Fih

"Hello, Maxy!"

Daniel's smile is as bright as ever, as if he hadn't just tried to give Max a workplace injury, as brilliant as the offensively reflective yellow jacket he's wearing, and Max's heart very much doesn't beat faster at the sight of him.

"One day I will sue you," he grumbles, pushing to his feet and dropping his wrench in the toolbox with a clang, swapping it for a dirty cloth, uselessly trying to wipe his hands.

"And that will be a wonderful day for everyone wishing to see me in formal attire," Daniel replies, hoisting himself up on the hood of the vehicle, ignoring Max's glare.

"If you push it off the stand I will make you lift it back up with your bare hands," Max threatens, but then gives up and moves closer, letting Daniel awkwardly stretch him into a hug. "You've been gone a while."

Daniel shrugs, then immediately stops when the whole vehicle groans and shudders, smiling wider at Max's narrowed eyes.

"I'm a busy man, Maximus, can't always hang around here looking pretty! But I have missed you too."

"I haven't missed you," Max replies automatically, giving up on the dirty rag and simply wiping grease on his overalls, then going back to root around for his water flask. It's a lie, they both know it, but Daniel doesn't call him out on it, nor on the way his cheeks has grown pink with it.

"Fear not though," he says instead, opening his arms wide, full of theatrics as usual, "because I am here to offer you a job. With me."

"I have a job," Max tells him, even before the words have fully registered in his brain. "You are at my job, actually. Right now. Not letting me do my job."

Daniel shakes his head, fake disappointment curving his lips in a pout.

"Come on, Maxy, aren't you bored? Don't you want to come on an adventure?"

"First," Max says, walking closer again, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and grimacing at the feeling of grit the sip of water he has taken leaves behind, "you said job, not adventure."

Daniel opens his mouth, but Max reaches forward, putting his still grease-streaked hand on it.

"And second, we can't all leave everything behind every time we feel like it. I have orders to complete."

It's a bit mean, he knows it is, even before he can catch the way Daniel's eyes darken a little, his jaw working under his fingers. He takes his hand away and Daniel frowns at him, crossing his arms.

"I have never left you behind," he says, voice serious now, all fake dramatics gone.

You have, Max wants to say. Every time he has had to watch Daniel's back disappear into the sandy dust, every time he's had to wait day after day to even know if he was still alive, every time he's had to swallow down a joke or a comment because the person he wanted to tell it to wasn't there, it has felt like being left behind.

In a way it's not Daniel's fault that Max had decided to stay at the shop when he had instead decided to find his coins somewhere else, but that doesn't make Max's days less lonely.

Daniel must have thought the same, because his gaze gentles again, his posture softening, hands dropping on the hood again.

"I have always come back," he says, and at least this Max can't deny.

For now.

"What's the job?" he asks instead, dragging his eyes away from Daniel's serious gaze, the smudge of dark grease in the shape of Max's fingers on his cheek. He takes another sip of gritty water, grimaces again, then drops the flask back down in the toolbox too.

"I have a delivery," Daniel tells him, careless ease back into his body, legs swinging back and forth and bumping into the front bumper rhythmically. "I have to drop some stuff for some people. I'd usually go alone, you know, but I have to cross the canyons and I could use someone watching my back."

"And a covered vehicle, I assume?"

Daniel smiles, zero shame hidden in it. "Got me, Maxy! A flying one, if you can spare it. My bike isn't exactly made for dry season in the canyons."

Max nods, trying to imagine Daniel being able to pack enough water on his bike for the trip, even without whatever stuff he has to deliver.

"How many days?"

He hasn't said yes, but the question itself is a big enough hint that Daniel's smile widens again, fingers tapping happily on the scratched hood.

"Ten days, top! It's a five days trip, but you know how the canyons are, you never know."

Max sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, only remembering the grease there when he feels it leaving streaks on his skin. He'll have to reorganize his week, figure out a list of tasks to leave behind in his absence, and...

