Chapter Six - Lost Sleep, Fresh Places, and Justice's Pained Hands
Pitch got up shortly after Sandy and went to work washing his sheets. That damn dog.
He turned on the shower after finishing his little chore. He was thankful he had only been wearing boxers and didn't have more than that between him and getting in to the heat of the shower.
As he felt the water cascade down his body he suddenly thought of Jack. He didn't know why that boy would pop into his head then of all moments, but he did. Pitch had never considered himself to like people before, and he still didn't understand the feeling he got from the short time he had been near Jack.
In all honesty, he'd never been able to have a real steady relationship, not that he'd ever tried. He'd gone on dates, yes, but nothing more and nothing less. He'd never even held hands with someone besides his sister when he'd help her cross the street to school-
Pitch quickly shut off the tap and got out of the shower. He'd been thinking about Seraphina too much lately, or maybe not enough.
He soon found himself in front of his bureau that really was more of an armoire and he pulled out some clothing. Nothing too fancy since he didn't plan on going anywhere today. Just an old Tim Minchin long-sleeved T-Shirt he'd ordered online straight from Australia back when he was in High School, boxers with gray and black horizontal stripes, some surprisingly light jeans, and black socks that matched the background of his shirt.
Realizing he still hadn't bothered to take out his piercings and wondering how he didn't notice before, Pitch undid the tiny metal contraptions and laid them over on his night stand. He paused before opening a drawer near the bottom and pulling out a small golden box covered in butterflies. He started to lift the lid before he faltered in his movements and shocked himself out of what he was doing.
He hadn't looked in that box since she'd died.
Pitch stuffed the box back into the drawer he'd pulled it out of and left his room, headed for the dog's room, as he now mentally called it. He hated that he did.
Pushing the dark wooden door open, he saw that Sandy had gone back to his dog bed after Pitch had mentioned that fur coat yet again a mere hour before. Though Pitch wouldn't admit it, the dog was starting to grow on him. Sandy was energetic and playful; he was just happy and filled with light.
Pitch smiled to himself. A small smile that spoke wonders about how he really felt about everything around him.
Sandy uncurled himself and looked up at his new master. Pitch's smile disappeared as fast as it had come and he motioned for the dog to follow him. He grabbed the brush and shampoo he'd bought before and dragged the Corgi into the bathroom. He then filled the tub with an inch of water and rolled up his sleeves. Sandy jumped in the tub, excited at what he realized was happening. Pitch huffed and lathered him with shampoo, rinsing him off afterwards with the detachable showerhead.
Before the dog got a chance to shake itself dry, Pitch grabbed a towel and threw it over him, laughing with a closed mouth as he started to squirm trying to get free. There was no way Pitch or his house was going to get watered again. He then moved on to brushing out the Corgi's fur. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed and Sandy in front of him. It didn't take long before there wasn't a matt in sight and Sandy had a smug look on his face from being pampered.
Pitch sighed, went back to the dog's room (bloody hell), grabbed the thing's bowls and food, and took it out to the kitchen, setting it partially underneath the table. He filled up the dishes with kibble and water and set out on making himself food.
Although he wasn't sure why, Pitch wanted the dog with him while he cooked.
He made himself some earl grey tea using two bags for extra strength. Two scoops of sugar, honey, and some coconut cream were mixed into it. He liked it sweet.
While he took down a pan from above the stove and started frying up an omelet, filled with peppers he had sliced and cheese, he sipped at his tea, contemplating his earlier thoughts.
The dream he'd had last night was more vivid than he'd had in months. He thought it was getting better. In a small way, he felt it was because he was starting to finally accept her death, but if his nightmares started to be as real as that one, he wasn't positive if he would be able to ever get over it.
But why was it triggered? Why was this one so horrid? Pitch didn't understand. There were quite a lot of new things in his life at the moment. The dog reminded him a bit of her, that could've been it, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he was right.
Sandy was much too expressive for a dog. It was like he truly understood human emotion. If it was him that triggered the nightmare, was it worth it to keep him, even if he was the only thing that could comfort Pitch after? Then what if the night mares pursued even after the Corgi was gone. What then?
