I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
________________________________________
Chapter 56: Flight Therapy
Jon followed Phil into the backyard under a sky blushing pink with sunset. The old trampoline sat in the corner like a forgotten relic from the age of scraped knees and bad ideas, its metal frame groaning slightly with every gust of wind.
Phil turned to Jon with the kind of grin only a man on the verge of a harmless disaster could muster. "Behold!" he said, sweeping his arm toward it like a game show host. "The bouncer of bad vibes, the launcher of lingering heartbreak: the trampoline."
Jon folded his arms. "I've seen emergency rooms. That are full because of these things."
Phil didn't skip a beat. "That's because people don't respect the trampoline. You have to bond with it. You have to want to bounce."
Before Jon could come up with a rebuttal involving statistics and gravity, Phil had already kicked off his shoes and clambered up onto the mesh. He bounced once—awkwardly—and made a noise halfway between triumph and a pulled hamstring.
Jon arched an eyebrow.
Phil stood tall, hands on his hips. "Your turn."
Jon shook his head. "This feels like something that starts fun and ends with a broken ankle and a tetanus shot."
"Ah, but between those two things," Phil said, "is magic."
With a sigh and a smirk, Jon kicked off his sneakers and climbed on.
The trampoline groaned under the sudden weight of second person, someone who hadn't physically identified with the word "child" in almost a decade. The mesh shifted beneath him like a living thing, taut but inviting.
"Okay," Phil said, starting to bounce lightly, "don't try to go high right away. Just feel it out. Be one with the bounce."
Jon gave one cautious hop.
Then another.
And then something shifted. The timing clicked. The trampoline caught him on the way down, pushed him back up—not just upward, but upward, like the trampoline wanted him to fly.
By the third jump, Jon was grinning. By the fifth, he was laughing. Something about the rhythm, the spring, the strange weightlessness—it was stupid, it was childish, and it was glorious.
Phil whooped beside him. "There it is! I knew you had bounce in your soul!"
Jon landed and launched again, higher this time. He felt the day's exhaustion peeling off with every jump—the soreness in his legs, the pressure in his shoulders, the heaviness that had been hanging around his heart since Sam said she needed space.
Gone.
At least for now.
He couldn't remember the last time he laughed like this, wild and breathless, like no one was looking. The trampoline didn't care if he was a football player or a guy trying not to miss a girl too much.
The trampoline just wanted him to bounce.
Phil, red-faced and panting, finally collapsed in the center of the mat like a king who'd conquered joy itself. "Therapy," he gasped. "Without the copay."
Jon flopped down beside him, both of them catching their breath, staring up at the early evening sky.
"Okay," Jon admitted, "this was... not the worst idea you've ever had."
Phil looked over. "That's the highest praise I've ever received from a teenager."
Jon laughed.
They lay there a moment longer. No pressure, no expectations. Just the faint creak of springs and the slow rhythm of breathing returning to normal.
And when they both started bouncing again, one small jump at a time, Jon couldn't help but think:
Maybe flight—even fake, spring-loaded flight—was exactly what he wants right now.
Phil wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing hard from their last set of jumps. "All right, kid," he said, resting his hands on his hips like a coach preparing his star player for a new drill. "You've proven you've got the bounce. Now it's time for a little flair."
Jon raised an eyebrow, his breath still catching from laughter. "Flair?"
Phil grinned. "Behold! The Twist-Tuck Pop!" He gave the name the reverence of a magician about to perform his signature trick. "It's a basic trick jump. Bend the knees, tuck slightly in the air, and add a little spin. Nothing too crazy."
Phil took a few light hops, building momentum, then launched into the air and performed a tight midair twist with a modest knee tuck before landing clean. "Boom!" he announced, throwing his hands up like a gymnast sticking the landing. "Years of practice right there."
Jon nodded thoughtfully. "Looks fun."
"Fun," Phil said, dramatically, "is just the first layer. It's like an onion of awesome."
Jon chuckled, then bounced a few times, picking up speed. He launched—and in one fluid motion mimicked the exact move Phil had just performed. When he landed, it was with the same soft control, like he'd been doing it for years.
Phil stared. "Okay... beginner's luck. No big deal."
"I pay attention," Jon said with a shrug, smiling.
Phil narrowed his eyes playfully. "You wanna see another?"
"Hit me."
And so Phil did. One by one, he pulled out every move he remembered: the Sidekick Flip (which wasn't a flip but sounded cooler with the name), the Knee-Bounce-Spin, the Rollback Pop, even a move he simply called "The Flair," which was basically a jump with jazz hands midair.
Jon tried them all.
And nailed them all.
Sure, a few took two or three tries, but by the fourth round Jon was bouncing into every move with the grace of someone who had trampoline springs in his DNA.
Phil stood there, dumbfounded, watching this teenager breeze through a decade's worth of backyard acrobatics like it was nothing.
Jon didn't notice. He was too caught up in the motion, the thrill of jumping, the sheer ridiculous joy of it. His limbs were light, his mind clearer than it had been in days. With each jump, he let go of the noise—complicated feelings, labels—and just flew.
Phil finally flopped down on the trampoline's edge, wheezing out a laugh as Jon landed his last spin-tuck-kick with ease.
"You know," Phil said between breaths, "it took me four summers and one sprained wrist to land that last move. You... you picked it up like it was hopscotch."
Jon finally stopped, sweat shining on his brow, his chest rising and falling fast. He grinned. "I told you I pay attention."
Phil shook his head. "You might be part cat. Like, reincarnated Cirque du Soleil feline or something."
Jon just laughed and offered Phil a hand. Together, they stepped off the trampoline and back onto solid ground.
Phil looked at him with a strange mixture of admiration and mild existential crisis. "Well, now I need to go question my entire trampoline legacy."
Jon clapped him on the back. "You did great, Phil. I'd still vote you into the Trampoline Hall of Fame."
Phil smiled, puffing out his chest. "As long as I get the cover photo."
The two walked back toward the house, the sun dipping just below the horizon, the air cooling around them. Jon's legs were a little sore, but in a good way. The ache of effort. The kind that came with pushing your limits and remembering how fun life could be.