best place. Only the finest for my olive-battle buddy.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Alright, Mr. Gelato Expert. Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, we were standing at a small gelato stand, the sweet, creamy scent wafting through the air, instantly making me forget the earlier chaos. Oscar handed me a scoop of hazelnut gelato, then grabbed his own, a vibrant pistachio. As he took a triumphant bite, a dollop of green gelato smeared right onto his nose, turning the flirty moment into an adorably ridiculous one.

I stifled a laugh, trying to keep my composure as he continued to talk, completely unaware of the green splotch on his face. “See? This is real dessert. None of that commercialized stuff—”

I burst out laughing, and he paused, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Uh, you’ve got a little… something,” I said, pointing to my own nose as a hint.

He tried to swipe at it but missed, smearing it even more. “This?”

I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from laughing too hard. “Here, let me.” Without thinking, I reached up, my fingers gently brushing his nose as I wiped away the sticky gelato. The touch was brief, but it was enough to make my pulse quicken.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like the busy market around us had faded away, leaving just the two of us in a little bubble of shared laughter and unspoken tension. Oscar’s gaze softened, the playful glint giving way to something deeper as he leaned in slightly, our faces close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “I think I’m going to have to spill gelato on myself more often if it gets you this close.”

I laughed softly, still feeling the tingling of where his nose had brushed against my fingertips. “You’re ridiculous,” I said, but there was no hiding the smile on my face. “But if that’s your plan, maybe try keeping it on your gelato next time.”

Oscar chuckled, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief as he leaned in just a little closer, closing the already narrow gap between us. “Can’t make any promises,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasingly low, flirtatious tone that sent a familiar thrill coursing through me. “Besides, I’m not sure gelato is half as fun without a little mess.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading through my chest made it impossible to hide the grin tugging at my lips. “I’m starting to think you do it on purpose,” I said, trying to sound exasperated but failing miserably as Oscar’s thumb grazed a stray bit of gelato from the corner of my mouth, his touch lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

He shrugged, still impossibly close, his grin broadening. “What can I say? Keeps things interesting.” His voice softened, and for a brief moment, his gaze flickered to my lips before meeting my eyes again, his expression a mix of playfulness and something deeper that made my heart skip. “But I have to admit, I’ve got pretty good taste.”

I felt my cheeks flush under his steady gaze, the space between us charged with an almost tangible electricity. The casualness of his words belied the underlying tension simmering just beneath the surface, each flirty remark and lingering touch a dare to step closer, to push the boundaries just a little more.

“Yeah?” I challenged, tilting my head slightly, unable to resist the pull of the moment. “Well, just so you know, you’re not the only one with good taste.”

Oscar's eyes darkened with a mix of intrigue and something more playful, his smile never wavering as he scooted closer, his thigh brushing against mine on the impossibly narrow bench. The space between us was almost nonexistent now, our legs tangled in a way that felt intimate, unspoken, and thrillingly reckless. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the brush of his arm against mine sending little jolts of electricity through me.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he said, his voice low and edged with that teasing drawl that made my pulse quicken. He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel his breath, warm and sweet, grazing my cheek. “But I think I like hearing you admit it.”

The proximity, the way his eyes held mine without flinching, had my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I tried to play it cool, but the intensity of his gaze, the closeness of his body, made every breath feel charged with possibility.

“You’re really pushing your luck,” I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended, almost breathless. His knee nudged mine, a playful, subtle reminder of how little space was left between us.

Oscar smirked, scooting even closer, his leg pressing against mine with a deliberate pressure that sent my nerves into overdrive. “Maybe,” he whispered, his lips barely an inch away from my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “But something tells me you’re not exactly complaining.”

The words hung between us, laced with a flirty challenge that dared me to push back, to match his game. I tried to muster a witty comeback, but all I could focus on was the feel of his thigh against mine, his shoulder brushing my arm, the intoxicating closeness that made the world around us blur.

