Skydiving Into Eden

One would imagine free falling to feel closer to liberation than to impending doom. Some may argue the descent was rather poetic as the butterflies twirled and the verdant greenery encompassed his vision.

The sky was optimistic and reflecting in a nearby water source - resourceful - and time almost felt as if it was slowing down and speeding up simultaneously - arms flailed and the loud classical music of home echoed in his ears as it had done day by day until reality clashed between melody and melancholy.

Obviously descent resulted in impact; unfortunately oblivion was not a 'safe space' so a random forest was the next best thing. Unfortunately a cushioning card was unavailable too - a shame really: his face stung more than a solid bitch smack to the face and grass tastes exactly like tangy lettuce.

An intruder cleared their throat - male, quite brash, would definitely throw himself at the zombies in an apocalypse. "Er, are you okay?"

Seriously? This (man? boy?) person quite literally watched another male fall practically a hundred feet from the heavens above and genuinely believed the best thing to find out was if he was 'okay'. Would you ask an alien that has crashed on a foreign planet and has no ability to go back home if they are 'okay'? Who would be?

Disdainful yet self-preserved (of what he could muster up on the mud), he sat upright and pointedly winced at the ache in his... everywhere. "Certainly," the boy on the floor snarked.

"Jeez, alright then, be like that if you want. I didn't exactly ask you to go up there and try flying as a cool new skill for you CV." The male - similar (maybe the same) age as the other, a little underweight, also British but also... asian (possibly) heritage due to his brown skin, most likely not a threat - loomed over him, arms crossed and legs evenly spaced apart. The sun was blinding and the sitting boy forgot his sunglasses eye so his expression was practically unreadable yet everything about the other conveyed a mother preparing to berate their absolutely idiotic child.

Well, sky diving unequipped does warrant a great bollocking.

"Aren't you gonna apologise?" The tan boy asked just as defensive as his stance.

Scoffing, the paler boy squinted his eyes against the sun, "No, why should I?" He imitated the other boy - still plastered stupidly on the floor since he may or may not have broken his ass - glad the trees shaded his sensitive skin from the dastardly fire ball above.

Consequently, the other boy furrowed his brow (possibly: the sun was starting to laser dark spots in his vision so much so they wafted around like pieces of dust). "Well, for one-" a finger lazily pointed up- "the stunt you pulled, number two-" another finger raised- "being a knob when I was just being nice, and finally three-" he waved all three cocky fingers "imposing on my lovely little holiday." His voice lightened with each number.

A silence passed as the other man heaved. "I'm still not going to apologise if that is what you are waiting for," the boy on the floor stated flatly.

"Okay, fine, be like that," he concluded - voice a little shrill in the paler man's opinion - before promptly swivelling on the pivot of his feet and briskly marching to the opposite end of the clearing and glaring rusty daggers at the poor, injured boy who resorted to leaning against a tree.

The free-faller felt oddly compelled to ask the other man if he was applying to be the King's personal guard. He did not, obviously, he did not fancy the daggers turning into bullets. It did feel like the daggers were bullets though (a headache is practically the same as being shot, even if said headache was recently induced by a certain gobby boy).

After what felt like an eternity, the daggers stopped stabbing and instead the tan boy twirled grass between his index and middle finger as he muttered, "Are you actually okay though? No injuries or 'owt." His head bobbed upwards as his eye caught the other boy's before ducking his head just as fast. "No broken bones, bleeding, bruising, lost limbs, extra limbs..."

Sighing, the other resolved to show mercy; the response finally came, "Yes, I am alright. Probably some bruising though, I did just come from the sky," he jolted his arms to the sky and smiled as he other boy huffed a small laugh. He slouched his throbbing shoulders, catching the other boy's eye and smiling wider.

Now they were just two goofy cartoon characters smiling at each other.

"Er, do you need anything for that? I might have something for you," he offered, green blades slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

"A gift?" the pale boy sat upright, eyes wide, "for me?" He gasped, hand clutching his shirt where his heart is.

