The night before the world ended, Jack Frost already knew it.
The Man in the Moon hadn't told him so —he never did, he never opened his mouth again, he never seemed to care—, but he knew the world was slowly dying and, even though he'd like to, he wasn't going to do anything.
I can't.
And, for a moment, he believed in himself.
But it was only him after all.
When he saw the flowers fading and the rivers going dry and, oh, God, he could hardly bear it; and when he saw the ice melting and. Oh, well. Oh, God. The ice was melting and a boy was drowning in a pond and he, poor thing, he couldn't let him know he was there, he couldn't help or scream or- he couldn't make the boy believe. And another child came after that one. And then another one. And another. And the sky was full with lights and prayers and voices so dark and so sad that Jack thought he was listening to the endless ocean getting larger and larger with every teardrop.
He couldn't bear it. (He decided that the night before the world ended.)
He followed the cracks in the dry earth, going away, going away, running away. He looked for the warm and the deserts and no more ice, no more water, no more.
So when he saw Elsa, high on the balcony of her ice palace, he turned his head and glanced at her.
And, for a moment, he thought she had glanced back.
He stayed.
Jack stood still by the door, slightly far from her, just in case, and wondered where he had arrived when he was looking for dunes and sand and no memories at all because he couldn't remember them all —but he was able to, he knew it as well, he was able to, but he wasn't able to look down at his bare feet and feel the cold again and the water and the goodbye, sister, goodbye mom (do you hear me from there?), goodbye sis, goodbye.
"The world is ending tomorrow", he whispered; he couldn't hold himself back, but he should, he really should.
"I know".
Elsa's voice was as dark and sad as the voices he had heard confessing sins in the night. If only it wasn't that sharp.
And then he realised.
She does hear me. She can hear me.
"Can you see me?", he asked, leaning forward; his lips so tight that they looked like a scar.
She looked at him. Right in the eye. She looked at him when he had already forgotten how nice it was being looked at. Right in the eye.
Elsa was hugging herself and her face was tense, but- wasn't she crying, right?
She was just afraid.
Just that.
"I know you", she answered, trying to smile, but she felt the words back in her throat; too heavy, too dangerous, too sad, sad, sad.
"How?" He had also forgotten all about that; about the talking and the smiling and the feeling alive again and not so cold. "How is that possible? Did you- did you hear the stories? Stories about me?" His tone too innocent and hoping and he had to shut his mouth and bite his rotten lips before starting to make them bleed.
To make sure he was alive.
Because he knew —just like he knew the world was ending— that he was not, by any means, alive.
And yet he wanted her to say...
"Yes", she didn't lie. "Yes, I did".