Chapter Text
It’s 18:14 on a dark Wednesday evening, the sun set near two hours ago, and the cold is setting in. Under a dimly lit Vörå sky, Jakob sits in bed with his knees up to his chest, sketch book balancing on his thigh, pencil in his hand.
Excited for tomorrow, Jakob’s sketching Freda. The beautiful blue Scania cab he rides every Thursday. The one place he feels safe, secure, and comfortable. The one place he feels heard, validated, and trusted. The one place the noises in his head don’t sound so loud, the static falls to a manageable level, and his worries and anxieties seem to melt.
His home.
His world.
As he quietly sketches away in the acoustic darkness of his bedroom, Jakob thinks about her driver.
His driver.
Kevin.
Tall, gorgeous, wiry Kevin. With his height and angles; sharp jawline, and high cheekbones. His soft green eyes which remind Jakob of the forest that surround the place he rests his head, but never truly feels like home, and his soft, light brown hair, that seems to grow twice as fast as it should, and his soft, small smile.
Smiling as clear image of the man appears so vividly in his mind, Jakob moves his pencil to begin adding the driver to his drawing.
His phone, resting on the bedside table, suddenly lights up, and vibrates. Jakob’s text notification chimes. With a slightly shaking hand, he reaches out to check his messages.
It’s Kevin.
The man seems to have a way of turning up whenever Jakob’s thinking of him. Some of the time at least; there’s six days a week the man doesn’t possess this power. Jakob tries not to get too upset by that as he focuses on the words on the screen.
As his eyes read the notification window and panic raises, Jakob opens the message fully.
«Freda stuck in workshop. Can I call you to explain? K»
Dropping his phone immediately, Jakob walks over and grabs Kevin’s recently swapped over sweater. Kevin changes it over every week now, taking the one Jakob’s wearing and gifting him either the one straight off his own back, or the one he recently took off and threw somewhere behind him. Putting it on, he deeply breathes in as much of his driver as the sweater still retains after a week without him. It’s not as strong as when he first got it last Thursday night, but there’s still the faint scent of diesel, pine, and that sweet undefined smell that Kevin carries and Jakob’s still not worked out.
With a shaky hand Jakob types back a simple ‘yes’ as his mind runs into overdrive.
As soon as the message is marked read, his phones buzzes to life. He’s knows it’s Kevin but he still feels a sudden rush of anxiety and panic the way his phone buzzing always fills him with worry.
Kevin’s voice immediately cuts through all the noise and fuzz in his head. It calms him, and stops the shake in his body.
“Jakob?” Kevin breathes over the airwaves, softly. His voice is calming, speech slow and gentle, with just a small hint of worry in its undertone, “I am so sorry!” he continues without waiting for Jakob to say anything, “I… My mechanic is a one woman band, and the part-? We hoped it would be here by now. She was willing to work through the night to get it done if it did arrive today. I just…” Kevin lets out a breath, the first he’s taken in a while, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Kevin!” Jakob tries to reassure. He understands.
“I know, but…” Kevin trails off, then sighs, “Jakob? Go get your sketch book. I’ll explain the layout of the rented cab and all the metrics you need, so you know exactly what to expect when you step up tomorrow, okay? Let me know when you’re ready?”
Turning over the page in his sketchbook, Jakob nods. It’s a beat and then Jakob says, “Ready!”
Kevin slowly talks Jakob through the cab’s geometrics. He takes his time, and checks in with questions to make sure Jakob is following and understanding. He answers all of Jakob’s questions with care, and as much detail as he can.
Under his pencil, and with Kevin’s gentle guidance, the cab of the rental truck slowly begins to come to life on the page.
“Jakob?” Kevin’s tone suddenly turns serious, “There’s going to be no Greta…”
“No?... Greta?” Jakob feels a tear.
“I’m sorry!” Kevin says immediately, “The rental place were firm. I tried.” Jakob believes him, but Kevin’s tone carries a lot weight, and disappointment. “I tried a few places. I was willing to pay an extra clearing fee and take the hit, but insurance-”
Jakob feels a hot tear falling. Kevin was willing try anything even paying extra fees and taking ‘a hit’ whatever that means to ensure Jakob had some semblance of normality. Some sense of his normal Thursdays. So that Greta could come along, and continue to be his rock and shield.
