ki ki ki rah

art | ao3 | edits | ko-fi

“It’s late,” Arvid protests.

“No, it isn’t,” Liam insists, and that much is true. It isn’t late, not yet. By the time they get to where they’re going, however, it might be a different story. Already, he’s kicking himself over the soreness running up his spine and the cloudiness behind his eyes that comes on a race weekend without enough sleep. But this isn’t about him. It isn’t as though he’s the one who needs this. He’s got the shape of this thing worked out for himself already—has sent his team into crisis management mode regardless of what the standings and the points say. It’s curtains. 

And Arvid does need it. Liam can tell. Arvid is only in Act One of what’s shaping up to be a pretty shitty play if the patterns hold.

Liam schools his features in an attempt to curb any obvious desperation. “Just come on, mate,” he says. “I know my way around here. Promise.”

For just a moment, Arvid leans out the door and glances down the hallway as if he’s afraid Alan himself is going to be lingering there like a one-man version of the Shining twins. This is another lesson that the kid needs. You’re allowed to do shit that you’re not allowed to do. And you’ll get away with it, too.

Then, just when Liam is beginning to fear that all that hard-work and discipline that they drill into rookies is about to get the better of him, Arvid leans back, reaching for the room key on the table. “Two hours, absolute limit,” he says as he steps out, shutting the door behind him.