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There were four blondes. Four official blondes on the grid.
Blonde as in light coloured, almost golden hair, even into adulthood.
Four out of twenty-two drivers this year, and Liam just so happened to be one of them.
So when he sees the threads online calling him a dumb blonde, he just doesn’t get it. Clearly, every single person on the grid can easily debunk the ‘dumb blonde’ stereotype. Max might be a genius when it comes to driving. Nico is smart enough to know not only strategy, but, with age, comes wisdom, and the German man has a lot of it. Bottas is just strange; he’s not dumb in any way, and he even had his own business, not to mention he almost won a championship once or twice.
As for Liam, he knows he’s not dumb. Sure, his frontal lobe isn’t fully developed yet, but he knows defensive strategies on the track, and he knows enough information to give him another season in Formula 1. He’s plenty smart!
He’s, of course, not as smart as Arvid; that kid is brilliant, not only from what Liam knows of his A-Level classes, but it shows during interviews. While Liam is busy getting ragebaited by the social media folk, Arvid’s already solved their little pranks, silently waiting for Liam to catch on, or he just calls them out straight on.
Compared to Arvid, Liam’s pretty dull in almost every aspect. Arvid’s brilliant, he’s already established that, but he’s funny, he’s quick, talented, a promising academy driver who’s now one of the youngest in the sport. Arvid can talk stats with the engineers while keeping up. He offers his own ideas to the media team, and he just knows everything about anything.
A guy like that has to have some ego. But Arvid doesn’t.
Even though he’s effortlessly dazzling, the mullet encapsulating his curls in a way Liam can’t help but admire. Somehow, the Brit can make the VACRB polo look marketable even though it’s a walking billboard.
Liam flinches out of his haze, looking around the paddock. He’s been on a tangent in his head again, in the middle of an already cramped Montreal circuit. Quickly, he snaps his phone off, rushing it back into his pocket without another thought, his face heating up at the idea of someone seeing that cursed post on his screen or snapping yet another picture of him zoning out.
Checking his watch, he sighs in relief; his media filming wasn’t for another hour, meaning he had some time to kill, a nap to take perhaps, something to do before he gets embarrassed on the social channels again.
Making his way to the hospitality, he catches Arvid in the middle of admiring his phone, his perfect eyebrows arched high while his shoulders shake with barely contained laughter. Those brown eyes of his look up to meet Liam’s, making him recoil involuntarily, the flush creeping further up the back of his neck.
Liam raises his eyebrow the best he can, the curiosity getting to him, “Mate, what’s going on?”
Laughter blossoms from Arvid, the teen almost hunching over while maintaining eye contact. Liam likes how genuine he always sounds, even in those stupid challenges; his voice is always clear, crisp, and Arvid is always straightforward; everything about him is.
That’s why Liam’s so frustrated at his own feelings for him; they’re not as straightforward as he wants them to be. Everything must be so new for the teenager, a new environment, the big leagues; he’s going through it so well, but Liam doesn’t know how to interact with him, to act on his feelings.
Liam’s not shy; he's rather the opposite. He says what he says, he’s rash, he goes for what he wants, chasing his goals, be that a seat in Formula 1 or otherwise. But no matter what he does, he can’t get his brain to act on this, on Arvid.
Eventually, the British teen stops laughing, drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, and he chuckles before turning the phone to face Liam, “Oh mate, just catch the look on your face, admin’s going to love this one.”
Liam is mortified; all his fears of being caught on camera during his weakest moments have come true, and it could be broadcast on a platform everyone can see: the social channels. Liam’s already been embarrassed enough on the VCARB social channel; this instance would be the cherry on top. Quickly, Liam tries to snatch the device, but Arvid pulls it away quickly, his other arm stretched out to push Liam away. In protest, Liam yells, “You can’t post that! It’s humiliating! Give me that!”
Arvid continues cackling, drawing the attention of passersby, watching two almost fully grown adults fight over a stupid little phone. Liam gains the upper hand on Arvid, pressing him against the glass of the hospitality. Just as he gets a grip on the phone, the Briton, with all his force, shoves Liam off him, his fingers flying from the device as his back collides with the barrier. Unable to catch himself, Liam is helpless as he falls over the little barrier and onto the fake grass on the other side, the air getting knocked out of his lungs in an oompf.
Some of the Racing Bulls staff from within the building rush to the windows to spectate, and others from the paddock’s walk come over to crowd around the hospitality. But Liam can only focus on the howling laughter coming from Arvid, the phone reappearing as he continues to snap pictures of the fallen Kiwi.
“Bro fuck off.” Liam groans, trying to lift himself from the fake grass.
Arvid’s still grinning from ear to ear, the lens of the phone camera pointed straight at him, “What a position, mate, this is just the expression I wanted.”
Brushing the turf out from his clothes, Liam groans louder, the crowd around them disperses, and the fun is clearly over. Liam makes one last effort, staring at the Brit, he demands, “Delete it!”
“No.” He responds immediately, not even paying attention to him anymore. The younger driver types into his phone.
Liam whines, “Arvid!”
Laughing, Arvid turns his phone around, revealing the photo of Liam, helpless on the ground. He turns the phone away, storing it in his pocket, “The photo’s my lock screen now.”
Taken aback, Liam immediately feels the heat rushing into his face, his pupils dilating at the idea of Arvid seeing him every single time he opens his phone. Before he can fully comprehend it all, the words slip out of his mouth, “Mate, why would you do that?”
Arvid scoffs, shoving his hands into his pocket, muttering, “It’s not like you don’t know you’re my favourite.”
Liam feels his back straightening up before his brain can catch up to reality. He cocks his head, confused, furrowing his brow, he can’t help but ask, “Favourite what?”
The Brit’s head dashes up, his face pained as he closes his eyes, before staring right at Liam, “Mate,” he begins, before shaking his head, “Never mind actually.”
The New Zealander scoffs, lifting his shoulders in a daze, “What? Bro, you can’t just say that, I want to know now!”
The younger man groans into his hands before scanning over at Liam, “Mate, just forget it.” He says, the grin returning to his face in full force, “Hey, you’ve got grass in your hair.”
Before Liam can respond, the younger reaches across the barrier, Arvid’s fingers sorting through his blonde curls, emerging successful with a small plastic blade of grass, before he flicks it away. His eyes are still trained on Liam, his deep brown eyes soft as he smiles, “There, you’re perfect again.”
The touch lasted shorter than a second, but Liam forgot how to breathe; he feels the flush of heat high into his cheekbones now. Realising he hasn’t responded yet, Liam quickly chuckles, “Thanks.”
The Brit nods before looking down at the watch on his wrist. He looks back at Liam, his expression amused, “Well, we’ve got an hour to kill, you reckon we could grab a quick drink?” He asks, before quickly speaking up again, “Oi, but no Red Bull. I swear the Red Bull consumption around here is going to kill me.”
Nodding, Liam agrees quickly, “Of course, I spotted some of that Chai tea you’re so fond of in the Red Bull hospitality, you think we could sneak in and grab a quick cup?”