“It’s not your fault” he sniffs, as he wipes each cheek in turn.
“I saved the cinnamon bun!” Kevin sounds oddly triumphantful,“It was the least I could do to try to ensure the cab doesn’t feel entirely alien to you. There’s at least something familiar there.”
“Kevin?” Jakob’s voice is small, it carries a lot of emotion.
“Yeah?”
“Can… Can you stay on the phone until I go to sleep, please?” Jakob’s voice continues to be small, near barely audible. “I’m still… I’m still a little anxious about the-”
“I’m not going anywhere, co-pilot!” Kevin replies happily, and firmly, then adds with some concern, “Did you eat already?” he asks, then Jakob hears a giggle, “Or do I get a cooking show?”
Jakob giggles, then sighs, “Kevin, I think… I feel too anxious to eat!” he admits.
“I’m making Lämpimät leivät. Jakob, go to your kitchen right now, and we’ll make them together, okay?”
Jakob nods furiously, “Okay,” he says after a beat as he makes his way to the kitchen.
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
Following Kevin’s slow, soft directions, Jakob makes the warm open-faced sandwiches, with a smile growing and a happy heart knowing that Kevin deeply understands him. It’s not just the text before calling asking if it’s okay first, or the hour or more he took slowly, repeatedly, going over the layout of the hired truck, or that he tried to ensure Greta could come, or that he wasn’t willing to hang up after dropping a bombshell that huge, or that he is now helping him cook when he doesn’t really want to. It’s all that and more.
By the time they sit down to eat their comfort food together but entirely separately, the noises in Jakob’s head have calmed to a more manageable level. He’s still anxious about tomorrow, but no longer heighten. With warm food in his belly, and Kevin’s soothing voice in his ear, Jakob is able to function much better through his evening routine. He menders through it with his usual relaxed pace.
Kevin stays on the phone with him until he hears the familiar sounds of Jakob’s soft snoring over the airwaves.
After whispering a soft good night; "Dröm söta, min andrepilot. God natt!" Kevin hangs up.
🚚
It’s 07:14, on the very next morning, Thursday, and as the skies over Vörå remain an inky black, dimly light by far away silent, sleepy stars. The temperature is currently a bitter -2, and isn’t going to raise by much during the day even when the sun does decide to bless Finland with its presence.
Jakob waits, as he always does on Thursday’s mornings, tucked behind the line of Ostrobothian pines that lead up to the Ski Centre car park, where Kevin will swing by and pick him up. His nerves got the better of him earlier this morning, and he set out a little too early. He still arrives at the ski centre at the same time. He did all the nervous waiting at the bus stop to get here. But his nerves aren’t entirely calm.
He largely knows to to expect. Kevin spending hours on the phone to him last night, repeating the hired cab’s metrics, making sure Jakob understood what he was going to walking into. Reassuring him that although the cab would be completely different, things would still be the same.
He’d still do a flying pick up at Vörå, as always. They’d stop at Jalastuuli on the way there, as always. They’d stop at Alavus on the way back, as always. The sawmill would still be the same. They’d be using the same weighbridges. The bays all look familiar. And Kevin and their little cinnamon bun plushie would be there. He’d drive the same route, in exactly the same way. He’d still be governed by the tachograph. Pick up times would be the same, their tachograph breaks would be roughly around the same time, traffic dependent, of course.
Things wouldn’t be changing entirely.
Just one thing.
But it’s that one thing that Jakob is worried about. And he’s already missing Greta.
Moving with a wobble and a shake in his hand, Jakob takes his bag off his shoulders and fiddles about before finally getting out his sketchbook. He flicks to last nights drawing and familiarises himself with the layout again.
Last night, Kevin had not only told him the make and model of the hired cab, but also gone to some lengths to try describe it. Then Jakob had searched for images of it online, but he was still anxious about it though.
What did it sound like? What did it’s lights look like?
Standing here at the Ski Centre, hiding in the tree line, Jakob didn’t know exactly what to expect. If it was Freda coming he’d know her blinding LED lights coming around the corner and down the gravel track, her thundering engine bouncing off every tree and rumbling through his boots. But with Kevin minutes away he didn’t know what to expect.