"I will come, if," he says forcefully, interrupting Daniel's victorious whoop, "you can convince Val and Alex to come in every day and finish the orders we have while I am not here."

Daniel's face drops.

"Shit Maxy, Alex and Val? Are you serious?"

Max shrugs, reaching forward to grab a fistful of Daniel's reflective jacket.

"I have told you, I have a job. I of course need to make sure the job gets done. If you can't convince Valtteri to come in, then maybe he can be the one to come with you."

He doesn't wait for Daniel's reply before pulling him off the ground vehicle. "And don't sit on my clients' stuff."

--

"Damn Maxy, where were you hiding this?"

Daniel stares at the hopper with his mouth half open, eyes wide, and Max feels a flutter of pride in his chest as he tries not to smile, focusing on folding the tarp that had been protecting it from the dust.

"I bought it a bit ago for scraps," he tells Daniel, "but then I saw that of course it was much better than the seller believed, and it could be fixed up. So I did."

"That's amazing, Max, really. It looks brand new!"

Max snorts, shaking his head at Daniel's exaggeration. It doesn't look brand new, even if he had given it a new protective coat of paint, but he soaks up the praise nevertheless, thinking about the months he had spent working on it, late nights and early mornings, before and after his shifts at the shop.

"Is it good enough for your majesty?" he jokes, opening the hatch with a half bow.

Daniel laughs, curtsying at him with an imaginary skirt, before climbing aboard, swearing again in awe at the reupholstered seats. Max had left the small cargo bay almost unchanged, just fixed a few bumps and repainted it over, but he had worked on the rest of the interior a lot, fitting a whole new piloting module, seats, and even a narrow cot, with neat shelves and small cabinets on one side.

"This is incredible, Max, and you did it all yourself?"

Max nods, scratching his stubble, then pulling his hat off to scrub his hand through his hair.

"Mostly," he says, following Daniel aboard. "I had to buy a few things new, especially for the engine and the air barrier mechanism, and Adrian helped with fitting the new interior stuff. But other than that, yeah."

Daniel turns to face him, eyes shining and smile wide. "You're so fucking cool, mate, this is awesome!"

Max feels his face grow warm, his fingers itching to reach forward, to touch the curved corner of Daniel's lips, to grab the praise straight from the air and tuck it away underneath his tongue.

He turns around instead, jogging down the ramp again.

"Come on, let's load your stuff and go. I don't want to waste light."

--

Daniel sits beside him on the co-pilot seat, reaching out to touch the commands before Max can slap his hands away.

"I get us out of here," Max tells him, holding his wrists, trying not to focus on the feeling of tendons straining beneath the tan skin, "and then if you want you can drive."

Daniel pouts at him, batting his eyelashes in a way that should be ridiculous, but somehow isn't.

"Aw Maxy, you break my heart!"

Max rolls his eyes, but Daniel doesn't move again when Max lets him go, starting the launch sequence.

The hopper vibrates underneath them, engine sputtering for a moment, metal groaning.

When Max glances over again, Daniel is sitting stiffly, back pressed in the seat, skin unusually pale.

"Not that I don't trust you," he says, voice almost getting lost under the noise, echoing in the small space of Max's garage and reverberating back at them, "but you have brought it out before, yes?"

Max grins, feeling the sharpness of it on his teeth.

"Maybe," he says, adrenaline surging into his veins. Daniel opens his mouth again, but whatever words were on his tongue get all turned into a yelp as Max launches the hopper forward, bursting from the garage door into the dusty morning air.

The engine noise dies down as they reach altitude, quieting into a smooth hum that makes Max's fingers tingle in satisfaction as he guides the hopper into a glide, lining it up with their projected course.

"I guess it flies," he says, turning to look at Daniel.

A stunned laugh bursts from Daniel's chest, loud and delighted in the small cockpit, sending sparks of warmth into Max's gut.

"Guess it does, Maxy, guess it really fucking does!"

--

During the first day of travel Max discovers, or better, remembers four things.

