Chapter Text
The weeks leading up to the Monaco Grand Prix are some of the most annoying, with the streets closed for construction, traffic backed up for kilometres, and the never-ending sound of car honks, always in the distance like a horrible background music.
Liam has yet to have a proper night’s rest; it’s been six days since the Canadian Grand Prix, six days of constant texting between him and Arvid, and six days since they last saw each other.
Six days ago, Arvid asked him on a date in Monaco, the date of your life, the Brit had said in that hotel room in Montréal, after Liam spilt his guts all over the floor. The future is unforeseeable; his career is undetermined. Something like this relationship can destroy everything he has worked for and destroy Arvid’s future in the sport.
But the Nice sunlight makes Arvid’s hair look brown, his eyes a light honey brown, and creases his smile. He struts toward Liam’s Supra, the Brit carrying his travel bag as if it weighs nothing. At that moment, he knows nothing but Arvid and wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with him.
“Long time no see, mate”, Arvid greets as he enters the car, tossing the bag under the dashboard. His smile is infectious; it quickly warms Liam’s heart as the Kiwi restrains himself from pulling the younger driver toward him.
Liam stares at him dumbly, admiring the way Arvid fits in his car, looking like he belongs there, as if he always did. He looks like someone Liam’s been waiting for all his life.
“Hello?” Chuckles the Brit, flicking Liam’s forehead like he’s trying to snap him out of a daze, “Did I break you?”
The Kiwi responds with a smile, placing his hand over the British driver’s, his pinky brushing along tanned knuckles. He manages to say, “I’m just so happy you’re here, I missed you.”
His dark brown curls bounce slightly along with the shaking of his shoulders. Arvid is not completely laughing at Liam, but he’s amused, his free hand reaching up to tousle Liam’s already messy hair, “You’re adorable.” He chuckles. Liam leans into his touch, closing his eyes to get a better feel, but the hand in his hair is quickly pulled away, replaced by the clearing of Arvid’s throat, “But Liam, we’re holding up traffic, and you’re going to have us be late for the reservations.”
Liam’s eyes snap open, his head tilting at the mention of Arvid’s planning, “Reservations?” He asks. Arvid nudges his hand toward the gear shifter, and Liam finally gets the car moving out of the airport. “How much have you planned?”
The Brit chuckles, turning his head toward the window, watching the terminal fade off into the distance, “Don’t you worry about it, you’re mine until media day, Liam.”
He can’t help but smile at the thought, his hand now free from the shifter. Liam rests it back on Arvid’s knee, navigating onto the A8. In the early hours of the morning, the road leading out of Nice’s airport is empty, and the traffic flow is centralised in the airport during this time. Liam isn’t exactly a morning person, and by the quiet in the car, Arvid isn’t either, the younger driver at one point falling asleep against the window. Traffic entering Monaco halts the car; the Kiwi takes it as an opportunity to admire the Brit slumped over. His face is tranquil as he quietly snores.
The street leading to his apartment is filling up with people, and the morning sun is now fully peaking through the city buildings. His car park isn’t crowded; most people choose to leave for the week to avoid the tourists. Liam spots Gabi’s car just a few spots beside his own car, shifting the car into park, and killing the engine.
On cue, as if he notices the halted car, Avrid stirs awake, his brown eyes opening in a daze, and Liam watches in amusement as the younger driver does a wide stretch, his shoulders popping, and a yawn manages to escape those pink lips.
Arvid matches his glance, his face now mirroring Liam’s amusement, “Can’t keep your eyes to yourself, can you?”
“Not when you’re in front of me, no.” He responds, blushing from being caught. Liam leans over the console to open the car door for Arvid, the Brit giving him a soft smile and an appreciative nod before unbuckling himself from the seat.
The New Zealander is quick to follow, making his way across the car to escort Arvid to the elevators in the car park, scanning his card and pressing the button for his floor.
Liam can’t help but press up against the Brit, his head leaning onto his shoulder while he wraps an arm around the shorter, brown curls lying against his blonde ones. Arvid’s chest rumbles out a chuckle; he moves his arm along Liam’s back, up to the base of his neck, where tanned fingers play with soft golden hair.
“I’m so happy that you’re here,” Liam admits quietly. No one else would be there to listen, but he wants to make sure the words are for Arvid alone.
The Brit runs his fingers along his hairline, sending chills down the Kiwi’s spine, tracing toward his ear before he whispers, “You’re mine.” Nipping at his earlobe before he continues, “I hope you’re always here, in my arms.”
