Chapter Text
« if it doesn't burn a little then
what's the point of playing with fire? »
Chapter One: The worst day ever
It was a terrible day. There was no other way to put it. Oscar had woken up way too late, his alarm hadn’t gone off. The tea he’d been drinking on his way to the paddock spilled all over his shirt, and it was boiling hot, burning his tongue.
By midday, the nausea had started. Race nerves, he told himself. The first race of the season, his home race. Totally normal. He realized just how wrong he was when, halfway through one of the final meetings to go over the car setup for the day, he had to run to the bathroom. Embarrassing. Disgusting.
And finally, the last straw. Oscar was a pessimist. It was in his nature. Even if everything pointed to the car being decent, his mind went straight to the worst-case scenario. Or rather, the many worst-case scenarios that could exist.
One: barely finishing in the points. He had qualified well, nothing surprising, but anything could happen.
Two: not finishing in the points at all. He trusted his reflexes, and the car had behaved well all weekend, but failures were common in Formula One.
Three: not finishing the race. He’d seen it dozens of times, someone made a mistake and took half the grid out with them.
But never, never had he imagined what actually happened to him.
So, giving in to defeat, he had decided to feel sorry for himself and get drunk that night. It hadn’t exactly been a conscious decision—more like the only option he had left. Lando, his teammate, had won the race. The whole team was celebrating the victory of the first race of the season, had he mentioned it was in Australia?, and he hadn’t even managed to complete a lap. Hell, he hadn’t even started the race.
He couldn’t blame them for celebrating, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach when he saw his entire team at the hotel bar, celebrating the achievement. So he did the most logical thing in that moment: he crossed the street to the hotel across from theirs and got drunk alone. After all, the only person to blame for his disaster of a race was himself.
And so there he was, sitting at the bar with his back to the world. A hotel bar, with generic music and generic drinks. The place felt just as bleak as he did, the tables completely empty, just like his hopes. He’d told you, he was a pessimist.
"A double shot of tequila, please," a female voice said suddenly beside him, dragging the stool with the same heaviness Oscar felt inside.
"Double?" The word slipped out of Oscar’s lips before he could stop himself.
"Bold criticism for someone drinking alone in a pathetic hotel bar."
Oscar almost smiled, turning to look at her, only to find she was already staring at him. He looked back without shame, scanning her the same way he could feel her analyzing him.
The first thing he noticed was that she was pretty. Very pretty. Blonde, messy bangs, blue eyes, pink lips. She was small, her feet didn’t touch the floor, hanging slightly above it. Somehow, she fit in that bar just as much as he did.
The first and last thing he noticed were her eyes, which immediately made him feel like an idiot. They were red and puffy; her whole face suggested she’d been crying for quite a while.
He had never been good at apologizing, so instead he just said:
"Make that another one, please."
The girl almost smiled.
The bartender slid the glasses over, and without breaking eye contact, they both grabbed theirs and drank, Oscar grimacing instantly, while she took it without even blinking.
"Allison. The most pathetic girl in the world," she introduced herself, extending her hand. Oscar reacted automatically, shaking it.
"Oscar. The most pathetic guy in the world."
Allison nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips, as if the whole interaction had been some sort of test and he’d passed.
"Do you mind if I join your party? My goal tonight is to get completely drunk so I don’t have to think about what just happened to me."
"What a coincidence. That’s exactly mine too."
With the entire bar to themselves, they moved to one of the booths, sitting across each other. They had both ordered a beer and two shots of tequila each, the latter resting on the table as if waiting for the right breaking point to be taken. The beer was mostly just something to do.
"So, what happened to you?" Oscar asked, taking a sip of his beer. Allison sighed audibly and straightened up, closing her eyes for a moment as if reliving it.
"My boyfriend broke up with me."
"Ouch."
"Over the phone."
"What an idiot."
"He was cheating on me."
"I’m sorry."
"He got the other girl pregnant."
Oscar blinked, processing her words. A second later, he picked up one of the tequila shots.
"Cheers," he said. Allison nodded, relaxing just a little as she took her glass.
"Cheers." They clinked their small glasses and downed the liquid in one go. This time, it burned a little less, but the grimace was still inevitable.
"What happened to you?" she asked softly, though Oscar caught it immediately. She already knew.
"You already know," Oscar confirmed. It was to be expected. He had turned off his phone as soon as he could, not wanting to know what people were saying about his failure, but he could bet the news kept replaying the footage over and over, social media was full of memes, and podcasts were already recording episodes dissecting every detail.
