Work Text:
Max stared at the telephone poles passing by as the duo drove past. The poles could have been a form of watching the distance traveled go by, but, to him, they were nothing more than a constant companion, a promised presence, even as the sun hid behind the clouds or fell below the horizon- even as the other cars passed, and the traffic came and went.
There weren’t many constants left in Max’s life, they supposed- other than perhaps the never-ending weight on his chest or the ever-present dark swarm around his head. Izan would disagree, of course, if he ever spoke such a thought out loud, claiming that he was now Max’s constant, but Max had heard that before, and he was tired. Tired of promises made by beings incapable of ever keeping them, and tired of believing them.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to get into a near-stranger’s car and let said stranger drive the two of them anywhere and nowhere, but Max had nowhere else to be. They were eighteen now- officially kicked from the only home he had ever known, officially alone. So, there he sat, watching the phone poles pass.
Distantly, he could hear Izan lightly humming whatever song was buzzing about his head, but they didn’t mind the noise. They didn’t mind Izan’s presence. Most people he found overstimulating after a while, but Izan- Izan was different. Max still found themself getting overstimulated at times, but nothing like he normally would from the people in their old school or homes.
Izan was calm, like watching the ocean on a breezy, sunny day. He wasn’t quiet necessarily, nor was he devoid of movement, but that was part of his calm. He was the perfect mixture of a storm on the horizon and the warmth of the ground one sits on to watch it approach. He was beginning to be Max’s telephone pole, beginning to be a forever sought-after constant.
Max snorted to himself a bit- comparing a human being to a telephone pole seemed silly, but it fit. They always found it easier to compare people to things or colors. It always seemed more black and white that way- easier to remember, and easier to handle. Originally, Izan had been a feather with a sharp point- seemingly going wherever the wind took him, yet with the possibility of stabbing whoever joined his gliding. Now, Max wasn’t quite sure. They supposed that right now, perhaps Izan was a gust of wind himself- guiding Max along this journey with no end in sight.
As Max leaned back in his seat and, as he let the gust of wind seated beside them guide him further, they smiled. The telephone poles, ever passing outside of the window he gazed out of, seemed to be smiling back.