Heat creeps into Liam’s cheeks, flushing them a slight pink despite all of his efforts to contain it. Arvid holds him tighter, his grip warm in the cool morning weather. Even when the elevator stops, and the doors open out to the hallway, Arvid’s hand is still pressed against his, their rings clinking together, but Liam can’t find any reason to worry about it.
His touch only slips after Liam slides his key into the door, revealing the place he calls home to the person he wants to be his home. Arvid’s gasp silently fills the room, the Mediterranean sea visible through the window Liam left open this morning, reflecting in his wide eyes.
“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Liam chuckles while Arvid takes in the view, his bag planted nearly by the front door.
Arvid quickly snaps out of his daze, those honey-brown eyes of his returning to Liam, his grin almost iridescent in the lighting. He reaches toward Liam, his hands brushing alongside the groove of the older’s nose, “The sea is the same colour as your eyes.” He says in awe, his gaze never leaving, even when he leans up to kiss the Kiwi’s nose, his lips soft but the warmth too fleeting before he pulls back.
Stuck in place, Liam is stunned by the words and the effect they have on him, his heart jumping while his brain makes a futile attempt at catching up. The expression on his face is enough to get a laugh from Arvid, his laughs echoing through the apartment like a song he can’t get old of.
“You are so adorable, Liam.”
Liam blinks, trying to process everything, his life having just become too dreamlike for him to believe that it’s real. All he can do is smile at Arvid while the younger giggles.
Eventually, Arvid gets impatient, and the bag he dropped in his hurry is already in his hand when he clears his throat, the look on his face now more expectant when he says, “So, where is your room? I’m gonna drop my stuff off, and then we’ll head out.”
Liam’s room isn’t the most extravagant thing. Despite living in Monaco, interior designers are expensive, and he doesn’t care too much about fancy decoration; he enjoys the simpler things in life.
He enjoys how Arvid just naturally fits in his home, the Brit’s bag landing with a plop, his eyes scanning the room, making Liam cringe at his decision not to make the bed in the morning, his guitar leaning against the wall instead of on his stand, or the collection of trinkets on the nightstand.
Arvid takes it in quietly, a small smile spreading on his face as he does so. He walks toward the dresser in the corner, lifting a framed picture of Liam’s siblings to admire.
“It suits you,” he chuckles, replacing the picture. He turns to glance toward Liam. “Everything is so uniquely you.”
“Yeah?” Liam responds, leaning against the doorframe.
“Mmm, yeah, the guitar especially,” he chirps, his brown eyes rolling, filled with affection when he continues, “The stand is right there, and you couldn’t even set it right.”
Groaning audibly, Liam’s lower lip sticks out in a pout while he trails over to his collection of guitars, fixing the misplaced instrument, “You don’t have to be so mean about it.”
“Aww, I was joking,” Arvid laughs. He looks at Liam with the same fond expression, “You’re so naturally good with it. Will you play me a song later?”
Liam raises an eyebrow, “Later? I can do it now.”
With a shake of his head, Arvid crosses the room in quick succession, two fingers lifting Liam’s chin slightly like he does when he wants his attention, “We have a schedule to keep, pretty boy, this can go in the queue.”
“You made a schedule? Of course you did.”
Arvid squeezes his cheek, his eyes soft, “Of course I did, and I’m starving, so let’s go.”
As if showcasing his brilliance, somehow, in the little time the Brit had spent in the building, he’s already created a mental map of the layout. This time, he’s the one guiding Liam out the door, the two entering the Monaco streets right as the city begins to wake up.
Monaco is so small that everything is walkable. But it’s also so small that when there’s an event, every place is brimming with people, space is limited during these times, in streets, shopping centres, it doesn’t matter where you are, but you will be nudged along roads or shoved through narrow alleyways.
Another thing about Monaco is that it is full of influential figures, so even Liam, as an F1 driver, usually goes unnoticed. Race week is the one exception since it attracts fans of the sport.
For once, Liam hopes that nobody recognises him when Arvid grabs his hand to drag him through the crowded street, warm fingers holding on tight while the younger driver navigates through the sea of people.
That’s how Liam finds himself on the platform of the SNCF, a pair of sunglasses, Arvid snuck from his dresser, inconspicuously placed on the bridge of his nose, while they hide in a dark corner of the train station.
The platforms are crawling with people, some in Formula 1 merch, others in more formal attire, as if the race is an excuse to be in Monaco. At 9:18, their train arrives, as signalled by guiding fingers on his back as Arvid nudges him toward a small crowd travelling east from Monaco.
The curious part of Liam craves to know where they’re headed, but his heart demands that he trusts in Arvid’s well-thought-out schedule without question, and he elects to follow that rationale.