“Bold assumption,” I managed to say, but my voice wavered, betraying the flutter of excitement thrumming beneath my calm facade. “What makes you think you’re so irresistible?”

Oscar grinned, his confidence unwavering as he leaned in, closing the gap until his lips were just a breath away from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat of his smile. “Call it a hunch,” he murmured, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. “Or maybe it’s just that look you give me every time I get this close.”

My breath hitched, and I found myself leaning in without meaning to, drawn to the warmth of his presence, the challenge in his eyes. His teasing was relentless, but it was the way he looked at me—like this was all just foreplay for something much bigger—that left me breathless, my heart racing as if daring me to make the next move.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” I said, my voice a shaky whisper, half accusation, half something else entirely.

Oscar’s grin widened, his thumb brushing my wrist in a touch so light it sent a ripple of warmth through my whole body. “And you love it,” he said simply, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt. And maybe, just maybe, he was right.

My heart pounded in my chest, the air between us thick with unspoken tension, and for a split second, I thought he might kiss me. But just as the moment reached its peak, a loud honk blasted through the air, startling us both.

We jerked apart, whipping our heads around to see a vendor on a tiny motorbike, zigzagging through the crowded market with a basket of fresh bread strapped precariously to the back. He shouted something in Greek that I couldn’t quite catch, but the tone made it clear—get out of the way or risk getting run over by a man determined to deliver his breakfast goods.

Oscar laughed, breaking the spell as he scooted back just enough to avoid a collision. “Well, that’s one way to ruin the mood,” he said, still chuckling as he raked a hand through his hair, his confidence momentarily deflated by the absurdity of the scene.

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the tension between us dissolving into sheer ridiculousness. “Guess the universe decided you needed to cool it,” I teased, nudging him lightly with my shoulder. “Pretty sure you just got cockblocked by a bread guy.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright. I get it. Even the universe thinks I’m too much to handle.” He leaned back against the bench, shaking his head as he watched the motorbike weave away into the crowd. “Who knew my biggest competition would be a guy delivering carbs?”

I snorted, trying to stifle my laughter. “Hey, everyone’s gotta eat. Maybe take it as a sign to slow your roll.”

Before Oscar could respond with another flirty comeback, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, followed by a burst of laughter. Suddenly, Mae leaped onto Oscar’s back, her arms flailing as she yelled, “Revenge is sweet!” Oscar staggered forward, caught completely off guard, and nearly dropped his gelato.

“What the—Mae!” Oscar exclaimed, half-laughing, half-groaning as he tried to regain his balance. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Mae grinned wickedly, clinging to his shoulders like a monkey. “Just evening the score for this morning’s stealth attack, big brother. You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people.”

Hattie and Edie appeared behind them, both wearing matching amused smirks. Hattie folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve been looking for you two all over. Thought you’d ditched us for some secret gelato rendezvous.”

Edie nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, Mae said you were probably off flirting somewhere. Turns out she was right.”

I could feel my cheeks flush as I glanced at Oscar, who was still trying to pry Mae off his back without spilling his gelato. “Us? Flirting?” I said, feigning innocence. “We were just… enjoying our ice cream. Totally innocent.”

Mae finally hopped off Oscar’s back, adjusting her shirt with a triumphant smile. “Sure, sure. We believe you. But don’t think we didn’t see that little moment just now. If you’re gonna get all cute and flirty, at least invite us next time so we can take notes.”

Oscar rubbed his shoulder, shaking his head at Mae’s antics. “You’re all just jealous of my natural charm. Can’t a guy enjoy gelato in peace?”

Hattie smirked, nudging Edie. “Or maybe we just like keeping you on your toes. After all, someone’s gotta make sure you’re not too distracted by… certain distractions.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile. “Don’t worry, girls. I’ve got it all under control. And besides, someone’s gotta keep him from knocking over gelato carts.”

