Archive of Our Own

Liam stared down at his phone, unmoving, the glow of the screen reflecting faintly in his eyes. It was silent around him, or at least it felt that way, like everything else had faded into the background the moment the result appeared. P9. He blinked once, slow, then again, like maybe the number would change if he gave it a second. It didn’t. P9. Still there, still steady, still real.

It wasn’t a bad result. He knew that. Anyone would say it wasn’t bad. Points on the board, solid finish, nothing to be ashamed of. It was better than last season, better than what he had managed before, better than what he had done with Red Bull. And that should have meant something. It should have felt like something.

But it didn’t land the way he thought it would.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, shoulders barely rising. It wasn’t that this had been easy, not even close. He would never call any of this easy. Every lap still demanded everything from him, every corner still required precision that left no room for doubt. But it was different now. Lighter, maybe. Less suffocating. The pressure wasn’t gone, it never really left, but it wasn’t the same kind of weight that had pressed down on him back then.

Back then.

Red Bull.

Even just thinking the name made something twist low in his stomach, tight and uncomfortable. It wasn’t anger, not really. It wasn’t even resentment, not in the way people might expect. It was something quieter than that, something harder to pin down. A mix of frustration and something close to embarrassment, tangled together in a way he still hadn’t fully sorted through.

Max hadn’t hated him. Liam knew that, had always known that. That had never been the problem. Max had just been better. Effortlessly, undeniably better. The kind of better that didn’t leave space for anyone else to stand beside it comfortably. And Max hadn’t had time for him. Not in the way Liam had wanted, not in the way he had maybe needed, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself at the time.

Liam had never taken offense to it. At least, that was what he told himself. It was easier that way, easier to frame it as understanding rather than something that had stung more than he liked to admit. Kinda. The truth sat somewhere in the middle, shifting depending on how honest he felt like being with himself.

There had been moments, small ones, that had gotten to him. Moments where he had caught Max talking to the other rookies, offering advice, explaining things, actually taking the time. Liam would notice it in passing, never close enough to be part of it, always just outside of it. And something in his chest would tighten, sharp and fleeting.

It was stupid, he knew that. He wasn’t technically a rookie. Not really. It was his first full season, sure, but that was it. He wasn’t new in the same way Kimi or Gabriel were. They were just stepping in, still adjusting, still learning the rhythms of everything. It made sense that they would get more attention, more guidance.

And yet.

He had still wished, quietly, that Max would save some of that time for him. Just a little. Something that said he wasn’t entirely on his own out there. Something that made it feel less like he was constantly trying to catch up in a system that wasn’t built with him in mind.

But Max hadn’t seemed to want any part in that. Or maybe it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, maybe he just hadn’t thought it was necessary. Maybe he had looked at Liam and seen someone who could handle himself, someone who didn’t need the extra support.

In hindsight, that thought should have been flattering. It probably was, in a detached sort of way. The idea that Max thought he had the ability to figure things out on his own, that he didn’t need the same level of guidance as the others. That should have meant something good.

But it hadn’t occurred to him like that at the time.

Those kinds of realizations rarely come to someone who is too busy trying to stay afloat. Too busy dealing with the constant comparisons, the endless stream of commentary, the way every mistake seemed to echo louder when you were in that seat. Too busy trying to adapt to a car that felt like it had been built around someone else entirely, every part of it tailored to a style that wasn’t his.

It had been exhausting in a way that went beyond just the physical side of things. It got into his head, settled there, made it harder to separate what he knew he could do from what everyone else seemed to think he couldn’t.

He sighed quietly, the sound barely leaving him. It wasn’t Max’s fault. He knew that too. None of it really was. That didn’t make it easier to untangle, but it made it harder to place the frustration anywhere specific.

His gaze flicked up from his phone, drawn away almost without him noticing, and landed on Arvid across the garage. Arvid was mid-conversation with one of the engineers, focused, engaged, nodding along as something was explained to him. There was an ease to it, or at least it looked that way from the outside.

Liam watched for a second longer than he meant to.

He had tried to be different in that regard. Tried to be better than Max had been, at least in that one aspect. During pre-season, he had made a point of being there for Arvid as much as he could. Offering feedback, explaining things when they came up, making himself available in a way he had wished someone had been for him.