"Oh yeah, sure, whatever you'd like, name the price. More grass to graze? Wings? Oooh, here's an idea, a jetpack so you can follow your dreams and do whatever you were up to earlier." His voice was that of an entrepreneur and the wind breezed, gently pushing hair into eyes and blowing the grass in a satisfying Mexican wave.

The pale boy lifted his index finger to his chin, tilted his head and tapped repeatedly as his eyes followed a rabbit-shaped cloud, "Your name would be nice," he said as if contemplating.

It would be rather unnerving finding out he was with a man that could be wanted across all counties of the UK for kidnapping, torture, and a ransoms. And probably murder because it would be crazy to be known as alive after literally jumping off the top floor of a mansion and actually surviving.

He was as good as dead over there anyway.

The rabbit cloud masked the sun; the clearing was cloaked in a smokey grey. The tan boy shook his dark brown - or was it black - curls out of his eyes and slowly groaned as he stood tall. "Harry Kapoor. Like the common name Harry but also like Harry-" with a sharper ending- " for when the elders were over."

"Oh yes, the elders. So are you religious?" Relatable; his own name was rather peculiar due to the elder relatives with their orgasmic pleasure in traditions and such. Honestly, if he had a normal name maybe his life too would have been normal, probably like Harry's life so far. 

Harry did seem like a normal boy with normal jeans and a normal top, normal scuffed trainers that looked well-worn and well-loved. He even had a normal backpack that most likely had books for whatever he was studying in (probably) college. He had smile lines and a little bit of acne and his braces probably came off recently too. He probably had a happy family waiting for him to come home with a dog - he did look like a dog person - and maybe a girlfriend if he was lucky.

"Nah, not exactly. My grandparents were strict - really strict - so it kinda scared the religion out of my parents instead of scaring them into it. They always said they couldn't find any of their own peace in religion so they never tried finding it any further than what they were already shown." Harry randomly strolled in circles, stretching his arms high and grinning at the satisfying pop that resounded.

The boy on the floor scratched at the dried mud on the knee of his finely tailored trousers. "Why are you telling me this? You do not even know my name." It was weird: after Harry goes home to his loving family they would forget each other ever existed and that moment would just be a footnote in an entire novel.

Harry turned to face the other boy and said, "Who are you gonna tell?"

They had just met and Harry was right, there was nobody to tell and nobody to trust and quite frankly the plan went as far as to actually surviving the physical transportation card. If mother knew about the card stunt she would have smacked him up atop the head and banned him from evening pudding.

Harry frowned, "Why'd you look like that?"

Snapping his head upwards, "what!" the other squawked, "I happen to think I look rather attractive thank-you-very-much." He turned his head away and straightened his blazer, brushing the imaginary creases away.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Harry sighed, shoulders slumping, "you just look like a sad puppy that got kicked in the side. Or moderately constipated. Something like that anyway."

Looking back at Harry, he raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Oh gee, I applaud you for that astute observation. I will work tirelessly on your criticism within the next three to five working days," he replied flatly.

Harry rolled his eyes and leant back on his feet. "Oh wow, will I get an email too or are you so old fashioned you're gonna send me a letter via pigeon." It was only ironic a bird shot out of the tree and far into the canopy of forest. "The only problem with that is when I reply to you I've got to know your name."

He smiled slow at Harry, a smirk beginning to form.

"You do seem like the type of prat to want a thank you reply just for doing your own work," offered Harry, who crouched before the other boy, his voice dropped to a murmur.

"Finished insulting me yet?" His tone dropped identical to Harry's.

"No, not yet, you just have one of them faces," Harry trailed.

"hm really?" He challenged.

"Yea, you-"

"Aristide Triste."

Harry broke eye contact, "Wh- what?"

"My name is Aristide, Aristide Triste," the pale boy replied smugly.