He finished eating and put his dishes in the sink, figuring he would get to them later, or just have the maid do it. Pitch wondered what she was going to say when she saw the new addition to the house. He chuckled to himself. A maid wasn't much needed around his apartment, though it was quite large. Pitch kept things tidy and neat. He never spoke to her aloud about the real reason she was there, but they both knew. She only worked two days a week, and she would pick up a few things if they were in disarray, wash the occasional dish he left in the sink, and chat on and off to him. That was why he needed her.
No matter how solitary someone is, eventually they need someone else to talk to.
Pitch had moved from New York to Pennsylvania. He spent his childhood and high school years in England, and once he'd graduated he decided to study abroad. He didn't have any family to speak of, and his parents' mansion he had lived in previously was staffed by enough people it made him feel at least a little bit like he did have one. Once he was finally on his own, he realized he couldn't be. After three years of college at NYU, Pitch moved to where he was now, immediately hiring someone to at least be around on occasion. This town was small enough that he knew he could meet people if he wanted to. While he finished his last year of college, he thought he might attempt to branch out. He'd already been in this place for almost three weeks and yet enrolling in the nearest college was all he'd done besides shopping.
Jack Frost, not including his maid, was who he'd talked to the most. That was one conversation, three days before.
Pitched sighed heavily and continued sipping his tea. He took his phone out of his back pocket and checked the time. It was before noon. He'd thought it was later.
Opening the contacts list, he tapped on the only number he had and pressed call.
He listened to it ring.
After a minute, he hung up. There wasn't an answer.
He sighed just as heavily as he had before and carried his cuppa down into the living room. He noticed the chill in the air and started up the remote controlled fireplace. He missed the one he'd had back in England where you'd have to put the logs in yourself and light it with matches.
Sitting on the couch he snagged the leather-bound sketchpad he left on the coffee table and opened it up to a fresh page. He held the pencil above the paper with his left hand, wondering what to draw. He'd only ever had inspiration to sketch Seraphina or butterflies, the thing she loved the most in the world besides her big brother.
Sandy thankfully interrupted his thoughts as he trumped over to the fireplace loudly and lay down in front of it with a huff.
Pitch started in small strokes, looking up occasionally at Sandy to make sure he hadn't moved. He sketched out the ears, then the snout, his body, then the tiny paws that were lounged out across the floor, and finally the tail that had stopped wagging when he'd fell asleep.
After an hour Pitch finished up his drawing, using hatch-shading on it and making sure the fire's light looked like it was flickering.
He hadn't drawn anything in a long, long time.
Pitch set everything back down on the coffee table and flicked on the T.V. The newest Star Trek movie was on. He always did enjoy watching the old shows when he was a kid, The Next Generation being his favorite. The butler would sit with him and explain all the parts of it he didn't understand.
He smiled sadly to himself and got comfy, sprawling his long legs on and off the couch, his right arm draped over the back of it.
The heat mixed with the oddly familiar voice of the new Captain Kirk and Pitch found himself having a nap after being awake only for a few hours.
Later that night, after he'd played with the dog a bit, done another drawing of it chasing a butterfly, and watched a couple movies, a text came through on his phone. He pulled the vibrating electronic out of his pocket, noted the time as being well past midnight, and opened the message.
It was Jack, but really, who else could it have been?
Pitch fumbled for a moment and sat up off the couch, jumping Sandy out of his position at the other end lying on Pitch's right leg. He quickly replied and they delved into a long conversation, longer than Pitch had had with anyone in years. It lasted for hours, and besides the horrendous nicknames they'd made for each other and the few inappropriate implications he'd made, it was oddly normal.
He even found himself laughing and smiling at parts.
But all good things must come to an end, and eventually it died down, more out of exhaustion on both parties than actually wanting to stop. Pitch bid Jack a farewell and stuffed his phone in his back pocket where he now kept it.
He smiled to himself as he wandered to his room and quickly undressed. He pulled back the covers on his bed and saw Sandy, looking as innocent as ever, curled up underneath them. Pitch's smile grew uncharacteristically sweeter, most likely due to the nice conversation he'd had before perking him up, and he crawled into the bed next the dog. He only roughly pushed the Corgi over to the other side of it once.