By the aging faces surrounding them and the lack of people approaching them for photos or signatures, their train seamlessly has no fans on board. Liam wouldn’t know how to explain this situation. Could they pass as two teammates travelling together, or would it be too obvious?
After all, half the grid knew about his feelings before he could fully comprehend them; he’s not the best at intuitive thinking.
Soon enough, the train rumbles into life, pulling past the station and through Monaco, the city buildings growing smaller as it travels along the coastline. Arvid’s taken to the window seat, his smile wide enough to stretch his face while his eyes are trained on the coast, the Mediterranean sun turning the brown curls gold at the tips.
The Brit leans into Liam, his body slotted along the blonde’s chest like he’s always been there, his eyes still lingering on the window, where the coastline stretches blue. He sinks into the normalcy of it all; they’re just a young couple travelling, enjoying this view together. The aspect that makes it so ordinary makes the moment so much more surreal.
Not long after they roll out of Monaco, the train flies past Cap-Martin, picking up a few more passengers before continuing to Menton.
At this point, Liam has drawn his attention away from the colourful houses along the French coast, and he settles for watching Arvid the rest of the trip, the light bouncing from his curls, reflecting off his eyes. Arvid doesn’t notice, or if he did, he doesn’t tease Liam for it; he’s silent most of the short trip, curling in closer when a rocky patch bumps them along.
No matter how much time he spends with Arvid, how many little facts he picks up on, Liam will never fully love him enough, for Arvid deserves everything good in life; he can only hope that giving the Brit all of him will be enough to make up for everything that he lacks.
Somewhere along the line, French blurs into rapid Italian, signalling that soon they’ll cross that border. Arvid’s hand finds his where it’s curled around the younger, and he interlocks their fingers, not bothering to make an issue out of it.
The moment ends when the train's PA announces their arrival in Ventimiglia, and Arvid, seamlessly rising from where he had been against Liam, unbuckles the straps holding them to the chair.
Stepping off the platform, Arvid’s smile is infectious as he holds his arms out to announce.
“Ventimiglia, Italy! Home of a market that is popular on Fridays and literally nothing else.”
“Italy?” You brought us to Italy?” Liam says, a mix of shock and awe in his throat.
“Think about it,” Arvid says, his eyes soft, “Nobody knows, or cares who we are.”
“You’re brilliant.”
Arvid flashes him a grin, “I know”, he says, before grabbing his hand. “Now come on!”
Directly from the train station, the street opens into buildings not as sleek or polished as those in Monaco, but rougher, more historic and weathered. The streets are emptier but not vacant, scooters fly down the streets at all angles, the cafes are awake, while the warm wind blowing through his curls reminds him that it’s still summer.
Ventimiglia’s beauty is where Monaco’s isn’t. The Mediterranean terrain is rugged, and the hardly paved-over potholes are evidence of this. The sand is more gravel than anything, but there’s nature on every corner, and the plants emerging from odd places make the Italian town wild. It’s nothing like Liam’s ever seen, and that makes it more exciting.
Arvid brings him along to an Italian cafe overlooking the local river. It’s tranquil and moderately busy, with a group of younger boys occupying half of the cafe, while the other half is occupied by older folk and some working people stopping by for a quick break.
The host is a younger man, around Arvid’s age; the nametag reads "Dante Scuderi," which the Brit notices.
“Good morning, Dante, table for two?
----
“You’ll be happy to know, I’ve cleared this with our trainers already.”
Arvid says it so happily that Liam almost forgets that he’s currently biking almost as fast as the VACRB 03 down the strand they’ve found themselves on, the younger driver making a competition out of everything, their date included.
“I would be happy if biking were what I did for cardio.” Liam whined in response, the sun beating on his back, “Where are we going anyway?”
“Oh, you’ll see soon enough.” The younger responds without a beat, not even partially out of breath.
“That’s what you said about the train!”
“And look at where we are now? Wasn’t Italy worth the suspense?”
While he wasn’t wrong, after all, Liam just had one of the most amazing Pizza dishes of his life, he would never admit that to the Brit, who was already smug as is. Even the bike ride was nice, if the sun wasn’t actively trying to kill him.
Instead, Liam cries out, “Slow down!”
He does exactly that, but not enough for Liam to pull ahead, the two of them now riding alongside each other, effortlessly. He tears his eyes from the path to look over at Liam, “Mate, you’re so old.”
“I’m twenty-four!”
With a scoff, Arvid slows a bit more, “Exactly.”
The road curves along the coast, and they get passed by teenagers on electric bikes and have to dodge some pedestrians, but soon enough, the view opens up, revealing the sprawling Italian north, some boats in the distance, while seagulls fly overhead, cawing at one another, completing the view.
