It'll be months before that stupid tree from the backyard can be used as semi-decent firewood, but the itch to have a bonfire is there, just fucking waiting to be itched. So he comes home one evening with store-bought logs and tosses them in the fancy fire pit North put together on the deck. It doesn't have the same rustic, wild vibes he wanted, but it's better than accidentally scorching the grass and having to meet Elsa's perfectionist wrath.

He sticks a hotdog into a skewer, pops open a beer, stretches his legs on a wire chair and leans back, listening to the crackling fire and the chirping crickets in the background. Once they're nicely browned on the outside, he tosses some pieces of roasted meat to the dogs, letting them in on the fun as well. By the time Elsa finds him, his stomach is stuffed, the dogs are snoring, sprawled on the couch, and he has giddily moved on to dessert.

"Aren't you looking cozy tonight?" she mocks. Her hair, probably fresh out of her updo falls in curls over her shoulders.

"Want a s'more?"

"Sure."

He scooches to make room for her—a slightly complicated endeavor, considering the three mutts he already has to share the tiny couch with—and hands her a pre-loaded stick.

She slowly rotates the marshmallow over the flame, carefully, intricately, like roasting marshmallows is an art perfected over decades of dedication. "So… what brought this on?"

"Don't you sometimes wake up wanting to play with fire?"

"Can't say that I relate to your arsonist urges very much."

He shrugs unbothered. "Also, I love s'mores."

"That one, I can understand a little better." Elsa holds up her s'more, and he bumps his stick with hers in a sticky toast.

He expertly maneuvers the biscuits sandwich into his mouth in one go, munching slowly to avoid the gooey fluff from oozing out. Elsa chuckles, and he glances at her just to find her watching him eat like he's a freaking panda at the zoo.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"You do, actually."

Before he understands what's happening, her hand is resting on his thigh for support, and she's leaning forward to wipe a smudge of chocolate that miraculously has found its way to the tip of his nose. She's so close he could probably count her lashes—if he can bring his caveman brain to remember what numbers are, that is.

Breath hitched in his throat, Jack stands very still, incapable of doing anything but following Elsa's every move with his eyes. Fire glows on her skin. The spot where she touches him over his jeans is burning, and he can feel the back of his neck soaking up with nervous sweat. His throat goes dry and his heart starts pounding a thousand beats a minute.

But whatever teasing game she's playing doesn't seem to be intentional. Some sort of abrupt realization hits her, and she immediately pulls back, eyes as big as golf balls and lips parted in shock. He glances down at them—those goddamn pink lips look so soft, and all he wants is to find out what they taste like.

"I—"

Her next words are muffled by his mouth clashing onto hers. He can taste the sticky sweetness of the marshmallows on her lips, and he's never been so hungry for anything in his life before.

Thank the Lord, it doesn't take long for her to reciprocate the kiss. Her hands tangle in his hair whilst his move to the hem of her shirt. His fingers trail up, making a slow line to her ribcage, where her tattoo is. He presses a palm to it, greedy and firm, stretching her skin right on the edge of her bra. Elsa moans into his mouth and pulls him even closer, her nails digging into his scalp, her body wiggling under him. She's trapped between the couch and his own weight, but that's still not enough and goddammit he's going to melt—whose bright idea was it to start a fucking fire?

His leg hit the food tray, and leftover hotdogs and gram crackers spill all over the floor, startling all present. The dogs wake up; the haze of lust momentarily clears. He hovers over Elsa, dumbstruck, not fully comprehending what just happened or how they got there, as if he'd been a mere spectator, watching this shitshow from the wings.

Elsa looks back at him, similarly catatonic, lips swollen and hair an unruly mess. She blinks once. "Uhm…"

The waver in her voice is the last kick he needs to snap out of it. Jack quickly pushes himself off, cold air hitting where her fingers scalded him just seconds ago, and crouches on the floor to clean up the mess before the dogs decide it is time for an unsanctioned midnight snack.

As he works, from the corner of his eye, he sees Elsa sitting up and smoothing her clothes back into place. His knuckles go white. He misses how warm her skin felt under his hands. Everything hurts like he's been singed by scorching metal.

She clears her throat. "So… that happened."

"It did." He pushes himself off the ground and walks to the table to keep the food away from his pet children.

"I should apologize." She sighs, wringing her hands together on her lap. "I feel like I egged you on."

"Did you?"

"Can you stop with the two-word answers?"

His brows furrow. "My bad?"

Elsa huffs.

He laughs awkwardly. "Okay, I'm stopping." Sitting back next to her, but still mindful to keep a respectable distance between them, as if he didn't have his body pressed against her in all the wrong places just now, he scratches his stubble, feeling unexpectedly drained all of a sudden.It's been a long ass day, he reckons, and that is without adding a quick—though phenomenal nonetheless making out session to the tab. Only half-joking, he blurts out, "Was it really that bad of a kiss?"

"No! It's—" She buries her face in her hands and groans. "This—We're living under the same roof."

Her pointing out the obvious like the know-it-all that she is actually elicits a genuine smile from him. "Believe it or not, I'm aware."

"Do you really think this is a good idea when we… are stuck in the same house?"

He shrugs, and despite her evident distress, on his side, he finds the conversation inexplicably funnier and funnier the longer it lasts. It's like the more overanalytical Elsa gets, the more laid-back he has to act to balance out the mighty powers of the universe. "I'm not really known for making the greatest of choices."

"How very comforting."

"Look, I'm not a plans-ahead guy." With the tip of his index finger, he traces her hairline, tucking a loose lock behind her ear. Consciously or not, Elsa gently leans into his touch, and the butterflies in his stomach flutter their wings like hummingbirds. "I'm guided by fun first, gut feeling second, practical adulting maybe in a loose third place."

"I think I lost your point."

Jack chuckles. Hands on both sides of her neck, he tilts her chin to the right angle. He comes closer, breath acutely even, and whispers, "This was fun, right?"

Her eyes shift to his lips. She swallows. Her already flushed cheeks turn an ever brighter shade of red. "I suppose."

"Then what's stopping us from doing it again?" The affection in his smile reaches his eyes. He nuzzles her nose with his. "And if tomorrow you realize this was a big fat mistake, I promise I won't hold it against you."

"You think I will be the one to regret it?"

"I'd have to be pretty stupid to ever regret you, lady."