Jack was skinny. He knew that; he'd seen boys who were around his physical age and had taken note of how much smaller he was than them. It had begun as merely a casual observation, until he began overhearing parents brag about how big and strong their sons were, and that was how men should be. He didn't have any parents. He supposed that the closest thing he had was the Man in the Moon, and he hadn't heard a word from him in a very, very long time. Nobody was going to compare him to someone else his physical age. Even if he could be seen, there wasn't anybody to do it.

So why did it bother him so much? Why did the fact that he could count his ribs, wrap his whole hand around his arm, and that his shoulder blades stuck out at a sharp angle bother him? Nobody could see him. Nobody could criticize him. Yet it still made him feel ashamed for some reason, like he was doing something wrong.

What, though? The only way to not be skinny was to eat a lot, right? Jack did not have the means to eat a lot, unless he robbed a bakery or something like that. But stealing food from a shop was not the same thing as stealing books from a library. You could return the books, so it was really only borrowing. You could not return food once you had eaten it.

Besides, Jack never felt hungry. He was fairly certain this had something to do with his status as an immortal; he could not die, so he did not need food to sustain himself. He could eat, but there was nothing to be gained from it. He wouldn't feel any different. When he thought about it like that (and Jack always had a lot of time in which to think about things like this) he wondered if he could change his body size by eating. Maybe he was frozen in time, stuck in the form he was, and no amount of gluttony could change it.

People were not supposed to look the way he did, like they were starving. Jack wasn't starving, but he hated that he looked as though he was. So he turned to clothes. Nothing dramatic, just things that would make him look less…painfully small. When his leather cloak finally wore out, he replaced it with a heavy overcoat. It made him look shorter, but covered up his thinness well. He wore it for many years, and when it too wore out he replaced it with the blue hoodie.

Eventually, the white blouse he'd worn since day one came apart at the seams and the only thing he managed to find in replacement was a plain, oversized T-shirt. The sleeves hung down to his bony elbows, but Jack didn't care. He simply tucked the hem into his trousers, pulled his hoodie on overtop, and felt satisfaction when the effect made him look thin enough, but not emaciated.

After the defeat of Pitch, Jack naturally took to hanging around Santoff Clausen as much as he liked. There was lots of food there, and he picked off it whenever he felt like, but as usual his body didn't show any change. Used to this, Jack never gave the matter any thought, until one day when he was sitting in North's office by the fire. It was getting uncomfortably warm for the winter spirit, and without thinking he pulled off his hoodie and let it drop to the floor.

North glanced up at the sound and did a double take when he saw Jack not wearing the hoodie. It was an unusual sight; like his staff, it was always on the boy's immediate person. After a long look, North noticed just how much smaller Jack appeared without it. His arms were very thin and his large shirt hung off him, accentuating his size. It was the sort of thing people tend to be concerned about.

Jack didn't notice the staring, as he was immersed in some book or another, but looked up when North cleared his throat.

"What?"

The Russian cut to the chase. "Jack, how long has it been since you have had anything to eat?"

Jack blinked then flushed pink, crossing his arms over his torso. "I don't need anything. I'm like this naturally."

"It doesn't look healthy," North pushed. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine!" the winter spirit snapped. "Of all the things you can worry about when it comes to me, this isn't one of them. I'm fine," he repeated with conviction.

North frowned. "Are you embarrassed?" he asked bluntly.

The blush in Jack's face darkened. "Just a little," he admitted quietly. "I wish you wouldn't talk about it. I'm being honest; it's not a big deal."

North observed him silently for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright. If that is what you say, then I will believe you and keep it to myself. Just know," he added sternly, "that the kitchen is always open should you want something."

Jack swallowed. "Okay. Thanks."

"Of course."