First, that Daniel has a truly horrible taste in music, and he will force Max to fiddle around with the radio until instead of picking up actual useful channels they're listening to whatever dirt-road-robot-classic thing this is.

Second, that Daniel never travels without snacks. Of course, Max has filled the hopper with food for their trip, but they're barely an hour into the flight when Daniel pulls up his backpack and starts offering dried vegetable chips and sweet red worms to him.

Third, that Daniel looks really fucking hot while flying a hopper, all focused gaze and quick, slender fingers. So hot that Max has to actually excuse himself to his (fully renovated) toilet to have a stern talk with his dick.

Fourth, that none of the times Daniel had showed up either at his house or the shop in the last few years, the fleeting hours and stolen moments, had been enough to make Max miss him any less. And that there's nothing that can compare to uninterrupted extended Daniel time.

So Max leans back in his seat, listens to him sing and watches him push the navigation button with vegetable chip dusted fingers, and tries to store it all away, for when Daniel will be gone again.

--

They're not quite at the canyons by the time they start looking for a place to land for the night, but they can almost make out the shape of them in the distance, barely hidden in the perennial ocher dust coating the atmosphere of the planet.

Max had been the one driving for the past few hours, eyes beginning to tire in the ever-growing darkness, so it's up to Daniel to pull up the navigation satellite information, finding a dip in the terrain where they will at least be protected by the wind.

They're lucky, it's a mostly clear night, but they both know how quickly the weather can change when the temperatures drop, and they're not eager to get toppled over by a too strong gust.

Max lands the hopper smoothly, retractable feet hitting the ground with a thump, raising clouds of dust and making something scuttle away, dark carapace disappearing in the dusk.

They eat on the lowered ramp, shoulders brushing and elbows bumping, the music still coming from the cockpit flying past them to meet the sounds of the plain, chirping, crackling and whooshing around the hopper.

"We can sleep in shifts on the cot, if you want," Max tells Daniel, leaning back on his hands to look up at the sky, trying to make out the stars past the ever-swirling dust and the glow of the planet rings. "You can go first."

For a moment it looks like Daniel wants to argue, but then he nods, standing up with a squeeze of Max's shoulder.

"Don't fall asleep out here, champ," he murmurs, before heading back inside.

Max listens to him moving around, switching the radio to a weather update channel and lowering the volume, turning on the beeping of the ground radar, then going in the bathroom. He closes his eyes, picturing his hands moving the blankets from the closed cabinet to the cot, then the curve of his body, laying down with a soft sigh.

The night starts to turn chilly around him and Max shivers, sliding up closer to the air barrier at the hatch, breathing in time with the hum of the hopper's systems, ready to start his watch.

--

"Time isit." The words tumble in a slur off Daniel's sleepy tongue when Max shakes him awake with cold fingers, eyelids heavy with fatigue.

"Past moonset," Max whispers, stepping back to let Daniel swing his legs out of the cot.

The night is deep and blue, the silence tinged with the whistling of the wind and the calls of unseen creatures, the air now too cold to let the hatch open.

"Saw a sand elk earlier, running, so I pulled up the ramp," Max tells Daniel, shrugging off his jacket as he takes his place in the sleep-warm cot. "And the radar keeps beeping about underground activity, so keep an eye."

Even in the few lights still on in the cockpit, Daniel's smile is bright, a flash of sunshine in the night.

"I got you, Maxy, don't worry. Go to sleep. I'll wake you up at sunrise."

Max hums, letting his head drop on the pillow, burying his nose in Daniel's scent.

"Can do earlier if you get sleepy," he manages to slur, already halfway gone.

Daniel's laughter is soft in the darkness, gentle fingers fixing the blanket on Max's shoulder.

"Sleep, Max," he orders.

Max sleeps.

--

They reach the canyons before midday, the orange rock formations raising from the dusty fog in stages, sunshine slicing through them in harsh cuts, trying to reach the greedy fingers of the few trees braving the environment.

