Chapter Text
It’s 06:16 and under a dark, near inky black sky over Vörå, Jakob’s phone vibrates.
«Late. One hour. Stay warm! K»
Holding his phone tight to his chest, Jakob gives it a small squeeze as if it were Kevin. Kevin, the man behind the K. A man of few words even in text. The man he is waiting to see.
The man he waits to see every Thursday.
Kevin, the wiry trucker who purposefully spends an extra €40 on fuel every week to swing by Vörå just to pick Jakob up, just to spend some time with him. With his tall, thin frame, and firm muscles, dark blond hair which is growing at a rate that Jakob expects to find it shoulder length when Kevin finally arrives, and his stunning green eyes that hold such a steady gaze, the man is all height and angles yet is far softer than his sharp profile paints him.
Jakob doesn’t know why Kevin is late. Just knows he will be. And Jakob understands that’s all he needs to know.
He imagines Kevin out there in the harsh Finnish winter, just him and his Scania battling through the snow and ice to make it to Vörå for him. For Jakob. Just to spend the day with Jakob.
Kevin and his Scania could be anywhere between here and Kokkola, battling the elements, fixing small mechanical issues, or even waiting on a breakdown rescue. Jakob tries not to catastrophize. He tries to breathe; Kevin’s safe. At least he was safe enough to text. Kevin is still coming for him. In fact Kevin is so determined to come for him he’s pushing his day back a whole hour for him. Kevin’s tight, perfect schedule, with it’s carefully balanced breaks, every minute perfectly planned.
Rereading the text, Jakob tries to calm himself. He checks the time. Kevin can’t be too far out of Kokkola. Kevin must have just left when the disaster happened, and Kevin’s first instinct was to text him.
Text Jakob.
Kevin’s first priority was to protect Jakob’s mental state. To calm him. Kevin couldn’t imagine his poor boy waiting at the Ski Centre for him in the cold, in the place he calls home and rests his head, but never feels welcomed, never feels at home.
Kevin’s first thought this morning was Jakob.
And Kevin was his first thought this morning too, and his last before sleep last night.
Jakob’s already up and dressed, such is his excitement for Thursdays.
With unexpected time to kill this morning, Jakob grabs his notebook; Kevin’s unofficial no numbers tachograph. The record he keeps of their Thursday trips. He flicks through what he’s recorded so far. It’s only a few pages, but Jakob thinks he’s captured every moment. At least he, when reading it back, can vividly recall all the moments he preserved for Kevin. Those thoughts of Kevin will have to do, until the man gets here.
08:21.
Under the dark Vörå sky, Jakob waits. With a heavy heart, he waits. A heavy, thumping heart. It bleeds. Kevin is late. On top of his earlier declared lateness.
And Jakob begins to worry. He can’t help it. Kevin’s never late. He’s so meticulous; a perfectionist. He commands the tachograph more than it governs him. Kevin plans every detail, knows where everything is in his cab and locates it seconds.
Jakob lets out a long shaky breath that is barely visible in the early dawn light. Even the sun waits and gets up later in the Finnish winters.
He knows the minutes slow around Vörå. He feels every second tick by slowly without Kevin. Without Greta. Without the warmth of the cab, and the constant humming of the diesel engine below him. But this morning especially, time doesn’t feel like it’s moving at all.
Jakob tries to calm his breathing. If Kevin was in trouble, bigger trouble, he’d let Jakob know. He’d find a safe place, a quiet time, and he’d let Jakob know. In less than five words, but he’d let Jakob know.
Checking his phone again for such a message, Jakob sighs when he finds none. He rereads the old one, imagining Kevin had just texted him again, although he hopes he’s not waiting on the man for another hour.
Actually, he would give anything to have Kevin here right now.
All he can do is hold and hug his phone. Reread the text. And stare at his wallpaper; the truck he wished he could see for real, here, now. Her driver smiling, his wiry frame wrapped around him, their dog wagging her tail, her heavy weight warming his lap, their little plushie smiling at them from the dashboard of the warm cab.
'Stay warm' Kevin had put. Jakob’s thoughts will keep him warm until he can see his wallpaper for real.
It’s 08:25 when Kevin finally brings his metal snake into the Ski Centre car park.
And Jakob wastes no time in getting in.
Sadly, he’s not greeted by the warmth he was hoping for. The cab feels chilly, Greta turns and offers him a small wag, and Kevin is still sitting, frowning at his dashboard. He looks cold, visibly tired, and wears a somewhat pained expression.
The whole cab feels colder somehow.
Jakob lets out a small, barely audible sigh, and smiles. He somehow resists all urges to ask Kevin to take a full 45 minute tacho break now. He, for one, wants little more to fall into the man’s warm, strong embrace and breathe in his soothing, conforming smell.
