AN: Jack Frost/OC is the pairing.

With a upsetting slam, the door came to a close behind me as I stalked up the stairs and into my bedroom. The bags I had on my arms and back were thrown onto the floor just in time for me to hear my mother's voice call up to me.

"Vanessa?"

I didn't reply, but I let the breath I'd been holding since I got out of the meeting with my counselor after school slip through my gritted teeth. My mother's steps were padding up the stairs, and, a moment later, she appeared in the doorway, her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"What happened?"

I could already feel the tears well up in my eyes, and the shame that came with them. My mom had prepared me for this possibility, but it still seemed so unfair. After everything I had been through in the past year, after all the treatments, the unnecessary flowers and Get Well Soon balloons, after all that, I was being forced to repeat my eighth grade year. Of course, it made sense. I'd barely attended a day of school since I was diagnosed. But still, why couldn't they award me this small victory? Without a word, I sat down on my bed.

"Look, Nes," began my mom, sitting next to me. She could already tell. "I told you this could happen. Try not to get so worked up about it. Look at it this way; the cancer is in remission, and you get a second chance at learning. I know all your friends will be moving on…"

I tuned her out as I wiped the tear that slipped past my lashes away. As I did so, my head turned towards my window, through which the bright day could be seen. After a second of scrutiny, I could just make out little flecks of what looked to be…

"Snow?" I whispered. My mom stopped and followed my gaze.

"Well, would you look at that. It's nearly April and now it decides to snow." She chuckled, adding, under her breath, "It's a little late there, Jack Frost."

I paid no mind to her as I jumped up and rushed down the stairs and out the door. I loved the snow, but I had to miss it this year because of the cancer. But now I could run outside if I pleased, fall into whatever mounds collected, and make snow angels. I spent the next hour walking in it, catching flakes as they fell. It stuck well, packing up a good amount of inches in that hour. As the sun started to set, I started home. No doubt my mother would be growing worried. I sighed as the gold glow the setting sun cast shined on the snow.

"Do you like snow?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the voice sounded, seemingly right next to my ear. I turned around quicker than I thought possible to see a boy who looked to be four or five years older than me standing a few yards behind me. He looked as pale as the snow around him, with hair that was just as white and eyes like frozen water. I blinked at him until I remembered his question and managed a solid, "Yes."

He smiled at me, showing off pearly whites as well, and said, "So do I." He looked around as if he were proud and then added, "Think fast!" Suddenly, a solid ball of snow was flying toward me. I ducked and it flew over my head, landing somewhere behind me with a thud. I laughed brightly, preparing to pack my own ball, but when I looked up, he was gone. The smile faltered on my mouth, and I dropped the ball at my feet, confused. After another moment, I turned and continued home.

Four years later, in the fall of my junior year, I thought I saw that boy again. But it was just a trick of the light. Ever since then, the snow hadn't faltered like it had that year. Each year it seemed to get progressively colder and quicker. There was already a foot of snow, and it was barely November. Maybe that was normal in some places, but it hadn't happened often here. In fact, a plethora of weird things started up, especially when I was around.

It had been about a week since that supposed sighting, and I'd been obsessing over it. Had it been him? It couldn't have been. He didn't look like he'd aged a day, much less four years. I spent a good amount of time racking my mind and trying to convince myself that he was just a hallucination in the first place.

I slipped out of my reverie in time to see a flash of something bright on my window. A closer look at my window revealed that the bright thing was frost, and it was swirling up my window in a delicate pattern, until it came to a stop. The picture it made was symmetrical and beautiful, but it didn't make sense; how could frost make itself wind in that pattern? The frost burned on my window and I waited for something to happen—anything. I found myself approaching the window apprehensively until I was so close that my breath was causing a fog to appear on it. The night was dark outside of my window, but I still got the feeling that someone was watching me, and a chill ran down my back. I placed my palm flat on the window and leaned forward to look out of it at an angle. Almost immediately, I felt an ice cold sensation, causing my hand to jerk abruptly back. My eyes flicked downwards at where my hand had been; in its place was a hand print of frost. My shock was audible as I gasped, looking outside again, bewildered. This was the second floor; there was no possibility someone I couldn't see was making hand prints of frost on my window.