A high-pierced whine cuts through the darkness, it doesn’t hum. A mechanical whistle that travels across the freezing air. Without Freda’s heavy bass V8 thumping through his boots, the trees feel oddly silent, and that silence feels amplified.
After shoving his sketch book back into his backpack, Jakob makes his way over to the passenger side, and opens the door. He reaches a surprisingly firm leg up, but not high enough. Too used to Freda’s steps, Jakob misses his intended target and his boot hits nothing but the ground below him, hard. He recovers quickly, but is slightly angry with himself.
Briefly confused there’s no Greta, Jakob stops on the steps. But then Kevin’s hand is over his wrist and he looks up to find the man smiling down at him. He pulls Jakob in.
Kevin keeps pulling him in until Jakob lands near top of his chest, and wordlessly he wraps his long, slender arms around Jakob.
Dressed in his usual way, Kevin wears his signature red flannel, and jeans. His light brown hair has been trimmed slightly. Cut back neatly around the back and to the sides, it remains somewhat chaotic on top although it’s combed tidily to the right as usual. His soft facial features contrast beautifully with the sharp, strong sculptured angles of his cheekbones and jawline, which is dusted with stubble, as usual. His light green eyes seem to turn brown under the dim hue of the cab’s interior light. His thin lips are their usual soft pink, and are set in a gentle, welcoming smile.
Also dressed in his usual way, Jakob stands in his usual jeans, and Kevin’s oversized sweater. His light brown hair is also swept to the right, but hides under his signature beanie. His soft, light blue eyes have seem to have lost their spark, and his smile, usually bright and warm, is thin and almost forced. His round cheeks still hold a little pink from the harsh air, but otherwise Jakob looks to be drained; of his colour, and his presence.
“Other work!” Jakob mumbles into Kevin’s shoulder. The man’s only answer is to smooth down his beanie at the back of his head. Kevin, having already pressed other work, and perhaps deciding not to move until he was sure Jakob was calm, despite telling the man their timings would stay the same.
Pulling back slightly, Kevin smiles, and asks in a soft but bright tone, “Ready?”
Jakob pulls a face, he’s unsure.
“We can still-” Kevin starts.
“Maybe we should make a move,” Jakob nods, “Keep to our timings,” he reasons. The quicker they start, the quicker he can get back into Kevin’s arms, and right now he wants little more.
Kevin nods, he was thinking a similar thing, “Of course,” he smiles.
After turning and shuffling out his coat, Jakob looks behind the seat at the height Freda holds his coat, on a grey plastic coat-hook. He sees nothing, so he just leaves his coat on the bunk, and leaves his hat on.
Jakob sits near bolt up right, the seat feeling completely alien to him. He doesn’t take off his boots, or cross his legs, his knees stay level, bending at the edge of the seat padding. He reaches back blindly for his seatbelt at first, then turns to look where it is. After following it with his eyes into the buckle at his hip, his eyes land on Kevin.
Kevin looks near the same the badass God-tier driver he always does. He looks near at home, despite his surrounds looking out of place, the man himself does not. Sat the way he usually does, in his signature red flannel, his tall frame looks as graceful as it always does. He commands the drivers’ seat. Looking long and lean, cool and calm, his hands rest, as they always do, on the steering wheel, as his eyes flick from mirror to mirror, and that’s when Jakob notices them.
The mirrors.
They aren’t mirrors.
They are cameras. They are bright shinning screens. Even in the dim light. All they shine back currently is the metal of the rental cab, and their long snake like trailers of logs, that’s lit, as always, like a Christmas tree.
Jakob’s on edge. He’s not able to relax.
“Have you got your notebook there?” Kevin asks, bringing Jakob out of his panic briefly, and Jakob looks towards him with a questioning look. They haven’t yet pulled off, and now he’s noticed, Jakob wonders why.
“Always,” he murmurs.
“Stick this in it,” Kevin smiles, and his long arm stretches out towards the middle of the cab.
“Kevin!” Jakob cries as he notes the crumbled paper between the taller man’s fingers. He knows exactly what that is. “I can’t take this! You’ll get in trouble!”
“You’re worth it!” Kevin smiles as he turns his head to face Jakob, “...But to reassure you, I sent in a copy.”
