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It’s 11pm when Oliver finally escapes back into the house, cheeks flushed pink, half empty glass of wine clutched in one hand and hair dishevelled from several hours of various friends and uncles patting him on the head and telling him just how big he’s gotten, and how he must be such a ladies man now, and etcetera.
The utility room is cool, almost welcoming as he stumbles in through the door, fumbling for the light switch as he passes by. For a moment, he stares at the pile of towels on the counter before just sweeping them onto the ground– deciding to deal with the consequences later– and hops up onto the counter.
A few minutes pass in relative silence, the sound of everyone in the garden a distant hum as Oliver leans back against the wall, eyes closed, wine glass still clutched protectively in one hand. The peace is broken by the sound of shoes clicking against the kitchen tiles as someone approaches the room, footsteps quick and purposeful, snapping Oliver back to attention just as they reach the doorway.
“I’ll pick the towels up later, I just need a mi– Oh, hi.”
The way Kalle stands in the doorway is awkward, his own glass clutched close to his chest and a nervous grin plastered across his face, “I won’t tell your mum about the towels if you let me hide with you.” Oliver smiles, almost nervous, and slides a few inches across the counter, then pats the empty space beside himself.
“Come in. Push the door shut though, so no one else comes in.”
Kalle sighs, relieved, and steps into the room, nudging the door shut with his shoulder as he goes. “I don’t think I can take anymore questions about the next season, everyone seems to think I’m psychic,” he says with a quiet laugh, “It’s like they expect me to know how to do it again just because I did it this year. But it’s not really like I know how to do it, you know? It kind of just feels like something that happened to me instead of something I did.”
“Well, I’ll remember that for when it's my turn,” Oliver says, watching as Kalle hops up onto the counter beside him, “I don’t remember it happening, but dad apparently got very drunk and fell in a duck pond, after his.”
“See? I never really felt like I needed to do that. But maybe I’m just weird,” Kalle says, half mumbled into his wine glass. “A lot of people seem to think so.”
“I don’t think you’re weird,” Oliver says, perhaps a little too quickly, “There’s just a lot of… Expectations, on your shoulders.” The way Kalle laughs should make him feel embarrassed, but it doesn’t, somehow; it almost feels understanding.
“And there aren’t any on yours?” Kalle says, smile bright, almost endearing. Oliver does his best to ignore it. “At least people only expect me to be a champion again because I did it one time. I don’t know how I’d cope if people expected me to do it because my dad did it 20 years ago.”
“I try not to think about it too much,” Oliver mumbles, pausing to take a sip of his wine, “I freak myself out if I think about it. I try to just… Speak for myself, I guess? But like, in a car,” he says, hands mimicking the turning of a steering wheel, “I don’t like it when everyone asks about him, either. Like he’s here, just go talk to him if you want to know that bad. Why ask me? It’s like they all think I’m an extension of him.”
Kalle nods, quiet, as if urging him to carry on. Oliver just sighs and waves a hand dismissively, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so heated, I just.” He stops, makes a strange gesture with one hand, as if grabbing something neither of them can see, “Ugh, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” Kalle says, a thoughtful look on his face, “Feels like you’re not allowed to be your own person just because you have the same last name, right?”
“Right!” Oliver exclaims, sitting forward and twisting to face Kalle, “Like, I’m not Oliver, I’m just… Smaller Petter. At least to everyone with a microphone and everyone who can get into my garage.” Kalle laughs, but gestures for him to carry on all the same. “I wish someone would just ask me what my goals are for once. Not what my goals are in reference to my dad, or to my mum, just ask what my ambitions are. I might not even want to win a championship.”
“Well, do you?” Kalle asks, a hint of a grin on his lips. Oliver sighs, falls back against the wall again.
“I do– but not because of them,” He says, quickly cutting himself off before Kalle can say anything, “Just because I wanna do that. For me. Not for some kind of legacy. Which is a dumb concept, anyway.”
“I hope you do,” Kalle says, quiet, earnest, “I’d like to see it happen.”
“Thanks,” Oliver says, staring down into his lap in a thinly veiled attempt to hide the way his cheeks flush a pale pink. “I sometimes feel like I’ll never escape R2. There’s just not enough… Space. Not for anyone new.”
Kalle hums, runs the edge of his glass across his bottom lip. “Maybe if we can convince Seb to give up you can move up to take his place.” Oliver laughs, head thrown back against the wall.
“I think the world will end before he gives up.”
“Probably, but it's worth a shot, no?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Oliver chuckles, “If we work together we can run him out of town.”
