Hijack: Watup guys! How's y'all?
Author: Guys, now you're too early!
Hiccup: I told you, Jack!
Jack: Oh, I'm sorry! Why does everything have to be my fault?!
Hiccup: Because it usually is?
Author: Guys, please; I'm trying to welcome the readers and you're both bickering with each other! It's so unprofessional!
Hijack: Sorry...
Author: Thank you! Now-
Jack: -Enjoy the chapter!
Author: FOR GODS' SAKE, JACK! RUIN MY LIFE WHY DON'T YOU?!
Hijack: -in hysterics-
Author: *I'll get you when you least expect it*
Enjoy the chapter ^u^ If there's not an author's note after this, it's because I've killed these two -evil glare-
Hijack: Wait... WHAT?!
Jack's P.O.V
As per usual, class tends to drag by in a painful pace that's made even more torturing due to the absence of a certain Hiccup, who's in every single one of classes save for the one that I'd require him in most; Mathematics is such a boring subject and, without him around to brighten my mood or keep me entertained, here I shall sit in silence, pondering over the existence of the world and whatnot. Anything's better than listening to the teacher go on and on in that drab, monotonous voice that could be used to put anyone to sleep. However, much to my relief, class doesn't last forever, the heavenly chime of the bell signalling the end of the lesson, by which time, I'm already half-way out of the room with backpack at the ready, not prepared to spend another second in this classroom after I'm no longer required to. As of now, I'm to be meeting with Hiccup in the Study Lounge so that he can go on about all of the things that he's learned, whereas I'll just sit there and nod as if I understand, whilst I'm really thinking about him in general. I really thought that it took longer than a month to fall for someone, however, with Hiccup, I soon realized that I did on the first day, hard and fast without any kind of warning to alert me that I'd be crazily besotted with my own room-mate. That's just another thing that I'll add to the pile of Things That I'm Never Going To Tell Hiccup About, right up there with my self-harming issue, which I'm actually starting to conquer; ever since I began learning here, the lust to cave into my own thoughts has seemed to dwindle to the point where I don't feel the urge to inflict pain upon myself any more.
Just as I exit the classroom, beginning my journey to the Study Lounge, a chilling voice that I remember all too clearly and hoped that I'd never hear again for the duration of my life sounds from behind me, seeming as if his lips are right next to my ear since his voice slices through the silence, which has grown to become deadly. Then again, it's all probably in my head; there are people bustling about all over the place, however, all I can hear is him.
"Well... If it isn't Jack Frost! My, I thought I'd never have the misfortune to run into you again. Tell me, how's things with your dearest father? I'm oh so anxious to know; we haven't spoken since... elementary was it?" My hands tighten themselves into fists whilst the rest of my body goes slightly tense at the words being spoken to me, ones filled with that same sense of mocking malice that drove me into depression when I was merely a child, though I didn't really understand what it was that I was starting back then and, to this day, I regret what I begun all of those years ago. Self-harming's not an easy habit to overcome. Even still, I mechanically turn to face the owner of the voice that I've loathed for most of my life, a menacing smirk curling on his thin lips.
"You can't bully me about any more, Pitch, so don't even try it!" I aggressively snap a little louder than intended, drawing the attention of a few passer-bys until more and more focus is collected upon us, as if our bickering is really worth their time; this is none of their business so why can't they just stay out of it?
"Oh, looks like the little snowflake finally got a voice! I think I preferred it when you were that pathetic imbecile who couldn't even look my way without quivering in fear. Then again, looking at you, I see that not much has changed really; you're still as worthless as you always were." Though I try my hardest to push his words out of my head and into the corner where I bottle it all up in the hope that it'll never find a way out, I can't seem to do it, and they immediately begin to take effect, the backs of my eyes beginning to sting with angry tears that are beckoned forward; he has no right to pick on me any more, so what's the point?! Why can't he just leave me alone?! "Ha, did I strike a nerve? Oh, don't cry, Jack; the truth hurts, I know, but we both know that that's just what it is. The truth. You're a useless, pathetic wimp and a disappointment to the woman that you killed." Just like someone has shot me through the heart, all air is sucked from my lungs as the impact of his words hits me in a head-on collision, those tears threatening to overflow from their place as he infers that it was my fault that my mother died when I was born! However, since nobody around us knows the full context, they all begin murmuring among themselves, words such as 'kill' and 'freak' cropping up in some of their muted whispers that taunt my emotions, hatred towards everything welling up within me to the point where I can barely control it.