“You can do that?” Jakob asks, with genuine curiosity.
“I did this once!” Kevin’s tone is a little firm. But Jakob doesn’t catch it. He’s out his seat and in his drivers’ lap, his arms wrapped around his neck, face burying in a shoulder.
“I’ll never ask for another one again!” he promises through the tears. Already on edge, stressed and now panicking about the strange mirror set up, Jakob pours all his emotions into Kevin’s shoulder.
Wordlessly, Kevin holds him.
With a little giggle that near instantly dries the tears in his eyes, Jakob realises he hasn’t yet kissed Kevin. The lack of Greta, a coat hook, and the foreign feeling cab completely throwing him off. He hadn’t even noted that was perhaps what Kevin was gently requesting earlier.
With a bright smile that almost reflects a glint in his wet eyes, Jakob turns to Kevin.
“I forgot to kiss you!” he sounds sad, and alarmed. His voice is quiet, but packs panic and upset together in a near pleading tone.
“No worries,” Kevin smiles, “You can do it now if you-”
“Yes!” Jakob lets out a little squeak as he throws his arms around Kevin’s neck and pulls him down into a deep, breathless kiss, crumbling the already scrunched-up weighbridge ticket further.
Kevin’s lips are, as they usually are, warm, soft, and incredibly welcoming. His breath is coated in his usual rich, deep, and totally grounding coffee scent and flavour. Jakob drinks him in.
Jakob sighs against his thin lips, Kevin is the only thing here unchanging. Never happy with just one small taste he reconnects their lips.
Never wanting to leave Kevin anyway, but especially today, Jakob slowly shuffles out of his driver’s lap. He walks the few steps over to the passenger seat with the same slow speed. Shuffling more than walking. But he knows they have to move. The cab is already getting to him, so much so he forgot to kiss Kevin this morning.
Sighing heavily, Jakob sits, and re-buckles his seatbelt.
Looking down at the weighbridge ticket he holds in his hand, Jakob reflects on how much it means to him. This is the first weighbridge ticket he ever held.
It holds so much more meaning to him than the Finnish Transport Authority will ever know!
But Kevin knows. Kevin’s willing to get in trouble for him. Kevin’s willing to face down the entire Finnish Transport Authority just for Jakob to have his first ever weighbridge ticket. Just because Jakob asked last week. Kevin found a way.
Kevin always finds a way.
And now that Jakob knows what Kevin whispers to them before signing them, these tickets are priceless.
Jakob almost wants to take it home and frame it.
“Ready?” Kevin asks.
Jakob nods, he’s still looking down at the weighbridge ticket in his hands, a tear reforms in his eye.
Kevin begins the procedure to pull away from the gravel car park. It feels entirely different, near alien compared to Freda.
“It doesn’t- It sounds so different!” Jakob’s breath is shaky. His eyes are staring at the floor. Freda has a heartbeat, which is, like Kevin’s, a slow, steady heartbeat. She, like her driver, is predictable, comforting, and warm. The engine below his feet sounds nothing like that. Feels nothing like that.
Instead of a rhythmic heartbeat, it sounds mechanical. It lacks any grounding pulse. And Jakob needs that now. Without it, Jakob feels lost. Lightweight and floating, but not pleasantly so. He’s in a void.
It’s not a comforting vibration. It’s sterile, sharp, and constantly buzzes.
With Freda, Jakob near filters out her pleasant hum. It’s a background noise almost unheard in it’s steady, grounding comfort. This engine feels like it’s pushing a wall of noise straight against his ear. He can’t process it.
“I can put the radio on?” Kevin offers, with a smile.
Jakob looks with horror over to where Freda houses her CB radio, above the windscreen. It’s in a slightly different place in this cab, but Kevin knows.
“Not- Not that one,” he smiles with a reassuring tone.
“I don’t- I don’t know!” Jakob sighs heavily. The noise from the radio could distract from the strange mechanical buzzing of the engine, but equally it could add to the overwhelming commotion in his mind. It could add to the chaos, rather than mask it.
“No worries, we can try it, and if it doesn’t help, we’ll turn it off again. okay?” Kevin offers. When he asks ‘okay?’ he turns to Jakob, otherwise his steady gaze stays on the icy asphalt in front of them.
