As Axl drives them through Kansas, they pass by vast seas of viridian and gold, barley and wheat swaying delicately as though dancing along to the tune of the wind's despairing howls. Izzy could see Axl through his peripheral vision, the man's mane of red hair resembling the red grain in the fields encompassing their car.
Except looking at Axl, Izzy saw something much more entrancing than aisles of crops. The crimson color of Axl's hair didn't flow down in paralleled strands like the grain. Instead, his hair was teased wildly and recklessly, sticking out in all directions, yet still appearing as strung copper as they bounced just below his gaunt shoulders. And the azure in his eyes were a color utterly viable and stimulating— brighter in contrast to the duskiness of the skies overhead. His eyes crinkled as he caught Izzy's stare, a brow raising ever-so-slightly. "This is a tad boring, eh?"
"It's perfect, actually," Izzy tells, a bit unexpectedly judging by the light dilation of Axl's oceanic eyes. "I admire the vastness."
I admire you.
"That's relieving, seeing as that's all there is for the next couple hours," Axl said, humor hinted at the emphasis on each of his words. Izzy simpered frailly before reverting his attention back to the sea of viridian and gold.
He wasn't quite sure what it was about the plainness before him, but Izzy's mind felt enlightened for once. The bit of tension that wrecked his head for so long had finally alleviated, and his mind experienced the same openness of the landscape before them.
The remainder of the drive through Kansas is the same, and Izzy never misses the adoring glances Axl flashes him now and then, nor does he miss the sweet sound of humming the older man initiates each time he recognizes a song on the radio.
When they stop for gas, Axl flies out of the station with a cheap disposable camera, grinning impishly at Izzy.
"What are you doing with that? You wasted a perfect bit of money we could've used for our next gas stop."
"It's for the guys! We gotta send them a postcard, Izzy, don't you know common courtesy?" Axl huffs as though Izzy actually does know those things, and then lifts the camera. Of course, Izzy's expression remains somewhere between stressed and soulless, but Axl poses adorably and the guitarist's lack of enthusiasm no longer matters at that point.
Izzy takes the wheel when they get back in the car while Axl scribbles all their endeavors so far onto the postcard, mainly addressing Duff, who had an interest in collecting little mementos. Izzy acquired a sense of appreciation when Axl left out the events that occurred the day prior, however, he debated the outcomes destined to follow if they were to announce anything more than friendship with each other. Everyone in the band knew that Izzy and Axl were closer than the rest, but what they had was complex; different, and way too much to really analyze.
Would they even care?
Izzy had no clue whether he'd make it out of this alive, for that matter. That's what made everything feel so significant; every glance at Axl, every breath he took. For once, Izzy felt as though he was living.
In only a matter of time, Izzy drives them through Springfield when the abrupt sound of redundant clattering against their window urges Axl to sit up.
Rain patters against the windshield, traveling along the algid glass and blurring the image of the lush green landscape. Through the tears of the monochrome skies, Izzy could see himself. An effervescent reflection of his dejected self peered back at him before gliding down the window, dissipating within the windshield before another followed. Perhaps like rain, the feeling wasn't permanent. Perhaps like the looming dark cloud hovering over them, the feeling would drift away.