The way Kalle laughs is gentle, filled with something Oliver doesn’t quite understand until he speaks again. “I wouldn’t want you to come to Toyota, they put all their eggs in my basket, they’d never let you get close enough to win.” He pauses for a moment, eyes locked onto the pile of folded shirts on the opposite counter, “If you’re gonna make it out of R2 I want you to actually be allowed to win.”
Oliver nods, thoughtful, eyes locked onto the same pile of shirts. “I get it. Imagine how bad the holiday interrogations would get if we were on the same team.”
“I don’t think I want to imagine,” Kalle says, shaking his head in disdain, “At least that would distract them enough to stop asking when I’m gonna find a girlfriend, get married, and have kids. I think I’ve got maybe 2 holidays worth of excuses left in me.”
“Oh, tell me about it,” Oliver sighs, takes a long glug from his drink, “I don’t think they’ll believe that I just haven’t found anyone for 5 consecutive years. I think my grandparents already think I’m gay.”
“Really?” Kalle says just a little too quickly, shoulders visibly tensing up. “Would they be upset if you were?”
“I think so,” Oliver mumbles, staring down into his glass as the liquid sloshes languidly from side to side, “They’d probably just keep pretending I’m straight if they knew I’m bi. Cause I still like girls, so that makes it fine to them, cause then I can still get married and have two and a half kids and be normal like they obviously want me to.”
“Oh,” Kalle breathes, shoulders instantly dropping, “Mine would never talk to me again if I came home with a boyfriend. I kind of have to savour them while I still can, cause I can’t really hide it forever.”
Oliver hums and slowly drains the rest of his drink, doing his absolute best to avoid Kalle’s eyes, “Do your parents know?”
Kalle hesitates, then shakes his head, quickly drains his own glass and places it at the other end of the counter. “No. Yours?”
“No. I think they’re kind of oblivious, but I don’t really mind. It’s better than them being mad about it or whatever,” Oliver muses, fingers slowly tracing the rim of his glass, “I don’t think they would be, but I don’t want to risk it right now.”
The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but it’s loaded, laced with something that Oliver can’t quite place. Instead of thinking about it, he fidgets in his seat, head lolling to one side. Kalle mirrors him, head lolling in the same direction so that they end up facing each other, both lounging against the wall, empty glasses abandoned at either end of the counter.
Oliver tries not to stare as Kalle looks back at him, cheeks dusted pink, lips pulled into a soft smile, a few strands of hair hanging loose over his forehead that he reaches up to brush away, laughing quietly as Oliver’s eyes lock onto his.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Kalle asks, voice hushed, almost careful. Oliver shakes his head, not quite trusting his voice to cooperate.
“No, not right now.”
“Good,” Kalle mumbles, then leans forward to pull Oliver into a gentle kiss. For a second, Oliver freezes, then quickly melts against Kalle, one hand reaching up to tangle in the mess of curls at the back of his head, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt like Kalle might disappear if he doesn’t.
It quickly becomes hungrier, more intense as Oliver shuffles across the counter, getting as close to Kalle as the space allows him to. He feels Kalle’s hand slip beneath his jacket and take hold of his waist, grasp firm enough to make his head spin.
The sound of a firework going off somewhere outside eventually breaks them apart, both of them panting, lips bitten red as they look between each other, the door and then Kalle’s watch.
“Oh, shit,” Kalle mumbles, “We’ve been gone a while.” Oliver nods, feeling more than a little dazed as he watches the seconds hand tick, fingers still tangled in Kalle’s hair.
“They’re probably distracted,” he starts, looking back up at Kalle, “By the fireworks.” Kalle grins, snakes his hand around to rest at the small of Oliver’s back.
“Yeah, probably,” He says, gently resting his free hand on Oliver’s jaw and pulling him in for another kiss. Oliver goes easily.
–
“Did you see where Kalle went?” Harri calls out, pulling his jacket on as he descends the stairs onto the patio. He freezes as Petter throws a hand up, waving for him to take a few steps back, and backtracks a couple of feet, “He’s been gone a while. I don’t want to have to go out into the woods to find him again.”
“Oliver’s gone too. Probably best to leave them to it.”
“Ah, right,” Harri says, sitting down on one of the stairs behind him. “They must think we’re idiots.”
“Not idiots. But oblivious, definitely,” Petter says with a quiet chuckle, “They forget we were all their age at some point too. Do you have a lighter?”
Harri thinks for a moment then digs around in his pocket and produces a banged up zippo, which he quickly throws in Petter’s direction. “How much did you buy?”
“Enough for you to set off a few.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”