The Drop Solo Finished

The morning air bit into Draven's skin, sneaking underneath his hoodie and settling in his bones.

Above the treeline, the sun was just beginning to rise, golden rays painting the castle in shades of amber.

The stairs had left a bone-deep ache in his legs. He'd taken them, one at a time. Little by little. Searching for the highest point he could find. The owlery had been among the top contenders, but the idea of disturbing a couple hundred birds at six in the morning wasn't terribly appealing.

So there he sat. Perched on the edge of the tower, his legs dangling above the hundred-foot drop. Uneven stone bricks dug into his palms, leaving ridges deep inside his skin.

It was quiet.

As quiet as it could get, at least, with the wind howling and bouncing off the castle turrets.

He hadn't slept. Something about the Merlin dorms was rubbing him the wrong way that night. Kei's prone form on the other side of the room, locked in an uneasy rest, hadn't been particularly comforting.

He missed flying. He realized it now, as he stared at the grounds below him. Everything looked so...small. So insignificant. He missed the way his stomach had knotted up in that delicious way, as he soared above the other kids, fighting for balance and for a steady grip.

His moontrimmer, the prized possession he hadn't known how to appreciate, was long gone. Sold at a pawnshop for a bit of pocket money. He didn't regret his choice, but now, years later, he found himself aching for the feel of the smooth, polished handle underneath his fingers. For the wind in his hair. For the way everything seemed to fall away, and only the air underneath him remained.

The heights called out.

The drop.

Swinging his legs over the edge, Draven carefully retreated within the safety of the turret.

For perhaps the first time in years, the whim was within his reach. There was nothing he needed anymore. Clothes, he had. Hiking gear, books, potions, Merlin, even enough nicotine to last him until the winter break at the very least.

There was nothing he wished for, and the wages he'd been squirreling away had gathered into a decent sum.

He'd sleep on it. Perhaps the craziness of spending the majority of his money on a broom he didn't need would fade overnight. Or perhaps he'd find himself ordering a broom the next morning. Merlin knew impulsive decisions hadn't served him well in the past.