Day 2: In Which He Sends Her Running For The Hills… For Real This Time
He wasn't going to lie, he had pictured him being a zombie apocalypse survivalist before. His final girl complex had led him to prepare extensively for this exact moment in time—well, maybe not that exact, but still, he knew this day was coming. That was the sole reason why he had been Astrid's punching bag for five goddamn years. Why he had let Hiccup drag them to camping trips in the middle of nowhere equipped only with a Swiss Army knife and a sleeping bag. Why he had presented himself a membership card to the local paintball field despite every battle ending with him bruised like he'd been tossed right under a bus...
What he didn't predict was that he would meet his demise due to his askew organizational skills: He was starving, and he had nothing to eat. He had ordered some groceries online, but those could take anywhere between ninety minutes and three days to arrive. With how much he felt his stomach eating itself already, he could very well be dead by the time the delivery people got there. He was going to melt in gastric acid from the inside out, and Hiccup would be contacted to scoop up the puddle of his remnants and ship it back home in a Tupperware container.
He opened one of the cabinets again and inspected its interior. He had been saving that specific can for an emergency, yet again, Jack turning into a puddle could probably be considered one.
"It's your lucky day, motherfucker."
He rummaged through the cutlery holder for a fork and did not hesitate to eat the meat straight from the can. Taking a peek through the balcony glass, he spotted Elsa curled up on her bench with a warm mug in her hands, and he smiled.
With his fork held between his lips, he slid open the door and greeted her with a wink. "Hey, Elsa."
"Good morning, Jack—" Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "What the hell are you eating?"
He looked down at the can he was holding, then back at her. Then back at the can. And back at her again. "Uh… Spam?"
Her frown only deepened, and he bit the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling too widely.
"Do you even know what's in that... thing?" she spat the last word like his choice of breakfast was the source of all vileness that had ever existed in the world.
He made a show of scooping up a good amount of meat— if Spam could even be considered meat— and slowly led it to his mouth. He moaned in extasis before licking his fork clean. With a raised eyebrow at her, he suggested, "Deliciousness?"
Elsa scrunched up her nose in disgust. "The smell alone is making me gag."
"Don't be dramatic."
"I can't—" Elsa curled her upper body forward, and she did indeed cover a gag with a hand. "I'm going back inside. Enjoy your breakfast, Jack."
"Well, you know where to find me," he sang.
"Sure." He barely heard her reply before the door was snapping shut after her.
Shaking his head, he took another bite of his luxurious meal. He wondered if she was still watching him from inside, and he waved at her for good measure. Then, he plopped down on the couch, making a mental note to order some more cans of Spam later. It wasn't even like he loved Spam that much. He just wanted to see that adorable crease between her eyebrows again— Wait…
… Did he really just think that?
