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scuderiahoney · 5 months

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In From The Rain

Oscar Piastri x plant nerd!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Oscar’s looking for an easy to care for houseplant. You have just the solution. Check out the moodboard here!

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: none

The greenhouse is quiet in the early morning. It’s one of your favorite things. Before the customers come in, looking for flowers for their porch or vegetable plants for their gardens, it’s just you and the plants and the sun streaming in through the glass. So when somebody interrupts your morning solitude, you’re not exactly happy about it.

Sure, you’re technically open, but nobody ever gets here this early. You’re watering plants in your rain boots, a mug of coffee in your hand, when the front door swings open. You turn to look, the noise startling you.

The man who walks in looks sheepish when his eyes meet yours. He ducks under a hanging basket, nearly trips over your garden hose. His cheeks flush red. You’d be more irritated with his presence if he wasn’t being so cute about it.

“Sorry, the- the sign said open,” he says, backing towards the door.

“You’re fine. We are open,” you affirm, flicking off the sprayer before you drown the petunias in front of you. “I was just surprised to see someone in here so early.”

He laughs. It’s a nice sound. Almost as nice a sound as his voice, with an Australian accent. He stops backing away. You should probably point out that he’s standing in a puddle, but you’re not sure if that’s really your place.

“Can I help you find something?” You ask.

He takes a step forward. A thick band of sunlight shines down on the top of his head, like a halo. He brushes his floppy hair from his face.

“No, that’s okay. You’re busy, I’ll just have a look around,” he says.

You nod. “Let me know if you have any questions.”

You turn back to the flower trays in front of you. They’ll need pruning, soon. And some of the hanging baskets are getting a bit unruly- it’ll likely be time to put them on sale in the next few days, to open up space for new plants. You can hear the man walking around behind you, peering at the plants. His footsteps are hesitant, and when you look, he has his hands held behind his back. He leans close to read the signs, brows tightly wound.

He obviously has no idea what he’s looking for.

You put the hose away and set your nearly empty coffee down at your workstation in the back of the greenhouse. Then you make your way back up to the front, where he’s standing near the succulents.

“Sure you don’t want help?” You ask.

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Is it that obvious that I’ve got no idea what I’m doing?”

“A bit,” you say, and he laughs again. “That’s okay, though. It’s what I’m here for. What are you looking for?”

He stands up straight, eyes dancing over the greenhouse. “So. I’ve been told my apartment is boring. A friend suggested a plant to liven up the space.”

You nod. A tale as old as time. He’ll either kill the plant within a week or fill his whole place with them.

“But I’m gone a lot for work,” he says. “Like, a lot. So I need something that won’t wilt the second I’m gone, you know?”

You nod. “Does your apartment get good light?”

He laughs. “I don’t know what good light means.”

“Which direction do your windows face?”

“South,” he says, confidently. “Google said that was good. Right?”

You fight a laugh. He’s a bit adorable. Trying very hard to get it right. Like this is a test with right and wrong answers.

“Yeah, south facing is great.” You gesture towards the succulents. “You could get a succulent. They can go weeks without watering, but they need lots of light.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “I thought these were cactuses. Or cacti?”

“Close,” you tell him, and he smiles again. “Cacti are the ones with the spikes.”

He nods in understanding. He crouches down, then, eye levels with the little plants. Your heart is melting. You scuff one of your rain boots against the ground. You could stand here and watch the way his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks all day, but that would be creepy and you have a job you’re supposed to be doing.

“How do I know which one to get?” He says, quietly. “Like… there are so many different kinds.”

Your face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s so endearing. “I think you’ll know when you see it.”

He appears at the front cash register ten minutes later, a succulent in hand. It’s a little one, the perfect starter plant. He’s eyeing the decorative pots next to you, brows furrowed again.

“Those are too big for that plant,” you tell him, and he breathes out a sigh. “There are smaller ones on the other side of the display.”

He moves to look. You hear him shuffling, hear him pick up pots and then set them down. Then he appears again, a little pot with black and white checkerboard print on it in his other hand.

“Perfect,” you say softly. “Have you got potting soil?”

He clears his throat. “Um. No, but I’ve got a courtyard at my apartment with a garden… but I’m sensing from the look on your face that that won’t do.”

You roll your eyes playfully. Then you reach under the counter and grab one of the small sample bags of potting soil you keep on hand.

“Here. On the house.” You say. “So you can put that plant in the pot.”

“Wow. Thanks,” he says. He sets the other items down on the counter. “Thanks for all your help, actually.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

You bag the items carefully, making sure the plant won’t be squished. You put a care instruction sheet in the bag, too. Then you slide it to him with a smile.

“There’s a care sheet in there that should help. Enjoy your new plant,” you say. “I hope it works out.”

“Me too,” he says.

He leaves, then, and you’re left with your quiet greenhouse once again. It’s odd. Usually you breathe a sigh of relief after a customer leaves. But this time, you almost want him to come back.

…..

Two weeks later, you’re back at your workstation re-potting a sad looking philodendron. You look up from it when you hear the bell over the front door ring. The watering is already done, the hose put away, so there’s nothing for the man to trip over this time. But it is the same guy, and he ducks under the hanging basket the same way. You should maybe move it, but he seems to be the only one who’s had an issue with it. You stand up, wiping the dirt from your hands on your apron.

“You didn’t kill that succulent already, did you?” You call out.

His eyes dart to meet yours, and he laughs. “No! Promise.”

“Good. That would be a new record,” you laugh.

You let him wander the store on his own for a few minutes as you get the philodendron correctly in the new pot. Then you give it some water and take it with you to set it back out on the shelf. He’s still the only other person in the store, and he’s currently eyeing the flats of flowering plants.

“It’s actually going really well,” he says as you walk by. “He has a new leaf.”

That’s when you know the guy is hooked. He has a new leaf. The plant is no longer just a plant to him. Absent-mindedly, you wonder if he’s the type to name his plants. You set the one in your hands down on the table in front of you, your back to him so he doesn’t see your wide grin. When you turn around, you tone it down.

“That’s great,” you say encouragingly. “So I’m guessing you want another one?”

He nods, rubbing his finger over the leaf of a fiddle leaf fig. “Yeah, but I’m thinking something different this time. Something bigger.”

“You don’t want that one,” you say, and he backs away from the fig tree slightly. “Fiddle leafs are notoriously dramatic. If you left her for a week she’d drop all her leaves.”

He sighs and stands up. “What would you suggest?”

You wave him over to another area of the store. He follows eagerly, footsteps splashing in the leftover puddles from the morning watering. You lead him to a section of spiky, tall plants.

“Snake plant,” you say, pointing at them.

He’s standing next to you, and your shoulders just barely brush. A shiver runs down your spine. You try to hide it.

“Snake plant,” he repeats. “The name makes sense.”

“People also call them mother in law’s tongue,” you add. You fight the urge to check his ring finger. “But if you’ve got a mother in law I’d suggest avoiding that name.”

He laughs, and his shoulder bumps into your again. “I don’t. But snake plant sounds cooler.”

You nod in agreement. “They do well with very little water. And, they can do okay in pretty low light, too. So if you’ve got a darker area that needs a plant, it would be a good fit.”

