Nao7Na

A cada acción una reacción, es así de sencillo.

Henry David Thoreau.

Arte: "Mi reflejo fantasmal" de Alice Yoo. Arte digital.

Fuente: Skylar Yoo / Pinteret.com

pairing: oscar piastri x f! reader summary: You work behind the scenes in Formula 1 — not glamorous, not flashy, but essential. You’ve always kept your head down. But when a flight mix-up lands you and Oscar Piastri stuck together in a quiet European town after a race, the quiet between you starts to mean something more.

genre: slow burn a/n: GUYS DONT KILL ME FOR NOT POSTING💔💔 ive had some busy days overall so thats why

PT. 1

Chapter 2:

One Night In a Foreign City

You woke to the faint sound of running water.

Blinking against the soft morning light filtering through thin hotel curtains, you realized the bathroom door was closed, and the muffled hum of the shower filled the otherwise silent room. For a moment, you forgot where you were — until you spotted Oscar’s backpack leaning against the desk chair, his hoodie draped lazily over it.

Right. Vienna. Flight delay. Shared hotel room with a Formula 1 driver.

You rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable, and if you ignored the fact that you were sharing a room with someone you barely knew, it could almost be peaceful.

The shower shut off. A few minutes later, Oscar emerged — hair damp, hoodie back on, holding a toothbrush in one hand like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“Morning,” he said, as if this was completely normal.

You tried to sit up gracefully. Failed. “Morning. You’re… awake early.”

He shrugged. “Force of habit. I usually run in the mornings.”

You made a noise that could only be described as too tired for fitness. “Good for you. I usually sleep in hotels.”

That earned you a smile.

⸻

Breakfast in the hotel lobby was a modest buffet — bread rolls, small croissants, fruit, and a coffee machine that hissed like it resented being awake. You grabbed a plate and a cappuccino, while Oscar opted for black coffee and enough toast to feed three people.

“Carbs,” he explained when he caught your look. “Racing metabolism.”

You sat at a small table by the window, watching the pale morning light stretch across the cobbled street outside. People passed with briefcases, shopping bags, and bicycles — a rhythm entirely different from the chaos of the paddock.

Oscar followed your gaze. “Ever just… want to stop? Like, freeze a day and stay in it?”

You glanced at him. “All the time. Usually when the transport trucks haven’t broken down yet.”

He smirked. “For me, it’s when no one’s asking if I can ‘just pop into the garage for one more interview.’” He exaggerated the quote with a fake media voice, making you laugh.

⸻

By the time breakfast ended, you had hours to kill before your rescheduled flight. Oscar leaned back in his chair, considering.

“We could just… sit here all day,” he said. “Or—”

“Or?”

He grinned. “Or we could actually see Vienna. It’s a nice city. And technically we’re both off-duty.”

You stared at him. “You’re suggesting a tourist day?”

“Why not? You know the schedules — this is probably the only day all season either of us will get to just… wander around without someone timing us.”

You hesitated, then thought about the alternative: hours in the beige hotel room. “Alright,” you said finally. “But if we get lost, it’s your fault.”

⸻

You didn’t get lost.

You did, however, end up on streets lined with pastel buildings, flower boxes spilling over wrought-iron railings, and the smell of fresh bread wafting from small bakeries. Oscar walked beside you, hands in his hoodie pocket, posture relaxed in a way you’d never seen on race weekends.

At a small café with outdoor tables, you stopped for coffee and Apfelstrudel. The owner, an older woman with a kind smile, set the plate between you. You both picked at it with forks, laughing when you kept meeting in the middle.

“You’re not as quiet as I thought you’d be,” you said at one point.

Oscar tilted his head. “You thought I was quiet?”

“You don’t exactly do the Lando-level media thing,” you teased.

“Yeah, well… I pick my moments.”

Something in his tone made you glance at him, and for a second, his eyes held yours — steady, unhurried. You were the first to look away, clearing your throat.

⸻

By late afternoon, the light softened, and you ended up sitting on the steps of a small fountain in a square, sipping bottled water. Oscar leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky.

“Crazy,” he said quietly, “that if the flight hadn’t been delayed, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

You smiled faintly. “Guess the universe wanted you to try Apfelstrudel.”

He chuckled. “Or maybe it wanted me to meet someone who actually knows what happens to the cars after I get out of them.”

The comment warmed you in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about.

⸻

By the time you got back to the hotel, the sky was streaked with gold. Your flight was confirmed for the next morning, but the app was still glitchy and showing backup options. You dropped your bag on the bed while Oscar sat at the desk, pulling out his phone.

“Think we can find something earlier?” he asked, glancing over.

You joined him, leaning over his shoulder to see his screen. “Maybe… but only if you want to spend half your paycheck on last-minute tickets.”

He smirked. “Depends. Would you be worth the upgrade to business class?”

You scoffed, opening your own airline app. “Please. I’d take the upgrade and ditch you for the free champagne.”

He laughed — a quiet, warm sound — and the two of you fell into an easy rhythm of searching flights, comparing prices, and ruling out ridiculous connections (“Three stops through Madrid? Absolutely not.”).

At one point, your heads were so close that you caught the faint scent of his shampoo, still fresh from the morning. You told yourself it was nothing — just proximity. Still, your stomach did a little flip when his shoulder brushed yours as he leaned in to point at a cheaper option.

Eventually, you both gave up.

“Guess we’re stuck until morning,” Oscar said, locking his phone. “Not the worst thing.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

He met your eyes for a beat longer than necessary. “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

⸻

climb up the h of the hollywood sign 🐅 ₊♱.ೃ࿐