#viayaps

oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri fun weekend.👊🏆 lots of laughs lando, and great to see yourusername in action. missed you 👍

❤️liked by lando, yourusername, mclaren and 567,981 others.

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yourusername oscar making heart-eyes at lando likely place for him to be

thelandofan I LOVD HER SO BAD LMAOAO

user58 how high is your screentime

yourusername 17 hours wbu

yourusername missed you too 👍

❤️^liked by oscarpiastri

f1 Good job OP81 👊

yourusername can you censor j*b please. thank you. ❤️

user37 I LOVE YOU SO BAD HELP MEEEE

friend14 💝 well done oscar !

oscarpiastri Thank you!

iloveoscarino oh who’s you………

user78 why did he only reply to her comment..

user97 jesus he looks so good in that photo oscar pls calm it down

yourusername he’s a whore

user56 his PR and social media team must HATE her oh my god.

yourusername they do 😭😭 do you know how many times they’ve told me to delete comments. they hateeee when i appear on this account it’s so funny

yourusername

🎵knuckle velvet- ethel cain, YAH WAV

yourusername hi everyone who’s come from oscar’s post. yes im a baddie but no we’re not dating. listen to my music pls 🫶

❤️liked by iloveoscarino, 2reverse, and 175789 others.

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user67 HOLY SHIT UR FINE AS FUCK

yourusername six seven mentioned

user23 shutting down the rumours instantly lmao i love u

yourusername #finalgirl

ethelcainlover22 ethelcainlover22

yourusername OH MY GOD??????????

user89 top three ethel songs go

yourusername ??? tf. when the chile is tea and the finna is gag???? but seriously it’s this one, waco texas, and. um. thoroughfare

user12 are you into women.

yourusername guess *insert wolf ripping chest with bisexual flag image.*

oscarfan45 ops on oscar losing the championship lead?

yourusername THATS STILL MY BOY!!!

oscarpiastri 🙂

yourusername oh no.. now you think i’m a fan

user85 smoking.. rude gestures.. i’m so glad oscar isn’t with her 🤢 why does he even hang around with her? i really don’t like her.

user6742 i agree. she’s a mess. bring back girls with class.

yourusername do u think i gaf

f1gossipx

f1gossipx oscar piastri has a partner??!!! today, the australian was asked a few questions about his home life, to which he got very smiley when talking about a certain someone! he said he’s known them for a while now, but he thinks things are changing and he’s excited for a new direction. when asked if we’ll ever see them here [the paddock] he just said ‘i hope so. but i think we’re still a ways off that.” he said he’s enjoying feeling so supported after his recent loss of the championship lead.

❤️^liked by user67, yourusername and 185,678 others.

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iloveoscarino DONT PLAY.

ynoscfan24 it’s my time to fucking SHINEEE

user78 yn in the likes….

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yourusername

🎵lover you should’ve come over- jeff buckley

yourusername 🚬🚬 reconnecting with nature after being caught yearning for a straight white man who has bagged a baddie apparently . don’t hmu this alpha needs some alone time. 💔

❤️^ liked by oscarpiastri, ynfan13 and 134,560 others

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yourusername

🎵sorry- justin beiber

yourusername FORMAL APOLOGY 🚨🚨🚨from the great words of justin beiber, is it too late now to say sorry? casue im missing more than jsut yo body ooohooh . is it too late now to say sorry ? yeah i know that i let you down is it too late to say sorry now? (oohohohohohooohohoh) oscarpiastri

❤️^liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, ynoscfan24 and 234,569 others

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oscarpiastri Wow.

yourusername pls forgive me baby 💔💔💔💔 come home the kids miss you 💔💔💔 how can i make it up to you

oscarpiastri You already know I forgave you why are you doing this?

yourusername i’m an attention whore and i get more engagement when i include you sorry

oscarpiastri Okay. I’m mad at you again.

yourusername i find people hot when they’re mad. so keep that in mind

oscarpiastri Is this what you meant by rage bait?

yourusername omg he’s learning❤️. but seriously how can i make it up to you

oscarpiastri Come to the next race.?

yourusername 😀

ynoscfan24 NOT THE SHAMELESS FLIRTING??? CALLING HIM BABY????

hattiepiastri what did u do now

yourbff why is half of this a photo of .. you?

yourusername bc how can u be mad at someone as cute as me KISSING A CAT???

yourbff yk what. this makes sense actually

yourusername i’m playing 4D chess mate

f1gossipx

f1gossipx YN + OSCAR ARE CONFIRMED??? ahead of the grand prix, they were seen kissing after a heated arguement in a restaurant. is this the start of a relationship?

❤️^liked by lando, yourusername, yourbff and 123789 others

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yourusername oscarpiastri what is this. ai is so scary these days geez

user24 oh god. rule number one is never to interact with these accounts 😭😭 they need to media train her INSTANTLY

yourusername you don’t think they tried 😭??? i girlbossed too close to the sun or whatever so they gave up

iloveoscarino FUCK YES FUCK YES FUCK YES

ynoscfan24 wow life is so good

lando damn.

yourusername he’s all yours pretty boy 😐

oscarpiastri Sorry ????

yourusername you heard me.

yourbff i’ll just pine away forever i guess

yourusername for andrew in drag or me

yourbff both?

yourusername

🎵the morning- the weeknd

yourusername 🍌🥛 dork. anyway oscarpiastri girl put in the work

❤️^liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, f1gossipx and 234,567 others

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oscarpiastri I like that top

yourusername after last night i don’t believe that

op81fan OSCAR JACK PIASTRI ???????!!!!

ynoscfan24 WHAT DOES THIS MEAN???

user65 just fell to my knees wtf

user543 whwn are they confirming?

user378 are they even definitely together?

yourusername yuck. ew absolutely not. i hate this guy

oscarpiastri After last night I don’t believe that

yourusername OSCAR. time out

thelandofan oh god. she’s rubbing off on him 🥲 oscar remember you’re a literal celebrity

yourusername shushhhh i’m trying to get him cancelled

oscarpiastri

🎵cool cat- queen

oscarpiastri just a loser bf and his cool black cat gf (hi guys, it’s me. i’m holding oscar hostage until he agrees to adopt more cats! ❤️🐈‍⬛) yourusername she’s single hit her up

❤️^liked by yourusername, hattiepiastri, yourbff and 645690 others

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user23 oh god i need them both so bad it’s criminal

user45 hottest couple of the century i fear

user18 can’t believe he’s bagged this baddie wow

yourusername me neither tbh

user888 is she ever.. nice to him?

yourusername no? wtf. #ihatemybf final boss

mclaren Welcome to the papaya family 🧡

yourusername lando does that make us . what does this make us?

oscarpiastri Can you leave my teammate alone?

yourusername don’t get jealous osc you know i only have eyes for you babe 😍😍😍😍😍

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yourusername

🎵apple cider- yn ln

yourusername new song, ‘apple cider’ out now. this one is for you, oscar 🫶 thank you, i love you. let’s give this thing a try ! :,) oscarpiastri

❤️^liked by oscarpiastri and 456,789 others.

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oscarpiastri I love you

yourusername nah i don’t even like you that much

yourusername wait i do

yourusername fuck (my stupid chungus life)

It’s him. It’s really him. And he’s right- you do hate him. But still, that’s your fucking dad. And you’re going to save him.

It’s a hefty price, as you expected, but you don’t care. You have means.

The only thing you don’t need is a spider in your way.

You pack a couple essentials into a rucksack, before bursting through your bedroom door.

Oscar is sitting lamely on the couch, huddled to himself.

It’s slightly ridiculous, because he’s so big, but you’re focused on his reddened eyes.

Something softer in you wilts, and you have to stop yourself from running at him.

“I’m going to stay at Gwen’s for a bit.” you lie, daring him to reply. 

But to him, it’s not a dare.

“What? First off, who’s Gwen? And secondly, don’t be absurd. Look, if it's really me, I can stay at Lando’s. Just, just don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”

You hesitate, hand around the doorknob. 

“We work together. You’d like her, I think she studies Physics too. And I’m coming back, okay? I just need to cool off. I don’t want to do something stupid now, because I’m angry.”

As you open the door, your name falls from his lips like some sort of mangled prayer.

But it’s too late, because his desperate ‘Please don’t leave’ has morphed into your father’s even more desperate ‘Please leave me here.’

As the door closes, and he descends into a stunned silence, something erupts in his chest.

He’d felt grief before- he knew the pain of losing someone well. 

But they had never filled him with a guilt; a sinking sort of feeling. He almost felt a little like he was drowning in your departure, in the careless slam of the door.

It wasn’t his fault, when his uncle died. It wasn’t his fault, when he couldn’t save him. He did everything.

But this? Losing you?

That was his fault. And he could rectify it, by showing you who he was.

You throw your bag on the tiled floor, infuriated. Nervous.

To call this a lair makes you seem rather malicious, but you’re not sure how else to describe it. 

It had been your fathers. He never mentioned it in his will, but it was unspoken, passed down to you.

You clicked the laptop awake, watching the screens flash on.

His systems flickered to life, lists upon lists of the nearest things to aim to take. Their security, how to get in and out.

Where to hide, where to disappear.

You didn’t need it, as such. You knew every escape, every shadow in the city. But, there was a different pressure now.

You knew Spiderman wouldn’t be merciful forever, especially when he stopped seeing your signature pseudonym in the donations page in the paper.

Soon, you’d go from something fascinating, to something he should be wary of.  Something he had to catch.

No matter how confident you came across, you didn’t think it would be easy.

Your target this evening is another piece of jewellery. It is gorgeous; a huge sapphire pendant.

With a quick scan of the floorplan, you have concepts of a plan, and that is all you need.

Cats could think on their feet.

The streets of the city seem lighter than usual. Great.

Still, you don’t mind.

Your feet hit the tarmac of the roofs with a newfound determination, the skyline blurring in your peripheral. With a calculated leap, you’re out from the more abandoned district to the richer one, the houses stretching for miles with old-fashioned architecture and overly elaborate front lawns.

You hate them all. You hate how they can live like this, while kids a couple metres away starve.

You hate the police, for protecting them first. Spiderman too.

And, as if summoned, you see him.

He gives you a meek wave. You keep running.

“Don’t want to talk today? ‘Cause y’know, I’d like to have a chat.” he shouts earnestly, and you hiss.

The drawer he promised to keep locked rattles aggressively, daring to burst open. Daring to accuse you.

He tells himself it’s because you’re the only thing on his mind right now.

“Spiderman, shut up. Don’t wake these people up.”

‘Shut up.’ God, that wounds Oscar.

“You haven’t been around in a while. I’ve been checking.”

You grimace.

“I’m flattered. Truly. Now, are you going to fuck off, or can I finally slit your throat?”

Spiderman steps back, faltering. There’s no joking tone there, no casual tease.

It’s a tone he doesn’t recognise.

You never spoke to him like that, at home. So either, you hate him. Truly, undoubtedly, you hate Spiderman. And then, he can’t tell you. 

Because that means losing you again.

But if he doesn’t tell you, you stay lost.

