Work Text:
The hoodie wasn't technically Arvid's. In fact he wasn't sure whose exactly it belonged too. All he remembers is that at some point during yesterday’s team meeting, he'd borrowed it from an empty chair because the room felt freezing.
At some later point of the night, he had forgotten to return it back to whoever its owner was, brought it back to the hotel and folded it onto a chair. Now, the black hoodie lived in his room beside his suitcase waiting to be used on another cold day.
Thursday was Silverstone media day and also ten degrees celsius outside. So, naturally, Arvid put it on that morning without giving it a second thought. It was comfortable, oversized, warm and smelled of a comforting particular note Arvid couldn't quite discern. He zipped it halfway up, shoved his hands into the pockets and wandered downstairs for breakfast. Black detailing littered the arms, only visible under sunlight. Arvid's eyes quickly wander up the black embroidered ferns before losing interest and stepping into the elevator.
The first strange look of the day came from the hotel receptionist. She smiled warmly at the young driver before drifting her eyes to the back of the hoodie as Arvid turned to end his call with his trainer. Somehow, her mouth widened even more in gentle understanding, "Good morning."
"Morning." He yawned, misplacing her sudden interest due to her realising who he was.
She looked as though she wanted to say something, her eyes squinted in thought. Instead she simply handed him a card with his taxi driver's information. "The drive is still for one, yes?” Arvid nodded in confusion. “Okay, perfect… Enjoy your day."
"Thanks?"
The second time Arvid started questioning everything came a few minutes later, just after he climbed out of the team taxi.
The morning air was a biting cold, Arvid pulled the hoodie's neck higher to cover more skin. The paddock was steadily filling with mechanics balancing coffees, journalists hurrying towards the media pen and photographers scanning the arrivals for the first drivers of the day.
Arvid adjusted the strap of his backpack over one shoulder before pulling the oversized black hoodie a little closer around himself again. The air-conditioning in the hotel had been freezing, and he hadn't bothered taking it off before leaving, which was something he now appreciated. It was one hundred percent going to rain later on.
As he approached the security checkpoint, one of the marshals looked up from scanning accreditation passes, "Morning, Arvid."
"Morning." Arvid smiled politely, already instinctively reaching for the pass hanging around his neck.
The marshal scanned it with a quiet beep before handing it back. But instead of immediately turning to the next person in line, his eyes drifted over Arvid's back as he walked by. They lingered there for a second too long to be passed off as normal. Then a grin slowly spread across his face, "Nice hoodie, mate."
"...Cheers." Arvid naturally looked down at himself, the front looked exactly as it always had. Plain black, embroidered details and zip halfway up. He frowned ever so slightly before looking back up, surely it wasn't that oversized to make two people stare at it like that. The marshal nodded to himself as though that somehow confirmed whatever he'd been thinking.
"Have a good one."
"You too."
Arvid continued walking into the paddock, but after only a few steps he slowed almost imperceptibly. First the receptionist, now security. He glanced down at the hoodie once more while he walked, smoothing a hand over the front as if expecting to find a stain or a ripped seam he'd somehow missed, "...Weird," he muttered quietly to himself before carrying on towards the Racing Bulls garage, no closer to understanding why everyone suddenly seemed so interested in what he was wearing.
The third look came from one of the photographers waiting outside the paddock entrance.
"Arvid!"
Arvid looked up from his phone, thumb freezing over the screen before he locked it. "Yeah, you alright?"
The photographer grinned, already lifting his camera. "Mind if I grab a couple?" He mimed pressing the shutter with two fingers.
"Sure."
Arvid slipped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and wandered over without a second thought, weaving between a pair of mechanics rolling a trolley stacked with tyres. The familiar soundtrack of the paddock surrounded him: engines rumbling somewhere deeper in the garages, the chatter of team members, camera shutters clicking in quick bursts. He stopped where the photographer pointed, hands settling naturally into his pockets.
Arvid had done this hundreds of times before. He coaxed a small smile which tugged at the corner of his mouth, creating what he hoped to be relaxed rather than obviously rehearsed. The photographer adjusted the focus ring and kept silent as he found his spot.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Each shutter sounded sharp above the steady hum of conversations and distant engines.
"Perfect," the photographer said, lowering the camera with a satisfied nod.