Once.
Pitch's alarm clock went off much sooner than he'd expected it to. He looked at the clock. It was already seven forty-five. Sodding hell!
Pitch yanked the blankets off of himself and ran to the bathroom carrying his clothes from the day before and throwing them in the hamper, grabbing his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans before it went through the wash. In milliseconds the water was hot and running and he was washing himself, skipping his hair, and back in his room with a towel around him and phone in hand.
Once in front of the armoire, he grabbed out clothes quickly. A long-sleeved button-up charcoal shirt, dark navy briefs, casual black pants that hugged him in all the right places and bunched up at his knees and ankles, and dark socks. He put in his piercings that he'd laid on the nightstand and the phone in his pocket.
He practically ran to the kitchen, filled up the dog's bowls, then to the shoe mat, grabbing his black boots he'd worn the day before. He opened the door and cursed out loud before slamming it shut and running back to his bedroom, snagging his keys off the nightstand and his bag from next to it, and jogging back out, yelling a quick, "Don't ruin the house while I'm gone, mutt," over his shoulder before he closed the door and locked it.
He sprinted down the steps and out to his car, ignoring the looks from the other tenants and passersby outside. He unlocked his car with the contraption on his keychain and hopped in. It wasn't long before he found himself peeling down the quiet roads of Pennsylvania to his new college.
The campus road was just as beautiful as the first time he saw it. He wished he'd had time to admire it on this drive, but there really was none. It was already seven fifty-five.
As he sped he slammed on the brakes as he widely turned a corner. There was another student running down the road in front of him wearing a small backpack. The student turned around at the squeal of brakes, thankfully far enough away that there would've been no chance of a collision, and smiled brightly with a wave of his hand.
Pitch cussed and honked his horn, motioning for Jack to get in his bleeding car.
Jack ran over and jumped inside, ignoring the fact that Pitch hit the gas before he was completely in the car.
"In a hurry, are we?" Jack asked with a mischievous grin.
"Be quiet, Frosty. I slept past my alarm due to someone keeping me up last night." Pitch huffed, turning another corner.
"At least I didn't try to run you over."
Pitch pretended like Jack didn't say anything. "You slept through yours as well, I take it?"
Jack didn't respond right away and Pitch looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Jack's grin was gone, replaced by some wistfully sad emotion in his eyes. He just replied, "Yeah," and though it was painfully obvious he was lying, Pitch dropped it.
"If the professor asks, I blame you for being late."
"Hey hey now, you could've not replied and been your usual rude and cynical self," Jack's grin returned.
"You know how I usually am, do you?"
"I can only assume."
Pitch smiled as they finally neared the parking lot.
"You are right, though."
They laughed as they got out of the car, carrying their bags.
Jack checked his phone and told Pitch the time, it was already eight.
They raced down the interlocking hallways. Pitch, naturally faster due to his long legs, slowed down to follow Jack. Once they made it the door, Jack adjusted his jacket to look less disheveled, and Pitch didn't need to adjust anything. Not a hair was out of place. Jack must've noticed because he shot him a quick glare that made Pitch chuckle with a closed mouth before he turned the handle on the door. They walked in and immediately all eyes fell on them.
Pitch heard the teacher rap on his desk and address Jack in front of everyone. "And where have you been, Mr. Frost and Mr. Pitchiner?" He sounded angry, and Australian.
"We overslept, Mr. Bunny," Jack smiled like the Cheshire cat.
"If you're gonna address me proper, mate, use the full name. It's Mr. Bunnymund." He furrowed his eyebrows angrily but didn't question the implication of the 'we' statement as much as Pitch did in his head.
Jack laughed. "But how can I do that when your nose always twitches? I mean, come on, act less like a bunny and I won't call you that."
Professor Bunnymund's nose twitched ever so slightly, as if on cue. "See me after class you little ankle-biter."
"I'm hurt."
Jack led Pitch up to a back corner of the room, not acknowledging a look some brown-haired kid gave him who seemed much too young to be in college. Pitch regarded him and saw utter anguish and maybe a bit of anger in his eyes. Pitch smiled at the chap and sat down at his new table.
Jack took out a notebook and pencil. Pitch followed suit.