He’s up at the register ten minutes later, plant and a pot in hand. This one is plain terracotta. You like that he’s the type of person to buy the pots, too. Some people just leave them in the boring plastic, and it makes you sad to think about. All plants deserve a nice home. You say that to him as you ring him up, and he laughs. He’s also grabbed a small bag of potting soil this time.

Your repeat the process, same as last time, and hand him the bag. He takes it, and then he hesitates.

“Thanks again,” he says, juggling the bag until it’s held in one arm. He sticks his hand out to you. “I’m Oscar, by the way.”

You tell him your name, though you’re sure he could read it off your nametag, too. When you shake his hand, you swear the warmth of it runs all the way up your arm. He thanks you again, and then he disappears out the door once again. That ache is back in your chest. You find yourself hoping he’ll be back soon.

…..

He does come back. Multiple times. He buys more succulents on one trip, asking you to help him choose between them, and then he ends up buying all three instead. Another morning he comes in and you show him a ZZ plant you’ve just gotten in that you think will be perfect for him- you don’t tell him you’ve been saving it for him at your work station. It’s just… you know it’ll look great next to the snake plant he bought.

Each time he comes to the store, he hangs around a little longer. You chat about the weather, about the plants in the store, about his plants at home. You tell him funny stories about other customers and complain to him about the rude ones. In return, he tells you about his coworkers, specifically one named Lando who he seems to get into a lot of mischief with. He hasn’t said what he does for work. You field weird about asking, so you don’t.

The 4th time he stops by, you suggest a pothos. He eyed the leaves and vines skeptically.

“The other ones looked tough, you know? Like they’d survive even if I fucked up.” He tugs at one of the vines. “Are you sure about this one?”

You nod encouragingly. “You can handle it. I promise. Plus, the cool thing about these is you can cut parts of the vines, like this,” you say, holding up one you’d taken from the workstation. “And then you stick it in water for a bit, it grows roots, and you’ve got a whole new plant.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s cool.”

“I know,” you laugh.

He joins you up at the front to buy the plant. You go through the same routine. This time, he’s picked out a pretty blue ceramic pot for it. It compliments the leaves well. Then he leans on the counter and the two of you start chatting. You’d had a shipment that came in last week with a bunch of dead plants, so you regale him with the story of trying to deal with the company’s customer service. In turn, he tells you a story about his family back home- one of his sisters had a dance recital, his mother tried to videotape it for him, he received a video of his mother’s face as she watched the recital. You don’t realize how long the two of you have been talking until Jane, the next person on the schedule, walks in.

You stand up straight, face growing hot suddenly. “Hi, Jane!”

“Hi, hun,” she says, walking past the two of you. “Sorry I’m late. Bet you’re dying for your lunch break.”

She’s late? You and Oscar must’ve been talking for… forever. It had felt like only minutes. He smiles sheepishly and pushes away from the counter.

“Well, I should be going,” he says, taking the bag in his arms. “Thanks again!”

You watch him walk out the front door, unsure why it feels like you’ve been caught. It reminds you of the feeling you’d gotten years ago, when your teacher found you and the boy you had a crush on in the hallway alone. You hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it still makes you feel strange.

“Friend of yours?” Jane asks when you walk past her to take your break.

You blink, shrugging. “I think he might be.”

…..

Oscar always comes in on Tuesdays. You avoid taking Tuesdays off and won’t admit to yourself that he’s the reason why. But when you wake up with a raging fever and a pounding head, you know you have to call in. Jane, always a sweetheart, takes your shift. When you see her two days later, it’s after you’ve already done the opening shift.

“Did you see your plant?” She asks as she breezes through the greenhouse.

You shut off the hose you’d been using to water a particularly thirsty chrysanthemum. “What plant?”

“The one your friend brought,” she says, and you only feel more confused. “He dropped it off Tuesday, said he was looking for you. It’s on the desk.”

You walk over to the workstation. Sure enough, in a tiny plastic pot- likely one from one of the succulents he’d bought-there’s a small pothos vine growing. You pick up the little plant, knocking over the piece of paper propped up on it in the process. You reach for it, finding a note written in rushed, messy scrawl.

I know you’ve probably got tons, but it felt right that you would have my very first propagation. Learned that word from the internet. Feel better soon! -Oscar

You turn to look at Jane. She’s at the register, not paying you any attention. You cradle the tiny plant close to your chest and do the same with the note. Then you tuck the paper away for safekeeping.

The plant, however, you carry with you all day. You place it in a sunbeam at the front register. When it catches your eye every so often, you feel a warmth in your chest.

…..

The next time Oscar comes in, he eyes the little plant at the register. You’ve stuck a little stake in it and tied a bow on top. He smiles softly and turns back to the display of pots. He chooses a tiny one with checkerboard print, the same as his very first purchase. You ring him up for all his items, but when you go to put that one in the bag, he grabs it and shakes his head. He slides it towards your tiny vine.

“For your plant,” he says, smiling softly.

You break into a face splitting grin. “You’re too sweet.”

His fingers brush against yours when you take it from him. You swear you feel sparks. You wonder if the red cheeks he sports as he leaves the store means he felt it, too.

…..

Another man comes into the shop early in the morning. It’s a Wednesday this time. You know it won’t be Oscar because of that, but you still look up eagerly. The guy nods, waving politely. You smile and go back to your watering. He walks the aisles, looking at the plants and never picking them up.

“Excuse me?” He says, after you’ve put the hose away. You turn, trying to hide your surprise at his American accent. “Um. Could you tell me where the succulents are?”

You grin and nod, walking over towards the area. You point them out.

“These right here,” you say. “Anything I can help you with?”

He stares at the tiny plants. “I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend, he’s gotten really into plants, and he talks about this shop all the time. Figured I’d see what the hype was all about.”

You tilt your head. He’s probably not, but it almost sounds like he’s talking about Oscar. You try and shake the idea from your head. Oscar is just a customer, he’s not going around and telling his friends about the greenhouse he goes to. He’s definitely not telling them about you.

“Succulents are a good place to start,” you say.

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a green thumb. I don’t think I’ll be very good at this.”

“Well, it’s worth a try.” You say with a shrug. “You might surprise yourself.”

He ends up picking out a little succulent. He doesn’t go for a decorative pot. He seems wholly unconfident in his ability to keep it alive for more than a few days. Still, he smiles as he’s leaving. He pauses in the doorway.

“You know, I thought Oscar was exaggerating when he told me about you,” he says. “But I get it now.”

He’s out the door before you can even form a syllable, let alone a word or a sentence. You think about chasing after him and asking what the hell that even means, but you stay rooted there. Oscar talks about you. To his friends. You swear your heartbeat doesn’t slow all morning, and the heat in your cheeks stays there all day.

…..

Oscar comes rushing into the shop the next Tuesday. He has a brown paper bag in his arms, and his eyes are wide. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. You stand up, setting the garden hose down. He nearly slips on a puddle as he rushes over to you, and you reach out to steady him.

“I just got home last night,” he rushes, “and something’s wrong with- with Greg.”

“Greg?” You ask, leaning to peer into the bag.

“My succulent,” he says. His cheeks have gone red. “I name my plants. Is that weird?”

You laugh. “No, it’s not.”

You don’t tell him you’ve named your tiny pothos vine after him. You take the bag from his arms and walk to the back of the store, towards the work station. You reach in and pull out the succulent. It’s a little withered, a bit droopy. It’s also doubled in size since he bought it.