Oscar shot me a look of mock betrayal, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Great, now I’ve got all of you ganging up on me. But hey, if it gets Mae off my back—literally—I’ll take it.”

Mae patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Aw, don’t be such a baby. We’re just here to keep you grounded. And if that means ambushing you from time to time, then so be it.”

Oscar shook his head, laughing under his breath. “You all have too much fun at my expense.”

Hattie, always ready with a quick retort, smirked as she picked up a napkin to wipe some melted gelato off the bench. “Hey, it’s only fair. You spent the entire morning trying to charm the life out of everyone. We’re just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Edie leaned against the bench, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And let’s be real, Oscar—keeping you grounded is practically a full-time job. It’s like herding a cat with a God complex.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Alright, alright. I get it—I’m officially outnumbered.”

Mae grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, definitely. But you love it. You wouldn’t know what to do without us.”

Oscar glanced at me, his grin widening. “Yeah, well, I think I’ve got some backup now. Someone’s gotta be on my side.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Don’t look at me. I’m just here for the gelato and entertainment. You’re on your own.”

The sisters burst into laughter, and Oscar let out an exaggerated sigh. “See? This is my life now—betrayed by everyone I care about.”

“Hey,” Mae said, elbowing him in the side. “That’s the price you pay for being charming and annoyingly persistent.”

Oscar slung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into a playful side hug. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s a small price to pay for being this irresistible.”

Edie rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with mock exasperation. “There he goes again. We can’t take you anywhere.”

I glanced at the bags the sisters were carrying, each one bursting with colorful trinkets, snacks, and what looked like the most random assortment of souvenirs imaginable. “So, what did you guys get? Anything worth bragging about?”

Hattie held up a woven fan, waving it dramatically in front of her face. “Essential survival gear,” she declared. “If I have to hear Mae complain about the heat one more time, this thing’s getting thrown at her.”

Mae shot her a look, then pulled out a tiny carved wooden turtle with a goofy grin etched into its face. “I got this little guy. He’s the new mascot of our misadventures. And don’t you dare say he’s useless, because I’m emotionally attached now.”

Edie, not to be outdone, produced a pair of wildly patterned sunglasses that looked like they’d been pulled straight out of a 1980s music video. “And I got these. They were practically begging to be bought.”

I grinned, exchanging a knowing look with Oscar. “Well, well, looks like I win the bet. Edie cracked first.” I held out my hand toward Oscar, palm up. “That’ll be five euros, please.”

Oscar sighed dramatically, fishing the crumpled bill out of his pocket. “I should’ve known better than to bet against your instincts.” He slapped the money into my hand, feigning disappointment. “Enjoy your winnings.”

Mae’s jaw dropped, her eyes darting between us. “Wait, wait, wait. You guys bet on us?”

Oscar shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “It’s all in good fun. I just had a feeling Edie wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of something ridiculous.”

Edie clutched her sunglasses to her chest in mock outrage. “You bet on us? What are we, a reality show now? Next thing I know, there’ll be a scoreboard tracking all our bad decisions.”

Hattie laughed, shaking her head. “Honestly, I feel betrayed, but also kinda proud. At least you guys know us well enough to make accurate predictions.”

Mae crossed her arms, a mock pout on her lips. “I would’ve bet on Edie too, though. She can’t go five minutes without buying something weird.”

I smirked, pocketing my euros. “Don’t worry, it’s all out of love. And hey, at least now I’m five euros richer.”

Oscar slung his arm around my shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But I’m coming back for that money, just you wait.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling the easy camaraderie between us all. “Well, you’re welcome to try, but I think I’ll keep my winning streak going.”

As the playful energy buzzed between us, we decided to split up again—Mae and Edie darting off towards a stall selling handcrafted jewelry, and Hattie wandering towards a display of local ceramics. Oscar nudged me, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward a boutique nestled at the end of the market. “Let’s check out that shop. Looks like your kind of place.”