He had wanted to help. Not out of obligation, not because anyone had told him to, but because he knew what it felt like to not have that. Because he didn’t want Arvid to go through the same kind of uncertainty alone.

And now.

Now Arvid wasn’t far behind him.

P10.

Right there.

Liam’s grip on his phone tightened slightly, just enough for his knuckles to pale before he forced himself to relax again. It was a good result for Arvid. It was. Anyone would say that too. Close to the points, consistent, promising. The kind of performance that got people talking in a good way.

Liam had worked so hard to be where he was. Every improvement, every adjustment, every small gain had taken effort that no one else really saw. It had been a slow climb, one that had felt steeper some days than others.

And somehow, it almost felt like Arvid had just walked in and gotten there.

That wasn’t fair. Liam knew it wasn’t fair. Arvid had his own work behind him, his own struggles that Liam probably didn’t fully see. It wasn’t as simple as it looked from the outside.

But knowing that didn’t stop the feeling.

Didn’t stop the way it sat in his chest, heavy and uncomfortable, something close to nausea curling at the edges of it. It didn’t stop the quiet thought that slipped in, uninvited and unwelcome, questioning what all of his effort had really amounted to if someone else could come in and match it so quickly.

His eyes dropped back down to his phone, the result still staring back at him, unchanged.

P9.

It should have been enough.

It was enough.

He just couldn’t quite make himself believe it yet.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, another thought lingered, softer but sharper in its own way. Arvid probably hadn’t even needed his feedback. Not really. Not from someone who spent more time doubting himself than most rookies ever did.

The realization settled in, quiet and unwelcome, and Liam didn’t try to push it away. He just sat with it, staring at the screen, letting the weight of it sink in without knowing what to do with it next.

Arvid noticed.

Liam didn’t know how, and that was probably the most irritating part of it. It wasn’t like he had been doing anything obvious, at least not in his own mind. He had just been standing there, phone in hand, staring at the same line of text over and over again without really seeing it anymore. To anyone else, it should have looked normal enough. Drivers checked their results all the time, lingered on them, picked them apart in their heads. There was nothing unusual about that.

And yet, somehow, Arvid always seemed to catch it. Always seemed to have this annoying awareness of his surroundings at exactly the worst possible times. Not when Liam was actually fine, not when he was joking around or distracted or busy with something else. No, it was always when his thoughts had gone a little too far inward, when he had gotten stuck in that quiet loop he couldn’t quite pull himself out of.

It felt like he had been standing there for ages. Long enough for the world around him to blur at the edges, long enough for the noise of the garage to fade into something distant and indistinct. In reality, he knew it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. Time just stretched like that sometimes when he got caught in his own head, slowing down in a way that made everything else feel far away.

He only snapped out of it when something shifted in his peripheral vision.

Arvid.

Leaning against the wall right next to him like he had always been there.

Liam blinked, his focus dragging itself back into place as he turned his head slightly. Arvid had one shoulder pressed back against the surface, arms crossed loosely over his chest in a posture that looked both casual and deliberate at the same time. If Liam had been paying attention earlier, if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he might have laughed a little.

Arvid did that all the time.

Anytime there was a wall, a counter, a car, anything solid enough to lean on, he would find a way to settle against it like it was the most natural thing in the world. It had become one of those small, oddly specific habits that Liam had picked up on without really meaning to. The kind of detail you only notice after spending a certain amount of time around someone.

Right now though, the familiarity of it didn’t quite reach him in the same way.

Arvid was looking at him.

Not intensely, not in a way that felt invasive, but enough. Enough that Liam could tell he was being watched, assessed in that quiet, patient way Arvid seemed to default to. There was a slight quirk to his brow, subtle but noticeable, like he was waiting for something.

Liam shifted his weight a little, suddenly aware of how long he must have been standing there doing nothing. He didn’t say anything at first, just lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, the motion small and noncommittal.

Arvid’s expression didn’t change much, but he did roll his eyes.

It wasn’t exaggerated or dramatic, just a brief flick upward that carried more meaning than it should have. Like he had expected that exact response and wasn’t particularly impressed by it.

“You look like you’re in your head,” Arvid said after a second, his voice even, casual in a way that made it feel less like an accusation and more like an observation. “Just came to see what was up.”