The idea came quickly. Liam knows that the Brit enjoys the drink, and while Liam personally doesn’t, he’s satisfied by the softer smile on the younger’s face at the suggestion. Arvid’s beautiful face lit up with excitement as he nodded frantically.
Arvid nudges him along, “Get a move on, mate! Daylight’s burning, and I wasn’t kidding when I said I was thirsty.” Liam scoffs in advance, making his way through the paddock to the Red Bull racing hospitality, the two of them separated by Williams and Ferrari. Liam glances over his shoulder to see the Briton following closely in his shadow, Arvid’s happy expression making Liam feel warm despite the Canadian air.
The two get glances as they enter the building, the staff not exactly disregarding their sister team’s drivers, especially when they make a beeline toward the dining room. Liam tries not to make eye contact with any of the workers, although they don’t share the same sentiment. The smell gives away the location of the drinks, the lighter peppercorn notes tickling at his nostrils, but the Kiwi has a plan in mind. He reaches toward the cup, taking in the grin on Arvid’s face when he takes a sip of the drink, clearly satisfied.
“You know,” he starts, admiring the cup labelled with the stereotypical Oracle Red Bull Racing logo, “It’s not that far off something that I would have at home, these blokes know what they’re doing.”
Liam is quick to agree; however, he has a concern on his mind: “You don’t find it strange that an energy drink company just has chai in the hospitality?”
Downing his drink, Arvid is quick to roll his eyes, “I came to that same thought the moment you mentioned this entire idea, but I’m not complaining.” He tosses the paper cup into the rubbish. “That was plenty good. You want a drink, Li?”
The thought completely left Liam’s head. He responds, “Well, I’m not a fan of Chai, but I’ll be fine with some water before the media day.”
With a furrow of his eyebrows, the shorter of the two shrugs, checking his watch again in a flash, he says, “Well, we can kill time in our own hospitality, let’s hurry on out of here before security takes us.”
“Oh, I can’t agree any more,” Liam says back, now he’s following the younger driver out of the hospitality. Trailing Arvid out of the dining room, he hears a familiar voice greeting the Brit.
“What are you doing here?” Yuki greets, and he quickly waves at Arvid, completely ignoring the Kiwi, “Already touring your future building?”
Liam immediately regrets coming, although Arvid’s smile was worth it; he should have thought about the risk of running into Yuki out of all people in the place, after all, he is Red Bull’s reserve driver.
Arvid, completely unbothered, gives him a subtle wave back. He responds, “Nah, mate, stealing your tea.”
Yuki rolls his eyes quite dramatically, “Don’t you have tea in your building? Why steal ours?”
The Brit shrugs, “It’s not the same, plus, we’re sister teams, aye? What’s yours is mine?”
The shorter man briefly nods before he finally acknowledges Liam’s existence. He glances through the blonde, scanning him through before he finally greets, “Hey.”
“Hi,” Liam says back, the response too awkward for the amount of history they had. With the drama of the previous seasons, their once close relationship blew through; some of it was on Liam’s conscience, but the Japanese man also burnt his fair share of the bridge.
Yuki quickly looks back at Arvid, the look on his face now judging, “You know you don’t have to be around him all the time, right? Plenty of other drivers want to hang around you.”
The comment hits hard, making the blonde feel like sinking through the ground. After all, Arvid is one of the most promising prospects in Red Bull history, but he’s also the youngest driver in the paddock. He’s clever, funny, easy to talk to, and amazing to look at.
People would naturally flock to him in the way they never did with Liam.
Arvid’s response brings him out of his spiral, the brunette calmly responding to the shortest of them, “Yeah?”
With a shrug, Yuki leans on the railing, “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Arvid rebukes. He aligns himself closer to Liam, throwing an arm around his shoulder, “I like hanging around him.”
The room begins to heat up for Liam, and he takes an involuntary gulp, his stomach doing somersaults. Yuki glances from Arvid to him, his eyes squinting as he notices far too much.
Yuki dryly responds, “Right.”
Arvid nods quickly, “Right.”
The world continues to move around them, their silence gone unnoticed by those around them, but for Liam, it stretches too much; Arvid’s arm pressing into his shoulders, making his heart ache at the touch.
Finally, Yuki pinches his nose, the smaller man releasing a sigh, “You two are impossible, what a waste of time.”
“What did I do?” Liam asks.
Both Arvid and Yuki look at him, Arvid’s arm slipping from his shoulders as the younger man faces him; Yuki particularly looks pained.
With a groan, he says, “You see? Exactly what I’m talking about!”
“What?” He responds, confused out of his mind.
Arvid laughs from beside him, the serious look on his face instantly melting. Yuki, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere but in the moment.
“You two, just get out of my building.” He finally says, pointing at the exit, “Or I will call security and tell them that you’re trying to steal our race strategies.”
Putting his hands up in surrender, Arvid chuckles a farewell to the Japanese man, “Chill! We’re out, have a nice one, Yuki.”
“Bye.” Liam mumbles, this time following Arvid’s footsteps, Yuki giving him a grunt as he walks back up the stairs of the hospitality.
The two VCARB drivers fall into motion, walking back silently to their building. Every once in a while, Liam steals a glance at Arvid, trying to admire how the sunlight bounces off his curls, the mullet that he’s sporting perfectly suiting him. Arvid doesn’t look back to his relief, but the twitch in his cheek makes the Kiwi feel like he’s suppressing something.
When they make it back to their rightful hospitality, Liam finds out that Arvid intends to kill time by vigorously texting on his phone, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his brown eyes glancing up directly at Liam every so often, before he continues his frantic motions.
Liam tries his best to ignore it, instead looking through Instagram for updates on the FIFA schedule. He fully intends on watching a match or two, even if it means seeing his home country lose miserably.
Eventually enough, his least favourite person, the Admin himself, walks up to where Arvid and Liam are currently sitting, his phone in his hand, looking like he’s ready to annoy the daylights out of Arvid and himself. The appearance of the rest of the crew signals to the two that they’re filming on the second-floor balcony.
The Canadian sun takes a second to adjust to the world, blinding him for a moment before his eyes adjust. Admin is frantically looking through his phone, his brows creased as he quietly talks to the other crew members.
In the corner of his eye, he sees Arvid’s equally concerned face. The Kiwi absentmindedly grabs at the drawstrings of his pants, waiting for the media to tell them what to do.
Admin groans loudly, catching Liam off guard, “Oh lord.”
“Oh, what?” Liam asks, and the admin looks genuinely confused.
“Oh no, it’s all going wrong.” Arvid jokes, a mischievous grin on his face, his focus is on the admin.
“What?” Liam responds, playing with the large drawstrings on his pants, he’s hardly seen the man this baffled. The rest of the crew looked equally as confused.
“No, it’s not going wrong, we’ve just been asked to do an extra,” The older man responds, his eyebrows pinched as he glares into his phone. He pauses before continuing, “Concept. I don’t actually understand their message”
“What?” Liam repeats, while he doesn’t enjoy media filming, their ideas are usually annoying after all, he does appreciate the work the team puts in.