Unable to take any more of the snide remarks, I flee from the scene before anyone can get a glimpse of my face, which is progressively becoming stained by my tears as they finally sneak out of my eyes whilst my mind replays Pitch's words over and over until I finally reach the room, my lungs gasping for air as I swing the door open with such a force, it seems as if it would fly right off of its hinges. As soon as I slip into my dorm, I slam it behind me with a rough push, all of my strength being channeled from the pulsing anger that's constantly building within me. 'Pathetic', 'worthless', 'disappointment'. All of these cruel words belonging to Pitch whip about inside my head as my body continues its way across the room, every ounce of resolve that was keeping me standing melting away when I'm finally locked away in the bathroom with a razor-blade trapped between my fingers, my back pressed against the door whilst I gaze down in despair. Staring at my own face in the reflection of the surface, the light twinkling off of the silver and into my eyes, I notice that they're as dull and lifeless as I feel inside. But I look more than lost or hurt; I look pathetic. Pitch's right; I'm just a worthless waste of space who doesn't deserve what I have. With no further hesitation, I tug away my sleeve and carve a couple of fresh trails of scarlet into the underside of my left forearm.
Hiccup's P.O.V
I arch my back, allowing it to crack in various places as I'm finally able to relax after a long day full of all of the classes that require my full attention if I even hope to get so much as a pass. In all honesty, I didn't expect college to be as difficult as this, however, I'm not dismayed by the increase of pressure in any way; I know that I can handle whatever they have to throw my way. Some may call me over-confident, but I say that there's no such thing. However, one thing that has slightly interested me today, as well as sent a spike of worry into my system, is that Jack wasn't present for the second half of the day; we both agreed to meet up after he'd finished Math, however, he never showed up, much to my own confusion as he's never been late, let alone absent altogether! Now, as I make my way back to our dorm room, I can feel the anxiety prickling at my fingertips, which gingerly curl around the handle of our door as soon as I get there, the metal only adding to the nipping feeling that races through my palms. For Jack to not turn up is beyond strange; it's worth panicking about.
As I gently open the door until a gap is created for me to slip through, I instantly cease making any kind of noise when my eyes fall to Jack's bed, his body curled up under the protective encasement of covers that form a shell around him and cuddle against his limbs. Has he been here ever since class ended and, if so, why? I can only deduce that something happened that caused him to retreat back here, be it a sudden wave of illness or something more. Until he wakes up, I'm not going to get an answer from him; I'm definitely not a fan of the idea of rousing him since he seems to be sleeping so peacefully, whispering breaths being forced from his slightly parted lips as he inhales and exhales. As I advance towards his bed, I can't help but notice how sweet he looks; it's as if he's no longer a college student, more like a restless child who's finally managed to get their head down after a long day of causing all kinds of trouble. This child-like quality that his face possesses in sleep is what sends a smile onto my face, one that doesn't fade as I carry on towards the bathroom after giving his hair a light tousle with my fingers, an action that doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest, though his eyelids twitch a little from the unexpected contact.
When I reach the en-suite, I decide to myself that I might as well take a shower to clear my mind; tonight's going to be a long night of studying which will probably meet its end when the sun rises to signal tomorrow morning; with all of the classes that I'm taking and each new assignment that I'm being set, I need much more than just a few hours to get everything done! However, it's just as I'm adjusting the water temperature and checking it with my bare hand, do I notice something catch the light from the corner of the room, a flicker of silver bouncing into my eyes as if wanting to be recognized by me. I neglect the shower and pace towards the only thing that holds a place in the corner by the door, being the little wicker bin that's tucked away just slightly to the left of the sink in case we ever feel the need to use it. There's not really much in there, however, there's still something that's beckoning for my attention, the glare no longer in my eyes but occasionally dipping in to say 'hello' as I advance towards it.
When I get to the bin, I crouch down until my weight is balanced on the ball of my foot whilst my prosthetic one remains fixed in place, meaning that I won't have to worry about toppling over since it usually does a good job in holding me up. Just as I'm scooping my hand into the basket that acts as our disposal unit for this specific room, I can't help but wonder what it was that could possibly lie within here; does it perhaps have something to do with whatever I saw flickering in the light in Jack's hand when we first met? Though it's doubtful, there's no denying that it's a possibility; I've not thrown anything reflective in here so it has to belong to Jack, right?