I followed his gaze to a quaint little boutique tucked into a narrow alley, its entrance framed by delicate vines of bougainvillea spilling over the roof. The shop’s exterior was painted in soft pastels, and a whimsical, hand-painted sign above the door read Marina’s Closet in elegant, looping script. The glass windows were filled with a curated display of dresses, sun hats, and accessories, each item carefully arranged to catch the eye. Through the window, I could see racks of brightly colored clothes, twinkling with the promise of a well-spent afternoon.

As we stepped inside, the cool air was a welcome relief from the heat outside. The shop was small but charming, filled with an eclectic mix of elegant summer dresses, flowy skirts, and delicate blouses in fabrics that ranged from soft linens to airy silks. The walls were painted a soft blush pink, and the space was filled with carefully arranged plants, their green leaves trailing down the walls and adding to the shop’s intimate, garden-like feel. Soft music played overhead—a mix of gentle acoustic and soft pop that set a relaxing, dreamy mood.

Antique mirrors lined the walls, their ornate, gold-gilded frames reflecting the soft light of the hanging lanterns that gave the boutique a warm, cozy glow. Shelves displayed colorful accessories—scarves, statement necklaces, and wide-brimmed hats, each one more elegant than the last. The floor was a mix of polished wood and a plush rug in the center, creating a sense of luxury and comfort all at once.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled as he glanced over the selection, his smile widening as he pulled out a flowing dress in a delicate shade of dusty rose. “This place is pretty cool. It’s got that ‘I know I’m expensive’ vibe,” he joked, running his thumb over the soft fabric. “But hey, nothing wrong with dreaming a little, right?”

I nodded, trailing behind him as he moved down the aisle. My fingers brushed against a rack of silk blouses and embroidered tops, each more intricate than the last. I picked up a dress—a light blue number with delicate floral patterns stitched along the hem—and flipped the tag over, my eyes widening at the price. “Yeah, it’s definitely out of my usual budget. I mean, I love window shopping, but this stuff? This is like, ‘Do I need to sell a kidney?’ territory.”

Oscar glanced at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he gently took the dress from my hand, holding it up against me. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” he said, his tone playful but with a hint of seriousness. “And besides, it looks amazing. You should try it on.”

I hesitated, looking around at the boutique’s carefully curated atmosphere, every detail screaming exclusivity. “I don’t know, Oscar. This isn’t exactly my kind of place. I’m more of a ‘sale rack at Zara’ kind of girl. And these prices? Let’s just say they’re a bit much.”

But Oscar didn’t seem to care about the price tags or my hesitations. He found another dress—a soft lavender one with a cinched waist and delicate lace detailing at the shoulders—and held it out to me, his grin never faltering. “Just try it on. What’s the harm? It’s not every day you get to play dress-up in a fancy place like this.” he said, his voice casual but sincere. “Try it on. What’s the harm in that?”

I hesitated, glancing at the price tag again. “Oscar, this stuff is like... ridiculously overpriced. I don’t think trying on a dress I can’t afford is gonna make me feel better.”

He grinned, nudging me gently. “Come on, it’s just for fun. And besides, you never know—maybe you’ll fall in love with something, and I’ll just have to figure out how to make it yours.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. “Fine, but only because you’re annoyingly convincing.” I took the dress from his hands and headed toward the fitting room, the soft fabric cool against my skin.

Inside the fitting room, I slipped into the dress, feeling the way the light material draped elegantly over my figure. It was simple yet stunning, with delicate lace detailing along the neckline and a flowing skirt that brushed just above my ankles. I smoothed my hands over the fabric, feeling unexpectedly confident as I stepped out to show Oscar.

His eyes lit up as he saw me, and he leaned back against one of the mirrored walls, his gaze roaming appreciatively. “Wow,” he said, the word coming out in a breathless sort of way that made my cheeks warm. “You look... amazing.”