Instead he wordlessly unclips Greta, and walks over to Kevin with her in his arm.
“Always,” Kevin sighs as he turns to Jakob.
Jakob grins because Kevin knows what he’s going to ask, and answers before he can even form the words. And he can always rely on Kevin’s lips, Kevin’s kiss, to be welcoming, to be comforting. His strong coffee taste, and warm, soft lips are always pleasant.
With a hand flying to back of Kevin’s head, fingers ready to explore Kevin’s soft, ever-growing, hair, Jakob bends to capture Kevin’s lips.
Kevin’s lips are cold, and Jakob’s taken aback. Kevin’s lips are normally so warm, near hot. Kevin smells strongly of the bitter cold air, his skin feels frozen, the chill in the wind still clings to the tiny hairs on his face. He feels and smells near alien to Jakob.
Jakob takes it all back; he’d wait longer for the warm welcome he seeks. He wanted to see Kevin, willed him to get here faster, but not like this. He’d get back out and wait a whole two hours or more for his Kevin in harsher conditions than this, in the centre of Vörå even. Anything to have the warmth and comfort he wants.
He sighs sadly as he pulls back. But even this foreign feeling Kevin is somehow irresistible to him, and he reconnects their lips.
Kevin’s hair hasn’t quite yet made it to his shoulders, but it does look a little longer. It’s styled the same way it was last Thursday, and Kevin dresses in a near identical way too.
Much like Jakob, who, again, is wearing Kevin’s sweater, his usual jeans, and his signature beanie.
Kevin’s palm rests on Jakob’s cheek, it’s warmer than his face and lips, and smells strongly of steering wheel leather. It’s almost comforting. It reminds Jakob of their first night together. Although he was colder, and Kevin way warmer then.
Kevin leans forward, resting his freezing forehead flat against Jakob’s with a harsh, ragged sigh, his breath feels icy cold against Jakob's warm lips.
Kevin ruffles Greta’s head, then reaches up to Jakob’s. He pauses briefly as Jakob is still wearing his beanie, but Kevin just ruffles that. A small smile plays on his face. There’s his Kevin.
“You’re ridiculous!” Jakob murmurs in a low whisper, as he turns to drop Greta off on the bunk, and begins to remove his coat.
He hears Kevin let out a deep sigh behind him as he does.
As Jakob picks Greta up, ready to buckle her in, he notices the plushie.
It’s there on the bunk!
Not proudly displayed on the dash, where it should be. Where all other, true truckers keep theirs. For the whole world to see. Loud and proud. Front and centre.
Jakob can’t help it, his thoughts turn dark; Is Kevin ashamed of him? Of his love? Of all that the plushie represents? Did Kevin grab it and throw back here when a truck coming the other way flashed its lights? Did Kevin even have it on the dash at all? He turns to Kevin, briefly, but Kevin is trying to massage his own shoulder.
That might explain why he was late.
Sighing, Jakob turns back, the cinnamon bun is on the pillow. It’s on the pillow which means Kevin sleeps with it.
Kevin sleeps with it?
It’s not been tossed in, like he grabbed it and threw it out of sight. He’s sleeping with it. He’s actively, actually sleeping with his small reminder of Jakob. He must be, why else would the plushie be on the pillow and not centre stage on the dash?
“I’m not going to force you to open it in front of me,” Kevin is saying, in his usual soft, slow Swedish. It shakes Jakob out of his thoughts. He turns to Kevin, ready with a question, but he follows Kevin’s eyeline and that’s when he notices the small jewellery box shape on the passenger seat.
He picks it up and begins to get settled in the seat with Greta, but he doesn’t belt either of them in yet instead he turns to Kevin, and with a nod, Jakob whispers a small thank you.
His hair is ruffled, and then, just as quickly as he got over here, Kevin’s back in the driver’s seat. Jakob sighs.
“Kevin?” Kevin hums, his eyes don’t turn to Jakob. “I think I want to open it now!”
Kevin nods.
“Kevin? You can watch”
Kevin nods again, and turns to Jakob, who flicks his eyes to Kevin. There’s no smirk, there’s no eyebrow raise, there’s just his usual soft stare, and a small gentle smile playing on his lips. Jakob eyes flick back to the box, and he slowly lifts the lid.
Catching a brief glimpse of the contents he near instantly shuts the lid.
“Kevin! I can’t take this!” Jakob is saying far too loudly, far too fast. With a shaky hand he moves the box in Kevin’s direction.
“It’s your home too!” Kevin smiles. “You should be able to access your home whenever you want!” Jakob looks up expecting to find Kevin standing, or kneeling at his seat, or gently pushing the box back his side of the cab. But Kevin is just smiling at him from the driver’s seat.
“I…” Jakob starts.