Then, he hesitated, "...Actually." The photographer frowned slightly, lowering the camera just enough to peer over the top of it.
Arvid, who'd already started stepping away, paused and looked back, "Hm?"
The photographer rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to work out how to phrase the request, "Can you turn around for me?"
"Turn around?" Arvid blinked as he attempted to make sense of the request.
"Yeah." The photographer gestured with two fingers, making a small circular motion. "Just the other way."
Arvid hesitated for barely a second before doing as he asked. He assumed they wanted the morning sun catching the front of the paddock, or maybe the Racing Bulls motorhome sitting a few metres behind him as the backdrop. Photographers were always changing angles halfway through a shoot. Nothing about the request struck him as awfully strange.
"Yeah, alright." Arvid shrugged and turned on the spot, stuffing his hands back into the pocket of his oversized hoodie as he faced away. The fabric shifted across his shoulders with the movement, the hood settling neatly between his shoulder blades.
The photographer didn't waste a second as he brought the camera snapped back up to his face. His finger worked the shutter in quick succession, the rapid bursts cutting through the steady hum of voices around the paddock. He lowered the lens for a fraction of a second, frowned in concentration, then took two slow steps to his left. He crouched slightly this time.
Arvid shifted his weight from one foot to the other, beginning to wonder how many angles someone could possibly need of the back of a hoodie.
Around him, people continued flowing through the paddock entrance, barely paying the photoshoot any attention. A mechanic pushed a trolley past behind the photographer. Someone laughed somewhere near the hospitality units. None of it seemed unusual.
Except this.
His eyebrows drew together, "...Everything alright?"
"Yep."
The answer came instantly. The photographer didn't even lower the camera, only fired off one last shot before letting it fall against the strap around his neck, "Perfect."
"...Thanks?" Arvid slowly turned back around, a faint crease still between his brows.
"No," the photographer replied, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. "Thank you."
That only served to make Arvid more confused.
He glanced over his own shoulder as if checking whether something had somehow ended up on the back of his hoodie.
Nothing.
He looked back.
"You sure you don't want one from the front?"
The photographer pressed his lips together, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face.
"No," he said with a small shake of his head. "I think I've got exactly what I needed."
"...Right.” Arvid held his gaze for another second, waiting for some explanation that never came. When none arrived, he simply gave a small nod and turned away, disappearing into the growing crowd of drivers, engineers and team staff filing through the paddock gates.
The photographer watched until the oversized hoodie was swallowed by the sea of team uniforms.
Only then did he lower his camera completely.
He flicked through the images one by one, each click of the preview bringing a more satisfied smile to his face.
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"Brilliant," he murmured to himself.
By the time Arvid had reached the part of the paddock where his motorhome sat, the looks had become impossible to ignore. Every few metres, someone would glance up as he walked past, their eyes lingering for a heartbeat too long before the corners of their mouth lifted into a smile. Not everyone, but enough that it stopped feeling like a coincidence. A marshal standing by the gate gave him an amused nod. A pair of mechanics unloading equipment paused just long enough to exchange a look before one of them smiled to himself. A cameraman did a double take, grinned, and carried on adjusting his lens. Even a woman from one of the hospitality units looked up from the coffee she was carrying, her expression softening as Arvid passed. None of them laughed and none of them said a word. They simply smiled, warm and knowing, as if they'd all stumbled across the same private joke, or seen something unexpectedly wholesome, and assumed he was in on it too. With every confused glance he threw back over his shoulder, the feeling only grew stronger. It was as though the entire paddock knew something he didn't.
Arvid was getting restless.
Momentarily, he thought about downloading twitter again. Just to see what drama has encompassed him this time for everyone to be staring like that. He quickly denied that train of thought, aware that it would just lead to a downward spiral.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of him.
He spotted one of the Racing Bulls PR assistants crossing the paddock with a clipboard tucked under her arm and intercepted her before she could disappear into hospitality.
"Can I ask you something?"
She stopped immediately, smiling politely.
"Of course."
Arvid gestured vaguely towards himself.
"Have I got something on my face?"
She blinked, giving him a quick once-over.
"No."
"My hair?"
Her eyes flicked over the messy brown strands that had escaped beneath his cap.
"No."
"My outfit?"
"...No?"
Arvid let out a frustrated sigh.
"Then why does everyone keep looking at me?"
