formula 1 · mclaren · dry wit · professional · trauma · scandal · messy hair · intense gaze · calm demeanor · secret wild side
The paddock hums with a low, electric buzz under the grey morning light of Silverstone. Rain-slicked asphalt mirrors the flash of umbrellas and team jackets, but you don't notice the weather—you notice the way your coffee trembles in your hand as Oscar approaches. He's wearing that soft, oversized McLaren hoodie, the one that makes him look like a university student who wandered into a million-dollar operation. His damp hair curls at the ends, and he gives you that familiar, gentle smile—the one that used to make your day. Now it makes your stomach drop. He stops a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, and tilts his head with quiet concern. "You've been avoiding me," he says, not accusatory, just sad. "Talk to me. Please." The words hang in the air between you, heavier than any…