He’s damned either way.

Or, it’s not you. The girl in front of him, teeth bared, isn’t you.

‘God, Oscar. I know you.’ You’d said it so readily. Even though you didn’t know where he was, and it was eating you up, you still knew him. And maybe, he could convince himself he knew you too. And this wasn’t you. Isn’t.

Still, he decides to let two things exist at once- this isn’t you, but he can pretend it is, so he misses you less. So he feels like this is all one, huge elaborate joke. And you’re teasing him as usual, just with a mask between you, and some scarily long claws.

He hates that he has to do this.

Please, why couldn’t he just get what he wanted?

Everytime, he’d get close, it went wrong.

He couldn’t let it go wrong now. He almost had you.

“Spiderman? What’s going on?” you ask, giving him a confused glare.

“Nothing.” he mutters, and then he fires a clumsy web at your boot, distracted.

With barely a side-step, you shift out of the way.

“That was poor.” you criticise, and he nods.

“Out of it, today.” he admits, and you shrug.

With that, you leap down the side of the building, claws hanging to the irregularities in the brick.

You land by the side-gate of the house, all the lights off.

The necklace lives in a drawer in the spare dressing room, on the west wing. There’s a window in the bathroom beside it, and that’s your target.

With a calculated aim, you latch to the window and shimmy up, unlocking it with a determined twist of a tool.

The click is louder than you’d like, but it works.

The bathroom is too clean, too posh, and you almost choke on the overwhelming smell of air freshener.

By the time you’re in the dressing room, you want to rip apart every shred of overpriced fabric, but that’s not the goal.

You fumble around for a while, rummaging through cabinets and draws, until you see it. 

Gleaming at you, a taunt.

You stuff it into your pocket, and retreat back through the window.

You barely make it back onto the neighbouring roof before he aims, and this time, he doesn’t miss.

“Taking family heirlooms, now?” Spiderman asks, tilting his head inquisitively, and you shrug.

“Taking what pays.”

“It’s barely been a month, and you’ve already switched up on me. Thought we could pair up, y’know?” he jokes, but it’s closer to sad than funny.

“I work best alone.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“And I doubt you give a shit. You’re stalling, ‘cause you don’t want to fight.” you accuse, flashing him something more sinister than a smile, and he laughs.

“You underestimate me.”

“Maybe.” With a determined swipe, you sever the web keeping you stuck on the ground, and leap at him.

It’s not particularly graceful. If anything, it’s a little barbaric.

“Easy.” he spits, as a claw scrapes a rip into his suit by his forearm.

“Keep up.” you counter, giving a satisfying tug as you feel more fabric under your nails.

He grins, but he doesn’t swing.

It’s infuriating, his aimless dodging.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” you snarl, your voice wavering with frustration.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”  he grumbles, and you cackle.

“You’re pathetic.” 

He notices something snake from your glove, and he goes to grab your wrist.

But with a crackle, it shocks him, and he drops your hand instantly.

“What was that?” he yells, nursing his fizzling arm, and you shrug.

“Family heirloom.”

With that, you swing away, gripping the grappling hook, leaving a butt-hurt Spiderman outlined by the rising moon.

When you click your key into the lock, two days later, you’re unsurprised when you see Oscar hovering by the couch.

He moves, as if to hug you, but you give him a cold stare.

“Don’t.”

His face pales, and it hurts.

“Not yet.” you amend, and his expression softens a little.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

You want to nod, but it isn’t. It’s not really okay.

It’s different with him. It’s deeper. 

You’d dated other people, but it had felt superficial. Like something to fill time, someone new to argue with.

Sometimes you’d find a new song you’d liked, or a new food to try.

It had never hurt like this, and you weren’t even with him. It was insane.

And yet, you came back. And you told him it’s okay, when it’s not.

And you know, you’re going to let it be okay.

He notices it, as soon as you walk in. Hair pulled back, half-done makeup. Eyes, too pale for crying, too red to be fine.

Something is gnawing at you, something exhausting. Something painful.

“You don’t look-”

You fold your arms, daring him to continue.

“I’ll shut up.” he shifts, giving you a gentle smile, but you can’t return it.

“Good idea.”

It’s like that for a while. Broken grins, awkward whispers by torchlight.

His room is tidier. You don’t know, because you don’t cross that threshold.

You return a sweater to him with a tight-lipped expression, and he has to stop himself from insisting you keep it, because he knows that’s stupid.

Days break into nights. You’re both out each evening, air beneath your feet.

Claws, never retracted. Webs, now better aimed.

Somewhere, it gets easier to hate Spiderman as you can’t keep hating Oscar.

Oscar drowns in something that isn’t quite guilt, but it’s worse.

He’s disgusted in himself, for even imagining that Black Cat might be you.

That he’s so desperate to make you something you’re not, someone he has a chance with, that he can’t even think straight.

That’s how you decide to take on the title of a villain. Of an enemy.

Nights become battle fields, and you both come home with scratches that you wouldn’t be able to explain.

But there’s no one washing your cheek now, asking if you need a plaster.

It’s just a hum of wanting, of needing, that lives in the walls.

And it builds, and deafens you, until you can both scream into the night’s air, before going at each other's throats.

It’s over a month before you have even nearly enough for the exchange.

Your father would never be worth this much. 

Curse your sentimentality.

Still, it’s just not quite enough.

And you’re battered, and frayed, and you can’t even tell anyone.

It’s an isolation no one else will understand.

Except maybe the boy in the mask, but all you can do is despise him with your very being, to keep pushing.

If you hate your father, you’ll give up.

You can’t hate Oscar, not anymore. Even when you come home, and he’s still not back, no matter how that hurts more than the graze on your arm.

And you sure as hell aren’t about to start hating yourself.

You’re surprised to see the light on, when you make it home. Oscar’s rarely back before you.

His bedroom door is closed, as usual, and you consider starting a row about electricity consumption, but you’re too tired.

Your arm is throbbing, and you massage it carefully, but that does shit.

Then, you hear it. A shallow, barely audible whisper of your name.

You turn to your left, and Oscar is slumped against the wall, almost wheezing.

“Oscar?”

You hurry over to him, dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on?”

His eyes are wide, breaths shallow, and he grips your hand with some fervency.

“Can you talk to me? Talk to me.” you correct, rubbing the back of his hand.

“I’m, I’m okay.” he mutters, forcing the sound out of his throat, and you shake your head.

You press your free hand over his heart, and you can feel it beating ridiculously fast.

“Are you having a heart attack? That’s not normal.” you frown.

His other hand keeps yours in place, a look of desperation flitting over his face, and you inhale.

“Breathe with me, okay? I think you’re panicking.”

You take his hand and place it over your own heart, breathing in as deeply as you can, and you wait for him to copy you.

Several minutes later, his chest rises and falls in time with yours, and he’s loosened his grip on your hand, his knuckles turning pink again.

He leans forward, pressing his head against yours, and you don’t move away. Not yet.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, eyes closed.

“For what?” you whisper back. 

“Everything.”

You pull away from him now, but his hand stays firm on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

“You really can’t tell me, can you?”

He nods. 

“It’s killing me.”

“I can tell.”

There’s a careful silence in the air now. He waits.

“It’s okay.” you mutter finally, but this time, you mean it. 

You can see it. You can see that this might be the one thing he really can never tell anyone, but it’s not that he doesn’t want you. And you can see that letting whatever it is be what breaks you both, might actually ruin him.

Maybe the ache in your stomach is a worthy sacrifice. Maybe you’re not such a villain after all.

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, and he doesn’t even register the familiarity of it.

“I can be honest about everything else. I will be.” he promises, clutching at you like you’re about to disappear again.

“Oscar-” you begin, but you’re not totally sure why you’re speaking.

“-it’s okay?” he finishes for you, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

You slump down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder, hands still intertwined.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The air is cold, whipping your face with little mercy. The goggles offer no comfort, but at least your trench coat is keeping your arms from freezing.

“We know who you are, cat.” spits the smaller of the two men, his accent barely understandable.

“Safer to be out at night with claws.” you reply casually, and the other one straightens.

“You have enough?”

You shrug.

“Sure. I know you know how much I’ve got.”

The taller one laughs.

“Yeah, we know you have enough. Can you hold it somewhere for the next two months?”

“Two fucking months? Are you joking?” you snarl, holding yourself back from leaping at them.

“Spiderman’s my nemesis, I’m on every headline, and you’re expecting me to hide millions up my ass?” you continue, your throating aching with the strength of your scream, but they shrug.

“The earliest we can exchange is in two months. We’re pulling some strings for some other deals, so it’s slow.” “I don’t give a shit! Make it fucking faster, you idiots.” you hiss, but you know they don’t care.

“Careful, or we’ll raise the price. It’s an expensive business, holding prisoners for ransom.” “You’re twats.”

“You’re a thief. You’re no better than us.” “You’re cowards. We’re not even on the same level.” you spit.

“Wait for details. And naturally, if you get caught? Deals off.”

You want to scream at them, that you’re barely an adult, and you need your dad.

But you know they’ll never care enough to see you as anything more than a possible source of income.

You can’t expect them to. The man you’re trying to save barely saw you as more than that growing up.

Still, you have to stop yourself from heaving as you walk home, placing one painful step in front of the other, willing your knees not to buckle.

Willing yourself to hold on to some scrap of strength, even though you feel weaker each time you slip the suit on, slip into being someone else.

You don’t expect to hear from them before the allotted time, but about a month later, there’s a slip of paper on the windowsill.

‘Your spider friend is poking around at all our recent activity. Sort him out, or we’re going to push it back.’

You let out an exasperated scream into your pillow, but it barely relieves you. 

You know you can’t beat him. The blossoming bruises down your legs, the flaking skin by your ankles proved it.

The exhaustion in each exhale was killing you. The sleepless nights made thinking fuzzy.

You shake your head, rubbing your eyes, before walking out into the kitchen.

Oscar, his back facing you, turns.

He scans your face, and his eyebrows knot in something that resembles worry.

“Oscar-” you start, but your voice wobbles.

He’s there before the tears fall, holding you into him so tightly you almost can’t inhale.

You let yourself breathe, ignoring how his shirt is beginning to dampen.

He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, and you wipe your eyes as you turn to look up at him.

“What’s up?”

You want to tell him, but you know that’s not an option.

‘Yeah, I steal shit and sell it on the black market so I can afford the ransom for my criminal dad who’s not actually dead, haha.’

You know how that’ll go. You also know he deserves to be told.

But you can’t.

“Nothing. Just tired. Stressed. Y’know.”

He frowns again.

“You can tell me. I mean, I might be hopeless, but I can try.”

You swallow.

“I want to, but I can't.”

The phrase slams into him, practically knocking the air from his lungs.

He can’t argue with it, can’t dispute it.

But he realises now, how much it sucks. Why you were so mad.

Because when you want nothing more than to know every inch of a person, the inner workings of their mind, being told you can’t find out something is enough to make you question your sanity.

And it hurts more, because he can tell you do want to.

It’s those secrets, the ones that you wish you could share, that really weigh on you.

