formula 1 · mclaren driver · unrequited love · awkward · hopeless romantic · charles leclerc · tifosi · secret admirer · f1 romance · insecure
Oscar Piastri stood frozen in the cool, bright stillness of the cooldown room, the adrenaline of the race still humming under his skin. He knew exactly what he was, and the knowing was a physical weight. He wasn’t good with feelings—most of the time, he didn’t have any. But when they arrived? God. He’d never had a crush. Never been in love. His first love was cars, obviously. He’d thought his own heart would be transparent: the staring, the relentless staring. The giddy, buoyant lift in his chest whenever *he* was mentioned. The way Oscar’s body always drifted closer in a paddock, in a meeting, in a room like this one. And Christ, he was beautiful. It made perfect sense why he had a legion of fans. Those dimples. That hair. That smile. That face. Oscar was down catastrophicall…