Gravity

"What if you were a writer?

What words might you use

to describe me?"

Jack glances over. "That's an interesting question," he says, sounding amused. He leans back against the bedframe with his arms folded behind his head. Even though I'm sitting at the desk just across the room, asking that question might as well have set a thousand miles between us. I patiently await his answer. Eventually, he responds, "Well, you're pretty."

I'm somewhat satisfied, mostly because of the compliment and not his 'eloquent choice of words.'

"Is that what you would write?" I ask him. My pen taps against the notepad, but I've forgotten to retract the tip so now there are little black dots all over the paper. "Here is our character. She is pretty. She did this, she said that."

"Well, sure," he says. "Isn't it more about what she says and does? I don't care how she looks."

"Then what would she say?"

Jack's eyes wander around the room, as if he's deep in thought. Sitting there, he looks pristine; and like freshly fallen snow, the longer he stays there the more precious he becomes. He's something I cannot ruin, and someone I must be incredibly delicate with. And God forbid me, should I leap from this chair and collapse into his arms, he might shatter into a hundred million pieces and I'll lose him forever.

"Her first words in the story would be, 'I hate the world, but I love life. And gosh darnit, if I want to take the road less travelled, then I will. And I don't care whether gravity holds me down or not, I'm going to fly and I'm going to be awesome at it.'"

I'm startled by that response. "What on earth, Jack?" I say. The pen is leaking ink onto my notepad now – every piece of paper twenty sheets down is certainly ruined. And for some reason, I'm irritated with myself because of that, but Jack has given me this insane answer and there is something about his words that is scaring me to no end. "Why is that?"

"I'm describing you!"

I sit there, astounded. "She's pretty," I say slowly. From my drawers, I retrieve a thesaurus and I scan the pages for the word. When I'm done, I look up. "Gorgeous."

"Beautiful," says Jack.

"Lovely," I respond. I glance down again. "Pleasant."

"Polite." Jack can't stop smiling.

I find an interesting word. "Cordial."

"Warmhearted."

"Sympathetic."

"Sincere."

I'm struggling to keep up with him. As I'm flipping pages, I peer at him through the hair in my eyes and I can see him grinning at me. My heart beats harder and faster with every turn, and words are beginning to look like meaningless text. "Serious," I say quickly. That one came from my mind, because I'm still hanging around near the M's.

"Let's go with…" He pauses. "Honest. That counts, doesn't it?"

I look at the synonyms for serious, and indeed honest is one the words. "Severe," I say. Now THAT is a serious word. I can tell by the look on Jack's face that he doesn't know how to respond to this one. And I'm truly feeling like I have the upper hand now; that he cannot tell me who I am and who I'm not without being at a complete loss.

"Relentless," he says. "She never stops."

"Oh, whatever." I read the thesaurus for a few minutes. By the time I've found my word, his attention has been momentarily diverted. I don't feel like being creative right now. "Unyielding."

Jack blinks, as if surprised we're still playing. "Unstoppable."

"Rebellious."

"Let's shoot for a big one this time." He finally decides. "Alienated."

I pause and clench my teeth. "Alone."

"She's not alone," says Jack. "She flies…solo."

"Singular."

"Individual," responds Jack, who seems slightly pleased with himself.

I'm looking at the words. "Particular."

Jack smiles, a gesture almost as delicate as the rest of him. He has always seemed so incredibly breakable, but I can tell by the way my hands are trembling on the thesaurus that I'm the one who's unstable. "She is," he begins, "special."

I'm biting down on the skin of my lip. I can feel his coldness, emitting from his body and to the edges of this room; and nothing has ever been more inviting. "Extraordinary," I muster, but the words are becoming harder and harder to organize. I'm relying one-hundred percent on the thesaurus now, because my mental word bank has dissipated into nothingness, rendering me stupid.

"Amazing," says Jack. He sits up straighter, sounds more involved than earlier.

Inhaling shakily, I read, "Stunning."

"Lovely," he says, although that word has already been mentioned.

I look up and lock eyes with him. The thesaurus feels heavy between my hands. My fingers weaken and I've lost the page that I had reserved. "She's not beautiful," I tell him. And somehow, the book ends up on the floor and I end up on the bed between his arms.

"I said that she was pretty," says Jack. "According to the thesaurus, that means she's beautiful too. And you know what? She can be sincere, and warmhearted. But she can also be rebellious. So there's your answer. There are the words that describe you. I'm not a writer, but I know a pretty girl when I see one. And I'm sorry that she has to be alone."

"Well," I say, "she knows why, at least. Because you don't even know what gravity is."

Physical boundaries would never hold down Jack Frost. He has the choice to take the road less travelled, and he has the choice to defy gravity and fly as awesomely as he wanted to. Jack Frost can live forever and leave me behind and there would hardly be a shift in the world's atmosphere, and I cannot hold onto the idea of changing the life of a spirit when an immortal such as he can live on and on and remain as amazing as he always has been.

"I know exactly what gravity is," he says.

I'm lying down then, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. He's above me, staring at me with such intensity in his eyes that I'm afraid he'll bore right through me. And there's this sweetness that I'm feeling, but honestly it's like no other feeling that I've ever experienced.

"I'll fly as high as I please," he says, "and I can go anywhere in the world. But no matter where I am, gravity brings me right back down to earth. Gravity is the reason that I don't aimlessly float out into space. It holds onto me, and it never lets go."

I'm breathing like a broken fan. "I'll never let go."

"Then I'll stay." Smiling down at me, he says, "Earth."

And I reply, "World."

"Nature."

"Essence." I'm reaching up and touching his cheeks.

"Soul," says Jack, who allows me to intertwine my fingers with his hair.

This time, I can't speak but I know exactly what I want to say. There are moments where I think I'm getting lost in his cosmos blue eyes and I feel like I'm floating away myself. There are more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand, and I know that there are many more places I could be instead. Somehow, something makes me realize that I'm here. I'm really here and this is actually happening.

Like gravity.

Finally, I manage, "Heart."

That's when he kisses me and says:

"Love."

A/N: This was just a very happy (and not to mention, very short!) oneshot that I had a great time writing. I focus on interactions and not too much backstory, as falling in love with Jack Frost would be a fairly imaginable struggle.

If you're interested, check out my other Jack Frost stories!

Reviews are always appreciated! And thank you so much for reading.