A/N: Thanks to Mikell and Mel for being my faithful reviewers and making very exhausted efforts to help me get a grip on this chapter. Love you guys!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of RotG and make no profit from writing this fic.

Chapter Two

One Sided

Sophie Bennett sat at the kitchen table in her modest condo, a cup of coffee between her hands to ward off the chill of the evening and the television droning in the background. It was the first of April, Easter was starting to slowly creep up and she'd officially runout of patience with Aster Bunnymund.

Sighing, she sneered in disgust at herself and dropped her forehead into an open palm.

It wasn't his fault she was at her wits end. He was probably clueless as to just how far her feelings had strayed from innocent to something decidedly adult. It wasn't as if he spent a lot of time hanging around her. They had their little game of gift exchanged every Easter, but that was as far as it went. And although the paintings had become much more personal, hinting at a possibility of something much larger, it was still a painted egg on her bed side table with the one leaving it long gone.

And he didn't know.

He didn't know that he was the reason she smiled more, he didn't know that he was the reason she'd turned down that offered cigarette behind the bleachers one night at a football game she had no interest in, or that he was the reason she'd become so immersed in art classes, or the reason she'd stopped dating entirely. He had no idea that the mere thought of him had caused her to walk away from an outdoor keg party and go home on a night when several people had gotten in cars and made the fatal decision to drive. He had no idea that he'd provoked her to go out and get a tattoo of a boomerang across her left shoulder blade on her nineteenth birthday.

He was completely unaware of the fact that she was hopelessly in love with him.

"In love with the Easter Bunny," she muttered, laughing softly. How many grown women could say that? Then again, how many grown women knew who he actually was?

Sighing, she pushed away from the table and slowly moved to the large French doors that overlooked a wooded backyard. There was a thin layer of snow dusting the ground, catching the blue glow of the moon. It would be mostly gone by tomorrow with the warm front that would be moving in, but right now, even in April, it was beautiful.

A line of frost slithered its way over the glass in front of her face and she grinned. Touching a fingertip to the glass, she drew it upward, into a curl that circled inward several times. The frost followed.

Laughing, Sophie pushed the door open and stepped out onto the small patio, shivering as the cold bit into the bare soles of her feet.

"Are you trying to make him mad?"

A male chuckle answered her and she looked up. Jack Frost hung over her roof, his hood up and a smirk on his boyish face.

"Not make him mad. Just…mess with him a bit."

"Right." Wrapping one arm around herself, Sophie took a sip of her coffee. "Hi Jack."

"Hey, Sophie!" He jumped from the roof, landing in front of her. "Wow, you're getting old!"

"Shut up!" She swatted at him and he ducked away, laughing. "I'm not that old."

He leaned lazily against his staff. "Sure. What is it…twenty two now?"

"Twenty three," she corrected. "Okay, if we're going to continue this, it's going to be inside. I'm freezing. Can I get you anything? I've got coffee on."

He made a face and shook his head. "No, that's okay." Stepping into the living room, he looked around while she refreshed her cup, taking in the simple furniture, the painting's spotting the walls, the tower lamps flanking the modest television and entertainment stand and casting their muted glow over the dove gray carpet.

"Nice place," he murmured appreciatively, turning to the curio that took up most of the wall across from the entertainment center. Her grandmother had left it with Sophie when she's passed away. It was mostly glass, framed in cherry wood that had been liberally decorated with intricate Norwegian carvings.

"Quite the collection you've got here."

Sophie looked around the corner of the kitchen wall, heat rising quickly to her cheeks when she saw what Jack was referring to. Carefully placed on the center shelf was every decorated egg she'd received from Aster over the years. She'd been painfully meticulous in removing the insides and rinsing out each one so that she would be able to keep them.

"Oh, that's just-."

"I know what it is, Sophie," Jack cut her off, tilting his head to the side and giving her that annoyingly insightful look that very clearly told her she wasn't getting a thing past him. Out of all the Guardians, Jack was the only one she saw on a regular basis which made it impossible to hide things from him. And all, in large part, thanks to her brother, Jamie.

When she'd gotten old enough to really understand who the guardian's were, Jamie had taken her outside one chilly Autumn morning. She'd been eight years old, standing in the middle of the backyard in her fleece owl pajama's and her winter coat.

"Jamie…it's freezing. Can we please go back inside?"

"Hang on, Soph. I want to show you something. Remember the Guardians?"

"Yeah."

"And remember how mom's always talking about Jack Frost?"

"Jamie…seriously-."

"Sophie, turn around-."

She had just in time to watch hoarfrost overtake the nearly bare apple tree in their backyard. Layer upon layer crackled over the branches and remaining leaves until it became too much and started falling from the tree in tiny snowflakes. One landed on the tip of her nose and she shook her head as a chill swept over her cheeks.

And then she saw him, standing under the tree, his pale hands wrapped around the staff at his side that he was casually leaning into. His blue eyes watched her carefully, a silent plea in their depths.

"I knew he could paint but I had no idea the bunny was this talented."

His words brought her back and she blinked away the long-ago memory. With a sigh, she went to stand beside him, looking over the collection. Most of them had been painted with memories and she'd caught on early that he was making every effort to keep her from forgetting him. Once she'd been reminded though, there was no danger of it happening again.

Somewhere around the time she'd turned nineteen he'd seemed to understand that and the paintings had changed. Instead of reminding her, they told her that he was there. And the paintings were beautiful, detailed in a way that a watercolor painting would be, lacking the fine lines but still clearly depicting a scene - her favorite flowers from the Warren, the hillside she frequented on the outskirts of town that overlooked a small river winding off to nowhere, the rumored "haunted" lighthouse she'd been dared to go into one evening and couldn't help but love because of the history it held, the swing hidden in the branches of a willow tree out at her grandparent's house that she could spend hours on.

"He's pretty amazing," she said softly.

She could feel Jack's gaze on her and diligently ignored it, instead looking at that very first painting that had restored the hope of a young girl.

"Does he know you think so?"

She turned to him then. "Should he?"

Jack shrugged, then ruffled his frosted hair with one hand. "I'd be the wrong one to ask. I only know half of the rules the Guardian's have to follow and even then…I still break them. But," his gaze turned solemn and he reached up, taking her chin between his ice-cold fingertips, "the way I see it, the only thing wrong about loving someone is not telling them that you do."

His words chased away the frustration and doubt, leaving in its wake a deep relief that she felt clear to her bones. Smiling, she lunged forward, throwing her arms around Jack's neck and hugging him tightly.

"Thanks."

"Any time, Soph."