Everlasting Snow: Chapter 12

You slowly open your eyes.

Your bed is so comfortable. You snuggle with your blankets.

Wait, how did you end up in your bed?

You sneeze.

Great, you think, your nose running. I’m sick.

You remember your day out with a certain winter spirit.

A day that you spent out in cold snow completely barefooted.

You wiggle your toes under your blankets.

Good, they’re still there and feeling normal.

Sneezing again, you swing your legs out from under the blankets and over the side of the bed, taking a seating position. You look down at your feet, blaming them for your less-than-healthy state.

You don’t remember putting socks on.

After your brief moment of confusion, something seems to click.

Jack.

You recall falling asleep on the flight home. He’s the one who probably stuck you in bed and put socks on your feet. You smile slightly at the kind act.

Hold on. Then where are…?

As if directed by some unseen force, you look over to your dresser.

There they are, perched neatly on top, the morning sun reflecting off of them and making them shine.

Your one-of-a-kind snow ice skates.

Handmade by none other than Jack Frost.

Your smile gets wider. In the back of your head, you’re very happy that it wasn’t all a dream.

Sniffling, you gather your comforter around you and stand up. You walk over to your dresser and reach out your hand, touching the skates with the tips of your fingers.

They’re still extremely cold, feeling just as they did when they were freshly made yesterday.

You stand there for a few more seconds admiring them before you do your post-wakening routine. Your sinuses are killing you.

Now armed with tissues, you shuffle over to your kitchen, still wrapped in your comforter. (Your favorite sick day food) sounds good for breakfast.

As you begin to prep it, you hear someone rapping on the nearby window.

You look over. A wide grin spreads across your face.

“Hello, Jack,” you greet the upside-down, white-haired teenage boy outside. Still bound by gravity, his brown cloak is away from his shoulders and encircling his head, falling towards the ground.

He smiles, revealing a set of perfect teeth. He flips around to stand right-side up, staff in his right hand. He points at the window. “May I?” you see him mouth.

You nod, beckoning him inside. He pushes the window aside and climbs in and over the countertop. Setting his staff in a corner, he leans on the counter and faces you, crossing his arms.

“You look miserable,” he comments, smirking. You do catch a hint of legitimate concern in his voice, though.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” you fire back, congestion making you sound like you’re pinching your nose as you speak. Still, you can’t help but smile a little.

“Dumb move on my part,” he replies, softly chuckling. “At least I noticed afterwards and gave you some socks. Which was no easy task, if I may add. I couldn’t find where you keep the things.”

You blush. You hadn’t even thought of how he had found socks to put on you.

Which are in your underwear drawer.

You look back at him, feeling violated. He must catch this feeling because he begins to blush, his ears turning a bright red.

“D-don’t worry!” he tries to reassure, standing up straight and waving his arms frantically. “I didn’t see anything else! Just the socks and that’s it, I swear!”

You laugh, the embarrassment leaving you. “It’s all right.” You look into his clear blue eyes. “Thank you.”

“No problem…” he mumbles, taking a sudden interest in your cabinetry.

A smile still plastered on your face, you turn back around to your food.

Cold air suddenly envelops you, making you shiver and your nose run even more.

“Whatcha making?” you hear Jack say from over your left shoulder.

“(The name of the food),” you reply, wishing he’d step back just a bit. You’re not such a huge fan of the cold when you’re sick.

“Mmmmm, sounds good.”

You nod, continuing to prepare your much-needed breakfast. You feel an extreme tickle in your nose.

Unable to hold it in but not wanting to contaminate your food, you turn away and let out a record-breaking sneeze.

Right into Jack.

It takes a couple blinks and refocusing before you to realize what you just did.

He’s taken a little leap back, arms spread slightly apart from him, looking down in shock at his shirt with his mouth agape.

You cover your own open mouth with your hand, eyes wide.

“Oh my gosh,” you manage to say. “I’m so sorry!”

He puts his hands back to his sides. He bows his head low, shoulders slightly slumped, his shaggy bangs covering his eyes.

He’s mad, you begin to worry. He’s so mad. He’s going to leave and never come back. My adventure’s going to end because of a stupid sneeze. You cautiously reach out your hand. “Are…are you okay?”

He begins to shake. You quickly take back your hand and step back.

That’s when you hear him giggling.

His low, quiet giggle turns into a chuckle, which then turns into a full-on laugh. He eventually starts laughing so hard that he has to hold onto the countertop.

You are utterly confused.

He finally stands up straight again, holding his stomach with one hand and wiping his eyes with the other.

“That was really something,” he manages to say through a few more chuckles. You give him a worried smile. He jerks his head in the direction of the living room, half-smiling. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll handle the food.”

You hesitate. Didn’t he say once upon a time that he’d make food cold?

He goes behind you, grabs ahold of your shoulders and steers you out of the kitchen. “Just go rest. I’ll figure something out so I don’t go ruining the food.”

You look behind you. “But—”

He holds up his hand, stopping you. “Just go already! It’s not every day that I get to cook for someone. You being sick is my fault, anyway.”

Reluctantly, you head into the living room. You lay down on the couch, tucking yourself snugly into your comforter.

You smile.

Jack Frost is in your kitchen, and he’s cooking your breakfast.

What an interesting, odd, and fantastic situation.