“I’ve been watering him when the soil gets dry,” he says, “and he’s still getting sunlight. I’ve tried everything- I left music playing for them when I left, so-“

Your eyes flicker up to him. He plays music for his plants. He’s the cutest man you’ve ever met. You want to take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. Or his lips. He has these cute little freckles and moles- you’d like to draw constellations between them. Your face feels hot again. You direct your attention back to the plant as he rambles on. You frown, tugging slightly to see the roots.

“Osc, babe,” you interrupt, and he stops and stares at you. “He’s just a little root bound.”

You don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve just called him babe. It’s too late now.

“What’s that mean?” He asks, the panicky tone still in his voice.

“It means,” you start, nudging his side softly with your elbow, “that you’ve taken such good care of him that he’s outgrown this pot. He needs more soil. More room to spread out.”

His shoulders drop. The panic melts off his face. “Oh.”

You laugh. “God, I can’t believe when you came in here the first time you had no idea what a succulent even was. And now here you are, all panicked over a little wilting. You’ve become a true plant nerd, haven’t you?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Maybe.”

“It’s cute,” you tell him, just to watch the blush creep up on his cheeks again. “Come on, let’s get him a new pot and some fresh soil.”

You lead him up to the front. He starts to pick through the display, holding the succulent up to the different options until he finds the right one. It’s a light orange.

You nod in approval. “Now you’ve got an empty pot,” you say, pointing at the original pot for the succulent. “Which means if you want, you have an excuse to buy another plant.”

“You’re so smart,” he says, eyes wide.

He rushes over to the display of succulents. While he’s picking one out, you carefully re-pot the plant into its new home. He takes his time, like always, indecisive to the very end. When he makes it up to the counter, he grins widely at the sight of the plant in its new pot.

“Thanks,” he says, softly. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

…..

When Oscar comes into the shop on a particularly rainy Tuesday, you’re trying hastily to hide your tears. He doesn’t come in every week, but it’s just your luck that he’s here today of all days. You wave and turn your back to him, sticking to the workstation. You hear the soft fall of his tennis shoes, though, even over the sound of the rain against the greenhouse roof, and you know he’s making his way towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, voice low.

You turn and find him with his hands in his jeans pockets. You wipe at your cheeks hastily, hoping he can’t tell how upset you are, but knowing you look a wreck. Your hair is soaked in rainwater, and your eyes likely red rimmed and puffy. It’s confirmed when his soft smile drops into a frown.

“I’ve had a shit morning,” you tell him with a sigh.

He pulls one hand from his pocket. “You, uh. You have dirt on your cheek.”

You groan and try to brush it away. Oscar chews on his lower lip. Then he reaches out, his fingertips sweeping against the skin of your face. His hand is warm, despite the chill in the air. Tiny sparks seem to spread across your skin, following the trail of his touch. Your face grows hot.

“There,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

He nods. “What’s going on? If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but…”

You sigh and turn away slightly, back to the plant in the pot in front of you. His gaze is so warm that you can’t stand to look at him, afraid you might start crying all over again.

“Just. Woke up late, so I was in a rush. And then I locked my car key in the car because I forgot something in the flat, and my mum has the spare key and she’s not even awake yet, so I had to walk here in the rain. And I couldn’t find my umbrella.” You brush a wet piece of hair away from your forehead. “And I slept like shit, and haven’t had any caffeine because I was late. So, yeah.”

“Shit morning,” Oscar agrees.

You nod. You finally turn to look at him again. There’s a soft look on his face, one you can’t quite place. He reaches out, places his hand flat on the counter next to yours. If you shifted your thumb just slightly, you could touch his. You want to, but you don’t.

“Sorry, I- Can I help you find anything?” You ask, blinking at him.

“You don’t need to be sorry, I asked,” he says. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his hand back. “I actually just remembered, I’m- I have to- I’ll be right back.”

He turns around and walks quickly to the front of the store. The bell dings as he walks out through the front door. You stare at the spot where his hand had been for just a moment and feel your heart shatter in your chest. You’d gone and over shared with your favorite customer, the one you thought might actually be your friend, and now you’ve scared him off. Yet another tally to add to the shit morning. You collapse into the chair behind the counter and rest your head in your hands, trying to will the tears away.

You’re not sure how long goes by before you hear the bell over the door again. And really, nobody comes in this early, so why are they choosing today of all days? You hastily wipe your face on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and stand up, plastering a smile onto your lips to greet whoever is in the store.

Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s… Oscar. He’s walking towards you, though he’s not looking at you. He has three takeout coffee cups balanced precariously in his hands. His hair matches yours now, soaking wet and hanging over his forehead. You burst into laughter as he sets them down.

“Oh my god, I thought I scared you off,” you say, brushing a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

“No,” he says, eyes wide. “You said you needed caffeine. There’s a coffee shop just down the road.”

You laugh and press your hands to the counter, leaning towards the cups. “Three cups?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I got you coffee, but I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar. So,” he points at the smallest of the three cups, “this is cream,” he says while digging in his pockets. Then he places an assortment of sugar packets on the counter. “And here’s sugar. The other cup is mine.”

You grin at him, shaking your head. “I knew you were my favorite customer for a reason.”

The smile he gives you in return is bright enough to make up for the lack of sun, to wash away the rain clouds, to warm your cold hands. You open the lid to the coffee and pour a bit of cream in, and then add two sugars. Oscar watches, nodding.

“I’ll know for next time,” he says.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Next time. You like the sound of that. You wrap your hands around the paper cup and let the warmth seep into your fingers before you take a sip. You sigh happily, meeting his eyes over the lid. The cup in his hand has something written on it in messy pen. You wonder if the barista tried to give him their number, and you fight back the jealous feeling at the thought.

“Thank you,” you say, softly.

“It’s no biggie,” he insists. “I owed you anyway, for saving Greg.”

He hangs out for a while that morning, leaning on your counter and chatting. You re-pot some plants and then bring them out to the displays, and he follows along. There’s something about his presence alone that warms you up from the inside out. By the time he looks at his watch and curses, muttering about having a meeting, you’re feeling much better. His hand brushes your shoulder before he leaves. You call after him to thank him again for the coffee.

He stops in the doorway, rain falling on his arm that’s extended to hold the door open. “I’ll see you soon!”

Then he disappears into the storm.

…..

You don’t see him soon. It’s not abnormal for Oscar to go a couple weeks without stopping in, so at first you don’t think much of it. Each Tuesday, though, you look up eagerly when the bell over the door rings, and your heart sinks when it’s not him. Maybe you really did over share, maybe he did get scared off. You try not to think about it.

It’s just… he was cute, and kind, and fun to talk to. He brought you coffee. You wonder how his plants are doing, if he’s still playing music for them while he’s gone. You have fleeting images in your brain of him watering the plants, taking the time to look for new leaves and check the roots. You almost wish he’d have another plant emergency, just to give him a reason to stop back in.

Eventually, after a month goes by and he hasn’t been back, you give up almost entirely. You’ll move on eventually, find a new favorite customer. You couldn’t have expected him to keep coming around forever, after all. To him, you were just another retail worker.

You do end up seeing his American friend one more time. He comes in on a Wednesday morning, just like before. He doesn’t stop and look at any of the plants, instead beelining for you. You’re working on bagging some potting soil and watch him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you say. “Can I help you find something?”

“No, I just-“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I super killed that succulent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re Oscar’s friend, right? He didn’t help you?”

