Iris

Birthdays were supposed to be milestones of anticipation and excitement, but to her, the day was a looming dread. Something she wished she could simply blink away, skip entirely, and forget. It carried too heavy a freight of painful memories, ghosts she spent the other 364 days of the year trying to outrun.

When they first got together, Oscar had made the rookie mistake of throwing her a surprise party. To anyone else, she looked perfectly fine, laughing, mingling, smiling like clockwork, but Oscar knew her. He saw how the smiles stalled at her lips, never reaching her eyes, missing that distinct sparkle that usually ignited whenever she talked about the things she loved. Later that night, as he held her in bed, she had whispered a quiet thank you and kissed him. He meant well, and she knew that, but against his chest, her skin shivered, her pulse raced, and her entire body trembled with a quiet, exhausting terror.

From then on, Oscar knew to handle her with care. He didn't fully understand the why yet, and maybe he never will, but that didn't matter to him. He simply made it his mission to ensure she felt safe and loved.

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The following year, Oscar felt the shift in her an entire week before the date. She grew quiet, slipping into a distant, unreachable headspace. During a race weekend, she spent nearly all her time holed up in his driver’s room. She only emerged when the lights went out, stepping into the paddock just long enough to congratulate him on a podium finish with a swift kiss, before retreating back the moment he had to disappear for media duties. It ached to watch. She always went all out to make his birthdays, yet she completely despised celebrating her own.

He wanted to change the narrative. He wanted to do something special, on her terms.

When her birthday finally arrived, Oscar woke up earlier than usual, determined. He slipped out to buy her favorite pastry (aside from him); he knew exactly what would win her over: a fresh pain au chocolat with a side of strawberry jam and a perfectly brewed flat white. When he returned to the apartment, she was already tucked into their little reading nook, earphones on, lost in a book. It was her classic defense mechanism. Smiling, Oscar approached quietly and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, breaking her trance.

She looked up, her expression softening. "Hi."

"Hey, bubba. I love you," he murmured.

He deliberately avoided the words Happy Birthday. He didn't want to crowd or trigger her, a subtlety she visibly appreciated. Instead, he lifted the bakery bag. Her eyes instantly lit up.

"Pain au chocolat?" she asked, a brow raised. "With a side of strawberry jam and a flat white."

A playful smirk tugged at her lips. "Are you flirting with me, Piastri?"

"Always," he replied smoothly. She puckered her lips, and Oscar didn't waste a second, leaning down to catch them.

After breakfast, the morning dissolved into a slow, easy haze. They spent hours tangled beneath the sheets, whispering sweet, meaningless things, shedding the outside world along with their clothes until it was just the raw, monochromatic intimacy of two people undeniably in love. Afterward, she rested against his chest while Oscar peppered soft, trailing kisses along her shoulder, making her giggle.

"Alright, what do you have up your sleeve?" she asked, leaning back to look at him. Oscar huffed, feigning innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about." She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Baby, I know you. You're good at literally everything except keeping secrets."

He groaned, leaning forward to bite her shoulder playfully. "Can't you just go along with it? I swear, it's only things you love."

She nodded, relenting. "Okay, okay." She made a move to sit up, but Oscar’s arms tightened around her waist like steel bands. "Where are you going?" he asked. "To the shower. I thought you wanted me to go along with your silly plans?"

"Mmm, yeah," Oscar murmured, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he hauled her back down. "But not before another round." She shrieked, her laughter echoing loudly in the bedroom as he pulled the covers right back over their heads.

"Oscar!"

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The thumping house music that usually filled Oscar’s car was replaced by One Direction blasting at full volume. He didn't mind the genre flip, not when her hand was locked in his, and definitely not since he’d spent the last three weeks secretly memorizing every lyric in the exact way Harry Styles sings it just to make her smile. They left the highway behind, trading it for the quiet countryside. After parking, he led her down a few cobblestone side streets until they rounded a corner, stopping right in front of a charming, weathered bookshop.

"Osc," she whispered, her eyes widening. "You remembered?"

It was a passing mention from their very first date. "Of course I did," he said, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Ever since Logan introduced us, I knew I wanted to be with you. That meant memorizing every single thing."

They spent the next hour exploring the narrow aisles. Every time she picked up a book, admired it, and reluctantly put it back, Oscar would stealthily grab it the second her back was turned. By the time she finished browsing, he had racked up twelve books, paying for them all in secret before she could even think to protest. When she walked out of the store, she froze. Oscar was standing there, holding two massive, heavy bags with a smug grin.

"Oscar, what the fuck!"

"You deserve them," he laughed, easily brushing off her protests.

After dropping the heavy bags off at the car, Oscar grabbed a hidden picnic basket and led her up a gentle slope toward an overlooking view. Beneath the canopy of a giant tree, he spread a blanket and laid the basket down.

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The world felt entirely far away up there. The countryside stretched out into a quiet, sweeping canvas of amber and dusty pink as the sun began its descent. "See? Perfect timing," Oscar said, popping open the picnic basket with a triumphant grin. Inside was a chaotic, loving masterpiece: all her favorite snacks, a cold bottle of wine, and finger sandwiches that were charmingly squished, proof of his own handiwork.

He sat back on the plaid blanket, patting the space next to him.

"Okay, mister," she said, plopping down beside him with a soft smile. "You've officially done enough spoiling."

But that smile wasn't the one he was looking for. The familiar, suffocating weight of guilt was already eating at her, a shadow Oscar recognized instantly. He didn't let her retreat into her own head. Leaning in, he gently cupped her face, chasing the shadows away with a tender sequence of kisses, from her forehead, down to her nose, and finally her lips.

"Just one last thing, I promise," he whispered.

Reading her mind, Oscar set it down and immediately caught her hand, anchoring her. "I know you hate celebrating your birthday," he said softly. She looked down at their joined hands, and he pressed a reassuring kiss to her head. "You don't have to tell me why. Not now, not ever. All I want right now is to make you feel special, and to show you how much I love you." Reaching back into the basket, he pulled out a giant tub of tiramisu, her absolute favorite. Instead of excitement, a familiar ache tightened in her throat. Her heart thumped uncomfortably against her ribs. Did she really deserve this?

"So, since this isn't a birthday party," Oscar murmured, "and it's just me celebrating another year of getting to love you... I'll take the wish."

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She watched as Oscar closed his eyes, made his silent vow, and blew out the candle. A single tear spilled over, followed by another. The sheer weight of his devotion was overwhelming; she had never known a love so fierce and protective. Oscar didn't say a word. He just smiled, moved the dessert safely out of the way, and opened his arms. She shifted back into his lap, resting her back against his chest. He locked his arms around her, holding her so securely it felt like he was shielding her from the rest of the world.

For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of the wind in the leaves. Then, she looked up, meeting his gaze.

"What did you wish for?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer, yet longing to hear it.

"You," he said, the single word echoing softly in the twilight.

As if it meant something. As if it meant everything.

"To get to love you and celebrate you forever. Just you, for as long as the universe will let me."

©️𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒔

tiramisu making an appearance in yet another iris piece! can you tell it's my favourite?

🪻@cosmonauticaaa @freddiefromthefandoms @hannahbananababybanana @mclaeronautics @yumarkie @tinafication @purpleglitterocean @seawaterbrain