It was a stay-at-home kind of day. Jack's adventuring having settled to something calmer and homey. Which was the need and desire to turn North's kitchen into a whirlwind disaster, obviously.
Jack didn't know how to cook. Who the hell's idea was that? Jack hadn't needed to eat actual food since he'd died and he became Jack Frost. The only good thing to get out of it was Pitch's laughter, unrestrained and in complete bafflement as how Jack managed to get eggs struck to the cieiling.
Of course, when Phil came in to see what the commotion was and Jack unabashedly pointed to Pitch and said, "It was him," Pitch doubled over laughing again even as Phil's mouth dropped and his eyes widened and he brought his hands up in a "how the hell did this even happen?!" Kind of gesture.
"Sorry, sorry." Pitch caught his breath, looking to Phil who looked about ready to just rage quit. "I'll clean it up."
You see, why would Pitch need to leave and do something? Who needs that? At least, that was Jack thought. More or less, Jack had absolutely no shame being a freeloader at North's workshop. He means, he was the reason the guardians were still around and another Dark Age hadn't come about, why couldn't he take advantage of that?
They could stay in this plane of existence together.
Jack Frost and Pitch Black, cold and dark; the dynamic duo. Creating fun and mischief wherever they went.
That sounded like heaven on earth.
That was why.. Jack just didn't understand why come the following morning when he sought Pitch out a second time only to find him on the patio, again, only this time he was wearing armor. Regal, black and fitted, easily moveable. (Honestly, if Jack's worst nightmare wasn't coming true then he would very much admire Pitch in this outfit. Just put a bow and arrow in his hands and a quiver on his shoulder and yeah, Jack would've definitely admired that picture.)
"You're going?" Jack asks, completely baffled. Context wasn't needed for his outburst. There was no conceivable reason for Pitch to be wearing that unless he was thinking about doing what Jack had been dreading since the day before. He didn't think Pitch would decide so soon; too soon for Jack to be able to convince him otherwise. "What— why?" He honestly couldn't fathom why Pitch going to ask to be reinstated as general for the Lunanoff army again, not after everything that happened— not because he thinks Pitch would be rejected, but because why would Pitch subject himself to such a lonely path again when the first time, the royal family did nothing to help him?
Pitch looked at him, eyebrows raised a second before his face relaxes and he gives a small smile, cupping Jack's face, thumb brushing against his cheek as the other fingers tangle lightly in his hair. He was all grace and gentleness and just— ugh. How can he look on bittersweetly while Jack felt his hope crumbling?
"Jack," he says sweetly, and Jack thinks he might have been touch-starved all his life, especially when he was made a spirit, because he wanted Pitch to touch him more. He wanted everything Pitch could give him. But the way he said it, it was as if Jack were a child.
Jack steeled his resolve but he didn't rip away from the gentle touch, even as Pitch leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead, truly meant for a child.
Don't leave.
"I'm serious." Jack said, head tilted back with how tall Pitch was. He felt turmoil rolling like thunderous waves during a storm, but he settled it, driving it toward his resolve. He takes hold of Pitch's hand, keeping it there. "Why would you go back to them? They were the cause of your misery, indirectly or not."
"Jack.."
"I saw."
Pitch's brows pinch together, confusion making itself known.
"I saw what happened." Jack reiterated, clenching his jaw for a moment. "It was negligence. They were negligent." Pitch looked ready to argue that point but Jack cut him off, raising his hand to mimic Pitch's hold on his face. "They were." He says softly and he sees Pitch's resolve breaking. Good. "You should never have been going at it alone. You should never have been made to choose between duty and your daughter."
Pitch drops his head with a sigh, forehead resting against Jack's and the contrast between their body heat almost made him shiver. Pitch lifts his head and still, the resolve to go is on his face and Jack can't stand it.
"I'm going with you." He says, as sturbbonheaded as he was about watching over Pitch all those years. Because if Pitch won't stay, then neither will Jack.
