We'll Move Mountains, A Thousand Times Again

His life had always been an uphill battle. Uphill as in up Mt. Everest, downhills like cliffs of the grand canyon. He'd never seen a time where things were flat-ground and liveable for himself, never once. With sixteen years of hell to show, Ashyn didn't think he'd be able to live to find a place of grassy plains and flowers, and he didn't want to live to learn that he was right in thinking this. So he wouldn't live.

To Ashyn, it was this simple: you fight, or you retreat. You live, or you die. And he'd quite like to be dead over spending more time curled up in alleyways, living off a diet of pills, drugs, and alcohol. It was an amazing feat that he wasn't dead yet; he didn't really want to live through it. But a jump from this high, quite literally jumping off a building the height of a cliff? There was no way he'd survive this. No way.





It's not like he had any family to miss him, or anyone to notice his absence. He had no future to look forward to--who would take in a teenage drug addict to work in a major field? It's not like he'd ever have a family to miss him, or a family to miss. Yeah, he wished he'd had a father who gave a shit. Yeah, he wished his brother would come with him. Yeah, he wished his mom would appear. But wishing doesn't get you anywhere; there's no candles to blow out.





Why was he contemplating this? There was no contemplation to the matter, there was no reason behind second-guessing himself. Do it, just, one foot forward, he told himself, suddenly having cold feet on his shaking legs. He was so wrapped up in this contemplation, encouraging himself to just do it, that he didn't notice the other boy walking through the alleys, the other boy calling out to him, the other boy saying something about the police.





No, he didn't realize anything until he heard the sirens blare just as he put his first foot off, just as he started to fall; why was anyone so scared of falling? Falling felt like flying. Falling left all of his stress on top of the building as his body fell, let him feel free for a moment. There was no way he would survive this. No way. He knew this.





But then he did. And he didn't know what to believe anymore.

Ashyn woke up in a hospital room. He registered that he was in immense pain, that he was on a morphine drip, and that there was a boy sitting in the corner of the room. He looked like some sort of an angel--quite literally, wings and all--and Ashyn had to wonder if he was hallucinating or something. The boy stood, and Ashyn tried to sit up; quickly, he spoke, putting a hand on his chest to push him back to lay down.





"Don't try and get up! Your injuries are bad, you need to rest," angel boy informed, and Ashyn wondered what injuries he'd sustained.





"Injuries...like what?" Ashyn's words were slurred and quiet.





"You shattered your right leg up to the femur, broke your left in two places, cracked a few ribs. Among other things."





Ashyn nodded solemnly, letting his eyes drift back shut. "So...who're'youu?"





"Haven. Haven Grace."





"Cool name,"





"Thanks."





The room fell silent for a moment, but not the kind to be deafening; the kind of silence that's agreed upon to take a moment and just, think. Register what the hell is currently happening. Ashyn spoke again.





"Why're you here?"

"I saved you."

"I know that, dipshit. But why?"





Haven couldn't help but snort at the affectionate tone used on "dipshit." He looked Ashyn up and down. "Because all lives matter. I wasn't just...gonna let you die."





"Why not?"





"Because you matter. To someone. Well, to me, now. I don't think I can casually just...leave you after saving your life, after all. And I don't take it you have any family to turn to."





Ashyn hummed in response and opened his eyes again. "You're hot."





Haven blinked before breaking into laughter. "You're delusional. Get some rest." At the uncertain look on Ashyn's face, he continued with, "I'll still be here when you wake up."

The agreed upon silence fell over them once more. Once again, Ashyn broke the silence one last time.





"So you're really going to stick around?"





"If you'll let me,"





"Don't look like the type to live the alley life,"

"You don't look like the type to let me stick around."

"Touche."





They met each other's gazes, each taking a breath.





"Ashyn--that's your name, right?" The injured boy nods. "I don't have anywhere to go either. But that doesn't mean we're powerless. We'll stick together, what's the worst that could do? We'll move mountains after we conquer them. It's a lot easier when you're not alone."





Ashyn stared at him, and his eyes shone with the beginnings of tears. The corners of his lips turned up into a smile. Maybe he'd found the peak of the uphill battle and he'd get to enjoy the view. Maybe Haven was right; maybe things would get better when they were together. Or maybe it was the morphine. A tear fell down his cheek. "We'll move mountains." He repeated, nodding as he said it.





"A thousand times again."