The guy shakes his head. “He made fun of me, though. Said I overwatered it.”

“How is he, anyways?” You ask.

Logan frowns. “He’s good.”

You nod. “Well, d’you want to try again?”

“No, that’s not why I-“ he sighs, rubbing his temples. “He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Find that hard to believe, since he hasn’t been here for almost a month.”

Which is maybe a little mean spirited. And probably not something you should be saying to his friend. You wince.

Now it’s his turn to blink wildly. “So you miss him too?”

You squint at him. “Why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Logan,” he says. “You haven’t like… reached out to him or anything?”

“How would I?” You ask. “I don’t even know his last name, let alone his phone number.”

“His last name’s Piastri.”

“That feels like information you shouldn’t be giving away to strangers.”

He’s not listening, though. Something seems to have clicked in his head. His eyes go wide and he starts to back away.

“I have to go,” he says. “Thanks!”

You’ve had a lot of strange interactions while working retail, but that one comes in pretty high on the list. And it leaves you wondering about Oscar, which is something you’re trying desperately not to do. All in all, not a great day.

…..

Two weeks later, you clock out of your Tuesday shift around lunchtime and head down the street. It’s raining again, but at least this time you’re armed with a raincoat and an umbrella. Your car is parked nearby, but you’re in the mood for coffee and warm food, so you head to the cafe nearby. You try not to think about the time Oscar had brought you coffee from there. You can’t help picturing his soft smile, eyes trained on the cups balanced precariously in his hands.

You make it halfway to the cafe before a gust of wind hits your umbrella at just the right angle and snaps the metal supports. Then, as if the universe is playing a cruel trick on you, a car speeds by on the road next to you, hits a puddle, and sprays you with muddy water. It soaks through your clothes and onto your skin nearly immediately. You fight the urge to ball your hands into fists and yell dramatically at the sky.

“Shit,” someone says, and the sound of his voice makes your breath catch in your chest. Then he says your name.

You turn, coming face to face with Oscar. Well. Okay. He’s studying you with a pained look on his face and standing under an umbrella.

“Yeah, shit,” you mutter, shaking water from your hands. “Oh my God. Hi, by the way. It’s been a bit.”

“It has,” he agrees, shuffling closer to hold the umbrella over you. “Here. Um. You okay?”

You shrug. “S’just water. I won’t melt.”

Oscar laughs- god, you’ve missed that sound- and nudges your shoulder. “You’ve got bad luck with rainstorms, huh?”

You nod. You’re trying not to freak out at the fact that he’s here. Oscar is standing next to you, holding his umbrella over your head. He’s here and he’s talking to you and he’s feeling sympathetic, which maybe means he doesn’t think you’re completely crazy.

“S’what I get for trying to go get coffee,” you say over the sound of raindrops on the umbrella. “And lunch. Now I’ve got to drive home like this.”

Oscar frowns, his whole face crumpling with it. “Hey, you know… I live just a block down. If you want, you could come and change into some dry clothes.”

Your mother would kill you for even considering it. You can practically hear her yelling in your head. But god, it’s Oscar. It’s Oscar and you haven’t seen him in a month and you might never see him again. There’s something about the soft look on his face that makes you trust him.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “That would be… really nice. But only if you’re sure.”

“Of course,” he says.

Your shoulders brush as you walk, the umbrella over both of your heads. The two of you are nearly silent on the walk there. It’s like neither of you quite know what to say. You know you don’t. You worry he’s regretting inviting you to his place. But he lets you in the front door, leads you to the elevator, and all the way up to flat. When he opens the door, warm air pours over you like a river. You step in and toe off your boots, wincing at the squish of your wet socks.

Oscar winces, too. “Here, the bathroom’s right there,” he says, pointing at a partially open door. “I’ll go grab you some dry clothes. There’s towels in there too.”

You nod and step into the room. So far, the little bit of his apartment that you’ve seen matches up with what he’s told you. There are no shoes sitting out in the entryway. The bathroom is nearly spotless, which makes you feel a bit guilty about the dirty rainwater you’re dripping onto the floor. Oscar’s only gone long enough for you to take off your jacket.

He knocks on the door. “I’ve got clothes for you.”

You open the door, and he’s standing there, eyes squeezed shut. The clothes are held out in midair, like he’s trying to keep his distance. You laugh and take them, murmuring out a thanks. As you go to change, you hear him walk away.

You shuck your wet clothes off and drop them in the tub, shivering when the air hits your bare skin. You wipe the rainwater from your skin. Then you pull on the clothes he gave you- a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a pair of sweatpants. Plus a pair of thick, warm looking socks. All of them are baggy on you, but luckily the pants have a drawstring so you can pull them tight around your hips. You wring the water out of your hair with the towel and then wrap it around your shoulders before you step out into the hallway.

You can hear him moving around in the next room, so you head there. He’s standing at the kitchen island, which is open to the living room. He looks up when he hears you walk in, and a soft smile spreads across his face. His living room is neat and tidy, too. His plants are all lined up on the windowsill. You recognize them all from your store, and you smile.

“D’you have a plastic bag I can put my clothes in?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you. “I don’t wanna get more rainwater on your floor. Or in my car, really.”

“I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. “Or… you could throw them in the washer. Hang out for a bit.”

He’s not looking at you anymore. You’re glad, because you’re sure you have a dumbfounded look on your face. It’s then that you notice the coffee machine running on the counter behind him, and the snacks out on the counter. Your mind is racing. He hasn’t stopped by the shop in nearly a month, but now…

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you say, unsure what else there is to possibly say.

He shakes his head, still not looking up. “You’re not.”

You cast your eyes to the window. It’s raining harder now. And god, you’ve missed him. You didn’t realize just how much until you were standing here.

“It’s been a while,” he says, turning his back to you when the coffee maker beeps. “We have some catching up to do.”

You think about letting it go. Maybe it’s enough to be here. Maybe you just shouldn’t bring it up. But really, you’re confused about the fact that he stopped coming to the store.

You tilt your head at him. “Yeah, you stopped coming in.”

“Well, you never texted me,” he says. “So I figured I’d freaked you out or something. But then Logan said he stopped by and you asked about me-“

You stare at the back of his head, bewildered, and you break in. “Oscar, I don’t have your number.”

He freezes, hand in midair, reaching for a coffee mug. He turns his head over his shoulder, and his eyes meet your again. He looks just as confused as you feel. Suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

“I wrote it on the coffee cup,” he says, voice quiet.

You stare at him, wide eyed. “There was nothing on my coffee cup.” He shakes his head, opens his mouth, but you keep talking. “I’m sure of it. But there was writing on yours. I know because I wondered if the barista was trying to give you her number.”

Oscar just stares at you for a moment, his lips barely parted. “Shit. I gave you the wrong cup.”

Shit, you repeat in your head. He tried to give you his number. He thought he gave you his number, and then you never texted him. He thought you rejected him. No wonder he stopped coming in.

“You could’ve just asked me for my number, you know,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but this was cuter,” he says. “It was- it was my number and this cheesy ass pickup line that Logan helped me think of and I- I really thought you just didn’t…”

“Pickup line?”

“Looking back it sounds stupid,” he admits. “But yeah. I was trying to ask you out on a date. And so when you didn’t text me…”

You cross the room, walking right up in front of him. His hands have fallen to his sides. His eyes trace your face as you smile up at him. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, brows slightly furrowed. You can smell the coffee now- it reminds you of when he brought you the coffee weeks ago.