"Jack," Pitch's eyes widen in disbelief and Jack knew he was going to try and rebut.
"No, I'm not going to let you go through that again." He says, feeling his frustration make his way into his voice. "If you're so set on going, then I am too."
"You can't," Pitch says quietly, voice gentle as if to settle Jack, pushing some bangs from his face, but it only made to rattle Jack's nerves. He wasn't a child, especially not after all these years. "You need to uphold the children's belief in you."
So, Jack thought, they went and told him, huh? Jack clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes as his hand falls from Pitch's face to ball up at the front of his uniform.
"I don't care." Pitch breathes through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as his patience slowly ran out.
"You'll die without it, Jack. Has that ever crossed your mind?" He asks, exasperated, and this was the first time since Pitch woke up that he was something other than put together, regal, and filled with understanding.
"Of course it did." Jack kept his gaze, serious. "Everything was a mistake, I never should've—" Jack cut himself off, gritting his teeth as he finally drops his gaze.
Never should have.
"Jack?" Pitch asks, voice calmer once more. "What was a mistake?"
Jack refused to look up, eyes starting to well up with tears and past emotions and unresolved failures; being alone in every sense of the word for three hundred years, not a real friend for centuries, even the guardians wouldn't give him the time of day; silence from the moon who put him there without so much as a hint, a clue, anything, as to his purpose here on earth. Becoming guardians, destroying Pitch and his chance at absolution, for forgiveness. Seeking and failing to be what Pitch needed that second time; Sandy's golden arrow; swirl of black sand and shadows, shadows, shadows filling his eyes, filling his lungs; screams, high pitched and cries like nails on a chalkboard. Pitch's body lying prone and motionless but unimaginably alive after all. Pitch made him anyway, taking his jaw in his hand and forcing him, gently, to look up.
"I should never have become a guardian. It was all a mistake." He nearly whispers, dropping his head again when Pitch's hand went lax with surprise. "I should have realized sooner. I shouldn't have fought you.
"I didn't want to be believed in by every child— all I really needed was one person… all I really needed was you." Jack hiccups, wiping away tears that started to fall, unaware of what he truly said.
It was too much too much too much— years being spent pulled part like taffy when he wasn't made to stretch. Emotionally stunted and crushed and too hopeful that maybe Pitch would notice him, remember him, and Jack and he could create a fragile friendship.
Moments passed where it was just Jack crying, wiping away tears, and Pitch standing stockstill in front of him.
Jack gasped when arms wrapped around him, pulling him flush with a warm body, one arm around his back and the other cradling his head and Jack let himself fall into the embrace, holding onto Pitch like a lifeline.
In retrospect, speaking openly had a lot of merit, Jack thinks. Of course, he certainly had no intentions on telling Pitch his feelings, much less in a way that made him seem lovestruck and desperate, but he supposed the effect of it was in his favor.
Pitch had taken him inside, no longer set on leaving for the moon to request an audience with the king. And because Jack was emotionally and physically exhausted, Pitch had carried him, bridal style no less, back inside when it became obvious Jack couldn't get his legs to work.
Jack might've been the tiniest bit glad all the Guardians were out doing something or another, because at least the yetis and elves don't give comments to them about how wrong this was, Pitch carrying him to the sitting area by the fireplace.
Pitch sat by the plush armchair on the floor, Jack in his lap and leaned against Pitch's broad chest. Pitch pulled the throw blanket from the armchair and laid it across them, pulling it up to Jack's shoulders. He magicked them into comfier clothes, and Jack was just a bit grateful because he wouldn't have to put up with the press of his armor against his cheek.
Pitch wore a thin, black, long-sleeved sweater and some comfy pants. Jack himself, from what he could just feel, was dressed in a shirt and shorts, no doubt blue or something. He was glad for the thin clothes, because he could feel Pitch's heat sink into his bones and relax him. One of Pitch's arms around his waist and the other petting and massaging his head.