The man blinks a few times, looks up at them, his eyebrows still high up, “What does IDK even mean?”
The blonde responds immediately, as if second nature, “I don’t know.”
“Idk- I don’t know. How do you not even know that?” Arvid responds almost simultaneously.
The man continues to look pained, defeated. He continues, “If no one knows, we can just Google it.”
“W-we know,” Liam says, he’s starting to get irritated, he swears admin used the abbreviation before, “You know. It’s I don’t know.”
“Yeah, but if you don’t know-”
Liam looks at Arvid, who's just gone quiet. The younger is knowingly smiling at him, “No, I know what it is. I’m just-” Liam responds again, throwing his hands up.
“Dude, why are you getting ragebaited, mate?” Arvid interrupts, his big brown eyes amused, “Like we’ve seen the cameras there.”
Liam is taken aback. He scans the balcony before Arvid points out the obvious to him. Liam almost facepalms; instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “Is she holding it?”
“Yeah.” He says back immediately.
Frustrated already at the prank, Liam points out, “Well, I didn’t see that.”
“I saw that like 10 seconds ago,” Arvid laughs, holding his hand out still pointed toward the camera. His smile is radiant as he says, “That’s why I shut up!”
“Then why didn’t you say it?” Liam continues to complain, getting really frustrated now at the whole situation, “Why didn’t you say it if you saw the camera?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Arvid continues as if it were the most logical idea in the world, “I was getting mad, then just went silent.”
Now prancing around, Liam looks around the hospitality area to scan for any more cameras. He chides, “I literally said, 'Where is the camera?’”
“And I said, it’s there!” Arvid says one last time, pointing directly to the camera, recording his suffering for the internet’s amusement.
The blonde is fully ready to hurl that device over the ledge of the hospitality, price be damned. Still, Arvid hunches over in laughter, tears welling in his eyes. He looks radiant in the sun, like he’s everything Liam wants and more. He speaks up between laughs, “Oh mate, your reaction, it’s just so funny.”
Instead of responding, Liam just stands there, smiling at the younger driver, the floaty feeling coming back to him full swing. The world becomes background noise as Liam fully focuses on Arvid.
Unfortunately for him, someone clears their throat, and Liam turns around to see the media team shifting the camera down, looking suspiciously between the two of them. “Right.” She says, her gaze now more professional, wanting to continue along with their schedule, but she continues, “What is this?”
“What is what?” The Kiwi responds without a hitch, confused once again; now he’s just gearing up for an extension of one of their pranks.
The entire crew groans around them. Arvid, who's just managed to pick himself up, nearly pops a blood vessel with how much he’s scrunching his face. “Oh my God, Liam,“ He mutters.
Admin chips in, his gaze softer than usual, “You genuinely don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?” He remarks, looking through the entire crew at this point for some giveaway, their cameras are off, so this cannot be yet another prank.
Arvid had completely stopped laughing at this point, his hands fully covering his face, the younger driver groaning, “No, no, don’t tell him, guys.”
“Tell me what?” The blonde asks again, feeling like he’s been repeating himself the entire day.
Arvid and the crew exchange glances before the admin sighs, “Nothing, mate.”
Liam now wants to throw himself off the railing. He narrows his eyes and whines, “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
The younger driver shakes his head, he sighs, “Because,” before pointing at the scripts another crew member has in her hands, “We have filming to do.”
Tossing his hands in the air, Liam looks at Arvid, almost begging for help, “Bro! What are you talking about?”
The Brit chuckles, completely ignoring his question before waving the scripts over to them, the motion immediate, but the smile on his face lingering for a few seconds longer.
The challenges go by, lots of numbers that Liam wants nothing to do with. But finally, after hours of filming, it feels. Admin decides to put them out of their misery, but he wants them to do one last challenge. The paper revealing it sitting there, daunting on the warmest table he’s ever had the pleasure to touch.
Arvid’s on his phone, typing in something quick while the cameras remain on them, patiently waiting for content to record. Once the younger driver puts the device away, Liam begins reading the words aloud. He’s mid-sentence when he feels Arvid leaning over his shoulder, the Briton’s hand resting on his waist, just concealed from the camera by the table. The New Zealander’s brain short-circuits. Arvid mentions something about 69, which Liam quickly agrees to in a daze. He proceeds to dump out the objects they’re supposed to stack from the bag, a tangled set of car keys catching his attention as he tries not to think of the phantom touch on his waist. Arvid focuses on a headband with Canadian flags sticking out.
“Nah, nah, mate, mate, this is quite the look.” He chuckles, trying to put the headband on Liam’s head, the stupid band brushing around his scalp, “Go on the reindeer, the Canadian reindeer.”
Liam’s occupied trying to look at his reflection in the glass window, but he catches the moment the Red Bull can fall onto the ground, Arvid reaching down to get it while he slips out, “You look beautiful.” He says without a second thought, tossing a ball down to another staff member below.
Liam chooses to focus on the challenge, pitching in every so often to help Arvid with the maths. Still, he carries on without another thought of what happened during filming, grateful when everything wraps up, and they’re finally free to leave.
By then, the sun is still high in the sky despite it being around dinner time, taking a deep breath, Liam is considering asking Arvid out for dinner, something small before practice the next day, and Sprint Qualifying. Dinner isn’t too obvious; it’ll be something small between teammates or even friends. It’s not like they don’t have lunch together a lot, or even breakfast.
Before he even gets the chance to do anything, Hamelin interrupts the balcony, his eyes dark behind his glasses, and Liam’s seen that face before. Arvid’s bound for a long conversation with the man.
Disappointment immediately settles deep in the pit of Liam’s stomach. He watches as Arvid nods, his shoulders settling once his engineer leaves the area.
The Brit gives him a quick smile, “Well, that’s a wrap, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
Liam smiles instantly at the seemingly simple idea of tomorrow. He responds with a single word, “Yeah.”
“Don’t stay up too late doomscrolling Twitter again.” He chips in, amusement written all over his face.
Liam scoffs, “I don’t do that!”
“You’re a terrible liar!” Arvid laughs back, his eyes go soft again, glancing up at Liam’s head.
He hesitates briefly before reaching his hands up, quickly adjusting the eyesore of a headband that’s innocently placed upon Liam’s head, now laid crooked through their shenanigans.
“There,” He smiles, their eyes meeting, none of them moving, before Arvid visibly blinks back into reality, “Night, Li.”
With that, he steps out of the terrace, following in the phantom footsteps of his engineer. Leaving Liam starstruck, alone with his thoughts of the afternoon.
Liam doesn’t give himself the time to dwell on those thoughts; instead, he gets his shit together, gathering his belongings and changing out of the VCARB shirt they’ve forced him into. Some of the 2025 rookies are getting together for a dinner, but Liam opts instead for his hotel room service, too drained for anything else, and too anxious to be fun to be around.
The Kiwi mindlessly goes through his dinner, the background hockey game numbing his brain enough so that he doesn’t think about the day.
