Fang twirled Max's fallen feather in his hand. It was so small, so delicate in his hand. It had come away when he flanked Max's right side flying earlier that day. To his secret delight, it was one of the ones that sprouted in tufts right on the tip of her wings. Downy and soft, it was a mocha brown color, only muted.
Sometimes he was too nostalgic for his own good.
Sometimes his life was too much to remember.
All the colors, all the events, the people, the feelings…..overload. The accidental screams into absent air left him hollow, a shell. Returning like nothing happened; putting on a smooth plastic mask over the real truth….it was a decent escape. A skill, if you will. Because, he supposed, he was an actor. He was a protector of many other people, all carelessly tossing their real selves into the cruel world, crying when the fragile cracks proved deadly. He was appalled when he was one of those for Max. He thought she was stronger than that.
Sometimes her masks were more impenetrable than his.
Sometimes he liked that.
Honestly….it intrigued him. He'd seen her weakest moments, or so he thought. But countless hours behind locked doors hearing nothing but silence from the puzzled other side had convinced him otherwise. Surely she was an open book, the rational side argued, to you, her Fang.
Sometimes the other side was more rational, telling him that she needed someone to depend on.
When Iggy lost his eyesight, when Angel and Jeb left and betrayed her, when Gazzy erupted into pain at his sister's kidnapping….when she discovered her real Mom….he realized that she'd been alone. With no family to speak of…Max was his family, his best friend, his first love. His only love. She was the most astonishing creature he'd ever seen, every second ticking away making him more breathless and less understanding. More than a girl, more than a person, more than Max.
Sometimes, he realized that.
Like when he woke up earlier than anyone else and went flying. When he roosted (if could compare him to a bird) in the tallest tree he could find, staring at the moon. Round, full, pitted, glowing brightly and making him into the person he wanted to be. Into a leader who could….well, lead. A man who could show Max that she wasn't alone, that she was his and he was hers, and that anyone else that told her that she was ugly, or worthless or a failure was dead wrong. They hadn't seen her choke on her tears trying to keep up a thin front. They hadn't glimpsed white, puckered scars on her thighs. A father to Angel, and to the kids he someday hoped to hold to him and teach them how to fly. A brother to Iggy, a true, real brother to both him and Gazzy. A defender of all the others like him – those who had no one but themselves to discover. Everyone else, to Fang (except Max) were easily grasped. He could tell their feelings, their goals.
Sometimes it was better he kept his mouth shut.
The fears just knocked and pummeled and pushed to be free. He learned to keep quiet, to whisper his confessions with the moon as his priest, with the stars as his audience. It was comforting when nothing else was.
Sometimes it was the single thing that made sense.