It was the day before race weekend in Barcelona, and the sun was already too bright for how early it was. You, Oscar, and Rob were meant to head out for the track walk with the rest of the PREMA team. Keyword: meant. You were standing in the doorframe of Oscar’s driver room, sipping a questionable energy drink, watching him hang race suits like a grumpy laundromat worker.

Rob, of course, had stolen the PREMA media camera again. He was filming like he was making a documentary on endangered species.

“Alright everyone,” Rob began dramatically, *“we’re currently waiting on Oscar. Late as usual. Apparently doing laundry.” *

The camera swung around to Oscar, who didn’t even flinch.

“It’s because I had to film for forty-five minutes this morning,” Oscar mumbled, still adjusting a hanger.

“How was it? You loved it?” Rob asked, zooming in on his face.

“Loved it. Just like always,” Oscar deadpanned.

“Please Oscar, can you do it again?” Rob teased, “Oki-dokie. Stand there. No—left. No—right. Yes, perfect. Now blink twice like you’re questioning your life choices.”

You laughed. Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Perfect, let’s do one more,” Oscar replied sarcastically.

Eventually, after several threats from Angelina over text, the three of you made it outside. You and Oscar walked up front with the engineers, while Rob trailed behind narrating nonsense into the mic.

“Here we see the drivers in their natural habitat, stalking apexes and contemplating tyre degradation,” he muttered, doing dramatic zoom-ins on your shoes.

“You’re gonna walk into a wall filming like that,” Oscar whispered.

At Turn 3, while an engineer explained surface changes, Oscar leaned in and muttered: “If I lie down in the gravel trap, do you think they’ll let me nap here?”

“Only if I can join you,” you said, rubbing your eyes.

Rob appeared beside you like a ghost, thrusting the camera at Oscar.

“Oscar, say something inspirational for the fans.”

“The track is long. The sun is hot. My socks are damp. That’s all I’ve got,” Oscar said.

“Oscar Piastri, everyone,” Rob declared, “a poetic genius.”

Somewhere behind you, a mechanic groaned.

At one point, Oscar snatched the camera and began filming his own shoes while narrating about “the true heroes of racing.” You were laughing as Rob tried to snatch it back. Oscar darted forward with it, filming backwards like a chaotic influencer.

By the final sector, Rob had reclaimed the camera, now filming upside down “for artistic reasons,” while Oscar tried to balance a water bottle on his head.

“PREMA’s elite,” you muttered as an engineer walked past, unimpressed.

“We’re taking this very seriously,” Oscar added as the bottle fell with a sad little clunk.

“Ten out of ten,” Rob said, “Oscar cam footage secured.”

The team photo at the finish line looked mostly normal, except Oscar stood like a statue, Rob pretended to interview your shoe, and you couldn’t keep a straight face. Later that day, Angelina posted it with the caption:

“Barcelona, Heat 9/10, Professionalism 2/10.”

And honestly? It wasn’t wrong.