Liam stops first, Arvid following in his trail, pulling beside him and looking more at him than the view.
“Worth it?”
Liam laughs quietly, “With you? Of course.”
Arvid rolls his eyes, his expression still with the familiar fondness, “You’re such a sap.”
Liam glances at him, “Are you complaining?”
“No,” Arvid hums, the look in his eye makes Liam want to do something stupid, like hold his hand or kiss him, but the younger interrupts him before he can, “Come on, we’re almost there.”
They bike for a few more minutes, the chatter dying while Liam appreciates the view, a dark looming net Liam recognises as a country club becomes visible past the hills, despite this, the biking is lovely, it brings a burn to Liam’s legs that he knows will be worse tomorrow, but he’s too in the moment to mind.
“Here’s where I reveal my plan,” Arvid says. He looks more nervous than he did earlier, the cocky grin on his face nowhere to be found. “I know how much you like golfing. Would you mind showing me around?”
He’s more endeared than surprised. Golf was something he got into during his time in the juniors, but it quickly became a much bigger hobby, one he tried to share with his family without success.
“You would do this for me?”
Arvid grins. They’re almost at the main archway welcoming them into the course, “There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for you.”
Liam grins, “You sap.”
“Touché.”
The Ventimiglia Country Club is relatively new; it’s not noteworthy. Most Monaco residents opt for the more popular Monte-Carlo Country Club, but despite the two cities' differences, the golf courses have distinct features.
Arvid had thought out the entire experience. They approached the Club and were immediately whisked away in golf carts packed with sparkling new Titlest gear. Liam’s improper attire and Arvid’s sneakers aren’t even glanced at as they pass some older folk on the fairway.
They stop at hole one of the course’s nine, the tee already delicately placed for them.
“I’m completely useless at this, mate,” Arvid chuckles, leaning on the cart while inspecting a six iron, “Show me the ropes?”
Scoffing, Liam grasps the driver club, “Arvid Linblad bad at something? I can’t believe it.”
“Shut up and show me already, Lawson!”
With a giggle still in his shoulders, Liam steps up to the tee, a ProV1 placed neatly on the wooden stand. He rolls his shoulders the way he’s done a thousand times before, does a few practice swings for the full effect, and glances over his shoulder to catch the Briton in full concentration.
Inhaling, Liam brings the club back, his knees bent slightly before he extends fully, his club connecting to the ball with a smack, before the ball flies off into the distance, landing a few metres from the green.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Arvid gasps, the younger springing up, “That’s cheating.”
“That’s cheating,” Liam mocks, rolling his eyes, “That is what we call years of practice, I used to slice them into the brush all the time.”
Arvid approaches the tee like he has a personal vendetta against it, his eyes suspicious while he spins the driver Liam gave him, the club hanging foreign in his hands.
“How do you even grab this thing?”
His grip on the club is all sorts of challenged; his hands are interlocked like he’s playing cricket, his thumbs are crossed instead of interlapped.
“Oh, you’re killing me,” Liam groans, walking over to where the Brit is standing, his posture straight and wrong, “Here, let me show you.”
Liam presses up against the younger, reaching around him to fix the disastrous grip. Liam tries to be gentle as he adjusts Arvid's clammy fingers, brushing along his arms to position him correctly.
“There,” he says softly into the Brit’s ear, “You look better.”
Arvid’s eyes flick up at Liam, his face showing more interest in the Kiwi than the task at hand, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks.
Liam slowly steps back from the Briton, toeing back within range of movement. He watches carefully as the younger takes a breath before he swings at the ball.
Woosh.
He misses the shot completely.
The silence washes over the hole for half a second before Liam doubles over completely, his forehead on the trimmed grass, heaving with laughter, while Arvid stands there, jaw dropping, staring at the club as if it betrayed him.
“Liam! It’s not funny!”
“No, of course not!” Liam continues laughing; he tries his best to compose himself, but the look drawn on Arvid is too much for him. “But your reaction is”
“Oh, grow up!” The younger groans, “I demand a redo.”
The Kiwi takes a breath, a chuckle still in his throat, “Of course, this isn’t the PGA, you get unlimited shots.”
Satisfied, Arvid relaxes again, his shoulders still tense but his form correct still. With another huff, he brings the club back for a swing, jumping when the ball connects, the ball sailing into a bunker, but only metres away from where Liam lies.
Arvid’s face stretches with a grin, “I hit it! I understand why you like this so much now!”
Liam pulls him into a hug, the younger’s heartbeat strong against his chest, “I’m so proud of you! But the best is yet to come.”
