♱ Allie ♱

you had always been a collector, you liked collecting things. not in the expensive hobby, shelves full of rare memorabilia sort of way, but int he quiet sentimentalist with a box under the bed kind of way. a pressed flower from a picnic date. a tiny wooden spoon from a market in italy. the keycard of the first hotel you and oscar ever stayed in together.

your life was made of so many little pieces, things that you had kept just because they tugged on specific little memories.

oscar had learned about this little habit of yours early on. he learned about it the day you found you slipped a single blue candy wrapper into your pocket after a walk in monaco.

"what're you doing with that?" he had asked, amused at you.

you shrugged having been a little embarassed. "it's pretty. and it's from today."

he didn't tease you. he just smiled, soft and fond in the way that only he ever looked at you.

and he never forgot about it.

at his home race, you had picked up a tiny enamel pin that was shaped like a kookaburra from a vendor outside of the track. it had been smaller than your thumbnail, but you beam at it like it's a diamond.

oscar had watched you examine it while he had been tying his shoes in the motorhome.

"another one for the collection?" he asked.

"mhm." you hummed as you held it up. "it's cute."

"you're cute," he murmured, not even bothering to think about it before saying it, and you glow just a little.

you place the pin into the little zippered pocket of your bag and he pressed a kiss to your cheek, almost subconsciously.

the next one was imola. he went alone this time. you had to stay at home because of work, and you had tried to hide your disappointment when you went to say goodbye at the airport. but he had noticed, of course he had noticed.

when he got home four days later you had been half asleep on the couch waiting on him. he crouched beside you, brushing your cheek gently with his knuckle.

"hi, love," he murmured. "i brought you something."

you had perked up immediately. from his backpack he had produced a tiny stone figurine, something smooth, pale, and barely an inch tall. a little turtle.

you gasp softly. "oscar, this is adorable."

"i saw it in a shop window," he says. "it reminded me of you."

"because it's tiny?" you tease.

"no," he said back, his voice warm. "because it looked...gentle."

you kiss him for that, him kissing back with a sleepy sweetness and jet lagged tenderness.

it was raining after fp2 in montreal, and while he was doing media duties you had wandered just outside of the track. there's a vendor selling beaded bracelets, simple little things, nothing fancy.

you picked one up with orange beads threaded through. oscar would have rolled his eyes having pretended to be offended that you had matched it to the papaya on his car, and then secretly love it.

when you had showed him later he had followed that exact script.

"really?" he asked, deadpan. "papaya beads?"

"yes," you answered, a small smile on your face. "for my boyfriend."

he tried not to smile but failed miserably.

he took your wrist, rubbing his thumb across the beads. "can i steal it sometimes?" he asked.

"depends," you respond, leaning into him. "how good are you planning on being at qualifying tomorrow?"

he tucked you into his side, laughing, shaking his head. "deal."

you weren't able to travel for silverstone either but you had woken up to a short video on your phone from oscar. the boy had filmed himself outside a tiny local stand.

"so," he says, zooming in on a small metal keychain, shaped like a teacup, "i know you already have about three hundred random things by now, but look. british. tiny. reminded me of you. perfect."

you laugh, replying with a sleepy selfie.

when he lands back home, he puts the keychain directly into your hand.

"it's heavy," you comment, weighing it.

"to make up for how light the last one was," he says. this was when you realized he remembered exactly which things he had gotten for you. you fell a little more in love.

in singapore the heat was unbearable, but you had found a perfect little paper fan, blue and gold, delicate, hand painted. when you brought it to oscar later, fanning him dramatically just to annoy him, he snatched it from your hand and held it between you.

"you're going to break this," he warned.

"i'm not," you protest.

"you are," he corrects, but he's smiling, that crinkly eyed smile that scrambles your insides. "let me keep it safe."

and he did. he carried it around the rest of the weekend. he tucked it into your backpack after the race, careful, almost reverent. like he had understood exactly why the little things mattered.

you had been packing to head home after the last of the year in abu dhabi when oscar dug around in his suitcase, a suspicious amount of purpose.

"i have something for you," he says.

your heart does its usual patented flutter.

he sits beside you on the hotel bed and holds out the smallest, softest plus camel you had ever seen. two inches tall, round, absolutely ridiculous.

you choke on a laugh. "oscar- why does it look like that?"

"i don't know," he had said honestly. "i just saw it and immediately though that this was something that you'd pick up. so i got it before you could."

you took it from him, cradling it gently.

"it's perfect," you say softly. and it was. because he got it for you with you in mind, like everything else he got you.

you look at him, warmth rising in your chest.

"you know," you say, "my collection is like mostly you at this point."

he blushed, his cheeks growing pink even under the soft hotel light.

"then i'll keep bringing you things," he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "so i'm always there, even when i'm not."

you kiss him properly this time, something slow, grateful, and all heart.

and when you went home you placed the camel on your shelf of tiny things. right beside the turtle. and the teacup. and the dozens of tiny, little treasures that made up your entire world. all of them small. none of them flashy.