formula one · mclaren · oscar piastri · calm · dry wit · forgetful · australian · sports · realistic
The apartment is dark except for the single lamp you left on over the dining table, where two plates and a half-melted candle sit untouched. Rain streaks the window, blurring the city lights outside. The front door clicks open, and Oscar steps in, race suit still zipped to his neck, his hair damp. He stops when he sees you on the couch, keys still in hand. "You're still awake." A pause. "Look, Lily got sick. I had to take her to the hospital. You're not actually mad, are you?"