I twirled slightly, watching the dress flare out around me. “Yeah? You don’t think it’s too much?”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not at all. It’s perfect. But let’s see more—you’re not done yet.”

Encouraged by his reaction, I tried on a few more dresses—a pastel blue sundress with delicate embroidery that hugged my waist and a soft, buttery yellow wrap dress with fluttery sleeves. Each time I stepped out, Oscar’s praise came easy, his eyes bright with genuine admiration that left me feeling both flattered and slightly overwhelmed.

I stood before the mirror, dressed in the last outfit—a bold, deep green dress with a plunging neckline and an effortlessly elegant cut that made me feel like I was stepping into another world. I turned slightly, admiring the way the color brought out the warmth in my skin. “I can’t decide,” I admitted, biting my lip as I looked at the three dresses hanging beside me. “They’re all so beautiful, but...”

Oscar stepped closer, his reflection appearing beside mine in the mirror. “Why choose?” he said lightly, his hand brushing my shoulder as he gazed at the dresses. “You look incredible in all of them.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Oscar, that’s not how this works. These dresses are... well, let’s just say they’re not in my usual shopping cart. I have to pick one, and even that feels like a splurge.”

But Oscar just shrugged, his smile turning teasing. “Or you could let me handle it. Consider it my treat.”

I blinked, turning to face him fully. “No way. Oscar, you can’t just—”

He cut me off with a playful roll of his eyes, already reaching for his wallet. “I can and I will. Besides, you’re the one who’s been keeping me entertained all day. It’s the least I can do.”

I watched, half in shock, half in admiration as he took all three dresses to the counter, handing over his card with a charming smile. The shopkeeper, a kindly older woman with a twinkle in her eye, rang up the total, her knowing smile suggesting she’d seen this kind of gesture before.

“Oscar, you’re ridiculous,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice light but unable to fully hide how touched I was. “But... thank you.”

He handed me the bags with a wink, his fingers lingering against mine for just a second longer than necessary. “You’re welcome. And besides, now I get to see you in all three. Totally worth it.”

I laughed, feeling the weight of the dresses in my hands and the warmth of Oscar’s gesture settle in my chest. It was more than just a shopping trip—it was another shared moment, another flirty, unplanned adventure that made everything feel a little more magical.

“You really are something else, you know that?” I said, shaking my head but smiling all the same.

Oscar grinned, stepping closer as we made our way out of the boutique. “Yeah, but I’m your something else. And I think that’s working out pretty well.”

As we stepped out of the boutique and back into the bustling market, I felt the weight of Oscar’s generosity with every step, the boutique bags brushing against my legs. It was more than just the dresses; it was the way he effortlessly turned a simple shopping trip into something memorable, something that lingered in the air between us like an unspoken promise.

I tried to brush off the fluttery feeling that had settled in my chest, but it was no use. This thing with Oscar—it was different from anything I’d ever known. I’d had my share of flings before, little sparks that fizzled out as quickly as they began. Those past connections had always felt manageable, easy to keep at arm’s length. But with Oscar, nothing felt sensible anymore. The boundaries I’d set for myself, the rules I used to follow, they all seemed to blur in his presence.

Every time I looked at him, it was like the ground had shifted beneath me.

The truth of it all was incomprehensible, a quiet realization that settled in as we strolled through the market together.

I glanced at him, watching the way he moved with such easy confidence, the way he could make a simple afternoon feel like an adventure. It was unsettling, exhilarating, and it was all him.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled with a playful intensity, his voice dipping into that teasing, confident tone that always sent my heart racing. “Just so you know,” he murmured, leaning in closer, “if you keep looking at me like that, I won’t have a choice but to make you lay all your love on me.”

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, caught between the thrill of his words and the undeniable pull that kept drawing us closer. “Is that a challenge?” I shot back, my smile betraying the flutter of excitement I couldn’t quite hide.

Oscar’s grin widened, his thumb tracing a light, teasing line along my wrist. “Not a challenge, sweetheart—just a promise.”