“You should ask me now,” you tell him, smiling brightly.

He nods. “Without the pickup line, though.”

You pout up at him. He grins. One of his hands comes up to the side of your face, fingers cupping your jaw. His thumb prods at your cheek.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, voice low.

You pretend to think about it. Pretend it doesn’t make your heart melt just to hear him say it. “Hm. When?”

He shrugs, looks around. “How about now?”

“It’s raining,” you remind him.

“We can have a stay at home date,” he suggests. “Coffee, lunch, a movie, maybe.”

You tilt your head. “Sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” He says, sounding a bit like he doesn’t quite believe you.

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since the day we met.”

Oscar laughs and leans closer. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”

He presses his lips to yours, and your eyes slip closed. You reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear- it’s still wet from the rain, and both of you giggle into the kiss. His hands drop to your hips, shoving the sweatshirt out of the way to hold onto you. You could kiss him for hours, you think. It’s all you’ve wanted for months now.

The coffee is growing cold on the counter. Suddenly, though, you don’t need caffeine.

He pulls away slightly, looks you up and down. “You look cute in my clothes, you know.”

You giggle and tug on the sweatshirt, pointing at the orange logo on the chest. “Thanks. Big McLaren guy, are you?”

Oscar laughs and brushes his lips against your temple. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Then he goes back to kissing you. You’re not complaining. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn all about him.

…..

Weeks later, you corner Logan at the British Grand Prix. Oscar’s distracted by interviews, but Logan’s not busy.

“What was the pickup line he wrote?” You ask, arms crossed over your chest.

Surprisingly, he needs very little convincing. He just laughs, eyes darting to where Oscar stands behind you in the media pen. His gaze is full of amusement.

“I be-leaf we’re meant to be,” he says in a teasing tone. “He was down bad.”

You laugh and turn over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He’s grinning watching the two of you talk. Later, you tease him for the cheesy line, for hiding behind coffee cups and scribbled pen when he could’ve just told you. He teases you for the same, for not telling him how you felt, for not making a move. And then you look at him, knowing your gaze is terribly soft.

“I believe it, too,” you tell him.

When he kisses you, you draw constellations between the freckles on his face with your thumb. Outside, it starts to rain.

a/n: can you tell I am a big plant nerd? anyways live laugh love oscar piastri I want to help him pick out plants :)

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me

#oscar piastri oneshot #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #formula one oneshot #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 x reader #oscar piastri #honeywrites #op81 #if you’ve made it this far in the tags somehow hi

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queers-gambit · 4 months

Text

Simple, Easy, Effortless

prompt: ( requested ) from across the dance floor, Felix locks eyes with you and is instantly smitten. is it love at first sight? lust? he's determined to know.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 5.1k+

note: this man is a SLUT but i'm sluttier in theory

warnings: the ducklips in the gif, obviously cursing, sexual tension, "love at first sight", author def uses her own university roommate experiences for inspiration, Lord's name in vain, mention of illicit drug use. REMEMBER: don't run from cops unless with Felix - or absolutely necessary - or you KNOW you can get away.

song featured in the movie and request: Murder on the Dance Floor

Humid. Sweaty. Pulsing. Overpopulated.

All good adjectives to describe your first university party with your roommate, Polly Schwartz. She had already been to loads of parties already, probably more than her actual classes, but being as you were a "scholarship kid", you took your education much more seriously than she did. Perhaps being why you spent your weekends studying, and she spent hers getting drunk, sleeping with randoms constantly, and partying nearly every weekend. You didn't think there was anything wrong with her habts, in fact, you encouraged her to go out most of the time; but after midterms, you were burnt the fuck out and Polly recommended you have a night out with her.

When she needed it, you helped Polly study, and now, it was time for her to return the favor in her own area of expertise. Tonight's party was hosted in an off-campus flat, making you worry about the authorities being phoned, but Polly assured you that nearly the entire complex was composed of Oxford students and there was barely a threat of this party being busted.

The moment you stepped into the humid, sweaty, pulsing, overpopulated flat, a drink was shoved into your hand by a barely-standing boy with a nose ring. He was decently attractive, but the belch he let out made you grimace and follow after Polly. He might've yelled something after your retreating form, but who could tell with the noise level?

"You need to loosen up, bitch! Jesus Christ, you're as stiff as a board, and trust me! No guy is gonna wanna approach you!" She laughed, missing your protest that you didn't care for male attention. "Wait," she gasped, "where'd you get that?"

"Uh, that lad over there," you pointed, blinking in mild shock when she snatched the drink from your hand and poured it out in a dying houseplant.

"I thought you were the brains of us," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Never accept a drink you didn't see being made! That's how you get drugged!"

"I'm not sure how this is supposed to work, Polly, for fuck's sake," you whined, hugging your arms as you gazed around nervously. "Maybe I should just go back to the dorms, this isn't really my scene - "

"Nope, you're staying," she shook her head, leading you by the hand to the kitchen. "Here - hang on, I'll get us something. Farleigh, my love!"

The handsome lad with a head full of fluffed coils turned with a small glare, but softened when he noted Polly's appearance. "There you are! I was wondering when you'd get here, darling!"

She giggled obnoxiously and you understood, this must've been the lad she was seeing on-and-off for the whole semester. "Well, I finally got this one out of the library, so we're a little late for a reason," she laughed, pointing her thumb back at you and making the boy eye you with judgement.

You gave a small wave, and he instantly offered his hand, introducing himself as, "Farleigh." After giving him your name, Polly was insisting you both needed a drink and Farleigh was nodding in agreement. "Here, drinks are this way - but it's self serve."

"Nobody made juice?" Polly pouted, the three of you approaching a decent-sized table that was full of bottles of liquor and mixers.

"Not this time," Farleigh laughed, and you let Polly make your drink because you were busy trying not to get run over by the other party goers.

"Christ Almighty, surely the floors will cave in with this many people?" You frowned when another drunk bumped into you and sloppily apologized.

"Only if we're lucky," Farleigh laughed. He directed at Polly, "Oh, remember Stephen's party? Donovan put a hole through the wall!"

Polly laughed as she handed you a fresh drink and all but ignored you in favor of this boy that was tapping a bit of suspicious powder onto his hand. Your eyes rolled and you turned away from them, slowly stalking around the room and taking in the scene - hating the way your ears felt as if they were bleeding from the terrible music selection.

But after you skulled your drink, you ran into a few classmates from your anthropology class. "Here, you can have this," Chelsea took the drink from Cara, "she's had way too much already."

You figured this exchange was safe enough after seeing Cara taking several gulps; not even noticing her hands were empty because she was dancing to the floor-shaking music in a daze.

"Who're you here with?" Pablo asked, bobbing his head to the beat. "We all came as a group, don't tell me you're alone!?"

"No, no, love, I came with Polly," you shrugged, feeling looser than when you first got there.

"Ew," Pablo rolled his eyes, the other girl snickering.

"Wait, what? What am I missing?" You asked with a small whine.

"Polly Harrington?" He asked, watching you nod. "Yeah, no, your li'l friend's the one who sucked off Professor Lorde."

"What?" You gaped.

"Why do you think she's here?" He gossiped. "Surely, not for her grades."

