#i was inspired by silly season and the narrative of ferrari and mclaren and that one picture from that prema video

[effervescentdragon]

something about Arthur and glasses 🤓 with whoever you want, I have no moral compunctions here 😏

hello anon! did you see that gifset of arthur with the glasses and prompt me, because if you did, thats the most valid thing ever 😘 you get arthur x oscar future!fic, because that prema video is living in my mind rent free ever since i watched it and silly season gives me hopes and delusions :) hope you like it!

Arthur is nervous as fuck.

"Calm down, petit, you'll do wonderfully," Charles says for the thousandth time, then leaves to talk to his race engineer. Enzo takes one look at him, rolls his eyes, and sends him outside behind the garage to calm himself down. He thrusts the headphones at Arthur and pushes him towards the back, and Arthur flees.

It's not that Arthur doesn't believe Charles and Enzo when they tell him he'll do well. He has racing in his blood, and Ferrari wouldn't have signed him if they didn't think he could deliver, no matter that his brother is their current champion. It's just that, well, fuck.

It's Ferrari. He can't be chill about driving for Ferrari, for fuck's sake. Only a psycopath could, and Arthur is pretty sure that while he may have some pathology about his relationship with his car (all the drivers do, really, just look at his brother touching the car and that should be clear), he isn't a psychopath. It's just. Ferrari.

He plays the psytrance playlist to calm himself down. It works, it's always worked for him, and the adrenaline pumps in his veins but his mind is starting to calm down, when he notices a shadow in his periphery.

A hand falls on his knee. He can barely feel it through the fireproofs, but when he opens his eyes and sees who is touching him, his skin seems to burn. Brains are funny like that.

"Well, if it isn't Mister Ferrari himself," Oscar says with that smirk of his, and Arthur rolls his eyes automatically.

"That is Charles, actually," he quips back, "he is the champion after all."

Oscar inclines his head. "Fair," he says. Arthur has always liked his accent. "What are you doing here?" He doesn't make any move to remove his hand from Arthur's knee.

"Calming myself down before the race." Arthur shrugs. There is no point lying to Oscar. They know each other too well, ever since their Prema days, and Oscar may even remember how Arthur was before every first race of the season. Only the stakes are now higher for both of them, except Oscar already has some experience, amd Arthur really doesn't.

Oscar hums, tilting his head and not looking away from Arthur. "Why are you nervous?"

Arthur scoffs incredulously.

"Mate," he says. "I'm supposed to drive for fucking Ferrari."

"And I'm driving for fucking McLaren," Oscar replies, then frowns. "It's - yeah, no, you're right, actually. It's fucking scary and - and daunting."

"You're absolutely no help at all," Arthur deadpans, but he can feel himself starting to smile. "Yeah, but you're smiling," Oscar calls him out. Arthur would punch him, but that would mean dislodging Oscar's hand from his knee, and Oscar moving away, and Arthur doesn't really want that.

Arthur doesn't think a lot, or that's what Lorenzo tells him at least. He acts first, letting his brain catch up, if it ever does. It makes him an extremely good racing driver. It also makes him a bit of a disaster of a human being.

The one thing he never let himself act on was whatever was going on between him and Oscar back in 2021. He's not sure if that was the very smart, or the very stupid thing to do.

(Lorenzo would say it was smart, but Lorenzo was a realist and a bore without any sense foe romance, in Arthur's opinion.

Charles would say it was stupid, but Charles was an incurable romantic and in love with his best friend for decades.

Arthur himself just thinks it is what it is, and sometimes, when he lets himself think about it, he regrets.)

"You'll do good," Oscar says suddenly. Arthur raises his head from where he's hunching over to look into his eyes a bit better. "I'll deny this if you ever repeat it, but you were always the best of us."

He presses on Arthur's knee, and Arthur's breathing stutters. There is something in Oscar's eyes that makes him think he's thinking about 2021 too, and he swallows heavily. Oscar's hand doesn't let off.

You're a Ferrari driver now, he thinks. You drive for the best team on the grid.

Cowards don't drive for Ferrari.

"If I score," Arthur says, and Oscar's eyes flash. "If I get points in this race, you owe me dinner."

Oscar just looks at him.

"A dinner," Arthur says, and pushes on, because he always did. "Or a kiss."

Oscar's eyes widen. He tightens his hold on Arthur's knee, and licks his lips.

"Or a good luck kiss now," Arthur says with a smirk, because he has never not known how to push. "Whichever you prefer."

He keeps eye contact with Oscar, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"And if I score?" Oscar asks, and his eyes flit to Arthur's lips for a bare second. It's quite enough for Arthur to feel a profound sense of relief, because he did not read this wrong. "What do I get?"

"What do you want?"

Oscar seems to be battling with himself about something, but then he gets a determined look on his face, the look Arthur thinks got him his first GP win in his rookie F1 season, and steps closer, in between Arthur's legs. His other hand grasps Arthur's other knee, and he's suddenly so fucking glad for the space in his fireproofs.

"A dinner," Oscar says in a low voice. His eyes fall back on Arthur's lips. "And a kiss."

"Greedy," Arthur breathes out, and he knows they shouldn't be doing this here and now, with only some hour before the race and more or less in a very exposed space. "But so am I."

"Oh, I know." Oscar laughs, and Arthur laighs with him, because he does know, doesn't he? They've known each other for so long, but it was never the right time. "I'm counting on it."

Something clangs behind them then, and Italian cursing fills the air. Oscar doesn't jump away; he moves slowly, dragging his hands until they aren't touching Arthur anymore. Arthur feels their absence keenly.

"Good luck, Arthur," he says, a beaming smile on his face.

"You too," Arthur replies. "See you after the race."

"You will," Oscar nods, and turns, and Arthur definitely checks out his ass in those white and orange fireproofs as he's walking away.

Lorenzo appears not a minute later.

"You calm?" He asks, and Arthur is, and isn't. He laughs, and Enzo stares at him.

"I'm good." He jumps down. "Let's do this."

*

"Charles Leclerc wins the first race of the season, a good start to defending his title! Gasly in second, Schumacher in third, and that rounds out our podium, with the second Mercedes of George Russel just missing out in P4! What a wonderful Sillver Arrow battle, we haven't seen those since the days of Rosberg and Hamilton!"

"Yes, Martin, indeed, what a race! And so clean, a true masterclass in sporting conduct, and such smart driving from our young Arthur Leclerc, who scores his first points for Ferrari and in F1 in his maiden race! P7, I believe?"

"Indeed, Crofty! Both McLarens follow the two Mercedes, with Piastri in P5 and Norris in P6, Arthur Leclerc for Ferrari in P7, Tsunoda in P8, Zhou P9, and Gasly's teammate Ocon coming home in tenth to score last points available in Bahrain!"

"A joy of a race to watch, Martin, now let's go back to Ted..."

*

so where do u want that dinner? :)

oh idk arthur. your room or mine?

urs. mine has enzo

good choice.

544.

i know ;)

i'll be there after i shower

or you come here before.

no sense wasting water ;)

i AM very environmentally conscius

you spelled conscious wrong

ur aussie, you dont know this

just come here :)

coming :)

bring your glasses btw.

i know your eyes hurt if you sleep w contacts

<3

will do