Liam frowned slightly, the words landing in a way that immediately made him want to push back.

In his head?

It wasn’t that obvious. It couldn’t have been. He knew what he looked like when he was really gone, when he had completely checked out of whatever was happening around him. This hadn’t been that. He had just been thinking, that was all. Thinking about the result, about the race, about everything that came with it. That was normal. That was expected.

If it had been that obvious, someone would have said something a long time ago.

Someone would have pointed it out before now.

“I’m not in my head,” he muttered, the response coming out more defensive than he had intended. He huffed quietly under his breath, eyes dropping back down to his phone for a second before flicking away again like he didn’t actually want to look at it anymore.

Arvid didn’t look convinced.

Of course he didn’t.

There was a slight tilt to his head now, his gaze still fixed on Liam in that same steady way. He didn’t argue right away, didn’t call him out on it directly. He just stood there, arms still crossed, like he was giving Liam the space to either double down or correct himself.

That almost made it worse.

Liam shifted again, more noticeably this time, his fingers tightening briefly around his phone before he loosened his grip. He could feel the weight of Arvid’s attention sitting on him, not heavy exactly, but persistent. Like it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“I’m fine,” he added after a moment, a little sharper than before, like reinforcing the point would somehow make it more believable.

It didn’t.

He could hear it himself, the slight edge in his tone, the way it didn’t quite match what he was trying to say. And if he could hear it, then Arvid definitely could.

There was a pause.

Not a long one, but long enough to stretch just slightly past comfortable.

Arvid exhaled quietly through his nose, the sound almost like a restrained sigh, though there wasn’t much frustration behind it. If anything, it sounded more like recognition. Like he had seen this before, maybe more than once, and knew better than to take the words at face value.

“Right,” Arvid said, the single word carrying just enough skepticism to make Liam’s jaw tighten.

He pushed himself off the wall then, unfolding his arms as he straightened up. For a second, Liam thought he might just leave it there, drop the subject and move on like it didn’t matter. Part of him hoped that was what would happen.

But Arvid didn’t walk away.

Instead, he stayed right where he was, shifting his weight so he was standing properly now rather than leaning, his attention still locked in.

“You’ve been staring at your phone like it personally offended you,” he went on, tone still even, almost dry. “Either you’re in your head, or you’re about to throw that thing across the garage.”

Liam let out a short breath, something between a scoff and a quiet laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it.

“I’m not going to throw my phone,” he said, like that was the part worth correcting.

Arvid’s mouth twitched slightly at that, not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest he had expected that answer too.

“Good,” he replied. “Would be a waste.”

Another pause settled between them, thinner this time, but still there.

Liam glanced away, his gaze drifting somewhere over Arvid’s shoulder, unfocused. He could feel the conversation hovering at the edge of something else, something he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to get into. Not here, not now, not with the way his thoughts were still tangled up from earlier.

Arvid didn’t push immediately.

He just waited.

Again.

It was that patience that made it difficult to brush him off completely. If he had been more insistent, more direct, it would have been easier to shut it down, to deflect or change the subject. But this, this quiet waiting, it left the decision sitting entirely with Liam.

And Liam didn’t like that nearly as much as he should have.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand briefly through his hair before letting it drop back to his side.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, softer this time, though the words still felt like a half-truth at best.

Arvid’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was something in his eyes that said he didn’t believe that either.

Still, he didn’t call it out directly.

“Sure,” he said instead, the word light but not dismissive.

And somehow, that was worse than if he had argued.

Liam let out a small sigh, the kind that barely made a sound, more of a quiet release than anything else. He tipped his head back until it met the wall behind him, the contact dull and solid, grounding in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. There was a faint thud, not loud enough to draw attention from anyone else in the garage, but enough that he felt it echo through him for a second.

He stayed like that, eyes drifting shut briefly before opening again, staring up at nothing in particular. The ceiling lights blurred together, too bright if he focused on them for too long, so he didn’t. He just let his gaze sit there, unfocused, like maybe if he didn’t look directly at anything, he wouldn’t have to deal with the way Arvid was still looking at him.

Because he was.

Liam didn’t have to turn his head to know it. He could feel it, that steady, unrelenting attention that Arvid seemed to have mastered. It wasn’t heavy, not in an overwhelming way, but it was constant. Present. And for some reason, that made Liam just a little uneasy.

