It should be noted that this was written for 'kill-your-muse thrusday.' This is for the Starbucks AU on tumblr. If you're interested in learning more about the AU then just check out starbucks-jack
It was dark, it was cold, and he was scared. That's how he woke up, or was it even waking up? That was what it felt like to him, with trickles of memories from before this darkness. He felt groggy as though that long, or was it short, yes very short, sleep had been fitful. It was as though it had been filled with pain and sorrow, nightmares, but there was a budding happiness at the end, as though that bad dream had begun to shift into something wonderful. But it ended; it ended all too abruptly, before that change was complete.
Slowly the darkness began to fade from around him, and he had to shield his eyes from the brightness that formed around him. As his eyes adjusted he found himself surrounded by shiny stones sticking up from the ground in neat rows, each with names and dates carved onto the surfaces. There was also a small crowed of people, maybe ten, gathered around a large and elegant wooden box, all with faces full of sorrow and pain.
There were two out of the group that he was immediately drawn to: an older looking woman with soft and kind features, and brown hair with streaks of silver that had been pinned back, but looked as though it had come loose hours ago; and a small brunette girl, not possibly over the age of ten. The woman had her arms around the girl, as though she was comforting her, but as he watched further it became clear who was actually doing the comforting. The woman was in shambles, make-up smeared all about her face, and she was sobbing, making no effort to hold back, to stay strong.
In the back of his heart he longed to reach out to her, to comfort her, and tell her that it was okay. But that would have been out of line, he didn't know this woman.
The voice of a man, a preacher perhaps, spoke up through the tears of the people, and he felt inclined to listen. "Today we lay down a life cut far too short. Jackson Frost, a loving brother and son, died on a cold day in February, pulling a young girl from cracking ice only to fall in himself…"
The boy's attention was severed as he noticed two people approach, but still keep their distance. A small, forlorn looking girl perched in the arms of a man who was most likely her father. The man himself looked tired, no, exhausted. There were bags under his eyes as though he hadn't slept for days.
He spent the rest of this odd procession tuning in and out of the words, mostly watching that tired old man and his daughter. His heart broke at the sight of this man in such a state, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't know him.
As the procession ended the people lingered at the strange wooden box for a time, seeming to say goodbye, some breaking out into tears. All the while that man and his girl stayed off at a distance.
The people eventually all cleared away, and just three were left. That number was not to last however, as a small woman approached that distant man and his girl. He handed over the little one with no words, just a nod, as though there had already been some arrangement. The woman nodded back, trying her best to put on a comforting smile for him, before she walked off.
The man lingered for a moment, shuffling his feet in the snow, before he too walked up to that box. He placed a hand on it and stood there in silence for a while, trying to think of words to say, but nothing would come.
"Jackson…" He rubbed his hand across the wooden surface ever so lightly.
Without a second thought, or even a first, the boy reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder. The man turned, muttering in annoyance before his eyes caught a glimpse of white hair and bright blue eyes. He froze to the spot, eyes wide and mouth open.
"Jackson…?" His voice cracked as he spoke this time. The boy's lips up-turned in a gentle smile. Jackson. That was his name, wasn't it?
The tired old man wasted not another moment, pulling the small boy into an embrace. Then lips met, and it was brief, but it was also warm, and loving, and gentle.
And then he was gone, as though he never really been there, and Kozmotis was left alone once more.