jack frost ♥
((Yeah I did a thinnggg
rule number two,
just don’t get attached to,
somebody you could lose.
She fell down,
down into the blackness, surrounded by a feeling of dread that seeped through her skin and coursed through her veins, filled her lungs like a black ink that made it so hard to breathe. No, breathe, she must breathe.
The dark faded away, if only enough for her to actually see the slick walls that ran ahead and behind her, walls that seemed to be inching closer and closer, squeezing her, constraining her. Oh gods, just breathe.
Ostara forced herself to stand, face grim and determined not flinch as she took a single step down the constricting tunnel. Then another, and another. He wanted her to run. She would not. She would not make this easy for him, gods curse him.
She would not make this easy.
… But how long could she last?
The tunnels shifted directly beneath Ostara’s feet, the stone of the damp ground lengthening under her very heels to put her off balance. The Nightmare King stepped out of the shadows behind her, walking precisely where her feet had been at her exact pace.
He was watching her carefully, judging every twitch of her muscles, every stutter of her heartbeat, and every infliction in her breathing. He was focusing on the rapid rate of her progressing fear, and he was prepared to propel that fear.
She would run.
Pitch Black was certain of that. In the darkness of his lair Ostara would find herself lost, and in her confusion she would find her fear overwhelming her soft heart. Her heart was already beating faster. It was a matter of time before terror ignited instinct and her legs cooperated with the rhythm of the blood flowing through her veins.
Pitch’s cool breath tickled at the back of her neck, letting her know that he was there, but his body was not visible and it was likely that he had merged into the thick oil drenching the walls once more. Near and far. It could be presumed that the King of Darkness was everywhere.
❅ Jack stared dully at the blinking green light at the end of his phone that had lit up with the incoming message where it lay on the neatly made covers of their bed, knees pulled up to his chest and hoodie back on him where it belonged, the stupid and constricting pants and button up shirt Pitch had gotten tossed in the corner of the room in anger. He had in fact gone to the closest bar in the area, but something had roughly yanked his stomach back just as his feet had been about to cross the threshold. If only his self from a year ago could see him now, pausing in genuine guilt in the doorway of a bar with a sense of ugly betrayal surging through him at the thought of what he had been about to do. Instead he had bought the cheapest pack of beer he could find, and downed a can as soon as he kicked off his shoes in the front hallway. Jack pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing harshly and forcing himself to ignore the text. How fucking cheesy had he gotten, to do the exact opposite of what he had yelled at Pitch and gone straight home after the angry text, knowing the other wouldn’t be there clearly after that work text he had gotten and he’d be able to curl up in their bed, safely alone and hidden away in blankets and walls, to let himself ignore the day and anyone who’d want to talk to him for any reason whatsoever.
❅ Ignoring the sinking feeling that’d he’d regret this even more when Pitch finally came home (not that he couldn’t regret the whole thing to begin with, falling in love with the spirit of a possessed man, really when had his life started to take a turn for the decidedly fucked up), Jack grabbed the other’s pillow, flushing darkly even though there was no one there to see him as he buried his face into it, wrapping his arms around it and digging bare feet into the tops of the sheets, curling up slightly. It was almost peaceful, the apartment completely empty, the lights off and blinds drawn, with only the smell of the older man’s cologne to keep him company, he drifted off to uneasy sleep, hating himself even more even as darkness pressed against his mind at the wetness gathering at the corner of his eyes, the two empty cans stacked on the nightstand beside him. How fucking useless was he, who’d even want to come home to someone like him who couldn’t even do a job interview right?
As if it was possible it felt to Pitch as if Jack had given him more than he deserved by not responding to the text. The wandering man had walked away from the downtown area and managed to find himself a block away from where Jack’s interview was before he admitted to himself that Jack wasn’t going to respond. It was good that Pitch made his way there though, and walling past the building that had so much hope prior to that day, Pitch pulled out his phone to do a search of the area for any nearby pubs or.bars. there was one within a five block radius and Pitch made his way for that location.
The Nightmare King was out of his element when he stepped into the dingey atmosphere of the bar, but he still held his head up like any military man ever would and he wandered about the circumference of the bar in search of one face. There was no sign of the kid and Pitch was beginning to feel ansty. What was he supposed to do if Jack wasn’t here? Wander until he found the next bar? Finding Jack just wasn’t looking plausible, and as mad as Pitch wanted to be at Jack for this he knew it was his own fault for being a general ass.
Approaching the counter, Pitch leaned against it without taking a seat and waited for the bartender to come over. With a quiet voice Pitch began, “Have you seen maybe, uh, a shorter kid. Blonde hair. Like crazy blonde. The kind that looks like the sun is always glaring off it… And blue eyes. Like deep lake blue eyes come in here recently?”
"I’ve seen the sort. Came in a while ago. Missed him by a long shot. Does he owe you something?"
What did Pitch look like to this guy to have people owing him? Grinding his jaw, Pitch replied absentmindedly trying to figure out where to go next… Perhaps he should have gone to work, “No. I, uh, I owe him. Do you by chance know where he went?”
"I just know he bought a six pack and left."
That wasn’t the kind of thing you’d take bar hopping, Pitch presumed. He hoped that Jack had decided to return home with the alcohol. Hell, he hoped that the bartender was even talking about the right guy. Pocketing his hands and making his way out of the location, Pitch was thankful to be walking on the street now. His shoes were starting to stick to the hardwood floor. Pitch dialed the number of the theater and flagged down a taxi all the same, talking briefly just to make sure he wasn’t needed until the weekend for work.