𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠; oscar piastri ✔

PART ONE

LOLLLL okay so hear me out; I've never written a modern fic. Never ever. My stories have always spun through history, whether TLK or BoB, so I am completely new to this. That includes writing in the modern day, social media aus etc. So please bear with me if it is crap <3

Secondly, as this is a work of fiction not everything will be accurate (obviously) which includes when the drivers were in-country for their races, what they were doing between races etc. I will stick to the basis of the 2023 calendar but that's the most you'll get. Otherwise, I've made up some names/characters here and there to fit to the story, e.g. Oscar's manager etc. :)

Finally, I don't know why I decided to do this. I guess I just love Oscar and there's not much of him on here. That being said, enjoy <3

Word count; 2,772

Mirabella

— May 21-22nd, 2023. Miami, Florida.

A warm breeze washed over my face as the elevator doors slid open, my hands fumbling around my pockets, half expecting that they'd be empty and I could go back to my room and sleep. Locating a carton, I picked at the seal with my fingernails, only for it to slip from my grip and scatter across the ground.

"Shit," I muttered, pinching each smoke back into the pack.

Standing upright, I placed one between my lips, searching my pockets once again for a light. Finding nothing, I slapped my hands to my sides, inclining my head. Clouds plagued the nighttime sky, smothering the city with humidity.

"Here."

The voice reached into the depths of my mind, dragging me back to reality. I hadn't even realised anyone else was on the rooftop, too focused on lighting a damn cigarette, every single action destined to go wrong.

I could barely see him in the dark, and I wouldn't have even known where he was if it wasn't for the illuminated pool, his legs resting over the edge of it. He smiled a vague smile - light on the mouth - and raised his hand, as if preparing to throw. When I extended my own, he did, and I wondered why he had a lighter but no smoke.

I brushed my thumb over the metal; it was an antique zipper lighter, heavy at the hindges, most likely bought from an overpriced corner shop that had labelled it as vintage. I flicked it once, twice. I thought to thank him, but he was already back in his own world.

Taking a step forward, a pain shot from my ankles, spawned by a day of walking in high heels. No second thought, I kicked them off, nearly stumbling over them in the process. He chuckled - another hazy expression, completely vacant - and I glared at him, even the slightest jest foreign to my ears.

"Do you think that's funny?" I retorted, picking up the stilettos with my free hand.

"Yes." He said simply.

I rolled my eyes, edging around the pool. Once more back in his own dimension, I waved the lighter in front of his eyes. Then, it dawned on me why he was so dazed; why he had a lighter but no cigarette.

"Jesus, how much have you had?"

He looked up at me with squinted eyes, "I don't know what you're talking about."

I scoffed a chuckle, not expecting to hear an Australian accent. "Oh really?"

"Mhm."

"You know that's illegal here, right?"

"I know." He smiled faintly, still squinting. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"What are we, children?" I chuckled, dropping the lighter into his lap. "You're welcome."