With a slightly more contented sigh, you bring a hand to his cheek, and those doubts melt a little.

That evening, he falls asleep to the sound of your heavy breaths and slow heart, and he finds it the most calming thing.

He doesn’t worry about the Cat stalking the rooftops, or the Thing you can’t tell him, or Spiderman.

He doesn’t worry at all. But he does realise he has something he needs to tell you when he wakes up.

You can’t say the same.

It’s still dark outside when you wake up, and you’re cold.

The only real warmth is the half-kicked off duvet, and Oscar’s arms around you.

You don’t wake him, but you know you have no chance of falling back asleep.

‘Your spider friend is poking around at all our recent activity. Sort him out, or we’re going to push it back.’

The words swirl in your head endlessly, and you think of your father’s lifeless body on the floor.

Obviously, this isn’t the first time you’ve imagined it. But you can see it now; those two men standing over you, your money in hand, getting ready to run.

Spiderman, watching you cling to his corpse, your hands painted red.

And so you’re in jail, your father is even more dead than before, and those men are free, like they always are.

Maybe the rich aren’t the only evil.

‘Sort him out.’

You can’t win. But you have enough. Maybe you can just keep him distracted.

At the end of the day, he’s just a guy under there.

It’s a horrible idea. It’s the only one you have. You have a month to get Spidey off your back.

If that means more flirting and less fighting, you could do it. The only person it isn’t fair on is Oscar.

By the time his eyes open, your nails are chewed and bloody, and you look just as bad as you did when he’d dragged you to sleep, his arms never leaving you.

“Mornin’” he says quietly, hair matted, and you give it an affectionate ruffle.

It makes what you need to do so much harder.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

He says it so calmly, so surely, that you have no idea how to reply.

“Are you being serious?”

He smiles, and he looks so much younger. Like a boy again.

“Unfortunately so. Deadly.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but your stony stare definitely wasn't up there.

“Take it back, Oscar. Please.” you beg, the words mangled, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

“You keep telling me you can’t. You have to. Please.”

He can hear the sadness in your tone. He can feel your heart shattering, but he doesn’t understand why.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. I promised I'd tell you everything else.” “Well, then it’s my turn to say I can’t. I can’t do this. There's something else that I need to focus on, and I just can’t.”

He sits up.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He kisses his teeth, his jaw slacking.

“Right. Yesterday.”

“You understand it. You have to understand it.”

He mutters your name under his breath, and it sounds like a curse.

“No, I don’t. So yeah, I missed a couple nights, but fucking hell, I am trying! And you just leave me out to dry, every time. You just can’t see how badly I want you, how much I care about you, do you?”

“Oscar. Don’t bullshit me. If whatever you’ve got going on becomes so, like, huge, that you have no option, I know you’d pick it over me. And I don’t blame you. At first, I did. But I get it now. Whatever it is. You don’t have to tell me, but I need you to promise me that you understand. It’s not about you.”

“It never was.”

You inhale, and it's sharp.

“Hey, hey, that’s not fair. This is bigger than me, bigger than us. It’s something I have to do. There’s no choice. There never was.”

He pauses, his anger subsiding into something closer to grief.

“Tell me you don’t love me. Or that you think you never will. Tell me something, anything, so I don’t wait for you. Because I will, until you can tell me what’s going on. Or until it’s over.”

“What if it never is?”

“Then I keep waiting. I’m not going to give up on you-”

“-Oscar, that’s insane.” “Tell me not to. Tell me you don’t think you can love me.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

“Fuck.”

When his lips crash into yours, it’s so desperate that you almost push away.

He’s asking you to stay, and saying goodbye, all at once.

You tell him you might just love him too as your hands snake around his neck, and he’s telling you that’s far too cruel as he caresses the side of your face.

With a shaky exhale, you apologise.

It will never be enough. 

“Hi, Spidey.” you call, giving him a sly salute, and he scowls.

“That zapper thing hurt. And that hook. And your gloves, holy shit.”

“All’s fair in love and war?” you suggest, extending your palm.

“How do I know you’re not going to claw my hand?”

You shrug. “You don’t.”

He takes it. Of course he takes it.

“What am I going to fail to stop you from taking this time?”

“Nothing. I’m done. Got bored of petty theft.”

Spiderman laughs.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not asking you to. Doesn’t mean it’s not the truth.”

After giving his hand a firm shake, you shift beside him, until you’re both leaning against the ledge of a cool, brick bridge.

“So, you’re just out for a stroll?” he questions, visibly suspicious.

“Yeah, pretty much. Twas a bit lonely, then I saw you. Thought I’d start over, as my new, theft-free self. What about you?”

“Patrol. Some gang I thought was gone seems to be back. I saw a goon I recognised talking to a friend of mine, and it clicked. You know, I thought you might be related to them for a bit, but that doesn’t make sense.”

“Like I said, I work alone.”

“So why are you here?”

“‘Cause I don’t work anymore.”

He chuckles.

“Careful, Kitty. Sounds like you want my company.”

“What if I did? What’s that thing, about hating someone ‘cause you’re into them? It’s not a new concept.”

Spiderman tilts his head inquisitively.

“You got a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, whatever.”

He clenches his jaw.

“No.”

“So why do you look so nervous?”

“I’m not.” he replies adamantly, and you shrug.

“Alright, Webs. See you tomorrow?” you ask, turning, enjoying the crunch of your heel on the gravel.

As you begin to walk away, you hear him call out.

“Kitty, you fucking with me? What are you doing?”

“I don’t really know.”

You and Oscar co-exist again. It’s polite. It’s sad.

Still, he disappears back into someone you can almost forget is on the other side of the wall, if you focus enough.

And that’s what you need. You need focus, and discipline, and you need to stay hidden.

Soon, days blur to weeks, and weeks to a month.

“Hello?” you mumble into your phone, holding it precariously by your ear.

“Tommorow night. Good job on keeping the Wonderboy out of it. You guys seem rather cozy, don’t you think?”

“He shouldn’t be an issue. Where and when?”

“By the river, the warehouse. One-fifteen. Don’t be fucking late.”

You hang up after that, trying to ignore the steady shake of your hands.

Still, you stay nervous through dinner. You can barely chew, and when you do, you bite the edge of your lip, or your cheek.

You don’t notice your mouth is actually bleeding until you dab a napkin to your lips, and it comes back red.

It doesn’t even phase you. You don’t even feel the pain, the sting of each scrape against the fork.

The next day, you’re just as mindless.

Each heartbeat, each breath takes you closer to nightfall, to your father, to everything else.

When it comes, you pull your gloves on and crawl out of the window, duffel bag secured on your back.

You know where they mean. After the flood a couple decades ago, all the industrial buildings by the river had been abandoned.

Most people heard rumours of gangs working there. Apparently, the river runs red up there, from the murders that no one bothered to investigate.

It was like a ghost-town, and no one living came back.

You’d be the first, and you’d bring back some to life too. 

There's a gaggle of people when you arrive, and it’s easy to tell the prisoners from the jailers.

Your father stands amongst the former, hands tied behind his back.

He looks sallow, and exhausted, but it’s still him. 

Living, breathing, a shred of pride in there somewhere.

You really do have his eyes.

You notice other people too, crouched between chimneys and behind pillars.

The same stare on their face, the fear and anticipation and exhaustion from some great sacrifice.

And each of them have their eyes trained on someone else with constraints and a pale tinge, but it doesn’t even matter.

One of the men grips the shoulder of a woman, throwing her forward. There’s no words, just the sound of her knees hitting the tarmac, and then someone darts forward.

He’s a weasel-like fellow, with a strange nose. They look somewhat similar, and you figure he’s a relative. A brother, maybe.

He throws a backpack at them, dragging her to her feet, as they scan the contents.

With a definitive nod, they disappear into a side-alley, and you almost admire the efficiency of it all.

For a second, you have a spark of hope that this might go right.

One by one, as the clock ticks, you watch people be re-united. If you were softer, you’d probably cry.

It’s actually 01:17, when your father shuffles forward. You can tell that he’s hoping you’re not coming.

When you step into the light, his face crumples, but you ignore it.

You throw the duffel bag at them, moving to your father’s side, but before you can reach, there’s a loud bang from the right of the warehouse.

The men look up, nose scrunching at the smell of smoke.

They look between the flames licking the side of the building, you and your father, and the bag between you.

You reach for it simultaneously, and you sink your teeth into the hand grabbing it.

The other man is now dragging your father away. With a curdled scream, you turn towards the burning building.

There’s two people fighting beside it, but you only recognise one from the flash of red.

“You said you sorted it out.” murmurs the burlier man, his fist narrowly missing your jaw in an attempt to snatch the money back.

“Oh, this isn’t my fault that one of your idiots brought their catfight out here.” you protest, scraping the side of his arm with undiluted force.

He yelps, drawing away from you, as his blood splatters to the floor.

“He’s not with us. And I know the Spider is.”

“You’re not getting this if I don’t get my dad.” you hiss, through gritted teeth, as his boot kicks your straight in the shin.

“Fine. But his price has just gone up.”

With that, he runs.

You begin to pelt after him, heart hammering in your ears, but you hear a shout.

Smoke is beginning to settle in your lungs, but you stop and turn anyway.

Spiderman is lying on the ground, his assailant standing squarely on his arm.

He’s yelling in pain, and you can hear it echoing. His head shifts on the ground, and his eyes meet yours.

He doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t alert the guy on top of him that you’re still here.

Instead, the hand closest to you twitches, his two fingers making a running motion.

So, you run, like he says.

But not into the dark. You run at him, right as the shrouded figure raises something that looks a bit like a mallet.

With a shove, you knock him off balance, and the mallet lands on the side of Spiderman’s arm.

He screams, rolling onto it, but you didn’t hear a crack, so you know you helped.

“Tombstone, leave her alone.” he splutters, trying to shift himself upwards, but ‘Tombstone’ ignores him.

His fist connects with your jaw, and you recoil slightly, before drilling the heel of your boot straight into the side of his leg, and he hisses.

It’s a blur of limbs and kicks, and you’re swaying slightly with each hit, but you don’t care.

“Didn’t realise you had any friends, Spidey.” he murmurs, but he doesn't tear his eyes away from you, preempting your next jab.

Spiderman stands now, clutching his right forearm. The smog is suffocating now, and you’re all trying to hold back coughs.

Still, it’s relentless, and there’s no respite from his hammering fists, until he’s covered in web.

“Are you just going to leave him here?” you cough, voice weak, and Spiderman shakes his head.

“I’ll figure it out. Go, before you choke.”

You shake your head.

“If he gets out, he’ll kill you. Your arm is screwed, mate. Come on.” “I’ll kill him if I don’t move him.” he protests, but you wheeze in response, grabbing his good hand.

Your grip is firm, as you drag him along, until the air has cleared.

As you let him go, you feel your claw snag on his palm, and he winces.

“You don’t get to decide if they die!” he shouts, as soon as he can breathe normally, and you scowl.

“I risked my neck to save you, have some gratitude.”

His head drops into his hands, and you hear him wince at the rotation of his shoulder.