Max is driving again, carefully piloting the hopper inside the first canyon, trying to steer clear of the walls on either side of them. Daniel's eyes are sharp on the radar and on the target lock sensor, tense hands laying close to the co-pilot emergency controls.

The canyons didn't use to be as dangerous, if not for the narrow gorges and the unpredictable wind currents, and Max remembers listening with rapt attention to the stories of the older kids racing with the old winged scooters in here. It's been years though, and now they've become the perfect place for bandits to trap and rob people in, using the small visibility and difficult navigation to their best advantage.

Max is pretty sure he'd be able to outrun them if it came down to it, but he really doesn't want to risk it, especially with Daniel aboard.

"There's a crossroad up head," Daniel tells him, flipping the navigation map around so that Max can glance at it. "I think you should take the left, so we can then meet this broader path here."

Max hums, considering.

"The left has a ledge though, seems like a good place to jump people from."

"And the right ends up in a ninety degree angle with zero visibility," Daniel retorts, snappy. "Take the fucking left."

Max rolls his eyes, but takes the left. Daniel's hand doesn't relax on the piloting module until they're past the narrower point.

"Daniel," Max calls in a quiet voice once they're in a bigger valley, wide enough to have trees on the bottom, a dry channel that must be a stream in the wet season carving its way in the middle of it.

Daniel turns to look at him, back tense and shoulders tight.

"Relax, please." Max half smiles at him, leaving the wheel to squeeze his knee. "I got it."

Daniel huffs, muttering something about over-confidence, but then he lays back a little on his seat, jaw unclenching.

--

They only land for the night, alternating who's driving for the whole day to give the other a chance to eat and stretch, not wanting to invite unnecessary danger, and by the time they bring the hopper to a stop at the top of a particularly tall rock Max feels exhausted, the tension of the day weighting on his shoulders.

Daniel turns his music back on after having it off for the whole day, and they risk dropping the ramp to get some fresh air again.

The sky is clearer this high up, the usual dust blurring the ground far beneath them, and Daniel uses his free hand to point out constellations as they eat, telling Max a story for each one of them. Max doesn't really care if he's making all of them up, doesn't really have the energy to follow Daniel's finger in the sky, settling for enjoying the sound of his voice instead.

By the time the food is gone, Max has let his head drop on Daniel's shoulder, eyes half closed, humming along to his words, not really processing any of them until they slow down, and Daniel falls quiet too.

There aren't as many animal sounds up here, only the wind and the soft rhythm of their breathing, the hum of the hopper and the creaking of the cooling metal.

"You should get in the cot," Daniel whispers after a while, gentle fingers brushing at Max's hair. He hums but doesn't move, burrowing further into Daniel's warmth instead, tucking his nose against his neck.

Daniel doesn't push, but the next time Max fully wakes up he's in the cot, blanket tucked up to his chin.

--

"Next up you should go right," Daniel says, approximately 30 seconds before Max finds himself veering upwards, trying to avoid a wooden barricade closing the narrowest point of the canyon.

"Fuck!" he swears, barely managing to steer the hopper in an almost vertical swoop, left side scraping against the rocks. "Fuck, check the radar!"

He wrestles with the wheel as Daniel scrambles for the radar, swearing too, trying to make sense of the pings in between the frantic beeping caused by Max's tense maneuvers.

"Ship!" he shouts, swearing again. "Coming up behind us!"

"Fuck, put your fucking five points on!"

Max listens to the click of Daniel's harness clicking into place, then takes a breath and dives.

The engine screams at him, the controls beeping warnings and flashing errors, Daniel swearing again, but Max ignores it all, focusing on sliding down as close as possible to the barricade without crashing, turning the hopper around at the last possible second to swoop underneath the incoming ship, darting to the right to avoid a targeting lock.

"Get the fucking navigation up," he orders, pointing the nose of the hopper straight up towards the sky just as the bandit's ship tries to follow them towards the bottom of the gorge. "I want the highest closest peak you can find."

