A/N: This was a sudden idea that I thought would be fun to write. It was sort of inspired by a chapter from Sigh In the Breeze (A RoTG fanfic by Chibi Koneko) because of a line about Jack Frost's opinion on the night. I thought it would be fun to turn that around. Anyway, this is a one-shot for now, but this story may become an outlet for ideas that come to mind because wow I can't do chaptered stories. Criticism is appreciated
(Post/Pre-Movie)
He would say he likes the night.
He likes the night because he didn't feel as alone. Perhaps it was paradoxical, and he saw that. When he was more alone than he'd ever be, he felt the least lonely. The irony, as it may be, he always saw. In the corner of his mind, he knew. It made no sense. But when quiet descended upon a small neighborhood, that was always how he felt. Because when most were asleep, they only had their own mind. Lights turned off; no laughter, no screaming, no talking, no chatting. There was just dreams and nightmares and quiet and peace and everyone to themselves. When everyone was alone in their minds like that, how could he say he was lonely? And that thought was what made him feel the least alone.
He likes the night because the snow and frost would glisten in the face of scattered lamp posts, in headlights, and under the moonlight he hated. He thought it was fitting in a way. The snow could cause the deaths or so, so many people but it was beautiful and delicate and not at all suited for death and caused joy to just as many. He often despised his creation, but to see that joy melt like his snowflakes did was so, so much worse. The moonlight was similar, since as cruel as it was to him, he wouldn't deny how it made those snowflakes just that much he couldn't stick around to see and take in the joy on the children's faces in the morning sun's light for some reason, he knew but never said that it was exactly the same feeling he got from watching the snowflakes fall in the moon's.
He likes the night further past the beginning when the quiet occurred, because he seldom slept. In return, he was able to appreciate the strands of gold that would light up the sky, the white that would sometimes mix along with it. Wind liked it, he thought an ounce lovingly. She loved carrying the snowflakes through the bright gold. She loved the fact that she could have free reign during the night. There was no one to stop the wisps and howls through the empty streets. She could carry him wherever he or she pleased. He quite enjoyed it as well, but he flew in silence, as in fear to break the silence that already was along with his illusion of being not so so very alone.
He likes the night because if no snow was due, the night sky lit up with the twinkle of burning gold stars. It didn't happen often, but if he laid himself down and stared past the moon, he would focus on them. They reminded him of those stunning gold strands. When away from the towns and cities, the thought made him laugh down to his belly. He didn't think it was necessarily funny, but he laughed all the same. Only a few times had he seen a shooting star, and not once did he follow the path. When a meteor shower happened however, he was hardly able to contain himself. The only thing that chained him to the ground was never wanting to ruin the magic. Not when he jokingly (but so realistically) made his wishes. He was immortal; of course the stars couldn't grant his wish yet. They had a lot of wishes to go through, and he would always (never wouldn't) have the time in his life to have the wish granted, no matter how long. Wishing on a rainbow didn't work (after a meet with a scolding green man who had actually seen him he saw him), so twice the charm he figured.
He likes the night after the end of evening break of night when the sun falls away. The temperature drops almost suddenly. With every degree that's torn away, he starts to feel warmer. The cold seeps into him and it's like an embrace that he's never had, but it's warm and comforting, and he feels the wind and her hug as well. It creates a chill all the same. Because it's not painfully warm, and it's not the freezing painful cold he is himself. It's gradual, and it's not all at once. It happens even if he's not there to cause it (and secretly he'd like that to happen to his graceful snowflakes as well; because he believes that if they could fall without him, he'd bet they'd be better than the ones he makes even as nice as they are anyway.), and it's a nice change.
He likes the night because if the animals hear the crack of the branch he's walking on, they will almost but not quite see him. Darkness does that to the mind, to the minds on both sides. To the one who can feel the gaze upon him and the one who just wonders what could be making that almost muted stumble and sharp intake (not exhale) of breath. Usually then he can pretend that belief and legends extend to the realm of the animal world. He knows snow does after all. How farfetched could a flying undead invisible fourteen-year-old in body be? (He chokes a bit when he laughs at his own little joke.)
He likes the night because if hail falls and melts in the dark, dark forest there's never anyone who can say it happened. Because hail isn't what he was made for, and he really doesn't like it. But sometimes it did fall anyway, and not always was he able to wait until the night. But when he did, it was so much less painful to feel.
He likes the night because it stops the day break from coming to peel the magic away.
He likes the night because it's the end that leads into a whole new beginning
He likes the night because if hail trickles from the sky into a shadowed forest, he can see it sparkle and glisten, but nobody else is able to. And when the ice strikes down, it feels a bit gentle somehow. Not always can he stop it, and never would he like it, but at the very least he tolerates it now.
He likes the night because sometimes in the children's dreams he sees snowflakes and frost and skating and snowballs and happiness. If he's lucky, he might be able to see himself, and that's when (even after it happened so many times) he stumbles and lets out a joyous laugh. Belief does that to the mind.
He likes the night because the air (as cold as it is) is warm just like he feels, and Wind still hugs him the same as she always has.
He likes the night because when the shooting stars fall brilliantly, he's able to thank them each three times over before they disappear.
He likes the night because Wind is howling and he's able to shout when they get free reign flying in a peaceful little town.
He likes the night because he doesn't need dreams anymore to imagine his reality. Instead, he helps a certain someone else make the dreams that they both hope come true like his did.
He likes the night because his painstakingly hand-crafted snowflakes make it to the ground and shine with a certain beauty that only he can make.
He likes the night because the beauty shows the most in the moonlight.
He likes the night, because there's just peace and quiet.
He likes the night because everyone's at their loneliest when they are left to their own mind.
He likes the night because outside and in their own minds, they are loved.
He likes the night because when everyone's loved alone in their minds like that, he'll no longer be able to say he's lonely. Not when he has a family that love him in their own, and that he loves back with his.
He likes the night because it's now not just an illusion.
Jack Frost would say with a certainty that he loved the night.