Formula 1 | One Shots

Pretty When You Cry | Oscar Piastri

Authors Note: Okay back to mindless fluff and cutesy shit 😉 

Done in Oscar POV ❤️ 
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Her favorite flowers, check.

Scented candles, check.

Chocolate chip cookies in the oven, double check...

I adjust the last plate on the table, trying to get it perfectly centered. It's funny how much effort I'm putting into this, but I really want tonight to be special. I've never really tried to make dinner like this before, but Elizabeth has been so stressed with uni, and I figured the least I could do was attempt something nice. 

My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it for now, focusing on the finishing touches, candles in the middle, a few flowers I picked up, nothing too over the top. The kitchen still smells like garlic and herbs, and honestly, I'm impressed I managed not to burn anything yet or even burn the apartment down. 

I spent the whole day shopping, checking every item twice, just to make sure I got the recipe right. Chicken Alfredo, her favorite meal. I wanted it to be perfect. It's the least she deserves after the week she's had. I look at the clock, realizing that she should be home soon. A part of me is a bit nervous. What if it doesn't taste good? What if I've completely fucked it up, and she's too polite to say anything? 

But I brush the thoughts away and take a deep breath, taking in the smell of the chocolate chip cookies in the oven. Elizabeth has been drowning in assignments and exams, barely having time to breathe, let alone eat a decent meal. I just want to take her mind off all of it, even if it's just for one evening. She deserves that. 

I step back from the table, checking it one last time. It looks...nice. Simple but cozy. Hopefully, this will help her relax, even just a little bit. I run my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the nerves. It's just dinner. But for some reason, it feels like more than that. Like I need to show her that I'm here for her, even when things get overwhelming. 

I'm not the best with words, but maybe this dinner can say what I can't. I hear the door click open, and my heart does this weird jump in my chest. This is it. I wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to play it cool, even though I feel like I've just lined up for a race. 

"Hey," I call out, walking towards the door with a grin. "Hope you're hungry."

The door opens, and there she is, Elizabeth...my Betty, with her purple backpack slung over one shoulder and her blonde hair a little messy from the long day. She steps inside, but the second her eyes land on the dining table, she freezes. I watch her, trying to read her expression, but it's hard to tell what she's thinking when her eyebrows furrow. 

"Surprise?" I awkwardly say in a monotone voice, considering she hasn't said a word.

It's dead silent, she still doesn't say a word, but then I notice it, her eyes welling up with tears. My heart skips, and I take a step toward her, worried I might've overdone it or something. 

"Hey baby, are you okay?" I ask, not quite sure what to expect. 

Before I can say anything else, she drops her backpack on the floor, runs towards me and closes the distance between by throwing her arms around my neck. I feel her squeeze me tightly, and I stand there for a second, surprised, before wrapping my arms around her too. She buries her face into my chest, and I can feel her shaking a little for her sobs, but it's not from sadness, it's something else. 

I stroke her back gently, unsure of what to say. "I didn't mean to make you cry," I whisper, half joking, trying to lighten the moment a little. 

But she just hugs me tighter, holding on like she never wants to let go. I rest my chin on the top of her head, feeling the weight of the week she's been carrying. All the stress, the late nights, the pressure, it all seems to be melting away in this one hug, and I feel grateful that I could give her even a small moment of comfort.