James is perched on a cloud, a very fluffy cloud, and there are so many people here with him. There is the mother, the father, the best friend, and the angel. Pretty, pretty angel. James tries to reach for the angel, because the angel is beautiful.
"James?" the angel murmurs.
"So beautiful," James tells the angel.
"That'll be the meds," says someone else, who has invaded his cloud. He does not know them, but they sound friendly. They also sound amused. James decides they can stay.
"James, honey, how are you feeling?" asks the mother.
"Look at him," the best friend announces, "he's clearly feeling fucking amazing at the moment."
"Oh," James gasps in utter delight when he finds out that he can, in fact, touch the angel. He stares in wonder as he glides his fingers gently along the angel's jaw. To him, it feels like ultraviolet sparks fizzling against his fingertips, and somehow someone is skipping rocks in the rippling lake that sits in his stomach. This is the best day of his life.
"Yeah, he's fine," the father says with a snort.
"Am I dead?" James asks in disbelief.
This displeases the angel, James thinks, because the angel frowns. "No, James, you're not dead."
"Oh," James says. "Are you visiting, then?"
"Visiting...?" The angel looks confused.
James blinks. "Um. Earth, I guess?"
It is a little confusing, James supposes. Where do angels come from? From heaven, or so they say, but where is that? A separate realm? In the sky? James' gut instinct says they come from outer space, celestial like the stars. Somehow, James knows this angel is a star.
"I don't know what that means," the angel mumbles. "I'm not visiting earth, James. I...live here."
"Oh, that's good. That's really good. You should stay here forever," James tells the angel earnestly.
"He's high," says the best friend. "Completely off his head. Of course he's not going to make sense."
"I am the smartest person on this cloud," James declares, then gently boops the angel's nose. He grins at the angel. "Except for maybe you, because you must have all the information ever invented. Pretty and smart. So pretty, so smart."
The angel turns a marvelous shade of red.
"I would like to commit blasphemy," James says, because in for a penny, in for a pound. What is the angel going to do? Smite him? No, somehow James knows the angel won't. Somehow, he knows the angel will hesitate to do so.
"James, we're going to start removing bandages now, okay?" asks the someone else he doesn't know, but is permitted entry to his cloud because they're nice.
"Are clouds on earth?" James muses, and then he yelps as the someone he doesn't know, but is permitted entry to his cloud because they're nice starts to peel away his strange skin, and maybe they're not so nice after all. "No! My skin!"
"James, these are bandages. It's not your skin."
"You're peeling off my skin."
"I promise you, I'm not. Do you feel any pain?"
"No, but it's my skin. Give it back and leave my cloud. I don't think you're very nice anymore."
"James," says the mother, soothing, "it's okay. Your, ah, skin needs to go away. You have better skin underneath."