Jack's feet stuck out from under the blanket, a few feet away from the fire. He snuggles closer to Pitch's body, sniffling the last tears away. He nudged his way closer (somehow) every once in a while that it made Pitch chuckle on occasion until he settled, laying his head comfortably against Pitch's collarbone.
Pitch hugs him tighter when he hears footsteps, a yeti grumbling at finding them. A moment of silence before he hears Pitch say, "yes, please." Jack lets out a soft breath, still clutching to Pitch with a tight grip and closes his no-doubt red eyes.
This is where they were meant to be. And if Jack had anything to do with it, this is where he was going to stay.
Being woken up by being petted was actually very pleasant, Jack thinks. As he comes to, he realizes he wasn't being woken up by the petting, but that Pitch was still petting him, and he had fallen asleep by accident. There was a low rumble in his chest, probably speaking to someone in hushed tones and for a second, Jack wondered who.
It definitely wasn't Bunny, that was for sure. Bunny would have flipped the second he saw them in this position.
The rumbling stopped and Jack hears heavy footsteps leave, a yeti, maybe. He yawns, stretching out just barely so he doesn't dislodge himself from his seat.
"Feel better?" Pitch asks once Jack has made himself comfortable again. He nods, finally lifting his head to look at Pitch.
Pitch smiles at him, even though Jack could tell the worry in the slight lines of his face. Worry about leaving, or not, or taking Jack with him and it might cost him his life.
Jack stares into his eyes, still a smoldering, liquid gold; solar eclipses. Jack wants to be bold, he wants to be fearless, wants to be brave; wants to close the gap between them, and yet his insecurities get in the way.
"I don't want you to go alone." Jack says quietly into the space between them. When Pitch sighs, his breath fans across Jack's face. Pitch leans his forehead on Jack's, eyes closed in thought.
"Jack," Pitch whispers when he opens him again, nuzzling his nose against Jack's and Jack sucks in a small breath, moving himself a hair's breadth closer, heart thumping in his chest.
When their lips meet, it was nothing but a gentle brush of lips against lips. It was chaste and sweet and everything and not enough all at once. They barely pull back before Pitch presses for another kiss, still as chaste as the first but with a little pressure, pressure that Jack sighs and relaxes into.
Jack moves, kissing back, his arms sliding up Pitch's body to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through thick hair just because he could. He was practically breathless from it, dizzy with the feeling, despite not a lot happening, despite how chaste and sweet it was.
They were just moving in for another kiss, Pitch's hands at his waist, when he heard steps come and a voice rang out, rudely and loudly, "blimey! What the hell are you doing, mate?!" Jack nearly groaned in annoyance and he looked over his shoulder briefly, before deciding not to twist his middle too much and he looks to Pitch, who also seemed peeved to be interrupted. Jack gives another chaste kiss to Pitch's lips just because he can, before settling back against his chest, ignoring the Pookah in exchange for letting Pitch's heat soak into him.
"Was there something you needed, Bunnymund?" Pitch asked with barely contained annoyance. Bunny sputters to life and Jack rolls his eyes, nuzzling into Pitch's neck just to piss him off more.
"This is wrong!" Bunny decides on and Jack grit his teeth, his confession to Pitch fresh in his mind. Pitch hugs Jack a little tighter and it calms him down minisculely.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Pitch responds, hand back in Jack's hair. Some more footsteps are heard, a flutter of hummingbird wings, a swish of sand.
"Are we seriously going to just stand here and do nothing?" Bunny asks and Jack has no doubt he's looking to the other Guardians like they'd back him up— like Jack wasn't able to make his own decisions.
"Bunny…" North said with a cautious sigh. "We should talk, elsewhere." They all scuffle out, Jack not once turning to greet them. Pitch's chest rises and falls with a sigh and Jack finally looks up.
"It seems they aren't too keen on you and I." He says, and Jack has to grin because there was a mischievous spark in Pitch's eyes. Jack turns, wrapping his arms around Pitch's neck again, speaking against his lips,
"Frankly, don't really give a damn."
