#al3

. . . The world around him blurred as Arvid sat quietly in his hotel room, the sound of rain tapping against the window the only noise in the space.

He stared blankly at the empty coffee cup in his hands, but his mind wasn’t there. It was somewhere else entirely; with you.

It always came back to you.

He could still see you so clearly, standing on the pit wall during his race weekends, wearing one of his oversized jackets with the team’s logo. You weren’t even a part of his team, but you always found your way to him, no matter how chaotic things got.

He smiled bitterly at the memory of how your eyes would light up when you saw him, the way you’d always ask him if he was nervous even though you already knew the answer.

"It’s okay to be nervous, you know," you’d said once, your voice soft as you leaned against the wall beside him. "It just means you care about what you’re doing."

And he’d believed you, because how could he not? When you said it, everything felt easier. Safer.

But now, there was no one beside him to tell him that, no one to chase the nerves away. And it was his fault. He’d let you slip through his fingers like sand, thinking you’d always be there.

Arvid closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was back at the street of your family's house. It had been late, too late for you to be out on your own, but you’d called him, your voice shaking through the phone.

"I…I need you to pick me up," you’d said, barely above a whisper.

He’d flown out the door, barely remembering to grab his keys. When he found you, your eyes were red, your lips trembling as you stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the street lamps. Without a word, you’d let him pull you into his arms, burying your face in his chest.

He didn’t ask what had happened, and you didn’t offer to tell him. He just held you, letting the silence speak for both of you.

That night, he’d driven you home, his hand resting on yours the entire ride. He’d looked at you as you sat in the passenger seat, your head resting against the window, and he’d sworn to himself that he’d always protect you. That no matter what, you’d never feel that kind of pain again.

But now, here he was, the one who’d caused it.

The rain outside grew heavier, and Arvid stood, unable to sit still anymore. He paced the room, his mind a whirlwind of memories and regrets.

He thought about the time you’d dragged him to that stupid carnival you loved so much. He hated roller coasters, but he’d gone on every single one because you wanted him to. You’d laughed so hard when he screamed on the drops, clutching his arm and calling him dramatic.

"You’re such a baby," you’d teased, your smile so wide it made his heart ache even then.

He’d rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin. "You’re lucky I like you," he’d shot back, his voice light.

Looking back, he wondered if you knew even then. If you’d noticed the way his gaze lingered on you a little too long or how he always seemed to find excuses to touch you; a hand on your back, brushing your hair out of your face.

Maybe you knew. Maybe that’s why you left.

Arvid ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He was so angry, at himself, at the world, at the way he’d let everything fall apart.

He thought about how you used to calm him down, your hand on his shoulder as you whispered reassurances.

"Breathe, Arvid," you’d say, your voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. "You’ve got this."

But now, all he had was the echo of your words, bouncing around in the empty space you’d left behind.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The lyrics to a song played faintly in the back of his mind, ones he’d listened to far too many times lately:

Sometimes I look in her eyes, and that’s where I find a glimpse of us

He thought about the person who’d come into his life recently; kind, sweet, and everything he should want. But every time he looked at her, all he could see was you.

He hated himself for it, for how unfair it was to her, for how unfair it was to you. But he couldn’t stop.

The memory of the last time he saw you hit him like a punch to the gut. You’d been standing in the doorway, your arms crossed as you looked at him with a mix of sadness and resolve.

"I can’t do this anymore, Arvid," you’d said, your voice breaking just enough for him to hear it. "I can’t keep being the one who’s always waiting for you to figure things out."

He’d opened his mouth to argue, to beg you to stay, but the words never came. He didn’t know what to say.

And so, you’d walked away, leaving him standing there like an idiot.

The rain had slowed by the time Arvid finally stopped pacing. He stood by the window, staring out at the empty streets below.

He knew he couldn’t change the past, couldn’t undo the mistakes he’d made. But God, how he wished he could.

Because sometimes, in the quiet moments like this, he still looked for you. In the way the light hit the pavement, in the sound of a laugh that wasn’t yours, in the way the world seemed a little less vibrant without you in it.

And he hated himself for it, for still hoping that maybe, just maybe, you were out there somewhere, looking for him too.

"Maybe you'll start slipping slowly and find me again," he thought, the words a plea, a prayer, a hint of regret and despair lacing them.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how hard he tried to move on, there would always be a part of him that was waiting.

For you.