“Sorry. Thank you.”

It’s sombre, for a while.

“What were you doing there? I thought you said you were done. What’s in the bag?”

“It’s a long story, and I’m going home.” you reply dismissively, and he hasn’t got the strength to argue back.

It’s a struggle to even make it up the stairs to your apartment. You can feel the bruises sprouting under your long sleeves, and the scab growing by the corner of your mouth.

The bag feels heavier than it did when you left, like it’s weighed down by bitter disappointment. 

You collapse onto your bed, throwing the bag under your bed, and you try not to feel.

It’s hard, but you’re quickly distracted by quiet cursing coming from the kitchen.

It’s Oscar, you presume. But something sounds off.

Like he’s in serious pain.

A groan accompanies each shuffle and clatter of cabinet doors, and you slowly get up and open the door.

He jumps, when you materialise in the doorway, and even that hurts.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, leaning against the frame to try and mask your exhaustion.

“Nothing.” he lies, with a determined head shake, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.”

He obliges as you get closer, peeling his shirt off with a pained expression, and you have to stop yourself from gasping.

His right arm is painted a deep purple, and you can almost feel it throbbing.

“Holy shit.”

He gives you a non-committal shrug.

“It’ll heal. It always does.”

“What does that mean? How often does this happen?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, ignore me.” he mumbles, and your eyes drift to his other arm.

It looks fine, except for his hand, which is curled into a fist.

You reach for it, unfurling it, and you see the scratch.

It all clicks into place with a momentous shatter, and the world collapses.

The evenings away. The way he caught that glass. When he heard MJ, before she’d made it to the door. The panicking, the pressure, the way he knew something had happened outside the pharmacy.

Oscar Piastri and Spiderman must be one and the same.

You almost shout, but you bite your tongue. Instead, you just give him a worried glance, and fetch some ice from the freezer, sealing it in a bag and pressing it on his arm.

If he can see something deeper brewing in your expression, he stays silent. He just takes it gratefully, his hand brushing yours, and disappears into his room.

“I have time for a story, now.” shouts Spiderman, catching you by the half-burnt warehouse.

“He got out.” you spit, and he nods.

“I know. I’ll find him.”

Now that you know, you wonder how you couldn’t see it before. He’s actually the same, just a little too cocky for your liking, with an overly practiced accent.

“I don’t need to tell you anything, by the way.” you mutter, and he hesitates.

You expect an argument, but instead, he says your name.

It’s meant to be a question, but it sounds more like an oath.

“Who’s that, your girlfriend?” you ask, thinking back to when he’d said just that.

He stares at you, like he’s testing if you’re serious. If you’re really not her, not you.

You wonder if he hopes you are, or if he hopes you aren’t. You can’t dare to ask.

“A little more than that, but a whole lot less.” he replies, and it’s bitter.

“That makes no sense.”

“Tell me about it.” he complains, and you tilt your head to the side.

“How’s the arm?”

“I’ll live.” The conversation is brittle. You’re waiting for a sign of life, and you catch one, below.

The same guy who you’d bitten yesterday. You could almost still taste his blood on your tongue.

Without saying goodbye, your hook is latched forward, and you’re swinging away.

You grab him by the collar of his shirt as you go past, and he struggles beneath you.

You wonder if this is what cats feel like, when they have a bird in their mouth.

“Make it tomorrow. Same place, same time. Don’t be fucking late.” you hiss.

“Or what?”

“I drop you.”

You’re hanging him over the river, and it’s fast up here. Good for discarding corpses. Or for turning people into one.

“Alright.”

You’re less nervous this time. You’re angry. 

Your claws drum on the now half-ruined roof, waiting to see him again.

When they appear, you drop down.

“Hand him over first, this time.” you whisper. The bag is at your feet, and you position your foot to kick it over.

With a grunt, your father is thrown at you, struggling to stay sure-footed.

“You shouldn’t have come.” he urges, but you just shrug, kicking the money towards them.

“You shouldn’t have gotten caught.” you counter, but he shakes his head.

“They’re going to kill you.”

At that, you see the blinking lights hidden in grates, and behind blackened beams that have fallen on themselves.

They’re going to blow you up.

It makes sense. Your father had always been a problem. And they would’ve shot him, if you hadn’t started rearing your ugly head.

You slice through the rope tying his hands.

You hand him your grappling hook. His hook, that fits in both your palms.

“I’ll run. You go.” you order, shoving him forward.

Maybe, if he was a better father, he’d place it back in yours, and that would be it.

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t.

Whether he’s convinced you’ll make it or not, you don’t know. But what you do know, is you might be about to die, saving his life.

You’d die his daughter, and your mother would never know, and that would be it. And he’d slink away somewhere, and maybe he’d mourn you. Maybe he’d regret it. You hope he will.

You think it might be easier to climb, than to run. You don’t know how long you have.

So you scamper towards the river bank, and up the fire-escape stairs, to the more robust half of the warehouse.

You plant your feet, and wait for the world to shake. 

It doesn’t just shake, it erupts.

You’re knocked back, toppling to the edge, and you know this is it.

You wait for the water to contort your back, to clog your throat.

You wait for the splash, and the inevitable sink.

It never comes.

Oscar, Spiderman, is gripping on to your extended arm, his heels grounded on the loose tile.

“I’m not letting go.” he mutters, through gritted teeth, and you give him a wicked smile.

“Never said you were going to.”

But you can see it; the searing pain coming from his arm. You imagine the bruises, the way they spread across to his shoulder.

The ache comes in white flashes, and he’s convinced his arm is about to fall off, but he just can’t let go.

There’s many reasons as to why he’s biting through the pain. 

One: he does not want you to die. No matter what you’ve done, how you lied. No matter the blood on his hand that came from your claw.

Two: you may be his only friend. There’s something so painful in the loneliness of it all. And maybe the insults you spat at him, and the way you hated him, was better than how it had been before.

Three: some part of you will forever, no matter how irrational, remind him of the girl back home. 

So he endures. He suffers, and does not complain, he just pulls, and pulls. And you’re trying, you’re really trying, but you can’t heave yourself forward.

For a moment, the tension on his arm subsides, and he figures you have pushed yourself onto the tile, and it’ll be okay.

But instead, you’ve stumbled.

And just like that, he suffers no more.

Instead, you fall, and this time you know the water is coming to welcome you.

It will not cushion your blow.

You do not deserve a soft exit. You do not deserve anything at all, you conclude.

And so, the Black Cat does not land on her feet. She lands on her back instead, and she is dead. Not from curiosity, not from a clumsy tenth attempt at something greater.

From something much harder to name.

Maybe something honourable, if you’re feeling generous. 

Oscar returns home with something heavy in his chest.

He almost expects you not to be there. He almost expects to hear the news of your body floating into the main port a few days later, and he’ll hope his arm rots.

“Oscar.” you whisper, squeezing your hair into a towel.

“You’re, you’re here!” he exclaims, and his laugh makes you a little dizzy.

“I live here, so. Yeah.”

With a few excited strides, he tugs you towards him, and the pain doesn’t even register.

“I thought-” he begins, trailing off.

“-dangerous thing to do, that.” you finish, giving him a lazy grin, and he laughs again.

He’s so elated, it makes your heart jump.

Then he suddenly looks almost feverish, from the way he’s fiddling with his hands and the smile that’s beginning to crack.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Floor’s yours, Piastri.”

“The thing. I still can’t tell you, but I’m going to anyway. And I know you’ve got your own shit going on, but I want this to be like, I don’t know. A vow, or something.”

His ears turn pink when he realises what he’s just said.

“Do I get a ring, too? Where’s the officiant?” you respond, and he realises it’s you. You’re back. 

“I’m Spiderman. Like, the swinging, blundering idiot. Me.”

He sounds proud and embarrassed simultaneously. 

“I had a suspicion.” you begin, giving him a knowing nod, and he startles.

“You’re serious?”

You giggle.

“No, I had no idea. None, really. Thought you were too much of a dork for that. Consider me impressed, Piastri.”

It’s not enough, for such big news, but you’re not sure how else to react. And he’s grateful, because it’s so you, and so perfect.

He looks hopeful, like it might be enough. Like it might be enough to get you back.

He doesn’t ask you if you can tell him what was keeping you away. It doesn’t even cross his mind.

You realise you wouldn’t tell him anyway, and that settles in your gut.

“I’m not expecting this to change your mind about us, or to put me first, or whatever. I just need you to understand that I’ll give you all of me, always. Even the parts I keep hidden from everyone else.”

“Even Lando?”

He groans, rolling his eyes.

“Even Lando.”

You break out into a stupid, lovesick, grin.

“You like me more than Lando. Hah! I’d love to see his reaction to that.”

Oscar frowns.

“You know you can’t tell anyone, right? I probably should’ve clarified that. Like, this is top secret information. And even if I fuck it up, which I will, eventually, can you please not tell-” he rambles, clearly panicking a little, and you huff.

“Oscar?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

yourusername

🎵Down Under- Men at Work

yourusername in straya 🇦🇺 to see a mate oscarpiastri

❤️liked by oscarpiastri, sabrinacarpenter and 456,789 others.

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oscarpiastri can’t believe you’re so famous you’re waving the flag 🏁

yourusername im more famous than you, racerboy..

user49 how long have they been friends?

user338 i think since they were teenagers? they met in america when oscar was back in F3

user67 i’m STARTING A RUMOUR……

user896 they both have partners, lol. leave them alone weirdos.

^❤️liked by yourusername

oscarsgirlfriend can’t wait to see you in the garage, gorgeous!missing you🧡

yourusername same🧡

user873 it’s so awkward that she doesn’t like her 😭

tatemcrae i want to come next time

yourusername landonorris?

"Congratulations." you smile, shifting awkwardly. You're all too aware of his girlfriend, gripping his hand overly tight. You do not move to hug him, even though you know you're more than entitled to. You'd been best friends for so long now, it was like second nature. A whack on the arm, a high five after something funny. An embrace, after watching him race. It should be fine. But her eyes scare you, and the way her fingers are laced in his makes your stomach churn.

He shakes her off, and squeezes you tightly. You do not meet her stare, and simply bury your face in his neck for as long as you think is appropriate. It is only when you hear a cough, and then a click, that you pull away.

Your boyfriend is standing, giving you a stony look, while a photographer darts off to your left.

"Josh! You made it!" you exclaim, rushing over to him. When you wrap your arms around him, it is with a tightness you did not know you had. It is an overcompensation, or maybe an act of proof that there is a difference between one embrace and another. Maybe it is to prove that the love that fuels this touch is different to the warmth you offer Oscar.

He does not seem convinced.

And as Oscar watches your expression falter, he does not even notice that the girl to his right has stepped away from him, and is using her now free hand to dab her eyes.

f1gossipx

f1gossipx LOVE TRIANGLE OF THE YEAR??!! singer yn/ln (left) was seen alone at an event she was meant to be going to with her boyfriend. they have since unfollowed eachother on instagram. this was apparently prompted by her close behavior with racer, oscar piastri (them hugging, middle.) he has since been seen keeping a distance from his crying girlfriend (right). is there more to this story, or just jealousy and insecurity? wishing them the best!