Arvid slides their fingers together once they separate, his gaze landing lower, on Liam’s lips. He has to take a breath to settle himself; Liam knows what is about to happen.
“This is the moment, right?” Arvid giggles, his eyes a golden brown in the sun, “We have a beautiful backdrop, you’re glowing in the sun, and I’ve been holding myself back the whole time for a moment like this. I want it to be special.”
Liam shakes his head, “Nothing is more special than you. Arvid, you have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about a moment like this.”
He wasn’t joking when he said it; he’s been eager all day, from the moment he saw the younger at the airport in Nice, from the second the Italian sun washed his skin a caramel tan and his lips pink.
Arvid’s hand grasps the curls on the back of his head, and Liam reaches for his waist, yanking him so he’s flush against his body, their fingers still interlocked. He takes a deep breath.
“You’re so kissable right now,” Arvid whispers.
“So kiss me.”
Time pauses the way it does in the movies, but the movies can never describe the pounding of his heart in the moment, or the touch of the Brit’s fingers in his hair, tugging slightly under shaky fingers.
When Arvid presses their lips together, it’s more than fireworks; it’s like the buzzing of an engine through the streets of Monaco. Liam feels lightheaded, greedy for more despite the lack of air. The younger groans into his mouth, and he removes sweaty fingers to press them against Liam’s waist.
“Arvid,” Liam whimpers against Arvid’s lips, both of them coming up for breath. The Kiwi quickly presses back, his lower lip grazing against the Brit’s teeth.
The younger moves them closer to the cart, and Liam almost falls over on the seat, while the Brit pulls him in tighter, his lips relentless.
Liam connects his hands behind Arvid’s back. He has no thoughts in his head other than the warmth against his lips and the curls against his cheek.
Arvid nibbles at his swollen lower lip, his hand coming to brush his cheek, “You’re so hot, Liam.”
Liam almost laughs, “I’m the hot one? You can’t even see yourself right now.”
“No, but I see you.”
Arvid presses him in for another kiss, his tongue warm against his teeth. Liam is almost lost in the moment, the golf is forgotten behind them, public decency out the window because not only are they far enough from the flashing cameras of Monaco, but he has Arvid in his lap and nothing else matters to him.
This time, Arvid pulls back, his eyes almost completely dilated, “We still have this hole to finish, and another eight more to go.”
Liam quickly stops himself before a whine escapes his lips. Arvid was right, and if whatever he had planned after this was as exciting, who was Liam to put it on pause?
By the time they’re finished with the hole, Arvid’s chipped some dents into trees and made more holes on the course than were present when they arrived. Liam spends more time laughing at Arvid’s poor attempts at putting than playing. By the time they’ve turned around for the last three holes, Arvid’s already managed his technique, but has given up on concentrating on the game, sitting back and watching Liam swing through the remainder of the course.
Once the ninth ball is in the hole, Liam takes the time to appreciate the cooler, later-afternoon draft coming through the course, the sun much tamer than it was earlier in the day. Arvid is on the green, practising his shots while maintaining an eye on him. Liam is all packed up by the time Arvid manages the ball into the hole, his smile thoroughly satisfied as he returns the club to the bag.
A smug grin sits on his face as he wraps his arms around the Kiwi.
“I hope you’re ready for the bike ride back to the station.”
A groan escaped Liam before he could contain it, earning cackles from Arvid, who wipes at his gorgeous face with a branded towel.
Liam prays that he can always keep Arvid happy.
----
“So how did you get a reservation exactly?”
Liam is still stunned. Alain Ducasse was not what he expected, even when Arvid dragged him into the Hotel de Paris. It was the kind of restaurant that had a waitlist six months out on a normal weekend; nevertheless, during the Monaco race week, and a dress code so refined it was a surprise they even let them dine there.
“I have my ways,” the younger responds smugly, the streetlights casting shadows over the angles of his face. Liam wants to kiss him under one of them, as they do in the movies.
“You’re so annoying.”
Monaco is small enough that everything is walkable. The hotel isn’t that far from his apartment, but with the road closures and the crowd, it gets stuffy at certain points. Race week energy has erupted in the small country; the bars are spilling over with excited fans, fitted to the max, with subtle nods to Formula 1. Arvid’s hand grazes against his while they squeeze down the street, his fingers brushing almost teasingly.
“Okay, but you’ve actually never heard of Virginia Water?” Arvid asks, still hung up over the conversation they had during dinner.
“Not before you, no.” Liam shrugs; he’s still trying to navigate through the streets.
