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"WHAT THE HELL..."
the brunet frowned as he slipped inside one of the windows. he was already quite familiar with the home he snuck into. the shadows danced in the moonlight, almost as to welcome him home. it wasn't his home, though. the only window that was untouched was the one he slid into. he didn't even know why he was here, facing the memory he wanted to erase from his mind.
the shattered glass below him, a mirror of reflection of himself. it reflected the wounds of war. the blood of innocence, the weapon of heartbreak. he looked away, running his hand through his almost silky smooth hair. every wall, a memory. every possession, a shot to the heart. every mirror, a reminder of the failed promise he made.
he promised her he'd save her. he promised to protect her, to finally step out of the shadow he was so used to hiding in. he risked everything for her, and he was guilty as charged. exploring more of the home, he soon found the room he was scared of opening. it was the idea that the room itself would eat him alive. pushing away the thoughts, he finally pushed the door open.
it all came back to him, the thorns surrounding his once guarded heart stabbing into him. it was a regular day, a normal day for them both. he had promised her that he would be home in time to watch whatever sugary sweet romantic comedy she wanted to watch. he shouldn't had left her alone. he knew shouldn't have left her alone. he grazed the scar on his lower abdomen, the scar of war against the people who didn't particularly enjoy the fact that he had dismantled their operations.
her screams, his tears. that was the only thing that could replay in his mind. he wore a mask, just to make sure not much emotion could even be shown. that day, the enemy knew who he was. he was a weak boy. his deadpan humor and sarcasm wasn't what it was made to be.
Oscar Piastri was scared and weak. such a skilled agent shouldn't have struggled so much and made a rookie mistake.
then again, he was in love.
it wasn't something that mixed well with his job. he was warned, he was screamed at. he didn't think much of it. what did they know? the oldheads seemed to hate anything he did... and now he understood why. picking up a picture frame, he sighed shakily. it was an image he took at his first podium. he had won P2 that day, his highest podium in his first year. on his left was his teammate, Lando Norris. he had a bright smile, a similar one to his own. on his right was Charles Leclerc. someone he had to learn was so very familiar to him. he, however, focused on the girl who was squished in the middle with him.
with her bright smile and blonde hair, dunking a bit of champagne on him. she had a McLaren hat and his own team shirt styled to her liking, her joyful demeanor almost coaxing a smile out of him. it was a distant memory that was a painful reminder as to why he was here now. he placed the image back on the shelf, where it once was.