Jakob nods, “Okay!” he says, not looking up.
Reaching into his backpack, Jakob pulls out his notebook. After sliding the weighbridge ticket between the pages towards the back, Jakob flicks through to Kevin’s entry. It remains Kevin’s only entry (aside from christening Freda). But the words hold so much meaning.
Jakob takes his finger and runs it first over the top of the words, then on the underside. He kept as much of the space around it as he could free, and right now, he is grateful to his past self for that.
Jakob doesn’t even like the song. It’s not the point. He hears the words;
“to the best co-pilot in Finland, sitting in the over-sized sweater, thank you for keeping my passenger seat warm”
and somehow he knows that’s a dedication from Kevin. He’s sure there was words before and after the dedication.
Too elated to question how Kevin managed to do it unseen or unheard, Jakob turns to Kevin just as slowly as the blush colours his cheeks with a light dusting of pink.
Kevin’s just told the entirety of Finland he loves Jakob. Again. But over completely different airwaves on a much wider frequency.
“Kevin? Can you pull over?” Even though he coughs, Jakob’s voice sounds raw, and rough. Like he’s just woken up, or ran a marathon.
“Of course!” Kevin smiles, his tone is bright, and voice light. He would do anything Jakob asks, almost without question; he proved that last week with his great pencil sharpener hunt.
“I want… I want to hug you!” Jakob mumbles in explanation, voice barely audible. He looks over to Kevin, a small smile forms.
Before the tear falls from Kevin’s cheek, he’s put on the indicator.
Jakob beings slowly shuffling back to his seat with dread. He doesn’t want to sit back down. He doesn’t want to stay in this foreign feeling place any more. His head hurts; it hums at a frequency he cannot deal with, at a pace and tempo completely out of scope for his usual Thursdays. It’s louder, and running a completely different melody. The fuzz is everywhere, and he simply cannot quieten it.
He’s too chocked up in it for even Kevin to break through. In fact, apart from when he watched the man professionally set off, and take charge with his usual causal command, Jakob’s barely processed Kevin’s presence. Such is Kevin’s place when driving, he’s always so calm, so professional. He doesn’t speak, or otherwise draw attention to himself.
The ride feels different. The suspension is stiff. It doesn’t sway like Freda does. Instead it jitters and bounces, and these micro vibrations make the windscreen look like it’s shaking. It feels like the horizon is. Jakob already feels totally unanchored.
He feels like he isn’t moving smoothly, but he knows they are. He trusts Kevin completely to keep them moving smoothly, even though it feels like the cab is going to slide off the highway as it crests every little bump, every small ice patch, even tiny rut.
He knows he is moving smoothly. He can hear he is. It’s all he can hear. The never-ending mechanical buzzing. He can feel he is. It’s all he can feel. The continuing pull the truck with it’s rough, jarring shudder as it struggles where Freda carries their payload near effortlessly. He can see he is. It’s all he can see. The constant blinding light in the glossy images the mirror cameras beam straight into his eyes.
But he still feels like he’s lost in that void.
Jakob’s fingers run across Kevin’s words again, and he begins to absently trace them over and over. He’s desperately trying to ground himself. Trying to find some to anchor him to the reality of a world he doesn’t want to be present in.
As the pale, low, morning winter sun finally cuts through the dawn sky, and Route 66 begins to fill with commuters, the true horror of those mirror screens hits Jakob. Due to their high definition, the cars behind them don’t look like they are gliding smoothly behind them, they look like they are inside the cab with him, riding on the boards alongside him. It blurs his depth perception, making him sick, and dizzy. The car behind them seems to be shinning it’s too bright LED lights right into his eyes. Even turning directly away from the screens doesn’t save Jakob; he catches the piercing lights in his peripheral. Like Kevin, it’s hard to turn away from, but unlike with Kevin, Jakob willingly wants to be out of its sight.
Even closing his eyes doesn’t help. He can still feel the harsh lights shinning directly into his eyes.
Jakob would take a breath, a long, shaky one if he could, but he doesn’t feel like he can even breathe.
Suddenly, Kevin’s coat wrapped into a tight ball lands in his lap. He looks up and over to Kevin, the whites of his eyes look bloodshot. Kevin simply nods with a slight smile, as he continues to guide their trailers with his usual pose and grace.