If there is one thing Max knows, that's how vehicle works. Ground, water, sky vehicles, it doesn't matter, he knows. And he can tell by how chunky the bandits' ship is that it's made for two things: tanking hits and hitting back harder. It's not slow, couldn't be if they want to trap people in the canyons, but it's not made for altitude, nor for quick direction changes, especially if who's driving is not as good as he is. Max on the other hand built his hopper for two things: flying fast and flying high.

He's not losing this.

"Left."

Daniel's order comes quick and precise, just a second before Max has to make the actual turn, and he follows it without question, pushing the wheel forward with gritted teeth, ignoring the whine of the engine. The screen on his right flashes a warning.

"We have a target lock, Daniel. We need to go up."

"I know," Daniel replies, tense and annoyed, "but if you go up now you'll get stuck in the current, we need to find a transversal channel first. Left!"

Max swears, jerking the wheel. The wall right behind them explodes in a shower of red splinters as the bandits fire on them.

"Right, then up."

Daniel's voice is firm and steady, and Max doesn't hesitate. He follows the rock higher and higher, until the engine is groaning and the ship is vibrating around them, then, right when he's thinking they will have to change their plan, the peak levels in a flat top, and he jerks the wheel again, straightening the ship.

"How long can you keep this altitude?" Daniel asks, checking the radar and then navigation again.

"As long as we need," Max replies grimly, even as he eases up a little, slowing down just enough to let the engine breathe. "Find a way back to the route, we'll go down when we can."

"Max..."

"Daniel." Max turns for a second to glare at Daniel, mouth set in a line. "Find a way back. I will get you there."

Daniel stares at him for a long moment, then nods, just once, before grabbing the navigation panel.

--

Max slumps back in the sit once they're once again inside the canyons, no trace of a ship on their radar, adrenaline slowly seeping out of his system, leaving his heart racing. He doesn't let go of the wheel, eyes staying fixed ahead, but he allows himself to blink, to relax a little.

He listens to Daniel unfasten his harness, then his seatbelt, and finally stand up, going to rummage in one of the cabinets.

"Here," he says, dropping back in the seat beside Max, offering him a flask of water. Max shakes his head though, even as his throat clicks when he swallows, unwilling to take his hands away even for just a second.

If he had been just one moment slower at the barricade, if Daniel hadn't been quick with his directions...he doesn't want to think about it, and yet he can't stop, images of the broken hopper overlapping the sights outside the window.

"Maxy, hey." Daniel's voice is gentle, and Max shakes himself, blinking fast. "Let me drive for a moment?"

Max wants to say no. He wants to bring them up high again and stop the hopper somewhere safe and then curl up in Daniel's lap, listening to his heart beating. He wants to push the engine too fast and get out of the canyons as soon as possible.

He disengages the main piloting module, simultaneous transferring power to the co-pilot, watching Daniel's hands tighten on the second wheel.

He fumbles for the water, trying to stop his fingers from trembling, droplets running down his chin with his unsteadiness.

"I'm sorry I didn't see it coming," he finally says, voice raspy, holding on the flask like to an anchor.

Daniel snorts, not unkindly, shaking his head. "Max, you might as well have performed magic down there, with the way you got us out. You owe me zero apologies."

Warmth seeps into Max's chest, and he finally slumps forward, laying his forehead on the piloting module, heart slowing down.

"That fucking sucked," he groans, voice muffled.

Daniel's laugh still manages to make him smile.

--

They try to stop as late as they can, but it becomes too hard to navigate the narrow canyons in the dark, and Max finally concedes, bringing the hopper back up on top of a peak, double and triple checking the radar before finally landing.

They don't let the ramp down, eating in the piloting seats instead, radio turned down low as Daniel tells him about a previous delivery run on the other side of the planet, which had involved at least two submarines.

Max has never been on a submarine, they don't really have a place on this side of the planet, and Daniel delights in answering all his questions. Again, Max doesn't even care how much truth there is in his words, just happy to watch him talk, hands moving in the space between them.

After they are done eating they keep dragging it out, neither of them wanting to sleep first, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the edge of worry tugging at their nerves.

