Where is he? Oswald brushes his black hair out of his eyes with a slender finger, his breath coming out as smoky wisps in the chilly air. Snow crunches under his boots as he walks down the stone pathway through the center of the courtyard. The red roses, wilted in the frigid temperatures, remind him more urgently of his task. He's not here. Where is he? His pace picks up as he exits through the iron, vine-wrapped gate and heads off toward the forest. Surely he wouldn't dare to go so far from the manor on a day like today. Even he is not so dim. Passing beneath white, bare branches, he keeps his gaze turned up toward the sky.
Ah. Sure enough, gold and green peek through the snowy balcony above him. He stops beneath the blond braid that dangles down over the side and coughs. "Jack."
"Wha-?"
And suddenly they are lying on the bed of the forest, tangled in a mess of lights and darks, velvet and silk, blond and black. Oswald's eyes widen slightly as he lies motionless under the heavy body of Jack. In his mind he travels back to a broken branch, a scream (was it his own or someone else's?), weeks spent trapped beneath blankets in his bed with a splint on his broken arm. Snapping back to the present, he prods Jack's immobile form and breathes the other man's name. "Jack."
"Owww…" Jack moans, rolling off Oswald and landing in the snow beside him, one white gloved hand twisted through his golden hair, feeling for the goose egg that was sure to form soon. He glances over at the black-eyed man with one cheek puffed out slightly, a habit picked up from Lacie. "Next time, don't just suddenly say my name. You're like a ghost, with how silently you move."
Oswald's eyes darken and he stands, briskly brushing the snow off of his coat. "Next time, don't sleep in trees, especially in the middle of winter," he says quietly in response. He turns on his heel and begins to trek back to the manor.
Jack mirrors his movements and catches up with the other man in a few long strides. Matching Oswald's pace, Jack starts up his incessant chatter once again. "You worry like a mother hen, you know. I'm a big boy; I can handle myself! It's not as though it's a snowstorm just yet. Or is it some reason beside the snow that you decided to track me down? Afraid of me getting hurt climbing trees, perhaps?" he teases.
Oswald sighs, cheeks and nose and ears all rosy from a bit more than just the winter's chill, and casts his gaze downward. He shivers as the icy wind picked up and bit into his skin, and Jack glances at Oswald's hands. He wraps his gloved fingers around Oswald's bare ones, gently brushing his thumb over the pale, blueish tips. "You should have worn gloves," he murmurs, bringing Oswald's hand up to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss.
"Mm." Oswald lifts an eyebrow and casts a sideways glance at the other man. "If I had been aware that the fool I was searching for was hiding on a tree in the middle of the forest, I would have."
"Ah, but where am I ever hiding but in trees?"