“Well, I mean Silverstone is just a rock’s skip away.” Arvid suggests casually without missing a beat, “I’ll probably stay there for the week up until Goodwood, my family will be there too; they’d be happy to meet you again, more official this time.”
The Kiwi nearly pauses in the middle of the street, a few pedestrians scoffing as they curve past him, “Officially? Do they know about me?”
With a roll of his eyes, Arvid pushes him along, “Keep moving, mate, we’re holding up traffic.” Liam does as he says, while the younger returns to his side, “And of course they know about you, they’ve known about us before you did.”
Liam wants to cry, “Can we stop mentioning that?”
The Brit snorts, “Sorry,” but after a second, he continues, “Of course I would tell them about my boyfriend.”
This time, not only does Liam fully stop walking, but he also turns around to face Arvid the younger, returning a confused look before he pulls Liam between two planter boxes off the walkway.
“Boyfriend?”
Arvid sighs, his hand still on Liam’s shoulder from where he pulled the Kiwi, “Liam, yes, boyfriend, you idiot.”
“Boyfriend,” Liam repeats, his heart pounding behind his ribs, the word echoing through his chest. He feels a smile bloom on his face, and Liam laughs a bit, unable to contain the happiness, “I’ve never- Lord, I’m so happy, Arvid. You’ve made me the happiest guy alive.”
“Liam.”
“No, you don’t understand.”
Arvid’s smile is warm as he touches Liam’s hip, “No, I do, I’ve felt it since that day in Montreal.”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before.” Liam says, “What if I’m bad at this?”
“Liam,” Arvid groans, “You’re doing an amazing job so far.”
Liam can’t contain the smile on his lips. Arvid looks so heavenly under the street lamp's glow. Liam really wants to kiss him, all the people surrounding them be damned.
“Boyfriend,” Liam repeats, testing the word once again.
“Mhm,” the Brit hums, “Suits you.”
He bounces in place, “You have no idea how happy I am.”
“I think I do,” Arvid smiles, “Let’s hurry along, boyfriend, you have a guitar to play for me.”
Liam cringes slightly, “That sounds so weird.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Liam can get used to a life by Arvid’s side; he can get used to loving him fully.
They continue down the street, Liam is practically bouncing, his heart still hammering, and his fingers unable to remain still. Arvid giggles beside him, the younger rolling his eyes, but his face contains so much affection that Liam just wants to squeeze it out of him in the biggest hug that he can muster up.
Monaco continues around them, luxury store signs still flashing even past their operational hours. Flashy cars continue to zip down the street, Liam not bothering to pay them, or their occupants, any mind.
A shift in energy puts Liam on edge; a sharp sound across the street catches both his and Arvid’s attention.
“That’s Liam Lawson and Arvid Lindblad!” A group of teenagers loudly erupts; they’re quick to cross the street, disregarding traffic, their phones already swung out in full force before they even acknowledge their surroundings.
One of the boys snaps pictures; the flash is almost blinding relative to the darkness of the Monaco night. The other members of the group are shouting in his ear, overlapping one another. Almost immediately, the idea of the two of them being caught together rushes through his head; it can be easily played off as a teammate outing, but the unease sits through the noise.
“Oi!” He hears Arvid saying, calming his nerves slightly, “Look, we’re fine taking pictures, but you lot have to slow down.”
When the kids finally settle down, Arvid does as he promised them, the Brit even posing for their camera. To Liam’s appreciation, Arvid is quick to respond to their questions, he signs the papers they have stuffed in mini-bags, and sends them on their way before anything else can happen. His panic has subsided.
“Well, that was a lot.”
Arvid chuckles in response, “It’s the Monaco Grand Prix.”
They keep walking, the noises of the bars and the distant harbour fading into the background as they turn toward Liam’s building, the night still warm while it settles around them. His wallet is heavy in his pocket when he combs through it for the card to his apartment. The doorman, a familiar presence as he welcomes them back, stands in the lobby of the apartment, which is vacant as ever.
Finally, when they’re secure in the lift up to Liam’s floor, Arvid presses him against the wooden walls, his lips hungry, his fingers cold against Liam’s face.
It’s late enough in the evening that almost everyone is bound to be asleep. But even if someone catches them, Liam doesn’t bother to think about that.
Once the doors open to the floor, they waste no time scrambling back to Liam’s apartment, “Hurry!” Arvid demands as his fingers continue scratching into Liam’s abs, his mouth glued onto Liam’s neck in hot kisses.
Before the door behind them fully slams shut, Arvid is pushing him onto the sofa, a surprised “Oooph” slipping from his throat while the younger bites down on bare skin.