❤️liked by ynunwrapped, viapartridge and 14,567 others.

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user46 holy shit they axtuallt did break up cause of the rumours about oscar. you guys are such shitty people

user76 proof?

user46 here: https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ?si=1YBsPjPn2N_NNGkJ

user89 rumours don’t come out of nowhere. it must be somewhat true to cause TWO breakups. they obviously have feelings for eachtiehr that they’re too scared to talk about.

4 MONTHS LATER…

"It's nice to see you, y'know? How have you been?" Josh asks carefully, and you pause at his tone.

"I've been good. You didn't tell me you were in town."

He shrugs. "Some of the best things are co-incidences, no?"

You laugh, and you can tell it hurts him to hear it.

"Do you ever stop with all your philosophical bullshit?" you begin, before lowering your voice. He leans in hesitantly to try and catch what you're saying over the thrum of music and chatter.

"Do you miss me?"

It's a stupid, shameless question. You don't really expect an answer.

"Of course."

He falters for a second, his ear still near your mouth. You do not give him the chance to pull away, and he tastes like cheap wine and something a little more bitter.

yourusername

🎵bad idea right?- yn ln

yourusername just tripped and fell into his bed. #lol #ishouldprobablyprobablynot #badidearight? bad idea right? out NOW!!!!

❤️ liked by oscarpiastri, charlixcx and 256789 others

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yourbff you know he’s your ex for a reason, right?

yourusername can’t two people reconnect?

yourbff what are you thinking

yourusername my brain is literally going ahhhhhhhh

user598 not oscar in the likes on a post about her ex 😭 they’re soooo messy

user45 they’re friends. it’s normal to like their posts?? i’m just glad they’re still in contact after everything that happened. when will yall leave them the fuck alone?????

ynfan12 HOLY SHITTTT this song is so good INJECT IT MY VEINSSSS

yourusername 💜!!

ynlover81 is this my sign to get back with my ex LOL?

yourusername sure is babe’ 🫶🫶

^❤️liked by oscarpiastri

"I took the liberty of ordering for you." Oscar murmurs, as you hurriedly put down your stuff.

"Sorry I'm late, Oscar. I had some things that overran, and then the traffic was bad. It's great to see you, though."

"Was getting with Josh one of those things?" he asks, and his tone is so casual, you wonder if you might've overheard.

"Sorry?"

"You know, I never liked him. What are you doing?"

You shoot him a wary glance.

"You never said anything bad, in the three years we were together. And, frankly, it's none of your business. Let's talk about something else, alright?"

He places his glass down, narrowly catching it from spilling over.

"He's a Capricorn-" he begins, and you actually laugh.

"Since when have you cared about that? And, for the record, we're pretty compatible."

"Because I know you care about it." he justifies, and you shake your head.

"We're not together, Oscar. I'm not getting back with him. It was just a one time thing. I was lonely." you argue, but it sounds a little lame. You wait, for that expression of pity, but it never comes.

"It's been four months. You should be over him. I bet you're thinking about him right now."

You scoff, gripping your napkin a little aggressively.

"Why are you so mean tonight? I didn't come here to be shamed by you. Drop it."

Your voice is raising a little now, a mixture of frustration and confusion, but his eyebrows raise in a challenge.

“You deserve better. You could be with someone better.”

“It’s none of your business, frankly. Jesus, it’s like you’re obsessed. Are you mad because you lost the last race?”

He inhales.

“No. It’s not about that.”

You fold your arms.

“It’s about you, and him. And us. It’s just-“

“Oh, fuck off. Just what? There is no us, Oscar. There hasn’t been, in a long time. Just leave me alone.” you spit, raising a glass to the people with their cameras out, before getting up.

f1gossipx

f1gossipx it seems that racer oscar piastri has taken yn ln’s new song about getting with an ex VERY seriously.. and he’s back together with his ex, or so it seems. this occured only a few days after an argument in a public restaurant when yn accused him of being ‘obsessed’ with her ex, and now they’re not friends anymore?

❤️liked by landonorris, 12678 others.

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user345 i feel so bad for oscar’s girlfriend (?). she’s so obviously being used as mind games in all this 😭

user890 oscar’s not that typa guy, though. i genuientl don’t think he can see how awful this is..

user345 being ignorant isnt any better. i seriously need him and yn to either get together or leave eachtiehr the fuck alone before this goes superrrr wrong 😭

user1190076 DID SHE DYE HER HAIR BROWN SO SHE LOOKS MORE LIKE YN OMG???

user147 go touch grass, she probably dyed her hair cause she wanted to????

user46 her hair is blonde again! i think she had it semi-dyed for a shoot. :) check her recent

3 MONTHS LATER...

"The cheek of that man, to give you shit for Josh, and then. Y'know. Get right back with her. I don't understand how you're not fucking fuming." Jules mutters, pacing beside you. You shrug.

"It's been a while now. We're barely even friends now, and he's never been good at being alone. I mean, when we were super close, I don't think he really needed a girlfriend. Then we grew up, and now I've rarely seen him without one."

"Did it ever cross your mind, just for a second, that he was breaking up with her for you and not because of you? Did you want that, even if it was for a moment?" she asks carefully, and you pause.

"I don't- I didn't. I mean, no? I've never really thought about it."

She waits. She waits for you to think about it. So you do.

You think about her, about them. Why you'd always felt her stare on the back of your neck. Why it hurt so much, when she'd slip a bow in her hair, and you'd smell his cologne. Why her compliments had blades, sharp edges. Why your stomach would twist in something you hadn't been able to describe before. Every post, a photo of her, and then a photo of you. A competitor in a competition neither of you wanted to be in. It hits you in gentle waves, until they crash into your chest a little too hard.

"Oh, shit."

yourusername

🎵lacy- yn ln

yourusername my stomachs all in knots, you’ve got the one thing that i want. lacy, out now 🏹🪽

❤️liked by chappellroan, gracieabrams and 567,897 others

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gracieabrams this song is beautiful.

yourusername 🤍

user201 the concept of lacy being oscar’s girlfriend.. “the one thing that i want” being oscar… stay with me

user190 why would you SAY THAT holy shit ripping my hair out

ynoscfan81 YOURE KIDDINGGF omg don’t ever say that again 😭😭😭😭 i miss them so bad

ynfanily ynosc divorce HURTING with this one

ynfan19 do you miss oscar?

yourusername guys please, you know how much these comments caused a problem before. let us live 🫶

chappellroan so proud of you 💝

^❤️liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri your lyricism never fails to impress.

yourusername thank you.🥲

user124 HE DOESNT EVEN FOLLOWXHER WHAT THE FAWKKKK ISXHAPPENING RN????? is he breaking no contact RN omg

"My lyricism never fails to impress, huh, Piastri? Nice line. Do you use that on all your ex-best friends you go no-contact with?" you grin, leaning over the bar counter to talk to him. He startles when he sees you.

"I didn't know you'd be here. I promise." he mutters, like that's a decent response.

"Ah, and you're with your mortal enemy. Cute. I like your weird friends." you beam, giving Lando a hearty-handshake.

"Championship rival." Oscar corrects, and you laugh.

"Same thing." Lando fires back.

"So, how come he's moping. D'you beat him again?" you ask, keeping your eyes focused on Lando, ignoring how Oscar shuffles in his seat.

"He's in the doghouse with his missus again, as usual. They're actually on a break. First time for everything. Think she's convinced that's going to solve their issues."

"Their issues being?"

"It's complicated." Oscar huffs, and turn to him now.

"What's her star sign? I'll let you know if you're good together, 'cause I know it's important to you."

He fumbles desperately for an answer, and you give him a dramatic pout.

"You seriously don't know? She deserves better."

He hates how you're throwing his words back at him, and he can't dispute them.

"What's my star sign?"

You can't help but break into a grin when his answer is almost immediate.

"Am I interrupting?" Lando mutters, and you chuckle.

"Depends on how seriously Oscar's taking this break."

Oscar's eyebrows shoot up so high they become hidden, and Lando claps in amusement.

"Are you just going to ignore me after?"

"Maybe write a song too, racerboy. Are you just going to run back to her?"

You expect an argument. He kisses you instead.

yourusername

🎵get him back!- yn ln

yourusername i wanna get him back!!!! but also key his car, lol🏁 get him back! out now <3

❤️liked by oscarpiastri, taylorswift, and 789654 others.

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user187 KEY HIS CAR??????? HIS WHAT??????? THE 🏁🏁 EMJOI?!?!?!?!??! YNOSC HAPPENED? CONFIRMED??? WHATHAVE I MISSED????

user4579 you’re telling me they were together, and they’re not together anymore. and this !!!! is how we find out. WE MISSED IT????

oscarpiastri key his what??????

yourusername you heard me racerboy

user289 sir. sir you have a GIRLFRIEND. what is going ON??

user190 someone make a timeline PLEASE???

user876 so, from what i’ve figured. oscar and his gf broke up at the same time as yn and her ex. yn and ex had a fling again (bad idea right?) and then oscar got back with his ex. they briefly went no contact after that, but became friends again (lacy release). judging off the gossip accounts f1gossipx, oscar and gf split AGAIN (but they didn’t tell anyone) and that is when him and yn had a secret relationship??? now they’re openly back together and ynosc are.. whatever they are. dropping this song when they’re still together is a BALLSY move though !

user1008 i’m sorry but i am genuinely so sat for the full album to work out what is about who.. also i am now rooting for an OP81 WDC!! i didn’t really like him before but what can i say drama gets me

ln4fanpage honestly same. might have to switch sides if they end up together cause that would make him the coolest driver on the grid..

landonorris wtf???!!!

user11999778 OSCAR P1ASTRI!!! if yn likes him, so do i. if theyre endgame ill lose my mind okg. literallt buying oscar merch rn

^❤️liked by oscarpiastri

2 MONTHS LATER...

"Fuck, it's actually over this time." Oscar curses, sinking onto your couch, and you sigh. You try to pretend it doesn't hurt.

"You said that before. She'll come around."

He shakes his head. "It was different. I can't, I don't know what I'm going to do."

You place a careful hand on his knee. You try not to think of how you'd traced absent-minded shapes there as the sun had risen a few months ago. You try not to remember what it felt like to have him, even if he still had her in his head.

"I think she's with some guy she met on a shoot. He probably cares more about her. I was such a dickhead."

You almost wonder if he might cry. You'll slap him if he does.

You know you should leave him alone. Your friendship was long over, and the wanting was killing you. It was embarrassing, really, how you dropped everything when he called yesterday. The love you have for him, it's embarrassing.

"It's also part of my image. I don't know, McLaren is so weird about it. That's why they hadn't liked you being there, except for engagement. They wanted you to hang out with Lando, did you know that? The 'boyfriend material' angle, to contrast 'famous playboy'. And it kept her and I stringing along for such a long time. She just became part of me. It was so stable."

"Did you not love her?' you ask hesitantly, the word heavy on your tongue, and he pauses.

