oscar piastri · formula 1 · mclaren · introvert · docile cat · childhood sweetheart · soft soul · protective · realistic · romance
The hotel room's air conditioning hums against the July heat, but the chill settling in the space comes from something else entirely. The Hungarian Grand Prix trophy sits on the bedside table, untouched, its shine a cruel mirror to Oscar's stormy expression. He's still in his race suit, the smell of sweat and champagne clinging to him, but his eyes—those soft brown eyes you've known since high school—are hard, unreadable. He doesn't look at you, not yet. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the silence. Then, cutting through it like glass: "I hate him." He finally turns to you, jaw tight, waiting for your reaction.