But eventually that ends, just like his dinner, and it finally hits him when he’s dressed for bed and scrolling on Twitter.
Beautiful. Arvid called him beautiful.
Finally alone, Liam lets it all out and fully screams into a pillow, his face now burning hot as he lets the words wash over him. Then, as soon as it came, he took a breath, calming down enough to truly comprehend the words.
Arvid clearly didn’t mean it like that; he was surely just mocking him. That headband was atrocious against the colour scheme they were sporting. There was absolutely no way that Arvid meant anything other than in a mocking way. The Brit didn’t even look at him when he said it; it was just a remark made in passing.
The New Zealander tries to settle on that note, turning over to switch off the tableside light. He looks up at the ceiling in a daze.
Liam wants to know so badly what anything that day meant, but he just can’t piece it together. For heaven's sake, he couldn’t piece his own feelings together into actions. Even if he desperately wants to do both.
----
The paddock is crammed with media for Day 1 of the Grand Prix. But for good reason, the three-week gap between Miami was enough to make his skin crawl with anticipation; the fans must be starved for entertainment.
The hallway leading to the driver’s room is the perfect place to hide from the noise; after all, he has FP1 to worry about.
His trainer suggests some quick American football to lighten the mood, just back and forth tossing to loosen the tension. The heat pump is on in the hospitality, fighting the chill outside, but in turn making the indoors hostile to any form of exercise. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. Still, Liam is shirtless in the hospitality, tossing the football around, and Declan deserves a raise because it helps keep his mind off the anxiety he typically has before getting in the car.
Of course, they’re taking pictures; he doesn’t expect anything less from the VCARB media team, anything for engagement, he supposes.
He’s an athlete, athletes sweat, but with how warm it is in the hospitality, he’s a second away from tugging on shorts to battle the heat, the football threatening to slip between his hands every few catches.
The fatigue is clearly getting to Declan, because just 10 minutes into their back-and-forth, the older man throws the ball a bit too wide to the right, just too far from Liam’s reach.
“Oh come on, mate!” Liam jokes, brushing some of his sweaty hair back, then he catches Arvid, mouth slightly parted, outside the hospitality over a dish of eggs, but his attention is solely trained on Liam.
The Kiwi waves quickly at the younger driver, Arvid, dropping his fork as he flinches up, the Brit quickly raising a hand to wave back. His expression becomes unreadable, almost embarrassed, and he drops his head quickly after that, returning to his plate of eggs.
Liam completely understands the feeling; sometimes, he finds himself zoning out at the worst possible moments. Arvid’s probably full of nerves right now for FP1, especially since Sprint Qualifying would be right after. If he weren’t eating at the moment, the blonde would have invited him in for football.
Hustling to get the ball, Declan raises his hands in defeat, the man bright red and huffing slightly, “Alright mate, I think that should be enough for today.” He chuckles, “Wow, you do have quite an arm.”
Liam quickly tosses him the ball again, bidding him a quick farewell before he darts off into his driver’s room, changing into more appropriate race day attire. He meets up with Alexandre for a brief discussion about the strategies he wants to run tomorrow and some diagnostic tests to see how well those upgrades for aerodynamics would improve his race pace. It’s just standard ideas, but after his DNF in Miami, the Kiwi just wants to be better prepared, so he takes notes. Something that the engineers and mechanics around him are intrigued by, their snickers making it quite obvious, but he’s dead set on performing better.
With 20 minutes until FP1 starts, the blonde is excused from the meeting. He walks with Alexandre to the garage, taking sips of water before he heads toward the car, gearing up for some laps before the qualifying. Five laps in, his car suddenly stops.
“Fuck, I have an issue. I-I’ve lost, I’ve lost” He frantically presses at the buttons on his wheel, his heart starts pounding, this can’t be happening, it hasn’t even been 10 fucking minutes into the session. “Wait, wait, wait, I’ve lost car steering, fucking shit, I’ve lost car steering.”
Just like that, he’s left stranded on the side of turn one, the marshals having already ordered him out of the car. From their chatter, he learns that the hydraulics have ruptured, leaving him without steering.
They talk amongst themselves, asking him questions every once in a while, but he’s frozen, biting his cheeks for any form of relief from this disaster. His fingers are going numb around the helmet in his hands, the smoke rising from the car not threatening, but broken in a way that crushes his spirits.
He watches helplessly as the red flags wave around the track, halting free practice that they all desperately needed. His car won’t shift into neutral; the marshals keep saying that his clutch disengagement system failed, meaning the marshals can’t even push it back into the pits.
They quickly arranged for someone to get him, and the ride back to the garage is silent, the ringing in his ears too loud for him to make anything out. First, it was his gearbox that failed; now this, and if the team can’t repair it in roughly 4 hours, he’s not going to be in sprint qualifying either.
He sits there, numbly looking on as the team takes apart the car to confirm what the marshals told him earlier. The sounds of other cars zooming by pinch his nerves, knowing that they’ll be better prepared for the race, but more importantly, they’ll be able to qualify for the sprint.
But no matter the agony he’s in, or the enticing thought of leaving and returning to his hotel room, flashes of Arvid’s car keep him glued in the garage. Just because he’s doing awful doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be there for Arvid.
After some fifteen minutes of feeling sorry for himself, he trudges over to the pit wall, and Alexandre, already expecting him, looks at him with sympathy.
“Liam.” Alan sighs, pulling his headphones slightly aside just to lend an ear to Liam, “We’re not going to be able to fix the car before quali.”
The New Zealander feels a pang of hurt, “W-what do you mean you can’t fix the car?” He says, “It’s four hours between now and then, it should be-”
Alexandre shakes his head, cutting Liam off, his headphones lie messily on his head, “Some of the upgrades aren’t cooperating well with the setup of the car, sure, they should be helping, but that’s only if the car doesn’t break cause of them.”
With a sigh, he nods, “This shouldn’t happen to Arvid, right?” He replies, before crouching down to get a better view of Arvid’s data, the younger driver currently cruising through sector 3. Bortaletto chooses just that time to drive by, his car engine almost deafening. “Our car set-up should be the same, no?”
“It looks like you were just very unlucky, Liam. A joint in the car ruptured, which is why the hydraulics started to leak.” He shifts his attention back to the race when red flags begin to wave again, this time because of Albon, “I don’t think you should worry about it; the engineers will fix it before tomorrow.”
Standing his ground, the New Zealander shakes his head, “Will it or will it not happen to Arvid?”
This comment catches the attention of Hamelin, who’s had his attention solely on Arvid before the red flag; he joins the conversation at the mention of his driver, “Well, I hope not; if anything will happen, it will be the clutch, but that will be very unlucky if it does.”
The session comes to yet another halt, the engineers turning their attention back to the schematics, Alexandre promising that his car will be fine for the sprint, even if he’ll be dead last on the grid. With the cars now all stopped, Liam safely crosses through, back to his garage.
His garage is a comfortable place to watch the rest of practice, with Arvid coming into the pit every once in a while to change his tyres or his strats. His results look fine, with the younger driver consistently topping the midfield. Once practice ends, and the team is called in for a general meeting, Arvid looks like he’s on cloud 9, a pep apparent in his step.
