Kind of testing out this idea before I take it to my own story. Sorry for the short intro. Tell me what you think!

The wind blew harshly, causing the branches to sway and the dry leaves to rattle. It was cold, despite the sun being out. I reached up and pulled myself up higher, my shoes scraping against the trunk for leverage.

"Be careful!" My brother yells from below.

"I am." I call back, not bothering to glance at him as I lean against the trunk and plan my next move upward. Another blast of wind rattles through the forest. I pause, holding the trunk tightly, and wait for the wind to pass.

"Come back down!" Matt sits on the first branch, not even four feet off the ground. He refused to go any higher on a windy day.

"In a sec!" I shout over my shoulder as I step to a hefty branch to the left of me. Around the tree, there's the next branch I can reach. It's bare of leaves and a little shaky looking, but it'll hold me.

Holding onto the trunk with one arm, I shift my weight to my left foot as I reach forward to try and grab the branch. Just as my fingers, pink and going numb from the cold, brush against the bark, a large gust of wind hits.

I can only suck in breath in shock as I lose my balance and slip off my safe branch. My arms flailed helplessly as I tried to hold onto a branch or leaf or twig or something that could help me. Somehow I heard Matthew scream my name over the sound of the air whooshing past me and my blood pounding in my ears and my own screaming.

I close my eyes and brace myself for the smashing into the ground that'll break all my bones and probably kill me.

But it doesn't kill me.

It doesn't break my bones.

It doesn't even hurt.

I feel as if I've stopped midair, just before the ground, and was gently laid down. Like the air below me, engulfed me and cushioned my landing; protecting me.

When my eyes open, at first, all I see is a bright light. As my eyes readjust and my heart attempts to calm down, I realize the bright light, is a person. A boy. He's nineteen or so. Green eyes that outshine the dying forest around him. And golden hair, like feathery rays of sunlight.

He's speaking, I finally notice. His voice deep and soothing, saying, "You'll be alright. Everything's okay. You're going to be fine."

I try to speak, to say something, but it comes out as a cough and a gasp for air. My eyes close as the coughing fit gets worse. I curl into myself, the wrong thing to do, as I try and gasp for breath. Matt's voice is all around me, speaking over the golden boy's voice, screaming my name, "Al! Alfred! Oh my god! Are you okay?"

"You're okay." Golden Boy's voice hums.

"Oh my god, oh my god!" Matt keeps repeating. His hands are on me, forcing me to lay on my side and pulling my arms above my head. His voice sounds panicked, scared even. "Can… Can you breathe?"

"Just breathe."

"Look at me, look at me!"

"Open your eyes."

My breathing gets better in a moment. After a deep, shaking breath, I open my eyes and see Matt's terrified face. Golden Boy's gone. My body feels fine, apart from my pounding heart and how cold I feel.

Matt sighs in relief as I sit up slowly. He hugs me as I look up at the tree I just fell from. On one side of the tree, from about halfway up to the ground, all the branches are broken from where I crashed through them. I'm thirteen. I'm not dumb. I know something is wrong. I should've broken something. I should've died. I shouldn't be here.

"Matt?" I say, as he still clings to me, like if he lets go I'll disappear.

"Y-yeah?"

"Did you see… a person? A guy?"

"…Are you alright?" Matt asks, pulling away from me to see my expression. His confusion matches my own.

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"…Yeah. Let's just… go home."

The entire way home and while we sat by the fire drinking our beverages, Matt still asked if I was okay. I told him 'yes' every time. But the thought of the Golden Boy swirled in my mind. I can't help but feel like I just cheated death, or something. I fell from ten, eleven feet up, I hit dozens of branches on the way down; I should've gotten more than just a scratch. Even the scratch isn't that big.

And yet, here I am, drinking hot chocolate and dreaming about golden boys.

I must be lucky.

I must be insane.