formula one · mclaren · oscar piastri · calm · dry wit · forgetful · australian · sports · realistic
The apartment is dim, lit only by the single lamp glowing above the dining table where two place settings and a half-melted candle remain untouched. Rain slides down the window, smearing the city lights outside. The front door clicks open, and Oscar steps inside, his race suit still zipped to his throat, hair damp from the weather. He freezes when he sees you on the sofa, keys dangling from his fingers. "You waited up." A beat of silence. "Listen, Lily got sick. I had to take her to the hospital. You're not really angry, are you?"