Work Text:
The sky was stained a deep, bruised violet. The scent of electricity hung in the air.
Or maybe it was just the smell of rain — carried to Junior by the wind.
Either way, the thunderstorm was already in the air; not least because Junior could see the dark storm clouds rolling in his direction.
The stairs groaned beneath him as he climbed.
His father had forbidden him from going up there.
“This is an old building — of course you hear creaking! But there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”
Junior wasn’t afraid.
But he was sure there was more behind those sounds than his father wanted to admit.
So he kept climbing, up the narrow staircase, into the attic — and that’s where he saw him.
A boy, around his age, sitting there.
The shingles beneath him had been warmed by the sun all day, but by now they were cooling fast.
Junior pulled his knees to his chest, trying to suppress the occasional shiver that ran through him.
From then on, they had spent every day together.
Junior had been nervous about making new friends in a new town, but Jim was... easy.
A good listener. A quiet, kind companion.
He seemed relieved, even grateful, that someone could see him at all.
He always smiled when Junior arrived.
They sat in the attic for hours: Junior rambling, Jim gesturing now and then.
Over time, they developed a few signs, just between the two of them.
The air up here was colder.
Cleaner.
The wind grew stronger, combing through Junior’s hair, as if trying to take his hand.
Jim was his friend. His only friend. His best friend.
Junior had started dreading the new school year.
He would have to spend every day with new, unfamiliar kids — kids who didn’t know him.
Kids who weren’t Jim.
He already felt guilty enough just being alive, while Jim was stuck in the in-between.
Unable to go outside.
Unable to play with other children.
Unable to be hugged by his parents.
Junior turned his gaze to the trees.
Birds were rising above the forest that bordered his backyard.
He had always admired birds, even as a small child.
The way they moved so gracefully, even in strong winds, had always fascinated him.
Jim deserved a real friend.
Someone who wouldn’t have to leave him just to go to school.
Someone who was a ghost like him.
Someone he could actually talk to.
Who he could touch.
Who would understand him.
The wind stung in his eyes, made them water.
No, he had been crying anyway.
The wind just made it harder to hide.
His cheeks were soaked and icy cold.
He had looked up the American Sign Language alphabet.
He’d snuck into his dad’s office, printed out a page of tiny drawings showing hand shapes, and took it up to the attic to show Jim.
The first thing Jim had signed was:
“Thank you.”
Then he hesitated, glancing back at the page.
And slowly, uncertainly, spelled out:
“I’m lonely.”
Junior stood carefully.
One hand braced against the roof tiles, while he slowly crawled toward the edge of the roof.
He sat down at the peak of the gable and looked out over the garden, the woods in the distance.
His heart pounded in his chest — but there was a strange calm beneath it.
A feeling of power.
Of control.
To hold his own life in his hands so literally —
To know that with one small movement, he could decide everything.
The wind howled louder now, like it was offering to carry him.
To make it easy.
He closed his eyes.
Thought of Jim and his kite.
And pushed.