Their teacher finished his fit of glaring up at them getting situated and went back to teaching his anthropology class.
"As you can see here from slide B, the indigenous people of Australia were the first to create, what we call today, the boomerang," Bunnymund taught.
Pitch slowly stopped paying attention. He had a 4.0 GPA and there wasn't much that could bring it down, especially since he always acquired the notes online. The fact that he also skipped the majority of his freshman classes helped as well. In New York they'd offered he could just take them all his senior year to make them up and by then there was no way he could fail them, just as a precaution and also so that he could basically take a break his last year.
God only knows what he plans on doing after college. He had wanted to be an artist, and also accomplish a bit of writing on the side. He wanted to paint what was Seraphina so everyone could see her beauty and write about her to tell everyone why she deserved to still be there. Sadly, he hadn't picked up a brush nor a keyboard since a few years before, but he still continued on his path, if only to leave wherever he was staying at the time for a little while to attend a class.
Now taking anthropology, the study of man and culture, Pitch thought maybe this class would excite him; help him with the backgrounds of peoples that he could draw emotion from, maybe even help him better show who she really was. He just hoped he was right, and if he continued down this path of artistry and writing, it would eventually help him come to terms with her death. Though if the bad dreams he'd been having lately were any indication, he might never forgive himself.
His little daydream didn't take too long, and Pitch found himself wandering his eyes around the classroom until they stopped on the teacher.
Mr. Bunnymund looked too young to be a certified teacher. Pitch had always imagined education to be equipped with age, but he supposed he was wrong. Bunnymund had to be in his thirties at the least. His hair was spiked up in the front and sides and went down into a long rattail in the back. It had an odd blue tint to it across a grey base and black roots. His eyebrows were just as black, and so was his slight scruff. Definitely not enough to be a beard, more like a day's worth of not shaving. His sideburns were short and flipped out a bit. He had rectangular glasses without a frame edge along the top, and every few minutes he would push them back up with his index finger. His eyes were a Celtic, sea foam green, and his pointer teeth were sharper than most and a dazzling white. He wore a dark grey suit that matched his hair and the elbows of which had oval black patches on them with a white button-up shirt underneath. He wore a black tie, and a silver chain that seemed to be paired with his glasses hung from his top pocket to his bottom one. Pitch assumed it was an old-fashioned watch. He also wore expensive looking black loafers that had a square point. Besides his eyes, the only thing colorful on him was the handkerchief in his top left pocket. It was colored to the extent that it looked like an Easter egg; colors jumbled yet blended beautifully; greens, pinks, purples, blues, and yellows. The rest of the suits accents, pocket lining and edging, along with the collar, were black.
Whenever he lifted an arm up to the classroom's whiteboard Pitch thought he saw the hint of winding tattoos, but he couldn't be sure. If he did have them, though, Pitch wondered what kind of life this man down in front of him led before he settled to the professor-standing he had now.
He felt a kick under the table and looked over to see Jack looking between him and the front of the room. Bunnymund cleared his throat and Pitch noticed him glaring.
"If you wouldn't mind, Mr. Pitchiner. I know it's your first day, but how about ya don't stare quite so much? Keep it in your pants, mate."
Pitch stood up and bowed gracefully as everyone stared up at him. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. I was merely getting my bearings and admiring the classroom. If my eyes stopped on you I do apologize, but it was an accident, though if I may be so bold, it doesn't have to be one." Pitch winked and the girls in the class started giggling while the guys couldn't help busting out in laughter.
Pitch thought he saw a slight blush creep across Bunnymund's face before Bunny realized the disarray his class had become and rapped on his desk violently. "Quiet down." Everyone sobered up instantly. "Mr. Pitchiner, one more comment like that and you can get off at the sight of me outside of my classroom."
"Is that a promise?" The giggles and laughs started again although more hushed this time.
Before the professor could reply, Pitch responded with utterly faked sincerity, "Yes sir, I understand. It was a joke. I apologize yet again. Sometimes I just can't resist." Bunnymund accepted the façade and nodded while Pitch sat back down.
"Don't let it happen again, mate."
"I won't."