“You are home!” Kevin near whispers. Jakob only hears his voice because the engine is off.
Jakob takes the box back close to his chest and pulls off the lid slowly. Sitting on a cushioned flocked insert is a key. It’s similar to the key fob Kevin gave Jakob last week, but the key is out of it’s housing. Jakob gently lifts the fob out of the box, an attached keyring follows behind. It’s that that Jakob cups and stares at first. It’s the shape of a house.
Jakob feels a sudden wetness on his neck, and realises he’s crying.
Wordlessly, he shifts Greta then stands and practically throws himself at Kevin. He lands with a huff from Kevin, on the driver’s lap, and is instantly wrapped up in his arms. Kevin wordlessly wipes away the tears on his damp red cheek and holds him.
He holds him long after the tachograph beeps.
He holds him long after Jakob coughs and reminds him he is late already this morning.
Jakob has to pull himself from Kevin’s steal grip. He settles back in the passenger seat, with Greta in his lap. His thumb runs over the fob, and down to the cool metal of the key where he traces the outline. Smiling, he pockets the key.
“Ready” he says, although it’s not clear if he’s signalling to Kevin he is ready, or asking if Kevin is.
With a tear in his eye Jakob pulls out his notebook and he scribbles something.
It takes Kevin another few moments, but Jakob feels the unmistakable vibrations of the V8 beneath his feet rumbling into life, and then Kevin is guiding them to the now familiar road to Versowood.
The flat green fields to his right zip by at their usual pace, as Jakob settles in to his favourite day of the week.
A crackling static noise breaks through over the usual hum of the cab, and Jakob looks around trying to locate the source. He’s never heard that noise in the cab before, he’s never really heard any noises in the cab while they’re driving before. It’s normally just the Scania’s engine, the demisters, heaters, and Greta’s snoring that provide the gentle soundtrack of their trips, and Jakob likes it. Jakob loves it. It’s a calm and cosy vibe that a radio or constant conversation would disturb. He never asked for another backing track previously, and now he would never want one.
“Sorry,” Kevin says instantly. There’s not a single sight or sound in the cab that Kevin doesn’t catch. “I normally have it off, but I needed it on this morning,”
“It-it’s okay..., if you need it on,” Jakob’s not going to stand in the way of Kevin doing his job. Kevin is a proper trucker after all; probably has a cool codename for himself and his truck too.
“I don’t-”
But before Kevin can reach up and turn it off, a voice crackles, cutting off the rest of Kevin’s speech,
“Scania S-series heading toward Korkeakoski. Looks like you've got proper company in the cab today, Kevin! That cutie drowning in the sweater. Keep an eye out for elks.”
Jakob suddenly feels seen. Sitting high above most traffic, it’s easy to forget just how visible he is to the odd one or two people; those on overpasses, spotters, or those driving in other trucks.
A thought quickly passes through his mind, as his anxiety bubbles below his skin. Is he going to get Kevin in trouble? No, no, Kevin told him from the first trip he was fine. Insurance is the only issue, and Kevin has that.
Once he’s calmed himself over being seen, he blushes for being seen. The stranger in the truck going the other way called him ‘cute’. Well, a ‘cutie’! Jakob looks down to Greta. Her weight suddenly feels very heavy in his lap. The cab feels too warm, near hot.
It’s too late for it now, but Jakob tries to hide his face within the sweater. His fingers have already retreated inside the sleeves. His eyes flick to Kevin.
“Best co-pilot in the country!” Kevin is saying. He turns to Jakob and Greta briefly before his attention snaps back to the road.
Jakob can see his smile. It’s as bright as the one he gives Jakob on those rare occasions. But Jakob is seeing it more frequently these days. It still makes him smile, and blush whenever he sees it though. It’s the one he gave when Jakob asked for his number, and his route. The one he gave when Jakob braved a milkshake and brought a plushie, in Finnish!
It’s his proud smile.
“And the sweater’s mine!” Kevin adds.
Oh!
Jakob’s blush shines as bright as Kevin’s smile.
That stranger in the cab heading north, the one that called him a cutie, knew Kevin’s name. Knew Kevin’s truck. Had seen Jakob in the passenger seat, and well enough to make the decision that he was a cutie, and enough to see that he was ‘drowning in a sweater’.
And yet Kevin had loudly, proudly claimed Jakob.
Not only had Kevin told the entire trucking district, and anyone else who was tuned into the truckers’ frequency, that Jakob was the best co-pilot “in the country”, but also that Jakob is his.
Kevin’s.
Kevin just told the airwaves, Jakob is his.
And he is Kevin’s.
Anyone with a connection to their frequency now knows these three facts.
With the blush still burning his cheeks, Jakob pulls out his notebook, and makes a note.