A/N: Ah, the guilty pleasures of unrequited slash. Short, again, I know – but hopefully it passes the "quality vs. quantity" examination (otherwise Amy might lynch me).
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Sometimes he wished for impossible things.
Sometimes, when all seemed futile, he wanted to change. Change. Change preference, lifestyle, identity. Change himself, change Chandler. Change his world. For better or worse, but always – change, change, change. And sometimes, when it overwhelmed him, he wanted to smother any impending change because he remembered that he hated change in the first place.
Those days he thanked God for consistency. That each day, week, month, year passed by like he would someday forget his hindrance and they could both just live like life was one giant unidentifiable blur.
Sometimes he wanted everything. Sometimes he wanted nothing – but not really nothing, because he forever wanted the privilege of being there; there, the counterpart, in the passenger seat, and even though he was hopeless with maps and Chandler refused to ask for directions, they would be okay. They could get somewhere – it all depended on where that somewhere was.
Or maybe – it was such a novelty to muse – maybe that didn't matter at all.
Maybe the destination doesn't matter at all.