After a second of deliberation, I wrenched the window open and leaned out of it. A gust of cold wind rushed in and I shivered, but I didn't close my window, nor did I back up. I just swiveled my eyes around. There was nothing there.

A myriad of events like this have already occurred, but there was never any explanation. I closed my window and walked towards my bed, where I promptly collapsed onto it with a huff. At first, I thought that I was losing my mind, although I couldn't imagine why; ever since the cancer went into remission, it has been smooth sailing, unless I was getting some sort of psychiatric disorder. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I could explain these little events, or at least stop them.

The lamp on my bedside table lit the bed but not all of the room, and it caused the shadows to dance on the wall mischievously. I peered at them absently, until… was that the silhouette of a person? I sat up quickly and turned over my shoulder. The window had been opened—silently?—but there was no one there. I stood slowly and approached it again. As my view crested the sill, and I could see into my yard, a flush of cold wind hit my face. It slowed to a cool breeze, and that's when I saw him: the boy from all those years ago.

He looked exactly the same. His hair was still almost grotesquely white to the point of gleaming in the moon light. He looked up at me with an unreadable expression, his eyes focused on mine with a sort of burning intensity I'd never felt before. His eyes, I couldn't help but to think, were stunning. They were the sort of blue that could burn like fire, but still be cold as ice, and they had that same icy grip on my own. A moment passed, and the boy broke out in a triumphant laugh.

"I did it! I did it!" His lips, pale from the cold outside, spread into a grin and he seemed like he was about to burst out of his skin. A second later, he caught himself and stilled all at once, clearing his throat and raising his eyes back to me. "Hi."

I was too shocked to answer at first. Here was the kid I'd seen once in my life, years ago, who looked exactly the same as he did then, who had completely disappeared the first time, and was now in front of my window greeting me. I'd spent so much time wondering about him; he was a topic my brain liked to obsess over, ever since that day. And here he was.

His smile faltered as I didn't answer, and he said, deflated, "Can't you see me?"

I finally answered, "Of course I can."

His face lit up again and he added, "Do you remember me?"

I nodded slowly. His bright teeth still shined on.

"Great, that's great. Wow, you don't know how happy I am. I've been trying to get you to notice me for years!"

I blinked and asked, in a small voice, "Why?"

He stopped just long enough to see the confusion on my face as I peered down at him.

"Don't you… know who I am?"

"No."

The boy's (oddly perfectly manicured) eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes dropped to the snow on the ground in front of him. "What do you mean? I'm.. I'm Jack!"

"Jack? Jack, what?"

He bit his lip, returning his eyes to me. "Jack… Jack."

Now it was my turn to furrow my brows. "Your name is… Jack Jack? Like the kid from The Incredibles?"

The boy shook his head, "No, what is that? No, my first name is Jack…"

"And your last name…"

He seemed the have to think about it. Why would someone have to think about their last name unless they were making it up?

"Jack…Frasier."

"Uh-huh. Jack Frasier. So, why?"

Jack pulled his eyes away from me and said, "It's kind of weird talking to you like this. Will you come down?"

I watched him fidget and then looked towards my shut door, and then to the clock. It wasn't that late, only 9. I could go, if I wanted. But my mom wouldn't let me go out after 8 on a school night, so… I turned towards my closet, rummaged in my closet for a coat, hat, and scarf, then slipped them on. On my way out, I chanced a glance in my mirror. My hair was wavy, as it often was when I was too lazy to do anything with it. Its brunette coloring was so much different from Jack's white locks, along with my flushed cheeks and pink nose (from the cold, I told myself) and my brown eyes. I looked so plain compared to him. With a shake of my head, I went to the window and swung my leg over the edge before I could talk myself out of this.

I sat on the outside of my window, balancing precariously on the sill, and realized I hadn't thought this through, exactly. The tree branch I had hoped to latch onto wasn't as close as I had thought. Fear laced my veins, and I felt glued to spot I was in. "Um, Jack…"

Jack was still there, watching me carefully, his eyes moving between me and the tree. Before I could voice my fear, he interrupted me with, "Just jump."