You just shook your head, "Maybe we shouldn't throw stones, it's rude to speak about others behind their backs."

"Doll face, it's not like it's a secret," Pablo laughed, nodding at your drink. "C'mon, bottoms up, buttercup, we've gotta get you dancing. You look way too cute to be a wallflower all night, c'mon, let's go! Chug! Chug!"

You gingerly took a gulp, but Pablo and Chelsea were encouraging you to just finish it off. When you did, they cheered with pride, laughing when you began giggling, "That's the worst taste! God!"

"Oh, sweetie, we don't drink for the taste, we drink to make us better dancers!" Chelsea beamed. "Want mine?"

"No, no - "

"Down it!"

You shrugged, inhibitions already significantly lowered, and with ease, finished your third drink. "I should get us more!" Pablo laughed.

"You do that, we're gonna dance!" Your friend waved him off, snatching your hand, and leading you to the dance floor. It was hard to distinguish where it was since there was wall-to-wall college kids stuffing the place, but you weaseled your way between people and let the alcohol take control. "Hey! By the way!" Chelsea spoke in your ear, "You look really hot! I adore this skirt!"

"Me? Babe, look at you! Can I borrow this dress?"

"Only if I can borrow those shoes!" She squealed.

You giggled and took her hand, spinning her around before joining together again. When Pablo rejoined, he handed you both a drink before jumping in front of you, throwing his reasonably fat arse back into your crotch - which forced you back onto your girlfriend in a dancing train. You three cheered through your laughter, smacking the lad's bottom playfully as he put his heart and soul into his dance; hands on his knees and hips bouncing.

However, Pablo only pulled away when Farleigh reappeared and stole him away to a darkening corner; only briefly making you wonder where he had left your roommate. You looked at Chelsea, who giggled in your ear, "They've been fucking recently. Pablo's whipped."

"I don't blame him," you mused. Cara had stumbled closer to you two, throwing her skinny arms around your neck and starting on a drunken ramble about how much she loved you - despite only sharing the one class together and knowing each other from a distance. Still, you appreciated the sentiment and let yourself feel loved; taking a sip from the plastic solo cup in hand and swinging your hips to the pulsing beat. In that moment, you just happened to look up, gasping, "There's a stripper pole!?"

"Go get on it!" Cara laughed. "Oh, wait, Felix is on it - oh, shit, Felix!"

"Who?" You asked.

"Felix, you know!? Felix Catton? Felix fucking Catton!" Cara blinked, then offered you an incredulous look and turned to Chelsea. "She doesn't know Felix?"

She waved Cara off, instead explaining to you, "He's that tall lad, in the white button up."

When you looked, Felix happened to glance over and your eyes connected. You were absolutely done for.

"Oh, yeah, she knows Felix now!" Cara giggled loudly. "Go! Go talk to him!" She encouraged, making your eyes bug widely.

"What?" You looked at the two girls, shaking your head, "No, no, I don't even know him!"

"Babes, 75% of the people you see paired up right now didn't know each other before this party!" Cara rolled her pretty eyes. "But hey, if you don't, India definitely will. Girl basically lives on his cock, it's decently pathetic - but just look at him! God took his time with Felix!"

"Oh, are they dating?" You asked innocently, looking back over to the tall boy in a white, linen button up. He grinned at you from the short distance.

"No," Chelsea laughed, seeing the way you two just stared and smiled softly. "Here, finish your drink and let the liquid courage do its job!"

"It's literally my first party," you laughed, "I'm not interested - "

"Oh, fuck off! Everyone's interested in Felix," Cara interrupted. "And I do mean, literally everyone."

"I can understand why," you mused, taking a long pull from your cup. "Cara, that lad, there, has been staring at you," you distracted, her swinging around instantly and thanking you before dancing over to the boy leaning on the wall.

He smirked when she reached him.

"She's a social butterfly," her roommate, Chelsea, giggled. "Do you need a refill?"

"Huh? Oh, no, I'm okay!"

"Okay, don't go too far - I'll be right back!" She grinned, knowing something you didn't, and disappearing into the thick crowd.

You swallowed another drink before you felt a hand on your waist, making you jump in surprise and turn. Before you towered the object of seemingly everyone's desires: Felix Catton.

"Haven't seen you around before," he spoke in your ear over the music.

"Oh, first timer," you nodded back.

"Doin' all right? Yeah? Havin' fun?"

You agreed, "Yeah, 'course. This your party?"

"No, no, uh," he glanced around the heads of students, "honestly, I'm not really sure who's flat this is."

"Oh, well, I guess as long as it's not damaged, it doesn't matter much, right?"

"Exactly," he smirked, offering his cup to yours. You clinked them together, both taking the obligatory sip, and swaying unconsciously to the music. "Who're you here with?"

"Polly - "

"Oh, Christ, yeah! Yeah, you're, uh, you're her roommate?"

You nodded, "You know her?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Oh," you frowned in discomfort, brows pinched.

"No, no, I just meant, she's popular, innit she? Not that - that she's sucked me off or anything like that!"

You laughed, "Wasn't thinking that, but good to know."

His cheeks flared a bright red, "That was a bit brash of me, wasn't it? Sorry, love, I should know better than to use such vocabulary with a pretty lady."

Your eyes rolled, "This 'pretty lady' has both heard and used much worse vernacular."

Felix slowly grinned, "You want a smoke?"

"Dying for one actually, yeah."

"This way, c'mon," he offered his free hand, and without thinking, you accepted and let the tall, slender lad lead you through the crowd. All of a sudden, you felt as if every eye was on you - watching, stalking, clocking you like predator does prey. You were directed to a balcony, a few lingering smokers standing around.

The moment the glass door slid shut, the music was semi-silenced and you breathed in slight relief. "Christ, 's always this loud?" You asked, leaning on the railing beside your companion while rubbing an ear to relieve the ringing sensation.

"Usually, yeah," he smirked, handing you a cigarette before placing one between his lips.

"You looked real natural on that pole," you teased, leaning in when he flicked a lighter to life.

"Oh, God," he laughed, watching you inhale. "Saw that, did you?"

You hummed, holding the smoke in your lungs, "Kinda hard t'miss. You were really into it."

He shrugged, lighting the end of his own nicotine filled stick. Upon exhale, he eased, "Was a really good song, wasn't it? Easy t'dance to, you know?"

"Hm," you nodded, "actually, I wouldn't know - I don't know half these songs."

"You livin' under a rock, love?"

"No, just with my nose in a book."

"Smart girl, are yah?"

"I would hope so, considering my scholarship."

"Even more impressive," he grinned. "You know Oliver, then? Oliver Quick? He's on scholarship, too."

"No, not quite, us scholarship kids don't all know one another," you shot back with a smirk.

"Fair enough," he agreed, eyeing you up and down. "So, why tonight?"

"Hmm?"

"Why come tonight?"

"Polly thought I could use a little stress relief," you answered, taking a long puff. "Not exactly the way I saw my night going, though."

"How's that?"

"Look at you!" You laughed. "Of all the ladies here, you danced your way over to me? Now you're having a conversation instead of working that pole?"

"I like to think that I just had to introduce myself to the prettiest lass in the whole joint," he flirted.

"And yet," you inhaled, "you've haven't made introductions."

