Being with Pitch is a lot like living with an incredibly cranky housecat.
Jack would never say this out loud (he values his life, wellbeing, and good dreams), because Pitch would probably much rather be compared to something like a panther or some other dark, stalking, creature of the night. Because Pitch is a very vain bastard.
And Jack definitely doesn't mean one of those nice, sweet kitties who purr and cuddle up to you and smile with perfect contentment when scratched behind the ears.
Oh no. He couldn't be a NICE cat.
Pitch is the cat-haters cat.
Pitch is the cat who stalks around yowling (or, in this case, Ominously Muttering) at all hours of the night. Only to glare at Jack like he's personally insulted when finally asked what's wrong (or, more accurately, what the hell his problem is).
He'll demand on taking up all the space on the bed (or under the bed, Jack can fall asleep on top of the bed as many times as he wants and he'll always wake up under it) and disregard any amount of kicking. Then Jack will wake up sweating and completely smothered by clutching shadows and a ridiculous pile of lanky, over-heated limbs. Because at some point Pitch decided that Jack was a much better bed than the rest of the bed, (completely ignoring height and overall SIZE differences) and any attempts at dislodging him only get Jack low, warning growls.
(Jack also discovered that Pitch's shadow hands will still act on his whims when he's unconscious. The one time he was able to squirm away from the endless arms and legs that had tangled around him he had found himself instantly dragged back under the bed and held in place by at least five of the damn things. He hadn't even seen the hands coming for him and will never admit to how loud he screamed.)
It would be fine if the aggressive cuddles were kept to the few times the two of them were actually asleep together, but Pitch, like most horrid cats, constantly demands attention. God forbid Jack focus on anything else for too long. It's almost a game to him now, seeing how long he can work on something (he's found he really likes carefully crafting sculptures, it's relaxing) without getting Tall Dark and Looming hanging over his shoulder and insisting that "Oh no you keep working on…whatever that is Jack. I'll just be here, don't mind me."
And Jack cannot COUNT the number of times Pitch simply fell over onto his lap without a word and refused to be moved. Jack once thought that maybe Pitch wanted to be pet (Jack had perhaps taken the cat metaphor too far but it was fair with the amount of petting and stroking HE had to put up with) and nearly got his hand taken off for it. One does not ruffle the King of Nightmares Hair.
Things became FAR too stressful when he found out that sometimes Pitch DOES want to be pet. Other times he does not and getting it wrong may get you eviscerated.
Or at least glared at. Luckily Jack built up an immunity to Pitch's patented Glares Of Terror through the wonders of constant exposure.
But the worst, the WORST is when Pitch is in a good mood. Pitch in a good mood is a huge asshole who will hide under dark areas and grab at Jacks ankles as he walks by. And you'd think nearly two hundred years of living with Mr. Terror of the Night would dull your ability to get startled. You'd think that, but Jack still finds himself jumping about a foot in the air and yelling some variation of "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" every. damn. time.
And every damn time he'll be answered by delighted cackles fading away as Pitch finds a new hiding spot.
Because he's an asshole.
Last time Pitch was in a good mood this bullshit led to a prank war that lasted about a year and only ended when The Dream Team staged an intervention. Apparently no one appreciated Jack stealing Cottontails best sparkling dyes. They went to a good cause. By cause he means Pitch's closet. Really he was doing them a favor because they didn't need to worry about Pitch causing any trouble when he was too busy trying to make all his best dresses black again.
Currently Pitch is in one of his Walk-Around-Scowling-At-Everything moods and Jack has been getting antsy waiting for the other shoe to drop. If Pitch was an actual cat he'd be looking to see what valuable item he's vomited on. But all he can really do is sit and try to fight the urges to cover The Dramatic Bridges with ice even though he REALLY wants to see if the Nightmares will go flying out over the railings.
It's still not as bad as the solid two weeks of I'm-Going-To-Pretend-You-Don't-Exist phase Pitch went through after The Tooth Palace Incident.
But nothing was ever really as bad as the Tooth Palace Incident. They do not talk about The Tooth Palace Incident.
Jack's laying back on a pile of cushions he's been building up over the months (his hope is that if there IS no bed than he won't keep ending up under the bed) trying not to think too much about The Tooth Palace Incident when all the air is knocked out of him by a very warm, very big, and VERY heavy weight. He manages to get his breath back before long arms wind around his middle (he swears they can both wrap twice around him it's absurd) and miles of legs twine around his. He gets the feeling he's not going to be allowed to move for a while but at least this means the Scowling and Prowling has come to an end.
He's in the process of figuring out if Pitch is in a petting mood when his wrist is snatched up and his hand placed firmly in ink black hair. Jack grins and obligingly begins stroking.
"Bad day?"
"I hate Sanderson. He's an old, fat fool who can't mind his own damn business and keep his good dreams to himself! If I can't get into his insipid, mind-numbing drivel then he needs to stay away from my beautiful Nightmares!"
Jack nods understandingly. Actually he kind of likes Sandy. Out of the Happy Thoughts Brigade he's the most laid back. He's secretly Jack's favorite and there is no way he'll ever tell Pitch that.
"You want me to lob snowballs at him? Last time I tried freezing something under him he just smiled and sent a flock of giant flying fish at me. The guy's weird."
"Right now I want you to stay. here."
"Yeah because I'm totally capable of getting away it's not like I'm trapped or anything."
"I also want you to shut up."
Jack's grin gets bigger and he shifts a bit to get more comfortable. He lets his head fall back against the cushions and preps himself for what is probably going to be several hours of being unable to move.
"Not a chance." He smirks, even as he feels himself starting to doze off under the warmth pressing him down.
His hand continues running through Pitch's hair and he doesn't say another word for two hours.