“Hey,” Liam greets, Arvid beaming at him. He was only 5 tenths of a second behind Piastri. “Great work out there!”
The Brit grins, and he pats Liam’s back as the pair make their way into the meeting room, “Thanks mate, I’m sorry practice didn’t go as well for you.”
Liam doesn’t have time to respond; he’s sat next to his engineer, across the table from Arvid, the computer screens almost blocking his view. The terrible pit of disappointment returns to his stomach when the room begins to talk about the sprint quali. The strategies they plan for Arvid sound great; they seem achievable.
Hours of their back-and-forth began; at one point, Liam’s car was brought up, along with some of his comments about Arvid’s car. The team has high hopes for the sprint, but it’s not at the top of the concerns; what is important is the main race and the actual qualifying.
Quickly, they’re rushed in and out of press conferences. They’re officially released once the clock strikes 3:30, giving Arvid 30 minutes to prepare mentally for the quali. The team brings Liam aside to draft an official statement regarding his car; it doesn’t take too long, and they’re situated by the time Q1 is halfway through. The session was red-flagged once by Alonso, but the Kiwi is glad to see it hasn’t hindered his teammate’s performance, with Arvid making it into Q3. He’s just ahead of Sainz, but two tenths of a second off of Max Verstappen himself. Needless to say, it’s been an amazing session for Arvid, and the team congratulated him the second he got out of the car.
Happiness looks divine on Arvid; he’s glowing under the Canadian sun, his curls bouncing with each laugh that shakes his shoulders.
With the day officially over, the two are separated once again and escorted to their respective drivers' rooms to change out and grab a quick meal, the rest of the day being theirs soon after.
This would give Liam a chance to take back the day; he can invite Arvid to tour the city. After all, Montreal is beautiful, and it’s the rookie’s first time.
The sounds of Arvid recording a video for VCARB filter into Liam’s room; the happiness he saw on the Brit’s face earlier is even evident in his tone, despite all the takes the admin makes him shoot.
Liam opts to wait for him to finish; the blonde is already changed out of his race suit, his street clothes comfortably fitted on him. The familiar weight of his phone draws him to Instagram, and the notifications from the VCARB accounts are the first he sees.
The first post was, of course, a statement on his car from earlier. He almost likes the next post of Arvid’s Q3 results, but manages to hold himself back before he does. The comments are all supportive, and the fans have started calling him baby goat, something the blonde softly chuckles at.
The next post nears twelve thousand likes; it’s the graphic of their qualifying results, and the big DNF associated with Liam makes him almost dizzy.
The first comment destroyed his appetite, with 22 likes. The person begins by calling him ‘Slowson’, followed by sentences detailing his performance in FP1 and Miami, ending with ‘He is only remembered as the worst driver in Red Bull history with 2 miserable races, why does he still have a seat?’
Bile rises in his throat, the sinking feeling now completely suffocating him, making the small white room more reminiscent of a tomb. Liam tries to breathe; it’s just a comment, the person doesn’t know anything, but he knows some of it is true. If he doesn’t perform well this year, there won't be any seats available for him; the idea of F1 will just be a memory.
The New Zealander clenches the phone in his hand, his fingers turning red around the edges from the pressure. Any noise is reduced to ringing; he knows he needs to get out, to escape the room, the paddock, anything regarding Formula 1. His bag is on his shoulders before he can even comprehend that he’s leaving without saying anything to anyone, he gets into the rental car. He doesn’t even realise that he’s crossed the bridge back to downtown until he’s passed the car to the valet and booked it to his room.
His hands shake as he grabs the keycard for the room. In the darkness of the room, he nearly trips over the guitar case he decided to bring to Montreal. His hands continue to shake, his vision nearly blurring, the city lights now becoming mere smudges.
He’s an idiot, a stupid bloody moron if he thinks that he’ll have a seat next season. His rookie teammates have consistently out-qualified him, the media and the fans hate him, he is but a smudge in the paddock. He doesn’t belong in Formula 1, he has no right to Arvid’s attention, and he shouldn’t be privy to Arvid’s happiness because he doesn’t deserve it. He’s just a teammate, not even a friend to the younger driver, someone who can show him the ropes, then disappear into another failed driver.
Liam chokes on a sob; he wills the tears back because if they fall, it’s another thing he’s failed at. He can’t even handle his own emotions; this entire time, he’s been incredibly lucky throughout life, but it looks like it’s starting to run dry. His parents have sacrificed so much for him; the weight of his country lies on his shoulders.
The sun’s dying rays struggle to make it through his blinds, but in the distance past the buildings, he can see the paddock lights beginning to switch on. All the drivers have probably left by now. Montreal was always a fun night out, especially with a good quali. Arvid should be celebrating with some of the other drivers, eating at some restaurant somewhere, talking strategies, track conditions, and the other drivers are more knowledgeable than Liam can ever be; their experience weighs so much more than the arrogance he can put out.
The light vibrations echoing from his phone now anger him more than anything. At some point, he shoved it in his bag, out of mind, and out of sight. If that comment was posted on the official account, the online discourse is bound to be worse, especially from Miami, when he made enemies with Pierre’s entire fanbase for flipping him when his engine turned off.
Liam drops onto the bed, turning his back away from the fading light. He should shower; he’s disgusting after the day he’s spent sweating away in the paddock, but what good would that bring if no one cares?
At some point, the Kiwi manages to fall asleep in his position, the room now pitch dark, when the sound of tapping echoes through.
Earlier in his haste to enter the room, he had forgotten to hang up the little door sign, ‘Do not disturb!’
Worst case, housekeeping comes in and sees a dishevelled twenty-four-year-old wallowing away in his misery on a Friday night. They would probably automatically book it in the other direction. Best case, they’ll just leave after a few moments.
Except that the tapping becomes frantic knocks, continuous and echoing through the room, into his skull. Liam’s temper flares, the blonde groaning as he opens the door, the light blinding him as his eyes make a poor attempt at adjusting.
“I knew you’d be here,” A familiar British tang greets him, not the Canadian he was expecting. “Fuck did you just roll out of bed?”
The Kiwi shrugs the question away. Why, out of all people, did VCARB have to send poor Arvid to sort out his idiot teammate’s problem? Clearing his throat, Liam isn’t sure how to respond, but he knows he should apologise for stealing Arvid away.
“Look, mate, I’m sorry I left without telling admin,” he starts, unable to look at the younger driver.
The Brit scoffs in response, and Liam can already see the look on his face, annoyed, relieved that it’s over, but Arvid crouches down into his field of view, his face more offended than anything, “Admin? Really? You left without telling me! I was pretty bloody worried about you!”
Liam stops himself from rolling his eyes. The response was clearly meant to preserve his feelings, but he’s not dumb, and now he sure is angry for Arvid’s lost time. Without fully thinking, he says quietly, “Why do you even care? You can leave now, have fun.”