"No? I haven't?" He smirked, watching your head shake. "Apologies, love. I'm Felix, uh, Felix Catton," he offered his hand, and when you shook it, you told him your own full name. "Now that that's outta the way," he took his own inhale, "how's about we go dance?"

"Oh, I might need to finish this drink before all that," you lifted your cup to your lips.

"Nah, I saw you earlier," he chuckled, stomping his cigarette out under his boot. "C'mon, love, not letting you get outta here without at least one dance."

"Surely, India would be a better option?"

He scoffed, "Oh? And how would you know that?"

"Chelsea and Cara might've made mention earlier. I wouldn't want to steal someone's man - girl code, and that shit."

For whatever reason, this made Felix snicker, "No, no, you've got it wrong, India and I are just friends."

"That's what guys say when they're sleeping with their 'friend'."

"Either way, she's not my girl," he smirked. "C'mon, love, one dance. If you're not convinced after that, I'll let yah go - no fuss."

"Oh, well, that doesn't sound remotely creepy," you laughed, dropping your own cigarette and stomping it out. "All right, yeah, one dance."

"Just one."

"A single dance."

"No more, but no less," he smirked, lacing your fingers together when you laid your hand in his. "Deal?"

You nodded, feeling absolutely giddy by his attention. When you reentered the party, it was almost as if it had grown in population, and suddenly, you wanted to be back on the balcony just to breathe. But Felix had a secure hold on you, and after downing the last of your drink, you set the cup on a random end table you passed before taking position on the "dance floor".

What you absolutely did not anticipate was that Felix wasn't the best dancer, but holy shit, did he not care; letting go and having fun. You let the alcohol in your system propel you, and soon, one dance turned into two, and two turned to three. It was like nobody else was there, it was just you and Felix; dancing like fools, letting your hair down, and you actually found yourself enjoying the music that vibrated the entire flat.

The song that played wasn't one you recognized, but the lyrics felt strangely appropriate for your current situation. Though there was no groove to be killed, no moves to steal, and no murdering on this dance floor, there was a whole lotta tension that fueled your movements together.

"Oh, oh, here we go, c'mon!" He laughed, tugging your hand after him to approach the stripper pole the flat's owner had installed. "Go on, love, show me how it's done!"

"Oh, fuck no!" You barked in laughter. "You're the master, let me take notes."

"I'll warn you, once you see my moves up close," he planted a hand on the pole and swung around it once, "you won't be able to resist!"

You waved him on, eyes widening when he danced around the pole as if nobody was watching, but in reality, he had an entire audience. Not that you noticed, you were solely focused on the boy putting on a show for you; both wearing goofy grins. When he got REALLY into it, you had to admit your stomach knotted in attraction when his lips pushed into a slutty pout. Never had you wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life before, but it increased ten fold when he swung around and grabbed onto your waist; effortlessly pushing you onto the pole as he released it.

"C'mon, then!" He beamed, watching you stand for a single awkward moment before figuring, why the hell not?

So, you swung yourself around before shocking Felix to his bloody core by holding the pole and grinding down it - giving a teasing peek at your panties when your legs spread slightly to accommodate your dance moves. His jaw slackened, eyes raked up and down your form, lips pulling in a smirk the longer he watched you go. Your hair flung around, hips gyrated in movements that made his pants tighten, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he caught you in another swing.

Hips against yours, arms around one another, he danced you back onto the crowded floor; a hand raising to caress the side of your face as if he was mesmerized by all you were, all you are.

It was so simple to lose yourself in his dancing, in his scent, in his aurora. It was so easy to move against him. It was so simple to exist with Felix fucking Catton.

He was intoxicating, making you feel more drunk on him than the alcohol you had ingested. And while the moment felt serious, once you were surrounded by peers again, you melted into a sense of silliness. Any care you had, any worry - it all melted away, it evaporated, got swept under the rug because Felix commandeered your entire attention.

From the side of the room, Cara and Chelsea squealed in excitement for you, high-fiving when they noted India's jealous glare. Farleigh and Pablo even snickered, wondering how long it would take for Felix's charm to get you into bed; a bet being placed between the two lads before taking another bump of cocaine that distracted them for the rest of the time.

On the dance floor, your laughter was genuine and a little loud when he swung you around before dying in your throat when he pulled you in close. Again, the party melted away and it was just you and Felix; his hands on your hips, head bowed to corral you close, his warm brown eyes intense as they flitted between your eyes and lips.

You knew what he wanted, but didn't want to give into temptation yet. Keeping an air of mystery, you smiled coyly and pushed back slightly - but he was yanking you right back in.

When a friend of his came around with a tray full of shots, his arm coiled around your waist tightly to keep you anchored as he accepted the Jell-O concoction. You still buzzed from your earlier drinks and nicotine, bobbing and humming to the song playing, Felix instantly moving with you.

And just like you worried earlier, from deep in the party, someone shouted, "IT'S THE FUZZ! GO! SCATTER!"

"Oh, shit! Oh, my God!" You gasped in worry, the music cutting and students rushing for the exit.

"C'mere, c'mere, 's all right," Felix rushed, pulling you back into a wall to let the stampede rush around you as he planted you in front of him. Your hands held his waist, watching those around you run away, and when you looked up, Felix was already staring at you.

The moment your eyes met, you both snickered in amusement before bursting into full-on laughter. "Oh, Jesus Christ!" You mused, leaning your forehead to his pectoral. "I knew it - of course my first party is busted, hey?"

"Just makes it all the more memorable, yeah?"

"You were doing a pretty good job on your own with that," you met his gaze again - feeling coy and playful.

"Yeah?" He grinned. "Well, I try."

"I think you succeed."

He opened his mouth to respond, caressing your cheek, but someone else shouted, "GO, GO, GO! Felix, c'mon, mate! The fuck you doin'! We gotta go! I can't get another citation!"

"Let's go," he told you instead, lacing your hands together again and joining the last of the stream filtering out of the flat.

"Where're we - "

"This way, trust me," he dodged down a separate hallway, a few others following his lead. Down a flight of stairs, turning down another hall, and you two were bursting into the chilly night air.

The lights of the copper's cars flashed from around the building and you realized you were at the back. Others were rushing from the door, scattering into the night, but Felix just leaned on the brownstone and waited, checking your surroundings.

"What now?" You worried, panting lightly from the rush of adrenaline.

"We go that way," he nodded, "walk slow and calm, we don't know shit about a party. We're just walking back to campus, yeah?"

"Oh, like that'll work," you snickered, but again, laced your hands together. "On your lead, my lord," you joked.

"That make you my lady?"

"Hm, nah," you refused with a smirk, "I don't do well with sharing and you seem to be well liked, aren't yah?"

He hummed, letting go of your hand to toss his arm around your neck, still subtly checking around you for any police officers. Your arm latched around his waist, reaching up to hold the hand dangling from your shoulders. "I might be well liked, but for you, I'd drop everyone," he flirted easily - as if second nature, as if he didn't even have to think about the words that oozed out of that slick mouth.

"Oh, how flattering."

"I would hope so," he breathed, leading you out of the back garden. "Swear, love, never been so caught-up before. Just saw you and had t'come talk - had t'know who you are. I mean, just look at'cha, sweetheart, can you really blame me?"

"That line usually works, does it?"

"More often than not," he laughed, you joining in as you slipped from the back gate.

"HEY! YOU TWO! STOP RIGHT THERE! STOP!"