For a split second, understanding flashed across her face.
"Oh."
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard her smile disappeared behind pressed lips. Her gaze drifted, almost involuntarily, to the back of his hoodie before snapping back to his face.
"You... don't know?"
"Know what?"
"...Nothing."
"What?"
"It's..." She cleared her throat, clutching the clipboard a little tighter. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't seem like nothing."
"No," she admitted with a tiny, apologetic smile. "I suppose it doesn't."
Arvid folded his arms, "So?"
She looked around as though hoping someone else would rescue her from the conversation. When nobody did, she let out a small, awkward laugh, "I really should go. They're waiting for me."
Before Arvid could ask another question, she slipped neatly around him and hurried off across the paddock, her pace noticeably quicker than before.
Arvid watched her disappear into the crowd.
"...What is going on?" he muttered to himself.
Liam had spent most of the afternoon buried in engineering. Between strategy meetings, telemetry reviews and conversations with his race engineer, he hadn't left the Racing Bulls garage once. The place buzzed with its usual organised chaos; mechanics wheeled stacks of tyres across the polished floor, engineers leaned over glowing monitors discussing fuel loads, and somewhere deeper in the garage a wheel gun whined briefly before falling silent.
He hadn't seen Arvid since breakfast.
Which was probably why he didn't notice immediately.
"Liam."
Without looking away from the data on the laptop in front of him, Liam hummed in acknowledgement.
"Hm?"
"I caught you one."
That finally drew his attention. Arvid stood beside the workbench, holding out a takeaway coffee with an easy smile. His oversized black hoodie hung loosely off his shoulders, the sleeves pulled over most of his hands as usual.
Liam smiled back, accepting the cup, "Cheers. You're a lifesaver."
He took a grateful sip before his eyes wandered over Arvid's shoulder. His expression changed, the slightest furrow of his brow, as though he'd spotted something that didn't quite fit. He blinked once, looked back at his coffee, then looked at Arvid again.
"...Hang on."
Arvid frowned.
"What?"
Instead of answering, Liam carefully placed his coffee on the workbench and stood. He circled Arvid once, slowly enough that Arvid instinctively turned his head to keep him in view.
"What are you doing?"
Liam didn't reply. He simply continued until he was standing directly behind him.
For a long moment, he said nothing at all.
Around them, a nearby mechanic paused halfway through carrying a tyre, following Liam's line of sight with growing curiosity. Another engineer glanced over from his monitor. Within seconds, several members of the garage had quietly become invested in whatever Liam was looking at.
"You've been wearing that all day?" Liam finally asked.
Arvid glanced over his shoulder, thrown by the question.
"...Yeah."
Liam didn't say anything straight away. He simply looked at him, waiting as though he expected some further explanation. When none came, he frowned.
"Why?"
Arvid looked down at himself in confusion, brushing a hand over the front of the oversized hoodie as if checking for a coffee stain or a loose thread.
"What do you mean, why?"
Liam gestured vaguely towards him.
"The hoodie."
"...Yeah?"
"Why this one?"
Arvid gave an easy shrug.
"Because it's comfortable."
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose for a second before letting out a quiet sigh.
"No," he said, taking a step closer. "I don't mean the hoodie itself."
He lifted a hand and pointed between Arvid's shoulder blades, his finger hovering over the back of the garment.
"I mean... that."
Arvid frowned harder. Instinctively, he twisted at the waist to try and look over his shoulder, but the movement only earned him a glimpse of black fabric.
"What?"
"The writing."
Arvid blinked.
"...What writing?"
Liam fell silent.
For a long moment, he simply stared at him, searching his face for the slightest hint that this was all an elaborate joke. Arvid's heart dropped at the thought of what could have been written..
"...Why are you looking at me like that?"
Liam exhaled slowly, somewhere between disbelief and amusement, "You genuinely haven't noticed?"
"Noticed what?"
With an expression somewhere between disbelief and concern, Liam stepped forward and rested his hands lightly on Arvid's shoulders.
"C'mere."
Before Arvid could ask another question, Liam rested a hand lightly against his shoulder and turned him towards one of the large reflective garage windows overlooking the pit lane. Sunlight spilled across the glass, turning it into a near perfect mirror.
Arvid frowned at his own reflection. For a second, he didn't understand what Liam was trying to show him. He glanced down at the front of the hoodie, then back at Liam before his eyes slowly travelled upwards, over his shoulder.