They're safer up here than they are in the gorges, but there's no real safe place in the canyons. They could be spotted from another peak, or with a good enough radar, and if the bandits have alternative ships it could be harder to escape. At the same time, it's impossible to keep flying, not with the way that the temperature drop makes the currents stronger, more unpredictable. Not with the way darkness conceals the sudden rises and dips of the terrain.

They sit side by side for a long time, until Daniel's word slow and his blinks become long, his hands finally resting in his lap.

"Go to sleep, Daniel," Max tells him, nudging his leg with a foot. "I'll wake you up in a few hours."

Daniel puts up a token argument, but in the end he goes to curl up in the cot, and Max watches as the shape of his shoulders loosens under the blanket, listens to his breathing deepening. Then he turns back around and focuses on the darkness outside, the steady beeping of the radar accompanying the passage of time.

--

"We lost some time yesterday," Daniel says as Max gets the hopper back in the air. It's not as bright of a morning, thin clouds veiling the sky, and Max frowns as he turns up the radio, listening to the weather report. He's not expecting a storm, luckily, but he doesn't like the wind speed forecasted for the day.

"We'll have to fly lower today," he tells Daniel, gently dipping back inside the canyon. "Currents are pretty shitty, but we might still make it out before night."

Daniel groans, thumping his head back on the headrest.

"Why the fuck would you say that, Maxy!"

--

Max swears as he narrowly avoids yet another crash, the wind whipping fast around the hopper, threatening to slam them against the rocks.

"Fucking...! Stupid wind!"

He jerks the wheel, trying to dip down under the current, only for the wind to grab them again, forcing him back up.

He's been wrestling with it all day and he is, quite honestly, exhausted. Daniel has offered to drive many times already, but as much as Max trusts him, he isn't going to hand over the commands when the weather is this risky, and that means that he's been the one piloting for the past several hours.

"Is it going to be worse up top?" Daniel asks, tiredly rubbing his shoulder as they get yanked to the side again, harness digging into him. "Try left."

Max grits his teeth, barely making it into a side canyon, the wind momentarily giving them some respite.

"No currents up top, but the wind is worse," he says, taking the chance to blink scrubbing a hand down his cheek. "We just need to keep going west I think, so that we're perpendicular to the wind, and hope we can still make it out tomorrow."

Daniel nods, flicking the navigation panel.

"Right next, then."

It's a long day.

--

It's a risk, but that night Max lands the hopper on a ledge along the walls of a larger canyon, after trying to land on top of a peak and almost being toppled over by the wind. His hands shake as he finally lets go of the wheel, muscles screaming.

He's never had to drive for this long, and he can barely stand up when he tries, shaky enough that Daniel has to brace him with a hand on his hip to stop him from falling over.

"I'm fine," Max says before Daniel can ask, carefully taking a few steps towards the bathroom. "I just need to stretch and eat."

"And sleep," Daniel adds, still eyeing him worriedly. "On the cot, not in your seat like last night."

Max rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue, feeling too tired to even protest. He just wants out of these damn canyons.

He doesn't exactly remember going to sleep, but when he wakes up it's still fully dark outside, and Daniel is just a vague shadow sitting at the piloting module, back hunched and elbows resting next to the wheel.

"Your turn," he mumbles, making no attempt at getting up, watching Daniel jump at the sound of his voice.

"Go back to sleep, Maxy, it's just been a few hours."

Max's back and shoulders ache, as do his legs, and he can't imagine Daniel is feeling much better after spending the whole day cramped in the seat.

"Y'should lie down," he mumbles, flopping a hand out of the blankets to gesture vaguely. "Come lie down."

The seat creaks slights as Daniel gets up, and his knees pop when he crouches down next to Max, warm hand landing right beside Max's cheek, an opportunity too good not to take it, as Max nuzzles it happily.

"You need to sleep, and I need to check the radar," Daniel says softly, the trace of a smile in his voice. "I can't lie down."

