You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.
But you have no problem with that. It keeps things feeling absolutely amazing. Utterly and completely…magical.
The feeling of flight.
The night is a dark purple, a velvety blanket enveloping your town in its cool embrace. Stars peek through the veil in vast numbers, innumerable by all accounts. They twinkle as they giggle at their brothers’ and sisters’ small jokes, illuminating the night and the depths of your soul.
But the biggest light is that of the full moon, its smiling face beaming down upon you and your companions.
The Man in the Moon—known by one of your friends as being “MiM”—sharing in your elation, in this most exquisite evening.
Smaller lights fly past beneath you, the flickering ones of the houses below, imitating the stars above. Trees wave at you as you pass by, wishing you safe travels. A couple of lakes shimmer with excitement at your soaring reflection. There is an unheard song in the air. A beautiful, peaceful one that only Mother Nature can sing.
You are flying with no destination in mind, nowhere to be, nobody to tell you where to go. The only purpose of tonight? Fresh air, and fun.
You take your eyes off of your nighttime surroundings and glance over at each of your companions in flight, giving each a smile so big and bright that it sort of hurts your cheeks. But you don’t mind.
On your right, floating on a cotton candy cloud made of glittering golden sand, is the Sandman. His small quietness only adds to the serenity of the night, his skin, clothes and hair catching the moonlight in a dreamlike fashion. He smiles back at you, loving the feel of the wind on his tiny face just as much as you do.
Beside him and just a bit above, flittering regally is the Queen of Teeth, the Tooth Fairy, Toothiana herself. Her regalia of multicolored feathers glisten with the lights of the night, her hummingbird wings emitting a soft hum. She has her arms slightly extended, eyes closed, and her lips curled in a faint smile. She is accompanied by three smaller versions of herself, one of them being Baby Tooth, who proceeds to twirl mid-flight.
The subtle sound of sleighbells turns your attention slightly below and to your left, where twelve reindeer trot on the wind, pulling a red and golden sleigh. Seated within, reigns in his hands, is North, more commonly known as Santa Claus. He has adventure in his crystal blue eyes, his grin almost as big as yours. He looks up at you and lets out a hearty chuckle, which makes you laugh a bit in turn, especially at his copilot--Bunny, who would do anything to have his large rabbit feet back on solid ground.
But the real focus of your attention is the one right beside you, who’s arm you are holding onto so dearly, and not just because you would fall from the sky without his help.
Then, a distant cry. That of a child.
Your vision grows blurry.
And then another cry.
The Guardians fly ahead, waving goodbye.
And the dream fades away.
The first thing that comes into focus is your alarm clock.
Little red lights scurry up and down, going at the same time and volume as the cries coming from the speaker of the little oblong device. A baby monitor.
Groggy, you throw off the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, forcing yourself to sit up. You rub your hand across your tired face, sweeping away as much sleepiness as you can.
You’re too tired to really notice a cool breeze come from seemingly nowhere.
Another wail gives you the motivation to stand up.
Your tired brain offers you a sort of time warp. One moment, you’re a step from your bed. The next, you’re out of your bedroom, down the hall, and at your destination.
It’s a small, one-bed kind of room. You and him had spent ages preparing it. About nine months, actually. Everything was so carefully picked for the upcoming arrival. A baby blue rug in the middle of the floor. The sideboards. And oh, the thought that went into walls. You had designed the murals for each one. Each flowed right into the next in swirls of lovely color that wasn’t too busy or too plain. The shapes are mildly geometric. The far wall is themed red and green and other earthy colors, with triangular reindeer and a depiction of the jovial Guardian of Wonder. To its right bears a tribute to the Guardian of Memories, with colors ranging from deep blue to greens and purples. Beside that one—the wall with the door—a wall with similar colors, though more pastel, more tribal, and the Guardian of Hope. The final wall combined the streaks of gold seen elsewhere in the other murals, combining them all in soothing shades of yellow, orange and gold, coming together to the Guardian of Dreams.
And on the ceiling? Gusts of still, snowy wind sprawl across the winter-blue paint, carrying with it snowflakes of all sizes speckled with glitter. Snow banks, snowmen, snow forts, and all things snow border the edges where the ceiling meets the other walls. Leafy frost sprang from the corners. And in the middle, a moon that seemed to shine by its own accord, the soft grey craters painted into a comforting smile only seen by those who truly believe. Then, a tiny, spikey-haired blue-white-and-brown painted figure seeming to look over into the crib with half-open eyes and a smile filled with love, floating right beside the moon with his bare feet almost touching its curving face. The most recent addition to the Big Four, now the Big Five. The Guardian of Fun.
You hadn’t been the one to paint the ceiling.
That...was his doing.
The one who had initialed the beautiful ceiling with the smallest, most humble artist’s signature.
You rub your eyes as you round the corner, wondering what it could be this time. What other thing could possibly be needed. You know that you needed sleep, and that was all. But you love him so much. Him, the life you had brought into the world. Taken care of since the moment you had found out, and would continue to do so until he no longer needed you. Him, who was crying for a diaper change or a feeding or just to be held, you wouldn’t know until you had tried everything but whatever it was. Him, your baby. Your son.
The son of the man you love with all of your heart, mind, body and soul.
The man who you see as you walk into the room to right now.
And, to this day, still makes you smile at the first sight of him, even if you’ve only been apart 5 minutes.
The snowflake you wear around your neck grows a bit colder, nipping your skin a little. Just as it always did whenever he was near, as if responding to its creator.
You can hear the soft jingle of the mobile above the crib, handcrafted by Jack himself. It was made of ice snowflakes of various shades of crystalline blue, but would never melt, not even when the heater was on. His back is turned to you as he faces the crib, his head—covered in his signature snowy white and tousled hair—slightly tilted as he sings along quietly. His staff, long and hooked, stands patiently in a corner. His arms are folded, carrying his son, whose cries grow weaker and weaker with each rock until they are no more.
You walk up to greet him, careful not to wake the baby. As you get to his side, he turns to meet your gaze with his blue one, flashing you one of his perfect smiles. He has your son cradled in his arms, snug up against the breast of his hoodie. Your son has always loved the cold, even at this age. The two of you had found out quickly that the cold soothes him, and so he has always loved his father’s cool touch (but still doesn’t mind yours). His small fingers are wrapped around Jack’s index finger, eyes closed and pink lips slightly open in deep sleep.
You take a moment to admire the picture of the two of them, just like that.
Father and son.
Then, slowly, gingerly, Jack lowers the baby back into the crib, bidding him a good night’s sleep. He kisses him on the forehead, then rises once more and takes you up in his arms.
“He’s so small,” he says quietly into your hair.
You nod in response, still a bit too tired to formulate a reply. You catch a whiff of the wintry scent that belongs to him, something you love oh so dearly. You bury yourself into him further, a motion that he responds to by holding you to him closer.
He then puts his pale forehead on yours, smiling, looking at you in that special way that he does.
Two years, it had been. Two years since the night you found a fallen boy on your porch. Two years since you had brought him into your home, just to find out that he is the spirit of Winter. The Jack Frost.
And then fallen in love with him.
The rest was history.
You smile back at him.
“I love you,” he whispers. One of the mobile’s snowflakes hit its neighbor with a soft, ringing ting.
This, you think happily, is all I have ever asked for. The dream of dreams. A life’s dream come true.
“I love you too, Jack.” The two of you lean in.
Your everlasting snowflake that he gave you grows cold once again.
And you kiss.