Snowsheba: It's nice to have you on board. AdorableMe: Funny, okay, good. It's nice to hear that I can at least get humor down to some extent.
You are spiraling and diving and spinning, and you shout, "Drew! Stop! Stop! I'm dizzy!" with laughs punctuating the space between each of the words. You can hear his chuckle over the sound of the whooshing air, feel him vibrate against your body, and as you sit on a twirling Flygon, flying in ways that are probably too dangerous for really anyone to attempt, you grin. You grin and grin and laugh, with the sky below and above and around you, with the earth flashing, fleeting, thick streaks of brown and green that disappear the moment you blink, and everything is wonderful.
Flygon turns and plunges, and you let your head fall back as the ground rushes up; you feel like you can pluck the clouds from the sky like so many tufts of cotton candy, white and beautiful and–
You gasp as you are flipped sixty degrees, your stomach flopping, your heart doing a weird skip and a jump, and the rest of your organs feel delightfully odd, when suddenly a mist encloses you, swallows you up, intangible except for the little cool, crisp pinpricks against your skin.
You leave the cloud with your clothes somewhat soaked, and as you press your forehead into the back of his neck, you can feel his damp hair splaying across your crown. As Flygon slows and levels out, you sigh contentedly and tighten your arms around Drew's waist a bit.
You feel him smile.