"Yes can," Max's words brush against Daniel's fingers. He wants to put them in his mouth, but that requires too much effort, so he just purses his lips, pressing a kiss on Daniel's skin, feeling it jump at the touch.

"Wind's too shitty for a trap in the dark," he mumbles, eyes closed again. "Lie down."

For a long moment Daniel doesn't move, letting Max slowly drift back towards sleep, but then he stands back up, a hand pushing at Max's shoulder.

"Scoot over then," he whispers, and Max does.

It's a tight fit, but Max solves it easily by pulling Daniel almost completely on top of himself, happily wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his nose in his hair, ignoring the way Daniel tenses, rigid and surprised above him.

"Stop that," he mutters, squeezing Daniel harder until he breathes out in a huff, "we're fine."

He's asleep again before he can check that Daniel is following the order.

--

"We're taking the fucking long way back, I don't give a fuck," Max groans as they fly through yet another narrow canyon. "Alex and Val will just have to keep the shop running a few days longer, I'm not doing this again."

Daniel gives a vague noise of assent, but doesn't reply.

He had been quiet all morning, ever since Max had woken up with his arms still around him, Daniel snoring gently in the curve of his shoulder, and he doesn't know if it's because Daniel has finally figured out how impossibly in love with him Max is and now is feeling awkward, or if he's figured it out and is now disgusted and trying to get whatever distance between them he can get in the cramped hopper. Or maybe both.

"I might stay in the city after, actually," Daniel finally says, voice forcefully neutral. "Waiting for another delivery. I will find my own way back."

Max refuses to look at him as the taste of rejection fills his mouth with bitterness.

--

The plains on the other side of the canyons are much greener than the ones Max is used to, the usual layer of dust being replaced by a grey layer of humidity that coats the short tree trunks in slimy moss.

They had made good time in the end, only a few hours behind schedule, and at this point Max is just eager to see the city raise in the distance.

After the stillness of the morning, Daniel had been keeping up a steady stream of chatter, even when he had taken his turn to drive, but the easy atmosphere of the first days had disappeared, replaced by a undercurrent of freezing tension. Max knows it's mostly his fault, as he had refused to participate in Daniel's charade of normality, but he can't really care about it, not when he can't stop thinking about the feeling of Daniel's sleeping body on top of his, about the guarded look he had sported since.

"We can get there tonight if we drive in the dark for a bit," Max says, interrupting Daniel's story about a friend of a friend of a friend getting married or dying or whatever.

Daniel's mouth snaps closed with a click, and he nods, looking surprised.

"Uh, yeah, if you think we can, then sure. You're the expert, eh Maximus?" he says, too cheerfully, rapping his fingers beside Max's wheel.

"Sure," Max replies flatly, pushing the engine just a little faster.

--

"Well, here we are!" Daniel jumps down the ramp, opening his arms wide. They have landed in a empty parking lot on the outskirts of the city, Max following Daniel's direction without questions. "Thanks for the ride, Maxy!"

Max nods, looking at him from the hatch, a neon light turning the top of Daniel's hair purple and blue.

He's going to help him unload his stuff, which by the way he still doesn't know what it is, and then Daniel is going to leave again, disappearing somewhere as Max goes back home. Waiting for him to come back, again and again, until one day Daniel won't, and Max will probably never know why.

Maybe it will be because he has finally settled down, or maybe because he's finally ended in jail for whatever shady business Max is sure he's conducting, or maybe he'll be dead, and Max won't know. Max won't know because he'll be in the shop, living his stupid lonely life, loving someone who doesn't want to stay.

"Hey now," Max glances up to find Daniel standing right in front of him, his smile a little lopsided, "don't look like that, Maxy, you'll make me sad."

Max tries to smile, forces one corner of his mouth up before giving up.

"I can wait," he mumbles, hating the way his voice cracks, "for your delivery. Fly you back."

Daniel's smile dims a little more, and he shakes his head.

"And leave the shop in Val's hands? Nah Maxy, you couldn't."