Most people would have looked away by now. They would have let it go after the half answers, the deflection, the clear lack of interest in actually explaining anything. They would have taken the hint and moved on.

Arvid didn’t.

Liam pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening slightly before he forced it to relax again. It wasn’t like there was anything to hide, not really. It just felt like too much to get into, too complicated to explain without it turning into something bigger than he wanted it to be.

So instead, he did what he always did.

He changed the subject.

“You did good today,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than before but steadier, more controlled. He let his head tilt forward again, chin dropping slightly as his gaze shifted back down, not quite meeting Arvid’s eyes but close enough. “Seemed pretty confident out there.”

It was an easy thing to say. True, too. Arvid had been good today, solid in a way that didn’t look forced or uncertain. There had been a kind of calmness to his driving, something that made it seem like he wasn’t second guessing every decision the way Liam sometimes felt like he was.

Arvid hummed softly in response, the sound low and thoughtful.

“Unlike you?”

The words landed somewhere in the space between them, simple and unembellished. If Liam hadn’t known him better, if he hadn’t already learned the way Arvid spoke, he might have taken it the wrong way. It could have easily sounded like an insult, like a jab disguised as an observation.

But it wasn’t.

Arvid didn’t say things like that to get under his skin. He just said them because they were true, at least from his perspective. There was no edge to it, no intention behind it other than stating what he saw.

And that almost made it harder to brush off.

Liam let out a short breath, something close to a quiet huff, his shoulders lifting in another shrug that didn’t carry much weight behind it. It felt automatic at this point, like a default response he fell back on when he didn’t have anything better to offer.

There wasn’t much point in denying it anyway.

Arvid had already figured him out.

He always did.

“Something like that,” Liam muttered, the words vague enough to avoid fully agreeing but not strong enough to count as a real disagreement either.

He shifted his stance slightly, one foot adjusting against the ground, the movement small but restless. His fingers tapped once against the side of his phone before going still again, like even that tiny bit of motion had been too much.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

The noise of the garage filtered back in around them, distant conversations, the clatter of tools, the low hum of activity that never really stopped. It felt far away though, like it was happening somewhere else entirely, separate from the small space they were standing in.

Arvid exhaled softly, the sound more noticeable this time.

“You did good,” he said, his voice quieter now, less observational and more certain. “I don’t get why you’re so hard on yourself.”

Liam’s expression didn’t change much at first, but something in his posture shifted, subtle and almost imperceptible. His shoulders stiffened just slightly before settling again, his gaze dropping further, landing somewhere near the floor.

It should have been easy to accept.

It was a simple statement, straightforward, meant in a way that wasn’t complicated or loaded with anything else. Just recognition, just acknowledgment of what he had done.

But it didn’t sit right.

Not fully.

Liam pressed his tongue briefly against the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening again as he considered the words, turning them over in his head like he always did. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Arvid meant it. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that it didn’t line up with everything else.

With the expectations he had set for himself, with the comparisons that still lingered in the back of his mind, with the way he measured his performance against standards that never seemed to adjust no matter what he actually achieved.

“Because I could’ve done better,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, less defensive and more matter of fact. Like it was obvious, like it didn’t need to be explained any further than that.

Which, in his mind, it didn’t.

There was always something.

A corner he could have taken cleaner, a lap where he had lost time, a decision that could have been sharper. It didn’t matter that the result was decent, that it was objectively a good finish. All he could see were the small imperfections that added up in ways no one else seemed to notice as much as he did.

Arvid tilted his head slightly, watching him.

“There’s always something you could do better,” he replied. “That’s kind of how this works.”

Liam let out a quiet breath, something that might have been agreement if it had carried any real conviction.

“Exactly.”

But Arvid didn’t leave it there.

“That doesn’t mean you did bad,” he added, the words coming a little firmer this time.

Liam didn’t respond right away.

He just stood there, staring at the floor, letting the silence stretch out again. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like standing in the middle of something unresolved, something that wasn’t going to settle no matter how long he left it alone.

After a few seconds, he shook his head slightly, more to himself than to Arvid.

“I know that,” he said, though it came out quieter than he intended.

And he did know it.