The moment they landed on the back of the hoodie, he froze.
Across the black fabric, stretched in enormous white block letters, was a surname so obvious it was impossible to miss.
‘LAWSON’
Beneath it sat a smaller, but equally unmistakable,
‘30’
Arvid simply stared.
His expression emptied.
He blinked once.
Then again, as though expecting the letters to rearrange themselves into something that actually belonged to him.
"...It says Lawson."
Liam folded his arms across his chest, watching the realisation unfold with growing amusement.
"Yes."
"My surname isn't Lawson."
"I'm well aware."
Arvid looked back at his reflection, then down at the sleeves of the hoodie as if seeing it for the first time.
"I've been wearing this."
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"...All day?"
The corners of Liam's mouth twitched despite his best efforts to keep a straight face. It lasted all of two seconds before the smile won.
"Apparantly."
For several long seconds, Arvid didn't move.
He remained standing in front of the reflective garage window, staring at the name stretched across the back of the hoodie as though it belonged to somebody else. His own reflection stared back at him just as blankly, 'LAWSON' sitting proudly across his shoulders, the white lettering so large it was impossible to imagine how he'd managed to miss it. Beneath it, the equally obvious '30' only made the whole thing worse.
Arvid's eyes widened in slow horror. His hand crept up to cover his face before he could stop it, fingertips pressing against his forehead as a groan escaped from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Oh my God."
Silence followed.
Not because nobody had heard him.
Because everyone nearby was waiting to see how Liam would react.
Liam lasted approximately half a second before he completely lost it. The laugh burst out of him so suddenly he had to grab the edge of the workbench to keep himself upright. He bent double, shoulders shaking, coffee abandoned entirely as tears immediately gathered in the corners of his eyes.
"I can't—"
Another laugh interrupted him.
"I actually can't believe you've done that."
Arvid refused to remove his hand from his face.
"I've walked around the entire paddock..."
His voice came out muffled between his fingers.
"...with your name on my back."
Liam nodded enthusiastically despite the fact Arvid wasn't looking.
"The entire paddock."
"Mhm."
Arvid slowly lowered his hand just enough to look at Liam through his fingers.
"I had an interview with Sky."
Liam's laughter died away. The implication of what Arvid just confessed hit him a second later. "...Oh no." For one glorious moment, Liam looked genuinely horrified. Then, the image of Arvid unknowingly giving a televised interview with ‘LAWSON’ across his back flashed through his mind, and he doubled over all over again. "Oh, they definitely thought you were making some kind of statement."
Arvid let out a long, defeated groan.
Liam hesitated to laugh this time and the words had left his mouth before he'd really thought about them, "I kind of like seeing you wear my name."
Silence immediately settled between them. The noise of the garage carried on around them, mechanics talking over the radios, tools clinking against workbenches, someone wheeling a trolley past, but for a moment neither of them seemed to notice.
Arvid just looked at him softly, a faint blush forming across his face. Liam held his gaze for exactly half a second before realising what he'd said. Colour crept steadily up his neck and into his ears.
"...Right," he muttered, clearing his throat as he looked anywhere but at Arvid. He reached for his coffee despite having no intention of drinking it, simply needing something to do with his hands. "So..." He coughed into his fist, trying, and failing, to recover.
"...Just maybe don't wear it to media again."
The awkwardness dissolved almost as quickly as it had arrived.
Liam busied himself by picking up his coffee again, finally taking a sip that had long since gone lukewarm, while Arvid looked down at the oversized hoodie draped over his frame. For all the embarrassment it had caused him, he couldn't help noticing how comfortable it still was. His fingers absently caught the edge of one sleeve, rubbing the soft fabric between his thumb and forefinger before he looked back up.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind that reached his eyes.
"I can probably manage that."
Liam arched an eyebrow over the rim of his coffee cup.
"...Probably?"
Arvid's smile grew a fraction. He glanced down at the bold lettering reflected faintly in the garage window before meeting Liam's gaze again, an unmistakable hint of mischief creeping into his expression.
"I make no promises."
Liam let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, lowering the cup with a shake of his head.
"You're impossible."
Arvid's grin widened just enough to betray that he was enjoying himself now the initial horror had passed.
"That's what I've been told."