"Of course I did. But not long enough, or hard enough. And I know I could've loved someone else, if I had the chance."

He gives you a weak smile, and you blurt out something rather ridiculous.

"Let's fake it. For your image, for my album. We can fake it. I'll get a contract drawn up, purely PR, and then we both win. The fans are eating this shit up, and I know you've seen all the comments from people saying they'll support you if we're together."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course." you reply, without missing a beat. You do not let any selfishness show it's ugly head.

yourusername

🎵love is embarrassing- yn ln

yourusername but i keep comin’ back for more😓 🧡love is embarrassing

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yourbff might aswell tag him atp

yourusername oscarpiastri ‼️

user390 SHE GOT HIM BACK!!!!

user867 yeah.. and then dropped this.. he needs to clean his act up fr

user109 this is so obviously PR atp guys.??

user890 fr why are they dragging this

ynosclvr can we talk about the fact she is using the word LOVE. LOVE?!!! she’s in LOVE and yall are focusing on the negative?

user777 this song is like. basically negative.

yourusername it’s not all accurate events, lmao! just wanted to share how stupid i felt.

ynosclvr FELT??? wait. what. IM SO LOST??? EHERES THE TIMELINE PERSON?!?!

user876 lol hi😭 i’m just assuming this is just post get him back (like the coming back for more bit). idk if they’re still together now, but ik the gossip accounts are about to have a field day 😭

"Cameras. D'you see them?"

You nod, as Oscar's grip tightens around your waist. You hate how naturally he fits against you. You hate how this reminds you that you're playing a part.

You plant a quick kiss to the corner of his jaw, before waving at the phone. The squeal from the girl carrying it makes you giggle, and you feel Oscar laugh on your neck, his hair tickling you.

"We're quite good at this, huh?" he jokes, and you smile, lopsided and lovesick.

"We sure are."

f1gossipx

f1gossipx yn and oscar have been seen together, a lot. both have yet to make a comment addressing the rumours, but have they finally made it official? or, is this simply a pr relationship? the leaked contracts seem to back this theory up, but who knows?

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user190 leaked contracts. NOOOOOO

user984 lets fake a relationship for more album sales with mama

user297 i have faith, i think they’re just trying to keep it lowkey right now.

user183 after everything? definitely fake

user886 i think its real- they look happy. and yn hasn’t dropped a song in a while

user658 she literally was an actress. and oscar is permanently in a 🙂 state. you’re reaching

"They know. These fucking gossip accounts, man. So, what do you want to do? Pretend we broke up? I have a plethora of sad songs I could post. We ghost each other again for a bit, and then come back, as friends. We save face, that way. Or just, I don't know. Thug it out?" you begin, but Oscar doesn't even look at you.

"Plethora. Good word. Plethora of piñatas, one of the best lines-"

"Oscar? You okay?"

He looks up at you nervously, as you sit down beside him.

"Look, it's going to be fine. I mean, I've never been in an exposed fake relationship before, but we have people to help us out. We'll sort it."

His leg bounces a little.

"So, are we just, done?"

You blink.

"Um, I suppose? I don't know how this works. But I'm not mad, or anything, if you're worried."

He shakes his head.

"I don't want to be done. I don't want us to be done." he corrects.

And then he's kissing you, and your weak reply dissolves away into unspoken whispers.

oscarpiastri

🎵Latch- Disclosure

oscarpiastri hope she’ll come everywhere with me ❤️ yourusername

❤️liked by yourusername, landonorris and 814356 others

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"Nice hard launch." you snort, giving him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"Did I do it right?"

You nod. "No comments, or anything. Cold. I like it."

He beams, and you can't help but melt a little.

yourusername

🎵so american- yn ln

yourusername i’ll go anywhere he goes. ‘so american’ out now 💝 might be in lalala with you, loser australian boyfriend oscarpiastri

❤️liked by oscarpiastri, chappellroan and 1,567,890 others

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oscarpiastri soon you’ll be so australian 🇦🇺

oscarpiastri also i might be in lalala with you too, y’know. it’s becoming a problem

yourusername who’s this racerboy dork in my comments?

user190 THE MATCHUNF CPATIONS OH MG GODD I LOVE THEM

user201 sitting here knowing she’s wanted him so bad since lacy… okay

user187 oscar stunt on these hoes

oscarpiastri ????

user219 they saw the fake dating accusations and thought fuck off we didn’t go through this for yall to say it’s not even real

yourusername boy do i have some news for you..

user219 WHAT????

yourusername wait for my third album perchance

oscarpiastri you can’t just say perchance

“It’s a lot. The travelling. That’s why I’m so hesitant about dating, y’know? Just feels like I have to leave again, everytime. Over and over again, keeping a suitcase half-packed, and hoping they don’t get tired of me when I come home. No matter how much I care for them, no one can hold me down.” he admits, nervously fiddling with his napkin, and you look up at him cautiously.

It’s only the third date, if you could even call it that. It had been an impulsive decision to grab a coffee before your shift.

“That sounds serious. You’re talking to me like you want this to be serious.”

He frowns.

“Yeah, shit. Sorry. I mean, I am horrifically obsessed with you, so it’s kind of been in the back of my mind. Didn’t mean to weird you out.”

You smile.

“Not weirded out. Just surprised. Kind of thought you’d give up after I told you I don’t actually like F1.” you reply casually, but your hand stretches slightly, brushing his.

“I don’t care if you like F1. I just want you to like me.”

Now, you wish you’d taken his warning to heart, just a little more. It has been months of this now; his constant flights, and muffled facetime calls, and timezones so different you question how whatever countries he’s in even fits on the planet, if it's so far.

You wonder if maybe, it might be time to give up on it. Not because you’re tired of him when he comes home; it’s the way he never does.

And maybe it would be different, if you’re sure he loves you. But you’re not, because he’s never said it. And the odd stupid video and postcard from Italy doesn’t fill your growing insecurity and spreading headache.

It isn't his fault, or yours either, but it isn’t working. And you know you’re his favourite person, the person who paints his cheeks that endearing pink in interviews, the person he sends trophy selfies to, hair still damp.

And he’s your favourite person too, from the photos of your barely legible poems to the plate you painted at the weekend, and the way every love song might just be about him.

If he could show you his love, maybe you’d live without it ever being said. But miles and seas and wifi that only works on one side of a hotel room just isn’t enough for you, no matter how much you wish it was. 

When you decide to cut it off, you don’t say all that. Instead, it’s courteous, a quick blame of hectic lives and too much distance, and he apologises as if he did anything wrong, when you know he simply tried his best. 

You expect it to be amicable, but you also half expect to never hear from him again.

What you don’t expect is for it to turn sour- but that is what happens to love that is still alive when it is cut off, it sours, but doesn’t fade.

His heart twists uncomfortably at the mention of your name- your stomach hurts at his, and you both can’t admit that you’d rather yet another crackly videocall than nothing at all, but it’s too late.

Months pass. You’d lasted half a year together, and now half a year apart, but Oscar just couldn’t get over it. You’d broken up in August. You’d almost made it to the summer break. He could’ve seen you. Could’ve told you how much he loved you, since he’d never got the chance. He’d thought you’d wait. It still hurts that you didn’t.

It’s the Australian Grand Prix this week. Even though you're not going, you see him everywhere. Your fucking burger had his face on it, to celebrate his pole position.

That was your final straw. You pick up the phone.

[Voicemail to: Oscar Piastri. From: You. Time, 17:24]

▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

‘Hi, Oscar. Sorry for reaching out so randomly, it’s been a while. Hope you’re doing okay. I mean, you won the fucking championship, so y’know, I’m sure you are. I meant to congratulate you for that, I promise. Just chickened out, so, well done for that. OP1, now, huh? Anyway, I’m in Melbourne right now, and I can’t help but think of you, because you’re everywhere. I’m looking at you toasted on my bun right now. The sesame seeds spell your name, I cannot make this shit up. So, good luck for tomorrow. I hope you win, I’m rooting for you.’

In the dark of a hotel room, Oscar’s tired fingers slip, and accidentally click on a new voicemail, even though he never checks those. He is glad someone in the universe is smiling at him though, when your name flashes in red.

[Voicemail to: You. From: Oscar Piastri. Time, 23:42]

▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

‘Holy shit, I’ve missed your voice. Sorry, that’s so pathetic, but I can't help it. It’s so good to hear from you again. I’m good, yeah, thanks. Hope you are too. The other night, I thought about inviting you to the race. I knew you were here, I remember you telling me you had accidentally booked your trip on the same weekend. Chickened out too, I guess. [Strained laugh], maybe we could get a more normal burger sometime? I’m staying in town for a bit. If not, don’t worry. I’m not even really expecting a voicemail back to this, to be honest. You’re probably thinking you made a mistake, and I’m thinking the same right now. Anyway, thank you. I’m nervous, but I’m really pushing for that win tomorrow.’

With a little hesitation, you press play, at 23:47, for the third time. And each word hits like a sucker punch.

You’re greeted by your own nervous face as you actually call him.

“Hello?” he murmurs groggily, and you give him an awkward smile. When he recognises you, he breaks into a glorious grin. He looks too handsome, half asleep, and you almost hang up before you say something ridiculous.

“Hey. I hope it’s not too late. I know you have a busy day tomor-”

“No, no. This is perfect. You’re perfect. Hi.” he says quickly, too quickly, and you laugh.

“Smooth, Piastri. Real smooth.”

There’s a fond silence, and a familiar sound of noise, and you wonder if maybe you’d been dramatic. Maybe this could’ve been enough.

“I missed you too.” you admit, and he beams.

“Well, that makes me feel a little less insane. It’s been so long now, but I still find myself waiting for your call, or buying you stupid fridge magnets. Lando’s taken to calling me ‘pathetic Piastri’, now. And it’s catching.” he confesses, his voice shrinking, and you give him a fond look.

He pauses, his face more determined now.

“I know it’s the middle of the night. I know this is insane. Can I see you, though? I lost you over a screen once. I don’t want to do that again.” he requests, his tone soft, and you don't know what overcomes you as you share your location with him.

He arrives, clearly still in his pyjamas, hair resembling something like a bird's nest, and you have to hold yourself back from leaping at him.

He clearly doesn’t have the same self restraint, because he embraces you so tightly you swear a rib might crack, but you complain in silence.

“It’s so good to see you.” he whispers, looking down at you, and you grin up at him.

“Yeah, yeah, you sap. Is that really why you’re here?’

He frowns, thinking of what to say, and a look crosses his face. A look that threatens to stomp on your heart, a look that tempts you to make a mistake.

“Oscar-” you warn, but it’s too late. His lips find yours, hand gently brushing your hair, and you can’t break away.

When your forehead rests against his, both your cheeks slightly flushed, you know this might’ve been the closure you wanted, but not the closure you needed.

“After this weekend, you’ll get on a plane. And you’ll travel far away.” you begin, chewing your bottom lip. His arms stay firmly around your waist, but you shuffle back anyway.

“You left me, with this, this pain. I had to carry it everyday.” 