Logically, it made sense. He could recognize a good result when he looked at it, could understand how it stacked up against everything else. He wasn’t blind to it.

It just didn’t feel the same when it came to him.

Arvid studied him for another moment, his expression unreadable in that calm, steady way he had.

“You don’t act like you know it,” he said eventually.

Liam let out a short, humorless breath, something that almost passed for a laugh but didn’t quite get there.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’ve been told that.”

He leaned back into the wall again, not as deliberately this time, more like he just let himself fall into it. The solid surface pressed against his shoulders, grounding in a way that felt both comforting and restricting at the same time.

For a second, he considered saying more.

Explaining it properly, trying to put into words the way it all felt when it stacked up in his head. But the thought faded just as quickly as it came. It was too much, too messy, and he wasn’t sure it would even make sense out loud.

So he didn’t.

He just stayed there, quiet, the weight of the conversation settling around him while Arvid remained close, still watching, still present in a way that made it impossible to completely retreat back into himself.

“Red Bull?”

The words were simple. Too simple, really, for the way they landed.

Liam didn’t even know how Arvid had gotten there. There hadn’t been any clear lead up, no obvious connection in what they had just been talking about that should have pointed so directly at it. And yet, somehow, Arvid had picked the exact thing Liam had been carefully not saying, the exact thought he had been skirting around since the moment he looked at his result.

It made something in his chest tighten.

He didn’t react right away. Not outwardly, at least. His expression stayed mostly the same, his posture still leaning back against the wall, arms loose at his sides. But there was a slight shift, something subtle in the way his shoulders tensed for just a second before settling again, like his body had responded before he could stop it.

How did he know?

That was the part Liam couldn’t quite figure out. It wasn’t like he talked about it much. Actually, he barely talked about it at all. Most of the time, he avoided it completely, let other people bring it up if they wanted to and then gave them the shortest answers possible until the conversation moved on.

It was easier that way.

So how Arvid had managed to land on it so quickly, so accurately, it didn’t make sense.

Unless he had just been paying attention.

That thought lingered for a second longer than Liam liked.

Because if that was the case, then it meant Arvid had noticed more than he should have. More than Liam had intended for anyone to notice. All the small reactions, the slight shifts in mood, the way he went quieter when certain things came up.

It was almost annoying.

Actually, it was annoying.

There was something frustrating about the way Arvid seemed to see straight through him, like every defense Liam had put up wasn’t nearly as solid as he had thought. Like all the effort he had put into keeping things contained, manageable, private, didn’t really matter when Arvid was around.

And the worst part was that Arvid didn’t seem to hesitate about it.

He didn’t hold back just because they hadn’t known each other that long. Didn’t seem concerned about whether he was crossing some invisible line of what was appropriate or not. He just.. said things. Asked things. Not aggressively, not in a way that felt invasive, but directly enough that it was hard to avoid.

Liam should have shut it down.

That would have been the normal response. Brush it off, change the subject again, make it clear that it wasn’t something he wanted to get into. He had done it before, with other people, and it had worked well enough.

But he didn’t.

And if he was being honest with himself, that was the part that bothered him more than anything else.

Because beneath the irritation, beneath the instinct to pull back and deflect, there was something else sitting there too. Something quieter, harder to admit.

Arvid was the only person who had even tried to look that closely.

The only one who had paid enough attention to notice the patterns, to connect the dots without being told outright. The only one who seemed to care enough to actually ask instead of just making assumptions or ignoring it completely.

Maybe that was why Liam hadn’t shut it down yet.

Maybe that was why he was still standing here, still listening, even though part of him wanted to step away from the conversation entirely.

It made the annoyance feel less solid somehow. Less justified.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping for a second before shifting off to the side, anywhere but directly at Arvid.

He didn’t confirm it.

He didn’t deny it either.

He just let the question sit there between them, unanswered in words but not really unanswered at all.

Because the silence said enough.

It always did.

Arvid seemed to take it that way, at least.

“I assumed,” he said after a moment, his tone as even as it had been the entire time. Like this wasn’t some big revelation, like it was just another piece of information he had been quietly fitting into place.

Liam glanced back at him briefly, something flickering across his expression before it disappeared again.

Arvid gave a small shrug, one shoulder lifting and falling in a casual motion that didn’t quite match the weight of what they were talking about.

