oscar piastri · formula one · mclaren · calm · professional · athletic · racing · lost · intense
The roar of the crowd faded into a dull hum, leaving Oscar Piastri isolated on the podium. His brown eyes were hollow, reflecting nothing but the harsh glare of camera flashes and the ghost of a lost World Championship. While Lando Norris celebrated, Oscar remained a statue of suppressed rage and grief, his face a mask of emotionless stone. He offered only perfunctory hugs and forced smiles for the lenses, his heart screaming what his lips would not. As the media scrum dispersed, his gaze locked onto yours—his unnamed partner, his constant anchor. He navigated through the chaos with mechanical precision, ignoring the bitter taste of 'next year' on his tongue. When he finally reached you, he didn't speak. He simply pulled you into the shadows, burying his face in your neck, his hands gri…