"I think it’s only fair to hear it from you," she murmured, looking at him in a way Oscar couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t pity. It was almost like she was just as upset as he was about what had happened.
"I crashed," Oscar said flatly, trying to downplay it.
"Ouch."
"I hadn’t even started the race."
"I’m sorry."
"This is the most important race of the year for me. And I ruined it."
It was involuntary. The words came out raw and honest, surprising both of them. She didn’t try to comfort him or offer empty reassurances, which to his relief, he appreciated. Allison simply nodded, grabbed the remaining tequila shot, and said:
"To forgetting what happened."
This time, they didn’t clink glasses. They just held each other’s gaze and drank, and for the first time that day, Oscar felt like he could breathe again.
"You already know what I do," Oscar said, playing with the cap of his beer bottle. Allison didn’t smile, but he noticed her eyes light up before she said:
"You’re a taxi driver."
"Ha," was all he replied, completely serious. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, not quite a smile, but close. "What about you?"
"I’m a chef." He noticed immediately how her posture changed completely. It was something she was proud of. Then she added casually, as if they were talking about the weather, "I’m Lewis Hamilton’s personal chef in the paddock."
"What?" Oscar asked, not even trying to hide his surprise. Allison finally smiled, clearly satisfied with his reaction.
"What? Did you think the eight-time world champion eats the same as the rest of us mortals? Besides, remember he’s vegan. If it weren’t for me, he’d probably live off salads."
"Seven," he corrected automatically, still stunned. The blonde hid her smile, taking another sip of her beer.
"What can I say? I’ve got to defend the boss."
When she noticed Oscar was still speechless, Allison reached into her bag and pulled out her paddock pass. She slid it across the table toward him, and he picked it up, inspecting it for a moment.
Sure enough, there was her picture. Allison Davis, wearing an expression completely different from the one she had now. In the photo, she looked radiant -her blue eyes bright, her smile framing her face.
"As you can see, I’ve had better days," she sighed, misinterpreting his silence when he didn’t take his eyes off her photo.
"You look just as beautiful," the words slipped out before he could stop them, the alcohol doing its job.
She parted her lips, surprised, but if she was going to comment on it, she changed her mind. She leaned back against the seat, putting some distance between them, bringing the beer to her lips. She seemed to be studying him, like he was a book she hadn’t quite formed an opinion about yet. He let himself be seen, completely serious.
In the end, Allison seemed to make up her mind. She leaned forward again, closing the distance, resting her elbows on the table. Like a magnet, Oscar mirrored her movement.
"I’ll trade you a secret for a secret," she said. Oscar blinked, not quite sure where this was going.
"You first," he challenged.
Allison licked her lips, then pushed herself up slightly over the table, leaning in even closer. She took Oscar’s face in her fingers, turning him just enough to whisper in his ear,
"I’m not even vegan."
Oscar let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and laughed, pulling away from her. She smiled widely, and somehow, Oscar felt like he had just passed another test.
"I don’t like the color orange," Oscar admitted. Allison nodded with mock seriousness, as if he had just revealed a state secret.
"Understandable."
Hours passed. Oscar’s head felt light, his fingers tingling. They hadn’t taken any more tequila, but between the beers and Allison, he felt like he was floating. It was getting harder and harder to look away from her, from her bright eyes and flushed cheeks from the alcohol and, he hoped, maybe something else.
There was a moment of silence. He knew he should leave. He knew the night had stretched too far, and he had a flight to catch tomorrow. Just thinking about it hurt. Going back to his apartment, alone, dealing with the weight of his failure, only to race again in a few days and fear making the same mistake.
"Another secret you want to trade?" Allison asked softly, pulling him back to reality. Oscar took a breath and decided to be honest with her.
"I’m thinking about what a fucking loser I am… and how I don’t want this night with you to ever end."
Allison looked at him, really looked at him, the way Oscar was beginning to realize no one else had in years. She didn’t seem afraid of being caught doing it. It was like she wanted to see through him, like she was pushing, just to see if he would stop her.
"I’m thinking we should have sex in my room."
The honesty of her words caught him completely off guard. Oscar was grateful he wasn’t drinking anything, because he was sure he would’ve spat it out. Allison raised an eyebrow, watching him with complete seriousness, waiting for his answer.
"Okay," was all he managed. Allison smiled, stood up, and took his hand.
Oscar let himself be led.