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"Pub's done," Arvid announces, dropping into the seat beside him.
Liam glances over his shoulder just in time to see the security gate come down in front of the entrance, TVs long gone dark, and only soft, warm light lingering behind the taps. Hard to believe it was full not so long ago, beer sloshing and voices rising to a crescendo with the last (and only) goal. He turns back to his teammate. Arvid's already pulled his phone from his pocket, and Liam takes the opportunity to stare at the young Brit's face without consequence. There's dark stubble dusting his jaw—more than Liam could grow at his age—and dark circles slowly growing more pronounced beneath his eyes.
"Tired, mate?"
As if on cue, Arvid opens his mouth in a large yawn, nodding his head without ever taking his eyes off his phone.
"Still getting used to the travel?" Liam teases, as if they aren't all pre-gaming international travel the entire time they're in Formula 2.
Arvid elbows him none too gently, finally lifting his head to meet Liam's eyes. "Fuck off, mate. You're the one who keeps complaining you don't get enough sleep if you're not in bed by ten. Gramps."
Liam's face turns shocked, and Arvid immediately gets that smug sparkle in his eye that Liam's become so accustomed to seeing during their dealings with the social admin. "Wow. Nice, mate. See if things aren't less polite next time."
Liam doesn't have to clarify what he means; he knows Arvid's thinking about their time on track earlier that afternoon as much as he is. It's a strange sport, trying to balance doing well for your team with doing well for yourself. Liam's had teammates he took great pleasure in beating, and others that made it difficult to swallow down an apology at the end of a race. He has no strong desire to apologize to Arvid now, but that also seems to be the clearest indication that they've managed to figure this part out. They can battle hard, but then leave it all under the helmet. They can sit next to each other, waiting to board a commercial flight, and still be able to laugh together.
"Oooh, so scary, mate." Arvid pockets his phone, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, before letting his head fall back against his seat. "Whatever."
Liam huffs a laugh, pulling out his own phone. There's a text from Hannah, asking about the race, then rehashing her day, and finally wishing Liam a safe flight. He stares at it for a while—fingers hovering over the screen—before finally closing the text and marking it unread.
"Why not just reply?"
He looks up to find Arvid meeting his eyes, the other man's gaze clearly on Liam's screen the moment before. "Why are you looking at my screen, creep?"
Arvid gives him an exasperated look before continuing, "Seriously, why? You marked it unread, so you won't forget to reply, right?"
Liam nods.
"Why not just reply now?"
"I— don't. Want to." Liam finally manages, suddenly feeling like he should feel guilty, without actually experiencing the emotion.
Arvid's expression morphs into one of confusion.
"We— I just—" Liam lets out a sigh. "If I reply now, she's gonna text me back, and then she's gonna want to know why I'm not already in the air, and when I tell her we're delayed, she's gonna wanna talk, and I don't really want to talk to her right now."
The Brit absorbs this long-winded reply silently, his eyes never leaving Liam's. It's always unnerving when he does this, a sensation not unlike those dreams when you realize you're naked somewhere you're not supposed to be naked. Liam always gets the impression Arvid's seeing far more of him than Liam would like him to see. Like a kind of vulnerability Liam can't control. He swallows thickly, pocketing his phone and bringing his hands together over his lap. He's got a hangnail on his right thumb, and Liam can't help picking at it nervously.
"Why don't you want to talk to your girlfriend, mate?"
The question is kind and unassuming, without an ounce of judgment. Liam hates it when he does that, too. What eighteen-year-old approaches the world with this much empathy and understanding?
"It's not that I don't want to talk to her, I'm just tired, mate."
Arvid clearly doesn't like that answer at first, until a realization dawns on him. "You don't mean physically."
Liam shakes his head slowly.
"Why, though?" Arvid asks gently. "Things are going good this year, aren't they?"
Liam sighs again, crossing his own arms over his chest and sinking down similarly into his seat. "Yeah, just…"
He trails off, and Arvid picks up. "Not where you wanted to be."
It's not a question, so Liam doesn't bother answering.
"You ever think maybe you're being too hard on yourself?"
Liam snorts. "If there's another way to do this, I'd love to hear it."
Arvid turns in his seat, glancing around them before lowering his voice. "Way I see it, it's like taking a piss, yeah?"
Liam lets out a noise of surprise somewhere in the realm of laughter, and Arvid smiles, leaning closer.
"The more you think about it, the harder it is. You just gotta relax, mate. Breathe. And do what feels right."
Liam's leaning forward before it becomes a conscious thought in his brain, closing the short distance between them and pressing his lips to Arvid's. The younger man goes stiff beside him, and Liam draws back with horror.
"I'm so fucking sorry, I don't—"
"It's fine." Arvid offers immediately.
"No, seriously, I don't know what—"
"It's fine, Liam." This time, the words are steadier, forceful even, and Arvid wraps his hand around where Liam's hand has the armrest in a death grip. "Seriously. Just take a breath, okay?"
Liam nods, closing his eyes as he sucks in a breath and leans out of Arvid's orbit. It's harder than he expects, like fighting gravity, but when his back hits the seat, Liam finally feels like he can exhale. He does it a few more times, until he doesn't feel quite so much like throwing up, and throughout it all, Arvid's hand never moves. Liam has half a mind to throw it off, bucking hard enough to send a grown cowboy flying, but he doesn't. It feels too good to have the warmth of Arvid's hand seeping into his own. When he finally opens his eyes, Arvid is watching him carefully, like he expects Liam to bolt.
"Okay?"
Liam nods, taking one last deep breath before speaking. "I don't know why I did it. I honestly wasn't even thinking about it, I don't— I don't, like—"
"You don't like men." Arvid supplies. "I know."
Liam nods again, more vigorously this time, like it can fill him with the conviction he suddenly doesn't feel. "I've got a girlfriend. I've got Hannah."
"I know," Arvid says again. "Me too."
More nodding. "I'm not into dudes."
"That's cool, mate. I'm a little offended, but it's cool."
Liam laughs breathlessly. "You're offended?"
"I mean, yeah." Arvid frowns. "Am I not hot enough for you, or something?"
That feeling of tightness uncoils in his chest, and Liam finds himself elbowing Arvid gently, huffing a laugh. "Shut up, mate."
"It's fine, whatever," Arvid pouts, crossing his arms over his chest again and sinking into his seat. "One of only twenty-two people in the most prestigious sport in the world, and well fit, but whatever. Not your type, I guess."
Liam lets out a real laugh this time, and Arvid smiles at him gently. By the time they finally board the plane, Liam doesn't feel any particular way about the whole thing. Arvid starts talking his ear off about some cricket match that's coming up as they make their way down the jetway, and when Liam settles into his seat, he's shaking his head with that now familiar fond exasperation. He finally gets the other man to shut up when Liam pulls his phone from his pocket and flips the camera to selfie mode. There's some half-baked excuse about the admin and their shared flight ready to fall from his lips, but Arvid just leans in, smiling softly as Liam tips his head back toward him.
"Send me that," Arvid says, and Liam nods with his finger already selecting Arvid's contact.
He's not surprised when he sees it a few hours later in Arvid's story. What does surprise him is the warmth that fills his stomach at Arvid's tired, but indulgent smile.