Liam can’t help the moan that escapes his lips; he bites his cheek hard when Arvid presses a hand on his thigh, breathing in a groan when ringed fingers loop at the hem of his shirt.
“Can I take it off?”
“Please,” Liam babbles. In their hurry into the apartment, they haven’t even turned on the lights; nevertheless, they have removed their shoes. If he were more conscious, the Kiwi would have found a problem with it, but with the fabric sliding against his chest and Arvid’s kisses against his neck, he couldn’t find the words to care.
Arvid’s lips trail lower, greedy fingers trying to grasp at tanned skin, sending goosebumps up Liam’s spine. He is somewhere between electric and lightheaded when the door clicks open without warning.
“Holy fuck!”
Arvid rolls on his back quickly, facing the intruder. Kaleb stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock.
“Who are you?” Arvid and Kaleb yell at the same time, the Brit standing up to face the older Kiwi.
“Wait, you’re Arvid Lindblad,” Kaleb mutters, a scowl forming on his face, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Mate-”
“No Liam,” He butts in before Liam can finish, he feels his heart hammering out of his chest, the flush on his face heating up unbearably hot, he takes a breath in to try and calm himself, Kaleb was one of his oldest friends, one of the only Kiwis in the motorsports industry, he never thought about how the older would react to something like this. Kaleb huffs, his eyebrows pinched and face now looking hurt, “Bro, what are you doing?”
The older driver turns around to leave, and Arvid runs a hand through his hair, his face red with embarrassment. Before a second can pass, Liam hurries off the couch. He passes the Brit a glance, “I’ll be back,” he rushes out, “I’m sorry, Arv.”
Kaleb is halfway down the hall when Liam emerges from his apartment.
“Kaleb!”
Kaleb, where he’s standing, softly sighs before he spins around to face the younger Kiwi.
“Liam, I’ve been blowing up your phone all day. I landed this afternoon a bit earlier than expected, if I knew-”
“I’m sorry,” Liam cries out. He’s not sure what to say. His brain hasn’t fully caught up to any of the events from the day; he never would have expected Kaleb in Monaco so early. The older Kiwi was supposed to be there for the race week, no earlier than that. Liam fidgets with the rings on his clammy fingers, trying to find the words: “I didn’t know you were coming, I would’ve said something.”
Kaleb scoffs, glancing around the hallway, “Say what, mate? That you’re fucking gay?”
“Kaleb-”
Kaleb shakes his head, walking over to point a finger at the younger’s chest, “Are you saying you’re not? That everything I just saw wasn’t just that?”
“Let’s go inside to talk this through,” Liam groans. It was late at night, and he did not want any neighbours in his business. When the older continues glaring, Liam sighs, “Please, Kaleb.”
He shrugs, the animosity still tense in his shoulders, “Whatever, lead the way.”
It feels like an eternity for them to reach his apartment again; the door is deadbolted open, and the quiet of the apartment is strange now, given how lively it was mere moments ago. Now, with the lights flicked on, Arvid sat on the island nursing a diet soda. The younger glances up at him with guarded attention, his eyes sympathetic.
Kaleb plops down on the sofa, his head between his hands. Quickly, he rises to look between the two of them, his eyes sharper than Liam ever remembers them being. His mind is racing a million thoughts per second, and he’s already grateful that Arvid’s still in the apartment, half expecting the younger to just disappear after the chaos. Liam just doesn’t know how Kaleb would react; he’s not blatantly homophobic by any means. Sure, he has his share of dark humour, but his best friend isn’t mean.
“So, you care to explain?” Kaleb deadpans expectantly.
Swallowing, Liam nods back into life, his throat drier than the Australian outback, “Uh, so this is Arvid.”
The older man rolls his eyes, “Liam, I watch the races, I know who Arvid is.”
“Sorry, I-” Liam clears his throat. Arvid is a calm presence in the back of his head, just the thought of having him there, his love and support, it’s enough to power Liam through this. Kaleb is the unfortunate first, but he won’t be the last, not when his family is still oblivious to this. He finds the words to continue, “He’s my boyfriend, I love him.”
“I can’t-” He yells, before calming down, “Are you gay?”
Liam pauses for a second, processing the words, “I- I’m not sure.”
“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Kaleb says, and the look on Arvid’s face signals that he’s thinking similarly, “Liam, all your life you’ve liked girls. I just walked in on you making out with a bloke.”
A groan erupts from his throat; his pounding head is seconds away from exploding. “I don’t know, okay?” He pauses, looking at Arvid when he continues, this time softer, “And honestly, I don’t care, the person I just so happen to be in love with is a guy.”
