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The driver’s lounge was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Most of the grid had filtered out to meetings or physio sessions, but Oscar Piastri stayed behind, legs crossed on the couch, scrolling through data on his tablet with his usual calm focus.
That peace lasted all of five minutes before Ollie Bearman burst in.
“Oscar!” he called, voice far too loud for the small room. “You will not believe what I just did.”
Oscar didn’t even look up. “Judging by that tone, I’m guessing it’s either brilliant or really stupid.”
“Bold of you to assume it can’t be both,” Ollie grinned, flopping dramatically onto the couch beside him.
Oscar sighed but didn’t move. “What did you do this time?”
“I may have—” Ollie hesitated, then laughed, “—accidentally challenged Lando to a sim race. And I may have bet him that I’d win.”
Oscar slowly looked up from his tablet, eyes narrowing in the exact way an older brother would. “Ollie. You do realize he’s Lando Norris, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been practicing!” Ollie said proudly, grinning ear to ear. “Besides, I figured you could give me some tips?”
“Tips on how to survive the humiliation?” Oscar deadpanned.
“Tips on how to win,” Ollie insisted, poking his arm. “Come on, big bro, don’t abandon me now.”
Oscar let out a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” Ollie said, leaning back with a grin that was pure trouble. “But I’m your impossible.”
That one earned a faint, reluctant smile from Oscar — the kind that softened the edges of his usually calm expression. “Yeah, unfortunately, that’s true.”
They sat in companionable silence for a bit after that. Ollie’s energy slowly quieted, the adrenaline wearing off as he slouched lower on the couch. Oscar noticed the shift — the way Ollie’s shoulders drooped, the tiredness settling in behind the laughter.
“You alright?” Oscar asked quietly.
Ollie blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone. “Yeah, just… long day,” he admitted. “Lot of noise, lot of eyes. You know.”
Oscar nodded, setting his tablet aside. “Yeah, I know.”
Without a word, he reached over and lightly ruffled Ollie’s hair — something he rarely did, but it never failed to make the younger grin, even now when he was tired.
“Take a nap before your sim race,” Oscar said gently. “You’ll need your energy for the loss.”
Ollie groaned, eyes half-closed already. “You’re so supportive, thanks.”
Oscar chuckled quietly, watching him melt further into the couch, head eventually leaning against his shoulder.
By the time Lando texted “ready to lose?” on Ollie’s phone, the kid was already asleep, breathing soft and even. Oscar glanced down, lips curving into that small, proud smile again.
He took the phone, typed a quick reply — He’s not losing. He’s recharging. — and then set it aside.
Ollie mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, shifting closer, and Oscar just shook his head, murmuring softly, “You really are impossible.”
Still, he didn’t move. Just sat there — the calm next to the chaos — keeping watch like a proper big brother would.