Arvid freezes, his eyes now darker, his bottom lip tense, and for a moment, Liam is sure he’s not going to answer, but rather turn and leave. But Arvid does neither of that, he almost laughs, “Seriously?”
The blonde doesn’t know how to respond, and instead shrugs, trying to look anywhere but at the younger driver.
The Brit shifts, his chuckles dying in the silence, “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mate-”
“No,” Arvid snaps, cutting him off, “You disappear without telling anyone, do you know I looked everywhere for you? Can you even believe how worried I was for you?
With a sigh, he wills enough courage to look down at Arvid, his eyebrows fiercely pinched together. Liam sighs, “I was fine.”
“Bullshit!” Arvid counters, his gaze softening when Liam flinches at the word, “Li, you’re allowed to have bad days, but I want to be there for you.”
His heart pounds while his gaze drops to the carpet, “It’s not just a bad day.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” he snorts, the words coming out harsher than intended. Liam feels sick to his stomach, “You don’t get it, you were brilliant today. Everyone loves you, Arvid. You qualified in the top 10.”
“Stop,” Arvid butts in, but Liam won’t let him this time.
“You belong here!” Liam shouts, the space falling silent once again. He looks up at Arvid, the Brit’s expression unreadable. As soon as he sees his own reflection in the younger’s eyes, Liam begins to feel so tired, so small. He whispers the last part softly, “Everyone knows I don’t.”
The silence settles for a second, maybe a minute, but Arvid never looks away from him. Eventually, he says, “I might not understand, but explain it to me, Liam.”
He can’t take the look in Arvid’s eyes; he can’t handle the disappointment the younger driver will feel once he knows more. Liam loves him too much for that, because he knows it will crush him.
The Kiwi blinks away the moisture in his eyes, looking down at his shoes when he mumbles, “Please go, Arvid, I’ll be fine.”
The brunette lets out one last scoff before Liam watches as he turns away, the blonde not able to see him completely walk away and out of his line of sight. Before he completely disappears, he says something quiet, but loud enough to reach the blonde’s ears, “You know that you’re wrong, right?”
Still avoiding his gaze, Liam looks at the wall close to the brunette, “About what?”
“Most of it,” he responds, the hallway quiet, “Goodnight, Liam.”
That night, Liam sleeps like shit.
----
The circuit is exploding with energy that Liam can feel before he even steps foot out of his car. The hotel waffles churning and doing loops in his stomach as he walks through the paddock. For once, he’s glad Arvid’s gluten-free, which ensures that he didn’t have the waffles; he’s certainly faring better than the blonde.
Liam makes his best effort to avoid the cameraman, but the scowl on his face is enough to deter anyone, unlike the fans who ran up to him in the first place. His pre-race warmup feels wrong, even though he goes through all the steps Declan lists out for him. The air is colder than it should be; it’s void.
The sprint itself doesn’t go horribly, by lap 5, Liam’s already in P15, and by the time he passes the chequered flag, he’s P12, but thanks to an incident with Checo that initially pushed the Kiwi off the track, the Spaniard’s penalty moves him to P11, still out of points.
Arvid managed to get P8, a place behind Max, giving him a point.
In between sessions, they’re forced into yet another press conference, then immediately into a meeting; this time, it’s more relevant to Liam. His car feels good, the strategy sounds great. But still, he had so much catching up to do, which was evident during the qualifying session. Liam couldn’t even make it into Q3; his team blames it on a lack of soft tyres, but the pit in his stomach remains. He qualifies P12 between the Audis.
Arvid gets P9, making him, once again, the fastest of the midfielders, in position for points and in the battle. That day, Liam didn’t even bother to check his phone.
He wants to be optimistic and tries to adopt that mindset. But the guilt and disappointment fill his guts every time he spots Arvid, the younger driver, not saying a word to him, not even in greeting. But Liam deserves it; Arvid has better things to focus on.
The day passes in a haze, the way it usually does before a race. He fuels up well, conditions before he goes back to the hotel, and he even talks to Gabi on his way out of the paddock.
The Kiwi mourns those small moments he used to share with Arvid, but he tries his best not to. Liam doesn’t dwell on the gap in his day; he tries not to feel the numbness that sits where the disappointment and shame once did. He goes to sleep early, wakes up just on time for a quick breakfast and a ride to the circuit.
The team automatically knows that something is wrong. Liam suspects they’ve known since the day before; they always pick up on these things. Once again, the media doesn’t expect him to film anything, but his social media manager nudges him towards maintaining the teammate image. They arrive at the driver’s parade separately, but they’re quickly bunched together when some of the 2025 rookies begin complaining about the weather.
The lap is quick to end, and Max is helpful in that matter. Liam finds himself zoning out as the older man begins to talk strategies and voices his complaints about the overweight Red Bull car. Liam was never shy about expressing his appreciation and respect for the man; it seems he’s the perfect role model for them all. Four-time champion, stable life, not-so-secret relationship with Charles. He always makes time for everyone; his persona is nicer than the media portrays.
Before they completely split off, Max smiles at him, patting him on the shoulders while pulling the Kiwi in for a hug, and the Dutchman gives him a knowing look. “Good luck out there, mate.”
Liam is quick to hug him back, give him a small, “Thanks!”
The darker blonde had his hand resting on Liam’s shoulder for a second longer, his blue eyes glancing over Liam’s shoulder. Liam trails his gaze over to Arvid, chatting with Oliver. Arvid meets his gaze, but he quickly looks away, not giving him a customary wave, not even a smile. The pit in the Kiwi’s stomach is buzzing again. By the time he turns back to face Max, the man is already looking down at the New Zealander, amused.
“At least you two aren’t as bad as Charles and I.” He hums, finally pulling his hand away.
“What?”
With a shrug, Max fakes being confused, “Nothing!” His response was far too quick.
Liam blinks, then he narrows his eyes at the Dutch driver, “Mate.”
With a smirk, Max shakes his head, “I have a race to worry about, good luck, kid.”
Before Liam can react, the man is already drifting away, the Kiwi following his blue figure as he makes his way through the other drivers.
The blonde looks back over his shoulder. The Brits are still deep in conversation, Arvid not sparing him a glance.
Liam tries not to dwell on it too much. Max was right. He has a race to worry about.
Even if Arvid meant much more to him than a race.
----
Canada is cold; it’s difficult to warm up the tyres underneath him, but he reckons that it’s a problem everyone else on the grid has.
It’s become such a problem that the race director has to order a second formation lap as a precaution, giving the drivers a chance to warm their cars and their tyres more. So Liam does as he’s told, the lights flicker, and he waits for the cars ahead to get started.
Except one of them stalls, it’s not Hulkenberg who’s directly in front of him, or Colapinto who’s right before the German. It’s the other Racing Bull, Arvid’s car, that stalls, the car still not moving at all as Liam passes it, and suddenly the conversation with Alexandre and Hamelin replays in his head. It’s yet another issue with the car, but this time around, it’s Arvid with the horrible luck.
