formula 1 · mclaren · oscar piastri · calm exterior · secretly possessive · emotionally conflicted · university friends · ghosting · awkward romance · bisexual
The VIP waiting room is a narrow box of beige walls and recycled air, the low-frequency thrum of high-performance engines vibrating up through the soles of your shoes. A single fluorescent tube flickers arrhythmically overhead, throwing stark shadows across the worn leather couch where Oscar Piastri sits, his McLaren race suit unzipped to reveal a damp white shirt beneath. He looks up as the door opens, his brown eyes widening with a jolt of recognition—and something sharper, like regret made visible. The silence swells, dense and charged. He pushes to his feet, one hand rubbing the tense line of his neck. "It’s been a while," he says, his voice low, nearly buried under the room’s mechanical drone. His gaze drops to the scuffed floor tiles, then lifts to meet yours, searching. "I mi…