I stood there, momentarily stunned by the warmth of his words, feeling the electricity of the moment crackle between us. Before I could even think to respond, Oscar reached out casually and took the shopping bags from my hands, his movements smooth and effortless. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes—his natural ease, the way he so confidently stepped in without asking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Hey,” I protested lightly, reaching to take them back, but he just shook his head, flashing me that boyish, infuriatingly charming smile.

“I’ve got it,” he said, his tone light but firm, like there was no room for argument. “Besides, it’s only fair. You did all the hard work trying them on. I’m just here to look pretty and carry the bags.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the grin tugging at my lips. “Yeah, sure. Because that was so exhausting for you.”

Oscar shrugged, adjusting the bags in his hands as if they weighed nothing. “Hey, I’m just doing my part. You get to rock the dresses, and I get to be the guy who made you smile today. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

Oscar glanced over, catching my gaze, and his smile softened. “I mean it, you know. You look amazing. And I’m glad you let me do this,” he said, giving the bags a little lift as if to emphasize his point.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, the sincerity in my voice matching the look in his eyes. “Not just for the dresses, but… for today.”

He winked, nudging me lightly with his shoulder as we continued down the cobblestone street. “Anytime. And hey, just remember—you don’t have to lay all your love on me. But I’m here, just in case you feel like it.”

We regrouped with the rest of the crew at a quaint, sun-soaked café nestled on a side street, its tiny tables spilling out onto the cobblestones under the shade of a vine-draped pergola. The café looked like it had been plucked straight from a movie set—warm, rustic, and effortlessly charming, with mismatched chairs and handwritten chalkboard menus propped against the stone walls. Mae, Hattie, and Edie were already seated, chattering animatedly over a pitcher of iced tea, the condensation pooling lazily on the table in the afternoon heat.

“There you are,” Mae called out, waving dramatically as we approached. “We were about to send out a search party. Or, you know, just assume you two were off kissing ass and making out somewhere.”

Oscar chuckled, pulling out a chair for me with a gallant flourish before dropping into the seat next to mine. “Who, us? We’d never. Just two innocent tourists enjoying the sights,” he said with mock innocence, shooting me a playful side-eye that made my heart do a little flip.

Hattie leaned forward, smirking as she sipped her drink. “Innocent, huh? I don’t know, Oscar. The way you two keep disappearing, it’s so suspicious from my point of view.”

Edie snorted, pushing a basket of fresh bread toward us. “Yeah, and we’re all just here for the free show. So, did you buy out the whole boutique, or was it just a private shopping spree for two?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hide my grin. “Very funny. It was strictly a ‘window shopping with a side of unsolicited fashion advice’ kind of trip.” I shot Oscar a look, remembering how he’d nudged me into trying on almost everything in the shop.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head, looking far too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’ve got a knack for knowing what looks good. And hey, she made it easy.”

Mae scoffed, breaking off a piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. “Easy? Oscar, the way you two were eyeing each other, I’m surprised we didn’t walk in on a full-blown fashion montage. Music and all.”

Oscar raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright. Guilty as charged. But can you blame me? She makes everything look good.”

I felt my cheeks warm under his praise, and I tried to keep my composure as I reached for a glass of water. “Don’t encourage him,” I said, trying to sound exasperated but failing as a smile crept onto my lips. “He’s already got enough of an ego without you guys cheering him on.”

Edie chuckled, nudging Mae. “See? I told you. They’re basically one flirty comment away from starring in their own rom-com.”

Oscar shot Edie a mock glare, then turned back to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well, if this is a rom-com, then I guess that makes you the leading lady,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing, flirty tone that never failed to make my heart skip.

"Your shit is so corny dude, lighten the fuck up," Edie sighed, burying her head in her palms. Mae slapped her head, giggling furiously.

