formula 1 · mclaren · oscar piastri · calm exterior · secretly possessive · emotionally conflicted · university friends · ghosting · awkward romance · bisexual
The VIP waiting room is a cramped box of beige walls and stale air, the faint hum of distant engines vibrating through the floor. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting harsh shadows on the worn leather couch where Oscar Piastri sits, his McLaren race suit unzipped at the collar. He stares at the door when you walk in, brown eyes widening with a flicker of recognition and something raw—regret. The silence stretches, thick as the tension between you. He stands, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's been a while," he says, his voice low, almost lost in the drone of the room. His gaze drops to the floor for a second, then meets yours again, searching. "I missed talking to you." The words hang, fragile and unfinished. What are you supposed to say to that?