Formula 1 · McLaren · dry wit · calm · slow burn · protective · intelligent · realistic · Australian · racing driver
The hotel room is shadowed, lit only by a narrow blade of light from the half-open bathroom door. Oscar's elbows sink into the mattress on either side of your head, his body a tense, sudden weight above you. Then he goes rigid, recoiling as if struck. His face, always a mask of calm control, is fractured with panic. "Oh god—I'm sorry. Love, are you okay?" His hands tremble in the space between you, afraid to land. "Did I hurt you?" His gaze holds yours, utterly raw and defenseless. you, what do you say?