I snorted, grabbing a menu and pretending to study it intently. “Great, then I demand script approval. No more surprise elbow attacks, and definitely no scenes where I have to chase you down a street.”

As I pretended to study the menu, Oscar leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of my choices. “You know, I’d recommend the moussaka. It’s practically a work of art on a plate.”

“Artful moussaka? Really?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll stick to the classic spanakopita. At least it can’t judge me.”

“Spanakopita it is, then,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll get the same. Mae, Hattie, Edie, what are you guys having?”

“Just the usual—some dolmas and a slice of that legendary baklava,” Mae said, looking gleeful. “I’m here for dessert first.”

“I’ll do the baklava too!” Edie piped up. “We can share a slice and get a second for later—strategic planning, you know.”

As Hattie scrolled through the menu, her expression turned mischievous. “I’ll have the chef’s special, but only if you promise to steal a bite of mine, Oscar.”

“Only if you promise to share the secret recipe,” he replied with a wink.

Just as we were about to place our order, a waiter approached our table. “Ready to order?”

We all chimed in, each person stating their choices. I noticed a sudden flurry of confusion on the waiter’s face as he scribbled down our orders.

“Uh, so that’s two spanakopita, one moussaka, two baklava, and… the chef’s special?” he recapped, looking uncertain.

“Right!” Mae said enthusiastically.

As I pretended to study the menu, Oscar leaned in, trying to catch a glimpse of my choices. “You know, I’d recommend the moussaka. It’s practically a work of art on a plate.”

“Artful moussaka? Really?” I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I’ll stick to the classic spanakopita. At least it can’t judge me.”

“Spanakopita it is, then,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll get the same. Mae, Hattie, Edie, what are you guys having?”

“Just the usual—some dolmas and a slice of that legendary baklava,” Mae said, looking gleeful. “I’m here for dessert first.”

“I’ll do the baklava too!” Edie piped up. “We can share a slice and get a second for later—strategic planning, you know.”

As Hattie scrolled through the menu, her expression turned mischievous. “I’ll have the chef’s special, but only if you promise to steal a bite of mine, Oscar.”

“Only if you promise to share the secret recipe,” he replied with a wink.

Just as we were about to place our order, a waiter approached our table. “Ready to order?”

We all chimed in, each person stating their choices. I noticed a sudden flurry of confusion on the waiter’s face as he scribbled down our orders.

“Uh, so that’s two spanakopita, one moussaka, two baklava, and… the chef’s special?” he recapped, looking uncertain.

“Right!” Mae said enthusiastically.

But then the waiter’s expression shifted to one of realization. “Um, we actually ran out of the chef’s special a few minutes ago. Would you like to choose something else?”

Hattie’s face fell. “Oh no! That was the one thing I was really looking forward to!”

Oscar glanced at Hattie, his brow furrowing as he sensed her disappointment. “Hey, how about we order a few extra baklava? They’ll definitely lift your spirits, and we can make a little baklava party.”

“Yeah, and I’ll swap you half my spanakopita if you want,” I offered, trying to ease the mood.

“See? Look at that! A culinary compromise,” Oscar said, grinning as he turned back to the waiter. “So, that’s two spanakopita, three baklava, and Hattie, what would you like instead of the special?”

“Uh… I’ll take the Greek salad,” Hattie said, her smile returning. “And I’ll make sure to save a bite for you, Oscar.”

“Perfect!” Oscar declared, a playful glint in his eye. “Just be sure it’s not the size of a small planet.”

Just then, Mae reached for the pitcher of iced tea but knocked over her cup of water instead, sending it cascading across the table. “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, grabbing napkins in a panic.

“Mae!” Edie laughed, trying to help. “You just wanted a splash of drama, didn’t you?”

Hattie giggled as she handed Mae more napkins. “Looks like you’re creating your own little water feature over here.”

Oscar, ever the quick thinker, grabbed a few napkins and leaned in, grinning. “Don’t worry, Mae. You’re not the first one to bring a bit of chaos to the table. Just think of it as adding a little flavor to our meal.”