Pitch could see Jack smiling at him out of the corner of his eye. Pitch smiled lightly back. He was surprised at how uplifted he felt today, and took his time noticing Jack's outfit. He had on a plain, thin, black zip-up hoodie with a light grey cotton T-shirt on underneath. His white jeans were skinny, and he wore grey high-top Converse.
After more minutes crept by Jack passed Pitch a note indiscreetly.
Way to get the teach to hate you on the first day.
What else was I supposed to do? Get him to like me?
That would've been the best option, yes.
I never was one for taking the quick road. I prefer the scenic route.
The scenic route's gonna get you kicked out.
But at least it will take me out in style.
Jack stifled a laugh and Bunnymund only hesitated before continuing his lecture.
Now you're trying to use my generation's lingo? Come on, Kozzy.
I'll have you know I'm only twenty-one, and the more nicknames you make for me the more I make for you.
Perfect. You can buy me booze. Jack blatantly ignored Pitch's last part of his sentence.
Pitch frowned, annoyed, and Jack smiled. Pitch paused in writing his reply before a slightly evil grin appeared on his face.
And what will you give me in return?
My virginity.
Pitch dropped his pencil and leaned out of his chair to pick it up before writing back, clearing his throat.
A strapping young man like yourself hasn't lost their virginity yet? Well well, that's not as much as a surprise as I expected it to be.
Oh shut up, Kozzy. Of course I have. Learn to take a joke.
Perhaps it's you that should.
Pitch chuckled to himself and Jack looked annoyed.
What, so you're saying you've lost yours?
Pitch hesitated once he read the last sentence, giving Jack enough time to snatch it back and write another.
Thinking of a lie, were you? Look at that. Tall, dark, and handsome still has his V-card.
You think I'm handsome, do you?
Pitch watched Jack's face blush lightly.
You know what I mean.
Oh, but, I don't think I do. Why don't you explain it to me.
Jack crumpled up the paper and stuffed it in his pocket, more annoyed than ever. Pitch grinned to himself at his accomplishment.
They sat in continued silence until class ended, though it wasn't much longer after their note-passing had concluded. As they walked out of class together, Pitch could feel eyes burning into the back of his head, but didn't turn around. It was most likely that student from before.
They were halfway down the hall when they heard someone calling out to Jack. Surprisingly, it wasn't the student, but the professor, looking furious, with a nose that wouldn't stop twitching.
"I thought I told you to see me after class, Mr. Frost?" Bunnymund hollered down the hall.
"Oh jeez, sorry Mr. Bunny," Jack replied. He looked back at Pitch. "Wait here, I'll be right back."
Jack brushed Pitch accidentally as he walked by and Pitch felt his chest constrain.
"A-alright," he managed in reply.
Jack turned around as he continued walking and smiled with a glint in his eyes. It was a definite possibility Jack meant to rub against him.
Scratch that. It was the only possibility.
Pitch watched Jack disappear back into the classroom. There weren't many students around to bother him so Pitch seated himself on a small bench in the hall. He realized he didn't have another class that day, and wondered why he was still waiting after about fifteen minutes of it.
He stood up and went over to the main door of anthropology and opened it, planning on explaining to Jack that he was just going to head to his flat.
What he saw wasn't what he was expecting.
Professor Bunnymund's belt was discarded in front of the door. The professor in question had his pants unzipped and was bent over the desk. In front of him was a heated looking Jack, clutching the edge of the desk so hard his fingers were white. They were panting heavily, and it still took a moment for Pitch to fully understand what they were doing. Bunny's thrusts continued and it finally clicked with Pitch.
Oh. They're having sex.
Pitch's face turned a bright red. He felt his fists curl. He wasn't embarrassed like he had originally thought. He was angry. He was angry that someone was touching his friend. Was touching someone that was his. Someone that he cared about more than he'd realize on his own. Jack was still a child for Christ's sake. No one was allowed to take advantage of a child. It was sick. It was wrong. They couldn't take her from him. It wasn't fair. He was older now. He could do it. He could get them off of her and hold her again and tell her everything was finally going to be alright. She could live the life she deserved and the one he wanted for her, no, the one he needed for her. She could be happy-
Pitch heard Jack's cries he'd missed before.