Liam’s heart is in his chest; every breath is heavier than the last, but his eyes are burning, and all his beating heart can echo is how much he loves Arvid Lindblad.
“Love? Liam, where did this all come from?”
Liam chuckles slightly, his eyes fully tearing up now, “I think since I’ve met him”, his voice cracks, “You won’t understand, mate, but he just makes it so easy to love him. He makes it easy to love myself. He makes me happy, do you know how rare that is?”
Biting his cheek to stop himself from fully crying, Kaleb looks resigned as he sits on the couch; the harsher lines are more relaxed, but he’s deep in thought, still processing.
From where Arvid’s sitting, still propped by the island, he looks heavenly in the dim lights of Liam’s apartment; his eyes are soft and Liam’s favourite shade of brown, almost reflecting his own, while he mouths, ever so delicately, I love you.
He knows he’s done all the right things in life because it's led him to today.
After a few moments, Kaleb had apparently taken all the time he needed to process, his tired eyes planted on the Brit, “You better make him happy.”
“I’m honoured to.”
Kaleb lifts himself from the sofa with a groan, smoothing over creases in his pants while also rubbing at his eyes, “Whatever, mate, you’re paying for the hotel this week.”
Liam rolls his eyes, “Sure, you have my credit card information.”
“That is not safe at all.” Arvid scoffs.
Kaleb shrugs, “And driving cars at three hundred kilometres per hour is? Nothing is safe regarding Liam, is it?” The older driver pats his pockets for his belongings before mumbling under his breath, “Not even that seat of his.”
“Fuck off, bro.” Liam spits out, his tone now heavier than it has been the entire night. It’s a topic he doesn’t like thinking about, but it keeps him up some nights.
“Whatever,” Kaleb sighs, reaching over to ruffle Liam’s already messy curls, “I’ll see you around Arvid.”
“See you.”
“Bye,” Liam calls out. Kaleb gives Arvid a fistbump, muttering silently on his way out. Once the older Kiwi is gone, he closes the door and deadlocks it for safety’s sake.
Liam sinks against the wall, the surface cool against his bare skin. Not a second passes before Arvid’s already at his side, his eyes still brimming with emotions Liam feels with every breath he takes.
“Hi.” He whispers.
Liam grabs his face, his pointer finger twirling around a curl by Arvid’s ear. He holds his face, mystified by the love in his eyes, matching almost the devotion Liam feels in his heart.
Liam can’t say much, but he says the only thing in his head, written over his heart, the words kept on his tongue the entire day. It doesn’t matter how many times he says them, the weight is all the same. With each moment he shares with Arvid, every touch of their skin, he feels it more and more, undying.
“I love you.”
It might cost him his seat, it may be at the expense of his career, and while that scares him nearly to death, the weight of the man in his arms takes the burden off his shoulders, even for a second.
“I love you,” he repeats on Arvid’s lips, pulling him in deep, their breaths becoming one.
Liam kisses him as a man starved, he kisses the Brit like it’s his last day on earth, his touch delicate, his lips desperate. He doesn’t mind the tears escaping from his eyes, the saltiness tainting their lips. Arvid sniffles, but he doesn’t fully move away. Liam would die if he did.
Arvid does open his eyes after a beat, his eyes tinted pink from tears but beautiful as ever. His thumb brushes underneath Liam’s eye to collect the remaining moisture, gentle in a way that makes Liam miss his touch when it’s gone.
“Thank you for today,” Liam says in the quiet between them.
“Thank you for letting me.”
“Well then, thank you for being in my life.” Liam chuckles against Arvid’s jaw; he means it more than anything. He’s never felt this in love before, not with anyone else.
Arvid pulls him in closer, their hearts beating as one, “Well, since it’s a competition now.” He kisses his forehead, “Thank you for being so annoyingly beautiful.”
“Says you.”
“I know,” Arvid scoffs, earning a slight nudge in the side from Liam, “But you would be the only one to rival that.”
They stay close, attached, letting the world continue quietly outside. The noise in his head quiets down with the city, Kaleb’s earlier words still rumble deep in his chest, but it’s silenced for the moment.
“Let's go to bed,” Arvid suggests, “You’re exhausted. We both are.”
He nods slowly, but neither one of them makes an effort to move, savouring one last moment against the wall.
Eventually, they do make their way to the bedroom, and the idea of sleeping in the next day seems so appealing, especially to the weight in his bones and the ache in his legs.
With Arvid’s tanned arm around his chest and his slow breathing against the Kiwi’s neck, sleep comes easily, but so does the thought that all of this, every moment with the Brit, is worth any second of uncertainty he faces.
He doesn’t know how long he can keep believing that.