"Oscar don't even," Mae rolled her eyes. "You're so bloody pasty and white you even if I added seasoning to your water you wouldn't taste any difference."

The group erupted into laughter, and Oscar feigned shock, putting a hand over his heart. “Pasty? I’ll have you know I’m just ‘lightly seasoned,’ thank you very much.”

At that moment, I took a sip of water, and his ridiculous remark caught me off guard. I choked on the cool liquid, my eyes widening in surprise. The refreshing taste turned into a near disaster as I fought to keep it all down. I felt the water bubble up in my throat, and for a split second, I was convinced I might just spray it all over the table.

My cheeks flushed as I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, stifling the urge to burst into laughter or worse, make a total mess. I managed to swallow just in time, but I couldn't help the splutter that escaped, sending a small splash of water onto the table.

“Whoa! Are you alright?” Edie leaned forward, her eyes wide with concern and amusement.

“Yeah, just… almost became a fountain,” I gasped, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Thanks to you, Oscar.”

He leaned back, hands up in mock surrender, clearly enjoying the chaos. “I’m just here for the entertainment! Didn’t mean to turn you into a water feature.”

“To be fair Osc, you're more like ‘extra bland,’” Edie chimed in, grinning as she took a sip of her tea. “You’re practically a walking Greek salad without the dressing.”

“I think that just made it worse,” I added, trying to contain my giggles.

Oscar laughed along, clearly unfazed. “Well, someone has to be the contrast in this colorful group. I’m here to balance out all this vibrant energy.”

“Right, because we definitely need someone to remind us of a plain piece of pita bread,” Hattie teased.

“Hey, I’m the life of the party!” Oscar shot back, leaning in closer to me. “And let’s be honest, without my charisma, who would keep the chaos in check? You all would be lost.”

As the laughter faded, we savored the last bites of our meal. The moussaka was rich and savory, the spanakopita perfectly flaky, and the baklava—a sweet ending that left us all satisfied. I leaned back in my chair, a contented sigh escaping my lips. “That was honestly one of the best meals I’ve had in ages.”

“Agreed!” Mae chimed in, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I could eat Greek food every day.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Speaking of keeping the fun going, I heard there’s a great nightclub nearby. We should totally check it out!”

Hattie perked up, clearly intrigued. “Oh, that could be fun! I’m in!”

Mae’s expression shifted, disappointment washing over her. “I can’t go,” she said, her voice dropping. “I’m still underage.”

Edie looked at Mae sympathetically. “That really sucks. But hey, we can still hang out! I’ll stay with you.”

Mae’s frown softened slightly at Edie’s reassurance. “Yeah, that could be nice. Thanks, Edie.”

Oscar turned to me, his grin widening. “So, what do you say? A little nighttime adventure? Just you, me, and Hattie tearing up the dance floor?”

I met his gaze, the thrill of spontaneity igniting in my chest. “Count me in.”

“Alright, then! Let’s make this night unforgettable!” he declared, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Ain’t nobody wants to see you dance, white boy,” Edie rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Oscar feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart. “Excuse me? My moves are legendary!”

“Legendary at what? Scaring away everyone on the dance floor?” Edie shot back, laughter lighting up her eyes.

“Hey, I’ll have you know my dancing is an art form!” Oscar retorted, grinning widely. “I just need the right audience.”

"I can never argue with you Osc," Edie shook her head.

As we stood up to leave, I glanced back at Mae and Edie, who exchanged a knowing smile. It was clear they would have their own fun together. I felt a mix of anticipation and nerves as I stepped outside, the warm evening air wrapping around us like a promise of adventure.

With Oscar and Hattie by my side, I felt ready to dive into whatever the night had in store.

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author's note: a double update for my lovelies, so sorry i didn't update on sunday <3, i hope you enjoy chapters 5 and 6!!

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