It’s nothing like Greta at all. But it’s soft, and offers some warmth. It’s a small round lump on his lap, and it offers Jakob something else to focus on. His fingers dive into the fur lining around Kevin’s hood. It’s far softer, and shorter than Greta’s, but his fingers happy play amongst its tiny brown hairs.
From the driver’s seat, Kevin smiles to himself as he looks over to Jakob. He’s been checking the right hand mirror a little more, and spending a little longer looking over at it as his eyes flick to to his co-pilot looking so small, near vulnerable, in the passenger seat.
He knows it’s nothing like their tiny dog, but he’s noticed Jakob’s fingers, hidden completely by his oversized sleeves, have been moving in a way suggesting he is attempting to stroke the non-existent dog. Jakob keeps looking down, keeps looking at his lap. It’s the least he can do; he can’t hold Jakob, he can’t change anything about the environment Jakob is clearly struggling with.
And Kevin knows Jakob is struggling. His beanie is still on, he’s not writing or drawing in the notebook even though it’s out and open. He’s not tracking any apps. There was no weather report this morning, and Jakob’s not spoken since requesting a hug, and even that was mumbled at such a low volume.
Kevin doesn’t know just how much Jakob is struggling.
Jakob mindlessly runs his fingers over Kevin’s words again.
🚚
As Kevin pulls into Jalastuuli’s grey, bleak truck car park, and parks as close to their usual spot as he can, he looks over to Jakob. He sees a man near in the same state as that frozen boy at the ABC in Helsinki, seven weeks ago. Blinking, Kevin takes a quiet moment to reflect on just how much Jakob had grown in those few weeks. How different he usual is. And just how much this one small change has taken him straight back there.
Jakob’s looking into the middle distance with unfocused eyes. The fingers of one hand running over the underside of Kevin’s entry tracing the indents, the other has fingers in the short furred lining of Kevin’s hood.
After sighing softly, Kevin turns off the ignition, sets the tachograph, then stands, and wordlessly walks over the flat floor he fought all week to ensure he secured, for he knew that was one thing they would need.
Silently, he moves his coat. Gently, he pulls the notebook out from under Jakob’s fingers. Jakob’s fingers still move like the words are there. Kevin doesn’t say anything still, instead, with grace, he undoes Jakob’s seatbelt, puts one arm under the smaller man’s knees and the other wraps around his waist, then Kevin lifts Jakob out the passenger seat. Turning with Jakob in his arms, Kevin takes one step over the flat floor and places Jakob softly on the bunk.
Kevin handles Jakob like he’s made of glass; moving slowly, carefully, gently.
He gets in beside Jakob and pulls him in, as close to him as he can. He lifts his head, tucking Jakob under his chin, and he holds Jakob. His flat wide palms start to stroke Jakob’s back, and he only stops when he hears Jakob softly snoring.
With an eye on his watch, Kevin continues to just hold him. He wants to be the voice Jakob wakes to. He knows he needs to be, not the loud piercing sound of the tachograph.
"Dröm söta, min andrepilot!" Kevin whispers.
Shaking Jakob in the way he does at the sawmill, Kevin brings Jakob around to the harsh reality he doesn’t want to be in, with minutes to spare.
“Wake up, co-pilot. We have a drive soon,” he whispers, low and soft.
Kevin stands, and with a hand under Jakob’s knees, and one around his waist, he again lifts Jakob and carries the smaller man to back to the passenger seat.
Wordlessly, he leans over and clips Jakob back in to the passenger seat. In his somewhat sleepy haze, Jakob looks cute, and briefly alert as his bright wide eyes scan Jalastuuli car park like he’s seeing it for the first time. Yet, Kevin knows he’s not yet functioning because there was no reaction when his hand brushed Jakob’s soft stomach, and he deliberately brushed it against his sweater, and lingered.
Kevin drops on his knees, legs parting wide, and he looks up to Jakob with a soft, steady gaze. Dazed, Jakob doesn’t seem to notice him.
“Kiss?” Kevin asks softly, as he balls his coat up and places in back in Jakob’s lap.