I gaped at him. Was this boy crazy? Or, better yet, was I crazy for going out with him? He could be a serial killer for all I knew! However, that day all those years ago was still as fresh in my mind as ever, and everything about him was so disarming.

"Don't worry," he said, catching my eyes with his own. "It'll be fun. I promise."

Staring into my eyes like he was, I trusted him. So I jumped.

The fall seemed much slower than expected; in fact, it was almost like I floated down on the wind! Whatever the case was, I landed almost softly in a deep pile of snow, my fall dampened by the fluffy snow. I was disoriented at first, but I felt the coldness of a hand pull me up to my feet. I coughed a bit of snow out of my mouth to the sound of Jack's laughter. I looked up at him, yanking my hand out of his. "That wasn't funny," I mumbled childishly. He only grinned.

"Why was your hand so cold, anyway?" I found myself rubbing my hands together to create heat, and it was right then that I noticed that he was wearing jeans, a hoodie, and no shoes. I looked up at him, shocked. "What in the world are you doing out here with no shoes?"

He glanced down, and then at me nervously. "You get used to it. Don't worry about it." I watched him warily and then took off my scarf and hat. "Here, take these."

He looked at them dumbfounded, almost as if he didn't know what they were. In the end, he slipped the hat on and wrapped the scarf around his neck. Good thing I'd brought solid black accessories, I thought. He grumbled a half-hearted thanks to me, but I cut him off.

"Now, please tell me why you've been stalking me."

Jack snorted. "I wouldn't exactly call it stalking, per se. I was just keeping an eye on you."

"So, you admit it. You were stalking me."

"No," he said sharply. "Guarding you."

I raised my eyebrows and asked, "Who are you, anyway? I don't know any one named Jack Frasier. Do you even know me? Don't answer that. Why do you still look like you're 18?"

Jack sighed, running a hand through his pale hair. "Jeez, what is this, twenty questions?"

"I think I have a right to know, Jack Frasier, if that is your real name."

He gave me a sideways glance and then took a deep breath. "I'm… no one important. And… I'm just now 18. When you saw me then I was 14, like you were. Just abnormally tall." He ignored my disbelieving look. "And, for your information, I don't know who you are. Just that you're important. Would you mind telling me your name?"

I squinted at him and answered, "Vanessa."

He repeated it pensively. "Vanessa. Nice name."

"Why do you seem to think I am important?" I pried.

He took a moment to answer that. In the meantime, he began to walk down the sidewalk, me following closely.

"You were sick, right?" I nodded. "I could tell because you missed all that school." Did he go to school with me, I wondered. "And then… well… my dad mentioned something about you. And it kind of stuck in my brain."

"What?"

Jack turned to face me, and smiled. "That there was something about you that made you special. Like me."

I waited for more explanation, but he didn't offer one. I stopped walking. "So, wait. Are you sick, too?"
Jack looked away and shrugged. "You might say that."

I waited again to see if he would tell me what with, but he didn't. I knew enough not to ask. We continued walking in silence, and soon my house came back into view. Huh, I thought. He was walking me in a circle.

Suddenly, a colorful light filled the sky. I stared up, shocked by the wide array of colors that danced in the sky. "Is that… the Northern Lights?"

Jack was looking up, too, and I took a moment to observe the way the colors reflected so beautifully on his nearly-translucent skin. He turned his eyes towards me, connecting with my own. It was like that for a beat, but then he said, "I have to go."

"Wait, why? I don't even know anything about you!" But he was already walking away, laughing. "Of course you do, Vanessa. You know my full name."

"You're name isn't Jack Frasier and we both know it!" My accusation was lost on him, however, as he was taking off at a light jog in the direction the lights were coming from. I waited for another minute, to see if he'd come back. Then, all at once, I was reminded that I was alone, outside of my house at nights. I looked around, then wondered aloud, "How the hell am I supposed to get back in?"