Liam is absolutely gutted once he returns to the position, passing the Brit’s car being rolled into the pits--a DNS situation written all over. Halting in place, Liam tries to subtly look in his rearview mirrors at the car, the hope of a quick fix settling in his stomach.
Yet another formation lap is called, and the Kiwi does as he’s told, weaving his tyres trying to generate friction, any semblance of temperature. His car is slippery on the medium tyres, but Hulkenberg is sporting inters, a strange decision for the drying weather.
Arvid also had mediums; now that he’s in the pits, he could always switch them for softs, those can give him some grip. The New Zealander is confident that the younger driver can manage his way from the pit up to the standings; he’s talented enough to do so.
The sight of Arvid’s car now fully in the garage takes any hope from Liam, the front of the car disappearing once Liam passes turn 12.
He’s utterly gutted for Arvid; he’s had such a good weekend just for it to end in a DNS, no points, but even worse is a lost chance, a missing race.
But those are thoughts he can’t focus on at the moment; there won’t be any more formation laps after this one, and with Arvid out and some drivers on the grid with inters, Liam has a shot at points, he has a shot to gain something for Racing Bulls, for himself.
But he’s also doing this for Arvid, they’re teammates after all, and anyone would be mistaken if they think Liam doesn’t want to score in constructors.
So the lights go off, and by all means, the start was good, his engine cooperating to his happiness. As he expected, Hulkenberg didn’t last long on the inters, pushing the Kiwi into points. With a McLaren pit, he finds himself in P8, squished between the Alpines. Colapinto finds a way to create a gap pretty quickly in the race, the Argentinian finding the pace that Liam lacks. Halfway through the race, a hungry Pierre Gasly stays almost attached to his rear gearbox, but somehow Liam maintains his position until the end; he finishes in P7, six points now added to the constructors' and to his name.
Alexandre is ecstatic on the radio, Alan is just as pleased, and the anxiety Liam had felt during the start of the weekend starts to lift from him, the joy of points filling him with happiness instead.
His team is there to greet him in the pits, the mechanics gleefully bouncing at him, and Alan even gives him a hug, the man smiling from ear to ear. He goes on to say, “You better celebrate tonight, Liam, we’re so proud of you!”
Once the chatter dies down and his social media manager starts nudging him toward the post-race press conference, does he feel the absence of the one person he wanted to see. Arvid is nowhere to be found in the garage; he’s gone from the pits, and even during the interview, he’s not even in the area.
Immediately after the short interview, the Kiwi rushes over to the hospitality, his cap thrown on without much thought as he enters the building, his head turning frantically trying to spot the younger driver.
The staff notices naturally, some people look on at him with the joy points bring, but Arvid’s trainer gives him a knowing look, his expression almost pitiful.
Liam begins to slow his movements, and the older man opens his mouth, “Arvid’s in his driver’s room last I checked.”
The words are quick from the man; he gives Liam a once-over. The blonde opens his mouth to talk, but he finds no words; instead, he gives the man a quick nod before he wordlessly heads for the rooms down the hall.
The pit in his stomach rushed back full force, and the heat in the building almost suffocated him. He nearly makes it to the rooms, but the call of his name has him freezing in place.
“Liam! A quick video, come here, you won points after all!” The cheery voice of the social media staff rings out through the hall.
Liam turns to face her, the camera already looking menacing in her hands, and he steals a glance at Arvid’s driver’s room before he forces himself back out down the hall, following the staff up the stairs to the cursed balcony.
They make him film a skit; it’s easy to sink back into the happiness he feels for the race results, making the filming easier than it should be. His hands are clammy, talking about the weekend, the media team forcing him through some other content before he’s finally released.
He almost dives through Rafaela, going down the stairs, the Brazilian laughing as he pours out apology after apology.
“Oh, Liam,” she says in between laughs, “Why are you in such a rush? Great job out there today!”
Flustered, Liam smiles at her. He chuckles, “Thanks, Rafa, you didn’t do too bad yourself.”
Rafaela pulls him into a quick hug. She responds, “Do you want to grab a bite to celebrate? I’m not going to see you until Silverstone, let’s catch up!”
The Kiwi returns her hug, but not her sentiment. He wants to celebrate; he just had one of his best performances. But something heavier weighs on his shoulder, concern.
“Sorry, Rafaela, I really want to, but I just need a quick chat with Arvid.”
With a roll of her eyes, she leans against the wall, “He’s always with you, you surely can’t spare a moment to celebrate with someone that isn’t Arvid?”
Liam winces at the accusation. She’s not entirely wrong. With a sigh, he responds, “I just- I want to check up on him after the DNS, just to look after him really quick.”
“Oh my,” she says, her tone softer, “Liam, what is this really about?”
Liam flinches, her question unexpected, he clams up to respond, “We’ll, uh-”
“You just finished in the points, your whole team is celebrating, and it seems like the only one who isn’t is you.” She interrupts, the Brazilian shifts against the wall, crossing her arms, which makes her look all the more imposing, even if she is shorter than him.
Liam opens his mouth to respond. Her words hit him harder than he can comprehend, and while he’s searching for an answer, he knows internally that no celebration would matter if Arvid weren’t there with him.
A few seconds pass before he responds, “He’s had a rough day.”
“And?”
He swallows, “He shouldn’t be alone.”
Rafaela looks at him with pity written all over her face. She leans in to give him another hug, this one unexpected. Pulling back, she subtly shakes her head, her arms returning to the crossed position, “Liam, you can’t be this stupid, bro.”
Now he’s really taken aback; he presses himself against the wall to better ground his posture, which suddenly straightens. He lets out a measly word, “Rafa?”
She rolls her eyes again, “Liam, you just need to let yourself think a little, just seriously give yourself at least five seconds” She looks down the stairs, holding a chuckle back, before returning her gaze to him, “Arvid left a bit ago; he’s not in the hospitality, I don’t know where he is, but good luck.”
He clears his throat, not really sure how to continue, “Uh, thanks, I guess.” She doesn’t look like she’s judging him, but she’s now almost pitying him. Either way, he really does appreciate her presence, “Rafaela, I promise we’ll celebrate the next race, yeah?”
She gives him a salut, accompanied by a smirk, “Good luck, buddy, you better keep your promise!”
He’s still a little dumbstruck as he makes a quick stop to his room for his belongings.
Arvid’s door looks enticing; it’s only a metre away at most, and he’s probably not there.
Still, Liam looks around the hallway before he slowly cracks the door open, just to check, just in case.
As he suspected, the room is vacant, of course it is. The blonde stares through the room for a second longer before he closes it, shrugging the backpack on his shoulders and finally leaving the Montreal VCARB Hospitality.
He’s desperate to know where the Brit has gone; almost every driver is still in the paddock, some of the older ones have left to fly home, and others are gearing up for a trip to the city.
There is realistically one last place he can check.
With the key in the ignition, the Kiwi starts his car out of the parking lot, his eyes glued onto the building in the distance. The familiar feeling of disappointment washes over him, but this time it’s not because of his performance on the track.
It’s the same feeling he had during the meeting the previous day, with the silence looming over his shoulder, the absence of Arvid by his side.