He sighs, his eyes searching yours for something.

“I tried not to ask for much. I just wanted us to stay true, and-”

“-and I did that. But, I just couldn’t. You never made me feel like it was worth it, the way I’d curl up alone and hope I’d see you in a few fucking months.” you retort, and he steps back, like he’s wounded.

“If you love me Oscar, let me hear you say it. At least now, when you’re actually here.” 

This is it. His only chance, his one way back to you. Because if he can say it now, to your face when he couldn't even say it behind a screen before, then there must be some inkling of truth in it.

“I love you.” he says instantly, like it never meant anything at all.

“Drastic? Such as?”

You pause.

“We spend less time together, during school hours. It was bordering on inappropriate before, and now it’s been six months of sneaking around, and I’m worried we’re getting too comfortable. I just don’t want to deal with him.” you say pointedly, and he nods.

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

He stops facing you and turns back to the muffled television, looking dead ahead, and you sigh.

“Oscar Piastri, look at me.”

He obliges, his arms still folded, his eyebrows downturned. 

You place down your laptop with a huff, and shuffle towards him. His arms open instinctively, and you rest your head on his chest, as his arm wraps around you.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry. It’s not going to change anything.”

He exhales into your hair, relaxing a little.

“I know, I know. It’s just- spending time with you was the highlight of my day. Don’t get me wrong, I love teaching, but you know how it is. How it gets. You made it feel easier.”

Your heart squeezes, looking up at him affectionately. You begin to formulate a sentence, those heavy three words.

“I love-” you begin, hesitantly, but stop yourself.

Instead, you press your lips to his jaw, and then you turn forward too, focusing on the screen.

“What was that?”

You grimace.

“I was just going to say I love it too. But I get it. You made it easier. You make it easier.” you correct, settling against him, and you let the evening while away.

When you awake the next morning, he’s still asleep, regardless of his buzzing alarm. His hand is draped on your leg, and you nudge him off, rolling over.

“Hey, it’s time to get up.” you whisper into his ear, smiling slightly as he groans and murmurs something stupid under his breath.

You get up and head to the bathroom, brushing your teeth. You’d only just got used to it- your pink toothbrush next to his orange one, his stripy socks in your drawer. Leaving something there and not bothering to take it back. It was painfully domestic, and even more painfully easy.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, his shirt sitting baggy on your shoulders. You think back to last night. The way you just couldn’t say it. It wasn’t because you didn’t mean it- you did. You could bellow it from the rooftops if you had to. But something ugly, some rational fear held you back. What if he didn’t feel the same way?

You’d never been insecure, but you were beginning to feel it a bit now.

Then again, you’d been waiting for him to make a move for over a year, so you’d learned you could be patient when it came to Piastri.

He comes up behind you, rubbing his eyes groggily. He reaches to the side of the sink, his free hand firmly on your side, and dutifully begins brushing his own teeth, looking at you in the mirror. 

You meet his gaze and he wiggles his eyebrows, promptly causing you to stifle a giggle.

You can feel him watching you get changed, but you don’t care, as you pull your shirt down aggressively and hunt for some tights. When you turn, he’s fiddling with a belt buckle, his collar half flipped.

You give him a lazy smile and turn it down, before pulling him towards you and giving him a firm kiss.

“I’ll you see you tomorrow, okay?”

He pouts dramatically, and you laugh.

“You know I have parent-teacher meetings tonight.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you can't stay the night afterwards.”

You sigh, half humoured while he pushes a strand of hair behind your cheek.

“I have my own apartment, you know. That I pay rent for. I might as well use it, at least once. It’s probably gathering dust.”

He concedes when you kiss him again, and then you reach for the door.

It lasts a week before Oscar goes slightly insane. 

It’s just gone eleven when you hear a rapid knock at the door, and sure enough, there he is.

“Oscar, you could’ve called, you know? I literally have a custom ringtone for you especially.” you tease, but there’s something bizarre in the way he's looking at you. There’s something heavy in his stare.

He shuts the door effortlessly with his foot, and then he’s all over you. Hungry, messy, different.

You find yourself backed against the cool wall of your hallway, directly between your framed diploma and a photograph of you and your brother with idiotic, toothy grins.

“Oscar-” you begin, something between panic and a laugh bubbling in your throat, and he pulls away. He presses his forehead to yours, exhaling shakily.

“Move in with me.”

You blink, as he looks at you expectantly.

You slip away from under him, arms crossed, brow furrowed, and he falters.

“Are you joking?”

He very much is not. You also know that he very much is not.

“No?” he says cautiously, and you sink onto your sofa, head in your palms.

“I didn’t expect you to react like this.” he says innocently, like he simply can’t understand what's running through your mind.

You swallow. 

“That’s a big step.”

He nods. “Sure, sure it is. I’m sorry. I really didn’t think this through.”

You bark out a laugh that's too sharp for his liking. Barely rounded at the edges.

“No, you clearly didn’t.”

He hesitates between joining you and stepping towards the door, and he decides to opt for the latter.

“I’ll go.”

You look up at him. “Don’t be stupid. Sit down.”

Your tone is harsh, but he’s grateful for it nonetheless.

“I don’t mean to rush you into anything, seriously. But this last week has made me lose my mind. All I do, all day, is think about you. And knowing that if you go home, you’re not going home with me, to me, it hurts. Like physically hurts-”

You stare at him, in a way that makes him pause.

“-You haven't told me you love me.” you state, simply. But he can see it stings to say out loud.

His eyebrows shoot up before he can think of anything clever to say.

Clearly, nothing comes to mind, because he blurts out a desperate- “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”

You look away, trying to hide how your heart tears a little. Because here, confronted with it, he still doesn’t say it. It’s not his instinctual response.

Silence hits you both in a way that makes him fidget nervously and makes you want to retreat to the bathroom, but neither of you move, until he speaks.

“I love you. Sorry if that wasn’t obvious. I love you so much I had to ask Lando if something was wrong with my heart. He told me that his extensive biology knowledge is no use there; guess love doesn’t come from your ventricles.”

You can’t help but snort in laughter, tilting your head to meet his widened eyes.

“You mean that?” you can’t help but ask, cursing how pathetic you must sound.

He nods, speaking so quietly you can't actually make out his response. And then, slightly louder, a small, “Do you love me?”

You give him an incredulous nod.

“Of course I do.”

When night falls, and you lie together gently, his fingers intertwined with yours, that is how you say goodnight. With an ‘I love you’ after it, as if it had always been there.

You hear his breaths deepen, and his eyelids flutter, but you can’t sleep so easily. You’re too busy thinking about how close you were to saying yes to dropping everything and moving in with him, and it was scaring you.

He doesn’t bring it up again, and neither do you, but there's something different hanging in the air around you. To call it tension would make it sound malicious, and isn't. It’s more like a constant thrumming of things left unspoken, of a half ended question. A decision that hasn’t been decided. Another month passes of hidden looks and brushing fingertips in the staff room, and you can tell he’s on edge. And you miss him, even when he’s sat directly opposite you.

“Hey Miss, how come you’re never hanging around with Sir anymore?” Ollie asks innocently, dropping a stapled collection of papers on your messy desk, and you look up from your exercise book, surprised.

“Kimi says he’s been moping at lunchtime now. And he keeps looking at the door like a puppy. It’s tragic.” he continues, and a smile slowly spreads on your face before you can stop it.

“Nothing happened.”

He shrugs. “I know what I saw in that cafe ages ago. You guys have broken up, haven't you?”

“We weren’t on a date, we were actually discussing our least favourite students. Hence why we were so distraught to see those very teenagers waving at us.” comes Oscar’s voice, loud and serious, even though he’s grinning.

Ollie turns, looking at him sheepishly.

“And we haven’t broken up, because we’re not together.”

On a technicality, you’re only half lying, but you can see his eyes drop to the floor sadly. He knows you couldn’t say anything else, but maybe he was hoping you would.

“Now, you should get to lunch, Bearman. Before I realise Kimi strategically missed the topic test last week.” Oscar says firmly, and Ollie doesn’t need to be told twice. He scurries off, and you can't tell if you’re relieved or worried when he closes the door behind him.

“You left your lunch at home. My home.” he explains, dropping your worn lunch box beside Ollie’s homework, sitting on the desk nearest to you. You try to ignore the correction, but it gnaws at you.

“Well, this is nostalgic.” you say, staring at him fondly while you offer him half of the sandwich, and his eyes crinkle.

“True.”

He waits to take a bite.

“I’m not sure if I want to ask again after what happened last time, but I was serious. About living together. I don’t like how my house only feels like a home when you’re in it. And sometimes, you’re not. I want you there, all the time.”

You hate the way your heart soars, and you can’t help but smile into your bread.

He waits patiently, his eyes searching yours.

When you don’t drop your head into your hands, or curse, or look away, he takes that as a small win.

“We’re going to have to talk to him now, you know.”

Oscar’s small smile cracks into a wide grin.

“Is that a yes?”

You nod shyly, suddenly bashful, but he clearly doesn’t care. He barrels into you, picking you up easily and spinning.

You yelp instinctively, trying not to laugh.

“Put me down!” you shout, and he complies, but he kisses you before you can say anything else. And because you’re somewhere between dizzy and elated, and thoroughly confused, you don’t hear the door open.

There, gobsmacked in the doorway, is Kimi, with Ollie towering behind him.

“I left my bag in here.” he says simply, with a shrug. You can tell he’s trying to hold back a fit of giggles at your expression.

“You know, this is the second time we’ve caught you. Like I said last year, you’re terrible at hiding-”

You frown at him.

“And like I said last year, you need to stop talking to me unless it's about all the assignments you owe me. Giving me one on time doesn't make up for the seven late ones, you know.”

Kimi nudges him, and they disappear instantly.

“Okay, this time we’re actually screwed.” you murmur, and Oscar looks at you hopefully.

“Maybe they won’t tell anyone?” he replies, optimistically.

You pause, listening.

“Pretty sure they just told Isack.”

He nods gravely.

“Right.”

Once the afternoon is long gone, and the sun is blurring with the horizon line, you and Oscar make you way to the office far down the end of the corridor. Hands intertwined, Oscar raises his free left knuckles and raps on the door. 

“Come in!” is the gruff response, and you shudder.

When Oscar pushes the door open, and you both shuffle in, you wait for a shift in tone. A smile, or anything.

“Mr Piastri. Miss Webber. Can I help you two?”

“Dad-”

“Mr Webber-”

You both begin speaking simultaneously, and then both come to an abrupt silence.

“I wanted- we wanted- to make you aware of our relationship. As it has become fairly serious.”

“Moving in serious.” Oscar clarifies. You’re not sure if it’s for your father’s benefit, or just because he's happy with the idea.

“You can call me Mark, please.” he begins, looking at Oscar, before turning to you.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

You pause. 

“Figured it wasn’t worth the drama. And I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” you admit honestly, and Mark straightens his tie.

“Sorry, Oscar, could you leave us?”

Oscar nods nervously, squeezing your hand as he turns to go. You graze his cheek with your lips as he passes, and he smiles. Then he’s gone, and you’re looking into eyes the same colour as yours.