A sudden slice of pain causes me to whip my arm out of the bin with a sharp hiss as the sensation crawls over the nerves of my hand, beads of ruby blossoming on my palm where the mysterious object lies, the one that I would've took more caution in retrieving if I knew about it's true form. My hand instantly dives for a spare roll of toilet paper, which I loop around my palm several times in order to put a halt to the sudden outbreak of bleeding that has been beckoned forth from the item that I've now dropped as an instinct of it bringing me harm. However, once the wound is concealed, the scarlet liquid instantly seeping through the pristine white of my make-shift paper bandage, I actually realize what it is that I've just pulled from the basket. It's a razor blade.
Something within my stomach suddenly goes tight, every inch of my insides screwing themselves up into an agitated ball with every passing second that I spend staring at the blade that lies so innocently on the floor in front of me, its silver surface tainted crimson with the blood that it drew forth from my hand upon me ensnaring it in my grasp. Why on Earth it there a razor in our bin?! I know for a fact that this isn't mine, which only intensifies the sickening feeling that's constantly tugging on my insides with every breath that I take; this belongs to Jack, or it did before he threw it away. I can't even begin to understand why he has something like this in his possession; he doesn't exactly seem like the kind of guy to grow facial hair, therefore, why bother having a razor in the first place?! Then, my mind thinks of something wild that I choose to dismiss out of the sheer reluctance to believe that what I'm theorizing is true; there's no way that Jack would ever self-harm! I mean, he's never showed any signs of ever being down or depressed, so it's impossible that this razor belonged to him just so that he had means of cutting himself. I refuse to accept that this is what this object has been used for; Jack's not like that. Right?
Pushing all thoughts of the razor out of my mind, throwing it back to its rightful place within the depths of the trash with a high distaste for what's it's implanted into my mind, I flee from the bathroom and slam the door behind me on the way out, forgetting about a sleeping Jack, who jumps out of sleep with a startled yelp as the crash of the door colliding with its frame seems to echo around the room. His panicked cerulean eyes fly about for a few seconds, still in their dazed states, even though they're bright and alert since one is always wary when they're forced out of sleep so suddenly and rudely. However, as soon as his gaze spots my form pressed against the door, my breaths coming out silently ragged so that he doesn't catch on that I'm out of sorts in this moment, his eyes soften and he tugs a slender hand through his nest of silver, which is strewn about due to being slept on for the past few hours.
"Hey, Hic! How long you been here?" His voice alone allows me to recover from my own thoughts as I engage him in a casual conversation, dismissing everything that I theorized earlier as his positive and upbeat tone that jokes about with me forces them away. Whilst he explains his reasoning for coming back to the room so early, being that he got a killer head-ache and wanted to rest up a bit so that he could get some studying in tonight, a gleeful tone is plastered to each and every word that passes from his lips, causing me to feel like such an idiot for considering what I did when I found that razor. There's no way that Jack self-harms; his positivity is enough to retract my mind from the dry blood that was already coating the edge of the blade before I slit my palm open. That could easily have gotten there by accident; it's so easy to cut yourself on a razor without any intentions of doing so, which is what I've managed to find out the hard way.
Yet, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, the feeling is always there, gnawing away at the back of my mind like the pain that I'm starting to identify within Jack's eyes, wavering as they flicker with what seemed to be glee before. Maybe there's more to my room-mate than anyone knows. For now, though, I'll remain silent; I don't want to go asking questions that may hurt his mood since he seems to be feeling so upbeat in this moment in time. Oh, Jack, please don't let me see that smile fade.
***A/N***
I hope you enjoyed yet another episode of Shingeki no Feels! We don't have Titans, just Hijack...
Jack: What do you mean just Hijack?!
Hiccup: Yeah; we're the protagonists here so we deserve some love!
Author: Do you want me to include Titans then? 'Cause things would get awful ugly if I did -evil glare-
Jack: Nope, we're good! Who wants to fight Titans when you can spend all day and night studying anyway?
Hiccup: Very true, Jack.
Author: I knew that I'd finally find something for all of us to agree on!
Anyhoo, I'd can't wait to see you all in the next chapter when the fluff train FINALLY leaves the station!
Peace out, my lovely peeps XxX
Hijack: What's a fluff train?
Author: Oh, you'll see soon enough :D
Hijack: That can't be good -sweatdrop-