“You get real quiet whenever it gets brought up.”

Liam let out a short breath at that, something close to a humorless laugh, though it didn’t quite reach that point.

“Do I?” he muttered, even though he already knew the answer.

Of course he did.

He didn’t need Arvid to point it out to know that much. He had felt it himself, every time the topic came up. The way his thoughts would stall for just a second, the way he would pull back without meaning to, like some automatic response he hadn’t fully unlearned yet.

It wasn’t something he had ever consciously decided to do.

It had just.. happened.

Over time, over conversations that never quite went the way he wanted them to, over questions he didn’t have good answers for. It had become easier to say less, to keep things vague, to avoid giving anyone the chance to dig deeper than he was comfortable with.

And most people had let it go.

They would notice, maybe, but they wouldn’t push. They would move on, find something else to talk about, leave it where it was.

Arvid didn’t seem particularly interested in doing that.

Liam shifted slightly against the wall again, his head tilting just enough that it rested back for a second before he brought it forward. His fingers curled loosely at his sides, then straightened again, a small, restless movement that didn’t quite settle.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said after a moment, though the words felt thinner than he wanted them to.

Arvid didn’t respond right away.

He just watched him.

Again.

There was something about that, the way he didn’t rush to fill the silence, didn’t immediately argue or agree. He just let the statement sit there, like he was giving Liam the space to hear how it sounded out loud.

And it didn’t sound convincing.

Not even to him.

Liam pressed his lips together briefly, his jaw tightening before he forced it to relax again.

“It was just.. different,” he added, like that explained anything, like that was enough to sum up everything that had been tangled up in that experience.

Different.

It felt like an understatement.

But he didn’t know how else to put it without opening the door to a conversation he wasn’t sure he was ready to have.

Arvid’s gaze didn’t waver, but something in his expression softened slightly, just enough to take the edge off the directness.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured.”

Liam huffed out another breath, this one a little steadier, though it still carried that same underlying tension.

Of course he figured.

That seemed to be the pattern here.

Liam looked down again, his focus landing somewhere near his hands, though he wasn’t really seeing them. His mind had already started drifting back, pulling up pieces of memory he hadn’t meant to revisit right now.

The car.

The expectations.

The constant comparisons that never seemed to stop.

He swallowed, the motion subtle but noticeable, like he was trying to push the thoughts back down before they could fully settle in.

Arvid didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t try to fill the space with anything unnecessary.

He just stayed there, present in that quiet, steady way that Liam was starting to realize wasn’t going to change.

And for a moment, Liam wasn’t sure if that made things easier or harder.

“I meant it when I said you did good.”

Arvid’s voice came out almost absentmindedly, like the thought had just drifted to the surface and he hadn’t seen any reason to keep it to himself. There wasn’t any buildup to it, no shift in tone that suggested he was trying to make a point. If anything, it sounded too casual for the weight it carried, like he was commenting on something small and obvious instead of something Liam had been quietly picking apart in his head for the past several minutes.

Liam didn’t respond right away.

He stayed where he was, back against the wall, eyes lowered slightly, not fixed on anything in particular. The words settled somewhere in his chest, heavier than they should have been, like they had found a place to sit that he hadn’t prepared for.

“You probably don’t believe me when I say that,” Arvid added after a second, his tone still even, still lacking any sort of pressure. “But I mean it.”

That was the part that made something twist uncomfortably in Liam’s stomach.

It wasn’t the compliment itself. He had heard those before, from engineers, from media, from people who were expected to say things like that after a race. Even teammates, sometimes, though those always felt a little more measured, a little more careful.

This was different.

Maybe it was the way Arvid said it, like it wasn’t something up for debate. Like it didn’t need to be justified or backed up with anything else. It just was.

Or maybe it was the fact that Arvid had already acknowledged the doubt before Liam had the chance to voice it.

That part hit a little closer than he would have liked.

Liam shifted slightly, his shoulder pressing more firmly into the wall for a moment before he eased off again. His fingers curled loosely at his sides, then straightened, a small, restless motion that didn’t quite settle into anything.

He could have brushed it off.

Made a joke, deflected again, turned it into something lighter so it didn’t sit there so heavily between them. That would have been easier, more in line with what he usually did when conversations started drifting into territory he didn’t know how to handle.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he just exhaled quietly, his gaze flicking up for a brief second before dropping again, like even that small moment of eye contact felt like too much.