He felt it during the parade, and he felt it immediately after the race when he realised Arvid wasn’t there.
He feels it now because he’s disappointed that he isn’t able to be there for Arvid. Liam would go to the ends of the earth if it meant that Arvid would be happy; he would do anything to see the radiant smile on his face, to hear the laugh from his throat through his shaking shoulders.
Pulling into the valet, it finally hits him. Even after a successful qualifying, Arvid searched the paddock for him, left his own celebrations, looking for the Kiwi.
He went to the hotel, knocked on his door, spilt his heart out in his room, even when Liam was pushing him away.
It feels so familiar because in that moment, Liam is doing the same thing, every step mirrored almost perfectly, except now he’s at the hotel in a last-ditch effort-- every step he made without thinking, until now.
Arvid is more than just a teammate to him. He’s more than a friend. He's more than the excuses Liam keeps making for himself over the months he’s been falling in love with him.
A teammate doesn’t become the first person you look for after a race, or the person whose absence is enough to dull a success.
He wants the weight of Arvid’s defeats shared on his shoulders; he wants his disappointment, and he wants his happiness.
The realisation hits him warm and hard, if he’s doing this out of his love, his desires. Then what did that mean for Arvid on Friday?
The memories of lingering glances in Japan start to hit him, the prolonged eye contact, the look in Arvid’s eyes whenever he laughed at a stupid joke Liam made. The lockscreen, the compliments. Even the reactions of the VCARB staff all this time.
Liam drops his head onto the steering wheel, a loud honk making him flinch up to see the annoyed looks of the valet workers.
“Oh, Liam, you fucking idiot.”
With a tip large enough to last weeks, Liam bolts into the hotel lobby, forgoing the elevators for the stairs as he takes them two steps at a time. He’s near breathless when he reaches their floor, Arvid’s room being down the hall from his, placed closer to Max.
He’s frantic as he knocks on the door, the noise echoing through the hall.
Nothing happens.
But he doesn’t take that as an answer, so he knocks again. His stomach drops with each second that passes.
“Arvid,” he pleads with the door, and silence lingers in the hallway. The warm lighting is almost nauseating.
Liam presses a hand against the door. His thoughts echoing, Please be in there.
Then the lock clicks, and the door opens softly, the light spilling from the door and into the hall.
There he is.
The silence fills the room. Arvid looks exhausted, his eyes dark with the sort of tired that lingers in them. His curls aren’t as neat as they typically are, as if he’s spent some time running his hands through them without a second thought.
But even though he's heavy with disappointment and mentally exhausted, Arvid is still the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.
“Well, mate, you look like shit”
Liam can’t help the laugh that comes out of him, the butterflies heavy in his chest. He clears his throat, asking, “Can I come in?”
The younger driver rolls his eyes, “Yeah, of course, make yourself at home.”
Arvid’s room is almost identical to Liam’s, but the Brit is leagues neater than Liam, his belongings already packed into a corner, the room looking as neat as when they moved in. He follows Arvid to the bed, both of them sinking on the mattress.
The Brit glances at him before he looks out to the horizon, “Great work out there today.”
The Kiwi nods, “I’m sorry about your race.”
“It's fine,” Arvid shrugs, not looking at him yet.
Shaking his head, Liam faces the younger driver, Arvid, finally glancing back, “No, it’s not, I’m sorry, Arvid. I’m sorry for pushing you away.”
“I didn’t care about that, Liam,” He says, his eyes soft and vulnerable, “I cared about you.”
Liam laughs, the sound coming out weaker and sounding wrong. And Arvid immediately looks worried, his eyebrows pinched.
“Why aren’t you at the circuit? The race ended what, an hour ago?”
Liam shakes his head. Arvid looks smaller when he’s sad; he’s curling up in on himself, trying to protect himself from the world. He mumbles, “I wanted to be here for you.”
Arvid stares at him, his eyes serious again, “What’s wrong, Liam?”
He lets out a shaky chuckle, “I was worried.”
Arvid’s face twists, but he stays silent for a moment, absorbed in the moment. Eventually, he says, “Now you know how it feels, huh?”
Liam closes his eyes, lowering his head; his heart is pounding, but he knows what he needs to do. He knows what he needs to make up for, all the time he’s wasted not thinking anything through.
“I didn’t understand at first,” he says, clenching his teeth to look back up at Arvid, the stinging of his eyes making him bite his lip before he starts to tear up, “But I took five seconds to really think about it.”
The Brit raises his eyebrows; the tension in his shoulders eases as he straightens his posture. “Think about what?”
Liam grits his teeth, but he manages to say, “What everyone knew before I did.” He swallows, Arvid’s face lightening up, his eyebrows more relaxed, “I thought you were just being nice, that you were just this amazing person, and you are! But it was different.”
“I know.”
Liam continues, “I honestly didn’t understand. No one’s done this for me before.”
Arvid nods slowly, his jaw clenched, “Liam, you asked me why I cared,” he starts, “That fucking sucked, you asshole.”
The Kiwi winces, cringing at his words a few days ago, “I know,” he says, “I just, I really sat down to think about it today, I should have realised before.”
The Brit chuckles, but he remains still, his gaze still on Liam.
“I think,” he pauses, looking down at the bedsheets, trying to make the words come out. Arvid’s hand pulls his chin up, his hand cold on the stubble. Liam swallows whatever pride he has left, “I don’t think, no, I know I’m in love with you.”
Arvid doesn’t look surprised at the declaration, but he remains silent, letting the words absorb.
The younger driver smiles at him, then laughs softly. “Finally,” he says. “Thank the lord.”
Liam lets himself laugh, the tension melting off his shoulders. Arvid’s eyes are soft again, his hand now resting on Liam’s lap.
The Brit continues, “You have no idea how frustrating it’s been for everyone. Most of all me.”
With a groan, Liam doubles over, hiding his flushed face into his hands, “Everyone knew?”
Arvid laughs, “Yuki, the admin, Max, Oliver, you name it!”
“Fuck,” he whines, “I’m never showing my face in the paddock again.”
Arvid gently pulls him up, and Liam lets him. The younger driver is looking deep at him, his eyes soft, his hand now tracing against the Kiwi’s cheek, “You’re too pretty to hide, all of you. Even if it took months, it’s all worth something now.”
Liam blushes hard at the comment, but he doesn’t look away, “You’re too smart for me. God, I must have been so frustrating.”
Arvid nods, his hand now caressing, “It’s the blonde in you, mate.”
“Oh shut up.” He whines again, hiding his face under Arvid’s hand. After a while, the hand moves, and Arvid just looks at him the same way he’s looked all these months, with so much love and adoration.
“I’m in love with you, Liam.” He whispers.
Despite the embarrassment Liam felt all weekend, the weeks of confusion, not to mention the unforeseeable future they’ll have to face, Liam lets himself smile, dumb and lovestruck, because he might be the luckiest person on the planet.
Maybe the internet was right; He is a dumb blonde. But Arvid’s clever enough to make up for it.