"G-get… Get off... Get off of me!"
Pitch ran at his professor with full force, knocking him to the ground.
"What the-," Was all Bunnymund managed to get out before Pitch punched him square in the jaw. Again. And again. And again. Putting his full force into every punch and hearing bones crack and blood spray. This pitiful excuse for a human that lay bleeding in front of him as he continued to beat it was revolting. It made him sick to see. He kept on hitting, begging silently that they would just leave him alone. Leave her alone.
He eventually noticed something clutching his arm. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see Seraphina but instead it was Jack, staring down at him with teary eyes.
"Pitch… That's enough," Jack whispered.
Pitch looked at his left hand. His knuckles were bleeding and the bones felt shattered. He looked past it at Bunnymund. He was worse. His glasses were cracked and the skin over his right cheekbone and jaw had split. His nose looked a little cocked, and his eye was already swelling.
Pitch quickly fumbled off of him and stood up, slowly backing away. Jack looked between the half-conscious teacher and Pitch with an emotion masque by tears on his face. Neither of them knew what to do. They just stood there, not making eye-contact, for several moments. Eventually, Jack spoke up.
"He was… He tried to… I couldn't get him off of me… And then…" He sniffled, his eyes hollow and empty.
"Shhh," Pitch grabbed Jack gently to him, hushing. He petted Jack's hair with his good hand as Jack gripped tightly onto his shirt. "It's gonna be alright. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It was that sick fucker. It was his fault. You're safe now. You're gonna be fine."
He looks just as fragile.
Pitch continued stroking Jack until he saw Bunnymund put himself into a seated position. Pitch pushed Jack partially behind himself and glared with such ferocity he thought it possible the teacher would burst into flames right there on the floor. Pity he didn't.
"You think it's okay to touch your students without consent, do you? I wonder how the Dean will react to hearing this. He'll take away your teaching license and you'll be on the street before you can say, 'God save the Queen,' you can be assured of that."
"Look, I didn't… I thought he would…"
"Thought he would what? Don't tell me you actually like the boy. You sick bastard. And raping him would help you how? Convey your feelings properly? Is that it?"
"I didn't… No… I didn't…" He mumbled, not meeting Pitch's gaze.
"Didn't what?" Pitch spat.
"I didn't think he would find it so bad…"
Pitch turned his head towards Jack ever so slightly without moving his eyes away from Bunnymund. "I would like you to leave the room now."
"But Pitch-,"
"Now."
Pitch didn't continue until he heard the door shut behind him.
"Where were we?" Pitch feigned curiosity as he took a step closer to Bunnymund.
The professor clumsily tried to edge himself away across the floor with his elbows.
"Oh that's right. How could it have slipped my mind." He stepped on Bunny's hand, causing him to cry out sharply. "You were explaining to me how what you were doing was an acceptable thing, correct? Or am I mistaken?"
When Bunnymund didn't immediately respond Pitch stepped down harder.
"Right, right, mate. Listen-," He begged.
"I'm not your 'mate'. If you think you can actually convince me what you were doing was alright, you're free to go. You can walk out of here and no one will have to know what you did." Pitch didn't even bother trying to hide the venom in his voice anymore. Not that Jack was gone now.
Silent tears dripped down the professor's cheeks, "I like him, okay? I like him. He's outgoing and maybe a little bratty, but he's witty like me. I thought that if I could just convince him- If I could just start it he'd like it. I didn't think he would… He would…"
"He would what?" Pitch again pressed his boot down.
"He wouldn't want it! Okay?! He gets around! Everyone knows that! If I had real feelings for him I didn't think he would mind!"
Pitch lifted his shoe and Bunny exhaled, clutching his hand to his chest. He looked back up at Pitch just in time to see that same boot lift off the ground and fly forward. Pitch kicked him back so hard he fell brutally onto his head. Bunnymund rolled over in pain, gripping the source of it.
"You disgust me." Pitch turned and began walking out, calling over his shoulder, "I won't tell the Dean, mainly because Jack and I both need this credit, but if you so much as look at the boy, or breathe his same air, I won't be going to the Dean for help anyway. I won't need it. I will break you." He opened the door that was already slightly ajar, smiled, said, "See you next Monday, professor," and slammed the door behind him.