Max swallows, then finally nods, straightening his shoulders.

"I'll help you with the boxes," he says, because begging would be stupid.

It takes them exactly one trip to unload Daniel's three boxes, then Daniel wraps Max into a hug and steps back, gently pushing him towards the ramp.

"Come on champ, off you go!"

Max isn't really sure what happens next. One moment he's taking a step towards the hopper, head held high, smile fixed on his face, and the next he's turning around, grabbing Daniel's stupidly bright jacket and pressing their lips together too forcefully, stealing Daniel's surprised gasp from his tongue.

It's not the kiss he's always imagined, it's too rough and too short, but for a second, Daniel is kissing him back, and that's enough.

That should be enough.

Except that Daniel pushes him back, gently but firmly, and Max knows it isn't.

"Off you go," Daniel repeats, as if nothing had happened, even if there's something choked in the softness of his voice. "Long way home."

And all Max can do is nod, stepping back with frozen muscles, knowing that this kiss was the plea he couldn't voice, and this was always going to be Daniel's answer. If he shivers it's just from the chill of the night.

"I'll see you soon, then," he says, voice hollow.

"Of course."

As usual, Max doesn't question how much of it is the truth, he just walks in the hopper and closes the hatch.

Blood keeps dripping warm into his palm, snaking down his wrist, and he has no fucking time to wash it off—his gloves will have to suffice in hiding the copper streaks.He tears the tissue and stuffs it to his nostrils. His eyes water at the pain.

Quickly shouldering open the door, he tumbles out into the overcast afternoon and starts racing to the track, messily wiping blood and cursing the way his fingers flinch away, just slightly, every time he brings his hand up to his nose. It doesn't even hurt that fucking bad. He's being a baby.

He rehearses in his head what he'll say if anyone asks why he's covered in blood, streaks down his hands and face, running sticky into his mouth. It's not particularly dry today, but maybe if he says his nosebleeds are chronic. He just needs to figure out the word in English. If he says they are always happening, would people understand? It wouldn't even be a lie if he phrased it like that. It is always happening. My nose bleeding? Me, bleeding? It is always happening.

It's pointless anyway to plan excuses. Nobody ever does ask. Maybe it's better that way—some days, Max isn't sure he trusts himself to say the right things. To hide his bloody teeth well enough. To lie.

When Max gets to the track, his father is scowling. And his face may not be twisted into quite the gruesome image it was just a few minutes ago, inside their tent, his hand harsh in Max's hair, but it isn't much better.

Max struggles to breathe, but he tries not to show it, lest his father's face twist again. He still can't inhale through his nose, and his heart is pounding quick—from the running, from the race starting in just a few minutes. From the look in his father's eye as he grabbed Max's hair tight in his fist and slammed his face into the dusty metal workbench.

Trying to settle his heart rate, he holds his breath for a moment, focusing on the air heavy in his lungs.

Air used to be light. The track used to smell like fuel instead of iron. Maybe, if Max wins, he'll breathe in deep on the top step and remember what that feels like.

But right now, he releases his breath, and the force of it makes his nose twinge. A drop of blood snakes past his hands and into the dip of his lip, sitting on the precipice.

Max doesn't have anywhere to put his tissue—his father certainly isn't going to take it, and if he wastes even more time running to a trashcan instead of getting his ass in the kart, he's going to have even more hell to pay. He shoves as many of the still-clean squares he as can up his nose, trying to angle his face away so his father can't see the way tears gather at the corners of his eyes. The rest, he lets go of. It trails away in the breeze, blood-stained ghost weaving along the dusty ground.

His father hands him his gloves, and his balaclava, and his helmet. Snaps at him to get ready quicker.

Max fumbles, shoving shaky hands he's still cursing into his gloves, covering up the streaks. Nobody will see—his gloves are black. He'll scrub out the invisible blood himself back home.

His balaclava is white this week, and he can already hear his father's reprimands for ruining it, staining it red. Maybe, before he can say anything, Max will take it off and let it trail away in the breeze.