"Oh, shit," Felix gasped, snatching your hand in an instant as two officers started to clumsily rush towards you two.

"What do we - "

"Run!" He laughed, yanking you after him.

"Felix!"

"HEY! STOP! STOP! COME BACK HERE!"

You couldn't stop laughing as you both sprinted down the street and around an alley, taking three more turns before coming to a panting halt; pausing to listen.

"Hear 'em?" He whispered, keeping you on the inside so he could peer down the alley you had escaped down.

"No...?"

"I don't either," he nodded, glancing down at you and chuckling. "You're fast, you on the track team?"

"Oh, please, you should be fast when running from the law, shouldn't you?"

"Knew I liked you," he barked in humor. "C'mon, love, 's a nice night, innit it?"

"Nice night for what? Breaking laws?"

"Well, yeah, but I meant for a walk," he mused, walking backwards, snagging both your hands in his to pull you off the wall you were hiding behind. "It's a bit of a hike back to campus, might as well make the most of it," he smiled, turning to keep pace beside you with his arm around your waist. "Not every night I get t'walk in the moonlight with a beautiful lass."

You pulled his arm up to your shoulders again, holding his waist comfortably, and being as you weren't familiar with the area, trusting him to lead you back. After a beat, you admitted in a sigh, "You know, tonight wasn't what I expected and yet, it's exactly what I thought."

"Was it better or worse than you could've planned?"

You laughed, "Well, running from the cops wasn't on my bingo card."

"How's it feel? 'T be such a bad girl?"

"You tell me."

Felix laughed, "Ah, love, not my first time, but it's just as exhilarating."

"Jesus," you rolled your eyes in humor. "Not exactly what I wanted to hear, you having other run-ins with officers."

"Oh, you like it!"

"I might," you agreed, stepping onto the sidewalk of a main street. "Oh, shit, oh, my God!" You halted, looking nervous and frantic. "I left Polly! Fuck!"

"Nah, nah, nah, don't worry, love, I saw her leave earlier while we were dancing."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, she left with Johnny."

"Who the fuck is Johnny?"

He grinned, "Yeah, that's it, you're hanging with me from now on. We'll get you aquatinted with your classmates, yeah?"

"Maybe I have no want nor need to know people," you spoke softly. "I'm here for an education, not t’socialize."

"Doesn't hurt though, does it?"

"After tonight? I don't know if you can make that case."

"You seriously telling me you didn't have fun? Oh, sweetheart, that hurts. I'm hurt, honestly," he pouted dramatically, free hand to his heart; glittering gold ring winking at you under the street lamps.

"What's that?" You asked, alcohol making you easily distracted. He glanced at his hand and held it out for you, showing his ring. "What's the design? It's real pretty - didn't think I'd see it on a guy."

He chuckled, "Ah, it's a signet - my family's signet, actually."

"Jesus, I knew it," you groaned. "No way you were just a regular somebody! A bloody signet? What? Related t'the Queen, are yah?"

"No, not exactly," he snorted. "But my father is knighted..."

"Holy shit," you blinked. "What's that like?"

He looked down at you, brows slowly furrowing, "You really wanna know? Most people just, I don't know, kinda assume I'm rich and that's all there is to my life."

You felt a single pang of empathy, smiling up at him, "I really wanna know, Felix. C'mon, what's your family do? Both parents still alive? They still married? Where's home?"

For the entire walk back to campus, you and Felix talked as if old friends. Sure, you were getting to know each other, but it felt as if you'd known one another for ages by how easy it was to talk to him. And he seemed enthralled by your questions; wondering about his life, not just the pretty face he bore. Not just the money to his name. You seemed genuinely curious as to who "Felix Catton" was... Something he hadn't known his entire time at Oxford.

When you got back to your dorm, you felt sad by the idea of parting ways, something that genuinely shocked you. Yet the obscene sounds from behind the thin, wooden door alerted you to Polly and her guest, making you pause and sigh. "Well, that's awkward," you mused, leaning on the opposite wall. "Uh, thanks for walking me back, but I'm just gonna crash in the common room."

"Oh, bollocks to that, love," he shook his head, offering his hand again. "C'mon, you can crash with me."

"Hm, sounds sketchy."

"Oh? How's that?" He laughed.

"We just met!"

"C'mon, sweetheart, it's just a bed t'sleep in. Promise, nothing's gonna happen - even if you beg."

"Oh, what a gentleman," you laughed, much to his amusement. "All right, yeah... If I can borrow something to sleep in? Not entirely comfortable sleepin' in this..."

"I've gotcha," he nodded, leading you from your dorm and to his. Which, to your surprise, was the housing beside your own.

"Oh, Felix, NO!" You gaped when you entered his room. "Oh, darling, no, no, no, what's this?"

"It's not that bad - "

"No, I'm talking that!" You laughed, not phased by the mess, pointing to the Manchester football flag. "Don't tell me - "

"Nah, hey, don't do that, 's my father's team," he chuckled. "It reminds me to watch, gives us something t'talk about..."

You cooed, "Well, that's actually sweet of you. I guess I can let it slide."

"Oh, you're a saint."

He tossed you clean boxers and a tee shirt, letting you change in the adjoining restroom as he quickly changed in the bedroom. When you joined him again, you both got comfortable on the bed, but sleep evaded you... Leading into a long night of chatter, jokes, and establishing friendship that would eventually turn romantic.

But for that night, it was simple. It was easy. It was effortless.

You both crashed around 4 am, and when you woke the following afternoon, your head was on his chest, his arm tight around your waist, and there wasn't a single concern in your heart or head.

"Jesus, fuck," Felix groaned when he woke, tightening his arm to constrict you against his warm body on the teeny, tiny dorm bed. "Ah, Christ, remind me not t'drink again, yeah, love?"

"You and me, both," you grumbled, nestling closer.

He sighed, "Yah hungry?"

"A bit."

"Wanna go t'yours, change, get something t'eat?" He offered, rubbing your waist. "C'mon, my treat."

You lifted your head to check his bedside clock, grunting as you laid back down, "It's past noon."

"So? Stomachs don't open or close."

You let your chin prop on his chest, smiling, "Food sounds nice."

He nodded, eyes once more dancing between yours. "Know, you look real good in my clothes. Might have t'let you keep it."

"Much appreciated, pretty boy. C'mon, food helps with the hangover, doesn't it?"

"Very much," he nodded, reaching for his cigarettes. "Hmm?" He offered.

"Mhm," you accepted, both settling on your backs, but he pulled you in close to light your stick. "You always like this?" You whispered, smoking swirling in the air above you.

"What's that?"

"Charismatic?"

"Ah, if I could turn it off... Well, bein' honest, I wouldn't."

"Oh, shove off," you both laughed lightly at your words, looking up at him. He seemed ethereal in the morning light, and then - it happened. He set his cigarette to an ashtray to free his hand, caressing your cheek and making you go still.

"Would you think less of me if I kiss you?"

"I'd think less if you didn't, I think..."

He smirked and curled over, lips finding yours in a searing, breathtaking kiss that tasted like the previous night's alcohol. Yet he still tasted so pleasantly spicy and unique, making you inhale sharply and hold onto the back of his neck to keep him close. He hummed lightly, tongues swirling like the smoke that still hung in the air, and when he pulled back, again, you both just laughed lightly before he was swooping in for another kiss.

It was like I said... Simple, easy, effortless.

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