As soon as he was in the hall he felt a pressure against him. It was Jack, hugging him tightly.
"I heard you in there," He mumbled into Pitch's chest as Pitch proceeded to put his arms around him. It was muffled, but he could understand.
"I don't think eavesdropping is a very polite thing to do, Jackson." Pitch whispered.
Jack lifted his head, smiling despite his nose and eyes being puffy and red from crying and the smile not meeting his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jack?"
"Right, I apologize, Frosty." Pitch smiled warmly down at him, not noticing Jack's empty demeanor.
Jack playfully smacked his shoulder but quickly delved back into the hug causing Pitch to laugh out loud.
"What's so funny this time?" Jack's voice was again muffled.
"You."
"That's not very nice, Kozzy." Jack breathed a small laugh.
"When have you ever known me to be nice? If I remember correctly, earlier you said I was cynical."
"Okay, okay, fine, you're cynical. Happy now?"
"Elated." Pitch chuckled causing Jack to do the same.
Pitch bent his head down suddenly to whisper in Jack's ear. "You heard what I said to him, right? We can tell the authorities if you wish. That doesn't bother me one bit to do so."
Jack pulled back. "No no, don't. I'll be okay." He tried to smile hollowly once again as a bit of panic crept into his voice. "You could get in trouble for what you did, too, and I don't want that to happen when you were just trying to help me out."
"If you change your mind, tell me immediately, alright? I'll drive to the police station myself," Pitch paused, "Well, if I can find it, that is." He lifted his right hand to ruffle his hair back with a tinge of embarrassment.
"I promise I will," Jack replied earnestly.
"Can I give you a ride home, at least?" Pitch asked, his usual behavior clicking back into place.
Jack hesitated and Pitch noticed his eyes widen minutely. "N-no, I can make it on my own."
"Jack, you're not walking home. Are you really that afraid of me?" Pitch smiled evilly.
"I-it's not that," Jack stammered, looking anywhere that wasn't Pitch.
"I was kidding." Pitch replied, serious and concerned again. He reached a hand out to Jack's arm. "Do you need to go somewhere else?" His eyes were filled with worry as much as he didn't want them to be.
"Can I just…" Jack looked up at him. " Can I just go to your place?"
Pitch faltered for a moment. "That's fine, but, uh, why don't you want to go home? I understand that maybe you want to get cleaned up a bit first if you don't plan on telling your parents but…"
"My knight in shining armor is denying me a carriage ride back to his castle? Come on, be a gentleman," Jack smiled brightly, vacantly, falsely, and this time Pitch did notice, but chose to ignore the blatant lie. Jack looked desperate.
"If you put it that way, princess," Jack grimaced and Pitch smiled wider and bent down, swooping an arm out and holding the other to his stomach in a bowed way, "Your chariot awaits." Pitch looked back up and met Jack's eyes with and absolutely wicked grin.
"Pitch… what're you doing?" Jack took a step back as Pitch stood up.
"Why, I'm helping you to the carriage, my lady," Pitch's smile grew darker.
"Pitch, no, don't you dare. Pitch-" Pitch cut him off by picking him up and holding him across both his arms gently, taking note of the fact Jack was most likely hurt. He pushed that thought aside before his anger could come back.
Jack gripped onto his shirt as Pitch started to walk down the hall.
"Put me down right now!" Jack struggled.
"Not a chance," Pitch flashed a toothy smile once he'd moved his head down close to Jack's and whispered his statement lovingly in his ear.
Jack gave up, blushing furiously, and went deadweight as a last resort causing Pitch to laugh whole-heartedly. "I have a feeling you'll like my housemate."
"Housemate…?" Jack questioned.
Pitch didn't respond and kept with his walk. The students that were being let out of their classes stared with envy, causing another blush to redden Jack cheeks and Pitch's face to be clad in a triumphant smile at having managed to not only carry the talk of the school, but also getting Jack's face reddened.
Pitch didn't realize, or didn't notice, the two pairs of eyes that were on him as he left. One pair green and full of amazement and confusion while the other brown and filled with despair and hatred.
For now, he didn't need to be aware of that.