“Not right now, Kevin,” Jakob says, voice seemingly lacking tone. He doesn’t turn to look at Kevin, and more speaks to the mirror where his eyeline seems to stare, “My brain is hurting”
Kevin nods, and offers Jakob a small, soft smile. Although the smaller is still not looking his way.
Standing, Kevin whispers, “Then let the system rest” and places his hand softly on his co-pilot’s shoulder, before he makes his way over to the driver’s seat, just in time to silence the tachograph. Kevin also silences the radio, it’s obviously not helping, although Jakob’s not been able to voice that.
With one last look over to Jakob, who appears frozen, with soulless eyes, and an unmoving, non-blinking gaze, Kevin starts their hired machine. He doesn’t ask if Jakob is ready, or say anything else, he simply continues over Route 66.
Mindlessly, Jakob reaches for his notebook, and without looking he flips to the page with Kevin’s entry on. His fingers able to recognise the indents seemingly independently now. Jakob continues to run over the words again and again, while his other hands seeks the fur lining of the winter coat in his lap.
🚚
Frustratingly, there is no wait at the Sawmill. Kevin was hoping to reach out to Jakob and provide some much needed comfort.
The poor boy doesn’t even reach out to grab the prized weighbridge ticket. He doesn’t even seem to notice it hanging in the dead air between them as Kevin wordlessly holds it out. Still staring off into the middle distance, Jakob doesn’t seem to react to anything. Even Kevin’s heavy sigh does nothing to shift his attention. Kevin had hoped Jakob would come around by now, hoped that the sleep he clearly needed would have calmed him, or settled him a little more.
Instead, Kevin leaves the ticket on the dashboard in front of him, and rolls forward wordlessly to the next automated box. Even though, Jakob’s position still hasn’t moved, Kevin still holds up two fingers and swings the hired cab into a familiar looking bay.
Kevin doesn’t need to look over to Jakob to check he wants to help, he already knows the boy has completely shut down again. Still, Kevin looks over Jakob. One hand is buried in Kevin’s coat hood, the other is running back and forth over a page in his notebook, Jakob is has he was when they left Jalastuuli. With a small nod , mostly to himself, Kevin gets out to undo the chains.
Once back in the cab, Kevin wordlessly walks across the flat floor, to again undo Jakob’s seatbelt. Removing his coat slowly from Jakob’s lap, Kevin notes Jakob’s fingers are running over the rubbing he took from the clipboard. Not for the first time this journey, Kevin, too, is wishing he had a Scania. Even just a hired one. It may have been enough to calm Jakob. But the Renault has completely thrown him. Even after he talked his co-pilot through this cab’s metrics, and geometry.
Carefully, Kevin removes the notebook from Jakob’s fingers. For a beat, Jakob’s fingers still make the motion of rubbing, then stops, but he doesn’t turn to Kevin.
Sliding one arm under Jakob’s knees, and one around his waist, Kevin lifts Jakob again. This time he drops them, as slowly and as carefully as he can, down on to the floor. Holding Jakob the same way he usually does, with his arms tightly around Jakob’s shaking, but rigid frame, Kevin tucks Jakob’s head under his chin.
Being just as fragile as glass, Kevin continues to handle Jakob like he could break at any second.
Kevin waits for a short time once the machine is done, and just continues to hold Jakob, before he stands with Jakob still nested into him, and gently, and carefully, puts his co-pilot back into the passenger seat.
Jakob doesn’t even suck in a breath as Kevin belts him back in. He looks exhausted. Reaching out, Kevin locates his own coat, and bundles it up into a soft ball. He tucks it under one of Jakob’s hands, then he grabs the smaller man’s notebook and places it on top of the coat.
Sighing, Kevin ruffles Jakob’s beanie, but the man doesn’t even seem to blink. He doesn’t giggle, or even smile. He doesn’t call Kevin ridiculous. He doesn’t even appear to breathe.
Letting out another deep, heavy sigh, Kevin walks back over to the drivers’ seat.
At the second weighbridge, Kevin doesn’t even offer Jakob the ticket. He takes both tickets, and stores them in the door pocket. He’ll sign them later, and file them once he gets back home.
Without saying anything, Kevin drives on to Alavus. He tries not to break the speed limit, as he counts the miles and minutes until he can hold and comfort Jakob again.