Arvid hummed softly, the sound low and thoughtful, like he was considering something beyond what he had already said.

“Hopefully you’ll believe me before the season’s over.”

There was something almost offhand about the way he said it, but not dismissive. More like it was a simple expectation, not a demand, not even really a goal. Just something he assumed would happen eventually, given enough time.

Liam’s brow furrowed slightly at that, the expression faint but there.

Before the season’s over.

That implied time. A process. Not something immediate, not something Arvid expected to fix with a single conversation or a few well placed words. It suggested patience in a way Liam hadn’t quite expected.

Like Arvid already knew this wasn’t something that would shift overnight.

Like he was willing to wait.

Liam wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

Part of him wanted to reject it outright, to dismiss the idea that anything would change that easily, that predictably. He had been in his own head about this for too long, built up too many habits of thought that didn’t just disappear because someone told him to see things differently.

But another part of him, quieter and harder to acknowledge, felt something else.

Something that almost resembled relief.

Not because he suddenly believed it, because he didn’t. Not fully. But because Arvid didn’t seem to expect him to. Not yet.

That took some of the pressure off in a way Liam hadn’t realized he was bracing against.

Arvid shifted slightly where he stood, and when Liam glanced up again, he caught the small smile on his face.

It wasn’t a big one.

Not the kind that demanded a reaction or tried to force one out of him. It was soft, easy, the kind of expression that just existed without asking for anything in return. There was no edge to it, no hint of teasing or expectation.

Just there.

Liam found himself holding his gaze for a second longer this time before looking away again, something in his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t quite name.

“And yourself.”

The words came just as lightly as the rest of it, but they landed differently.

Liam stilled slightly, the shift subtle but immediate. His fingers stopped their quiet movement, his shoulders going just a fraction more rigid before he forced them to relax again.

And yourself.

It wasn’t phrased like a command. Arvid wasn’t telling him what to do, wasn’t pushing him into anything. It was more like an extension of what he had already said, a quiet addition that carried just as much weight as the rest of it.

Maybe more.

Liam let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping fully this time, settling somewhere near the ground. The noise of the garage felt distant again, like it had faded out just enough to leave the space between them clearer, more defined.

He didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t know how to.

Because that part, that last piece, was the one he struggled with the most.

Believing Arvid was one thing. That was external, something he could eventually accept without having to change too much about the way he saw himself. It would take time, sure, but it felt.. possible, in a distant kind of way.

Believing in himself was different.

That required something he wasn’t entirely sure he had figured out yet.

His jaw tightened slightly, then eased again as he exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled. He shifted his weight, one foot sliding back just enough to adjust his stance, like he needed something physical to focus on for a second.

“That might take a bit longer,” he said finally, his voice quieter than before, edged with something that wasn’t quite humor but wasn’t entirely serious either.

It was honest, though.

More honest than most of what he had said so far.

Arvid didn’t react immediately, but the small smile didn’t fade. If anything, it softened a little more, like he had expected that answer.

“Yeah,” he replied after a moment, his tone easy. “Figured.”

There was no disappointment in it.

No frustration.

Just acknowledgment.

And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

Liam leaned his head back against the wall again, not as sharply this time, the movement slower, more deliberate. His eyes drifted shut for a brief second before opening again, his focus settling somewhere ahead of him without really locking onto anything.

The tightness in his chest hadn’t disappeared.

The doubt was still there, sitting in the same place it always did, familiar and persistent. But it didn’t feel quite as overwhelming in that moment. Not gone, not even close, but.. quieter.

Manageable, maybe.

He let out another slow breath, his shoulders dropping slightly as some of the tension eased out of them.

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds after that.

They didn’t need to.

Arvid stayed where he was, close enough to feel present but not so close that it felt suffocating. He didn’t push the conversation any further, didn’t try to pull more out of Liam than he had already given.

He just stayed.

And Liam, for once, didn’t feel the immediate urge to fill the silence or escape it.

He just let it be what it was, the words lingering in the space between them, settling in slowly in a way that felt unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome.

Before the season’s over.

Liam wasn’t sure if Arvid was right about that.

But he didn’t dismiss it completely.