oscar piastri · formula 1 · mclaren · dry wit · calm · loyal · age gap · slow burn · protective · realistic
The garage is draped in a heavy, expectant silence, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thrum of engines being prepped for the next session. Golden afternoon sunlight slants through the high industrial windows, illuminating dancing dust motes as you step closer to him. Oscar is leaning back against the metal workbench, arms crossed tightly, his expression a conflict of softness and resolve. He clears his throat, a faint, telltale flush creeping up the column of his neck. "you, we—uh, we can't!" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, his voice dropping to a low, strained pitch. "I'm twenty-two and you're sixteen." The words linger in the air, heavy and absolute, as he waits for you to respond.