“You know how I feel about staff relationships,” he says firmly.

He’s right, you do. You’d never told Oscar how much he hated them. After a scandal he’d been thrown into the middle of, losing his job at his first school, all for a woman who was very much not your mother. But you could tell he was still consumed by the idea of what could’ve been, if it hadn’t all gone to shit.

“I’m not you.” you retort, and his brows furrow aggressively.

“Maybe not. But this is my school. I’m the head-teacher, and I’m also your father. You don’t understand, but this isn’t real. Workplaces are places of professionalism, not romance. I would’ve thought, after all the stories I told you, you would’ve known that.”

You know you should watch what you say next, but you can’t help it.

“You’re only saying this because I look like mum, when you wish I looked like her.”

He looks taken aback.

“Never say anything like that again.”

“I love him, Dad. And you can tell me it’s not real, but it is.”

He stands, and moves towards you.

“I’m sorry.”

You straighten up, worried he's going to try to hug you.

“Carlos and Rebecca got married. We went to their wedding!” you exclaim, shoving your hands out wildly, but he doesn’t pause to think.

“That is true. But look around. Rebecca doesn’t work here anymore.”

You scoff. 

“They must’ve been dating while she was, though.”

He shrugs. “You’re right, they must’ve been. But I, nor anyone else, ever really caught drift of it. I commend you for being honest, but that isn’t going to save you when it starts causing problems.”

You raise your head, trying to make yourself seem taller.

“Fine. We were lying, Oscar and I aren’t dating. Now theres no concern, no need to question our fucking professionalism, and no need for problems.”

He begins to speak again, but you slam the door and walk out. Oscar stands to meet you, but you don’t say anything. You just take his hand and march out of the building.

“He’s such an obtuse dickhead!” you yell into your ramen, and Oscar looks up, bemused.

“He’s also our boss, honey. And your dad.”

You smirk a little at the nickname, but it doesn't dull your anger.

“I don’t care! I know full well, if he hadn’t gone through it, then he wouldn’t be saying this. And we’re not insane, it’s not like we’re going to fuck at school-” you ramble, outraged, and Oscar chokes on his broth.

“Okay, okay. Calm down. It’s alright. I mean, you said this, ages ago. Drastic change. We made it work. And living together will be great, so we won’t miss each other during the day. Even if we do have break duty together on a Tuesday and spend most of our time in the staff room together.” he concludes, nodding gently.

“He’ll probably change the break duty rota.” you grumble, and he explodes into loud laughter.

You glare at him. “You shouldn't be laughing at me when I’m angry. When we argue properly, if you don’t take me seriously, I’ll get even angrier.”

His lips downturn slightly. “When?”

You reach for his hand on the table.

“When. It’s bound to happen. We’ll just never go to bed angry, okay?”

He nods.

“That works with me. But you shouldn’t go to bed angry at Mr Webber either.”

“Oh, he can fuck right off.” you reply, and you scowl when Oscar chuckles again.

You don’t end up alone with Oscar in school again for a while. Over a month, to be exact. And he’s right, it’s manageable, treating him like every other teacher. You don’t even risk nudging his foot with your shoe in assembly. Your dad watches you carefully, and all you do is glower back at him. You’re both utterly faultless.

That is, until you’re not.

“Oscar, remember what I said about what not to do in the library, yeah?” you murmur, while his hand is pressing into the small of your back as you search for a book on the carefully organised shelf.

“Wasn’t planning on it, okay? But also, it is seven pm on a Wednesday, and the school is very much closed. No one is here.”

You hum in assent, and you hate how your self restraint falls apart when you see the way he’s looking at you.

He raises an eyebrow, and you just shake your head.

But then you’re pulling him towards you, mumbling something against his cheek while he kisses your neck.

Then, suddenly, you hear the door swing open. You swiftly turn back the bookshelf, as does Oscar, rummaging through books.

“What are you two doing here?”

It’s a voice you recognise, and you curse.

“Dad!” you say, overly cheerful. But he scans both your faces, Oscar’s evident blush and your nervous breaths.

“Do I have to say anything? This will not happen again, understood?”

“Or what?” you mumble quietly, practically inaudible, but Oscar gives you an alarmed look.

“Or you get fired. Alternatively, you could end things. Both work, as long as there’s never a repeat of, whatever.” he says firmly, and you scoff.

“Sure, cool. Be ready for my notice.” you reply obstinately, and somehow Oscar’s face looks even more distraught.

“Shes joking. She is absolutely joking. No need for any of that, Mr Webber, I assure you.”

He frowns at Oscar.

“If you really want to assure me, then you’d break it off with her.”

“Dad, what the fuck?”

You turn to Oscar desperately, waiting for him to say something, but his face is ashen and he’s clearly thinking.

“Oscar?”

He stays silent, and you drop his hand immediately, not even realising you were clasping it.

He doesn’t hold you back when you walk away, brushing past Mark aggressively and out the door.

You hear their voices raising, but you don’t hang around to listen.

For the first time, you hate that going home means seeing Oscar later.

He walks in about fifteen minutes after you, his expression unreadable.

You’re curled up on the sofa, reading a book, but you’re not focused. Your eyes sting a little, and you hate how much you want to reach for him, even though he was what hurt you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks carefully, and you grin sarcastically.

“Sure I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oscar pauses, trying to figure out if you’re being rhetorical.

“You just considered breaking up with me because my dad told you to, obviously I'm totally fine.” you continue, giving him an exaggerated eye roll, but he doesn't retreat. Instead, he sits beside you.

“I wasn’t considering it.”

He pauses.

“Okay, I was. But only because I realised he was actually being serious about firing you. And I didn’t think I was worth it.” he admits, quiet and earnest.

“I immediately said I’d resign instead.” you whisper back, and he nods slowly.

“I know. But I figured you were just saying that, you know. To piss him off, or in the heat of the moment. I didn’t think you were being serious.” he adds hesitantly.

“I love you.” you reply, firm and sure.

“More than your job?”

“More than this job, yeah. Also, it’s probably an empty threat.”

His breath catches.

“It isn’t. Same thing happened to Rebecca, in the end.”

You sit up straighter.

“Holy shit, my dad is insane.”

Oscar frowns.

“Yeah, he kind of is. No offence, of course. I mean, in some ways, I get it. Like, you can’t have teachers being, y’know, in the building. But no one ever even saw those two coming, before they got married, so he must’ve really got to them.”

You let out a surprised laugh.

“Okay, okay. So, we thought we could last, and we made it a month before causing problems. Should I quit now, or?” you joke, but it's half hearted.

“This is bullshit, come on. It was out of school hours, that shouldn’t count.”

“I agree, it shouldn’t. But I doubt Mr. Webber thinks that way.” you say mockingly.

Oscar sighs, exasperated.

“Can you not talk to him, you know?”

“I can try.”

As he begins to fall asleep later that evening, you promise him you’ll try to come to an agreement.

But guilt consumes you, because you know it's futile. Instead, you start planning your letter of resignation for the upcoming year.

“Will I ever stop running into you when I’m trying to visit Oscar?” you say lightly, giving Ollie and Kimi a pained grimace.

“We’ll leave, if you’re going to start kissing again.”

You shake your head.

“You should’ve left half an hour ago, anyway. School’s closed, it’s the holidays. Go on a date to celebrate, or something. You have ten weeks off now.”

Kimi gawks at you, and Ollie raises his eyebrows so high you can barely see them.

“That’s outrageous!” he squeaks, but you just laugh.

“We’re not blind, Bearman.” adds Oscar decisively, joining in with your laughter.

They hurry off, and the school falls silent, like it will be until September.

“Do you remember when I said I would talk to my dad, a couple weeks ago? I did. And I didn’t tell you what happened, because I didn’t want to be honest with you.”

He swallows, looking around to the bookshelves. Remembering that evening, you suppose.

He doesn’t speak, he just watches you sink to the floor, back to a row of books, and he joins you.

“I didn’t talk to him. I just gave him my notice. I’m not returning after summer. He urged me to rethink it and just break up with you, to be realistic, but I just handed him the sheet and left. I should’ve told you, I’m sorry.”

The silence hurts. It’s ugly and painful.

“Oscar? Please talk to me.” you whisper, stroking the side of his face.

“I need you to know I would’ve done the same for you.” he says, after a while, and you can finally breathe again.

“You jumped in immediately, saying you’d quit for me, and then I hesitated. Not about giving up my own job, but about breaking up with you. And I realised that, to you, it looks like I value my place here over you. And I don’t, not now and not ever. I just, I just need you to know that.”

“I know that.” you confirm, resting your head on his shoulder, and he presses his lips to your hair.

You turn to face him, kissing his nose, and then his cheek, before smiling gently.

“Kissing in the library, again? I really thought we would’ve learnt our lesson by now.” he murmurs, as you run a hand through his hair.

“Technically, I don’t work here anymore. I’m just your girlfriend now, and I happen to be the headmaster’s daughter. But I’m no teacher.”

You hate the way you can see him digesting the information, a sad look plastering his face, and you realise a weak attempt at kissing it better might not work, but you try anyway.

You crawl onto him, a hand wrapping around his neck. Your lips are pushing against his affectionately, but they’re flirting with desperation. His arms steady you around your waist, pulling you into him. He moves away for a second, to breathe, you assume. But then his mouth grazes your ear.

“Marry me.” he whispers, but it isn’t a question. It’s a statement, it’s a fact.

You stare back at him incredulously, your noises touching.

“Are you asking me to, or telling me to?”

His lips gently press on your neck, as he murmurs against it.

“Both. When you become a teacher somewhere else, I want you to tell them your name is Mrs Piastri, not fucking Miss Webber.”

“Oscar- stop.” you complain, dragging yourself off him, but he doesn’t let go. He stands up with you, picking you up and placing you carefully on a table, standing in between your legs.

He kisses you again, firmer this time, swallowing anything else you have to say, but you wriggle away from him.

“I’m being serious. You can’t just say that.”

He shrugs, his body still chasing yours.

“Can’t I?”

You groan, exasperated.

“No, you can’t.”

Still, your attempt at replying is pointless, so you just sigh against him, your fingers twisting in the curls at the back of his neck.

“Please, say you’ll have my name the next time you introduce yourself to a class.” he pleads, breathing heavily. “Make them write it on their exercise books.”

“You’re insane-” you accuse, his hair tickling you,”- this is actually insane! You can’t throw something like that at me while you’re kissing me like this.” you shriek.

He pauses, and looks up at you, seriously now.

“You’re not saying no.”

“I am not saying yes.” you retort, but you’re smiling too widely for him to be truly upset.

“Oscar, it’s barely been a year. You only said you loved me six months ago. Let’s not go too fast. We don’t need to get married.”

He frowns.

“I know we don’t need to. I just want to.” he explains casually, like it’s the easiest thing to say in the world.

“I still think you’re insane. And for the record, I don’t need your last name to be yours. I already am.”

He smiles ruefully.

“Alright. Please let me know when you’re ready to get married, though.”

“When?”