You got there just in the nick of time. The soup was a half a second away from flowing out of the pot and onto your recently-cleaned stovetop. You ladle a good, healthy portion into a bowl and pour a glass of water. You go back down to the couch and set up a tray by the mysterious boy’s head. You then bring down the food, setting it on the tray.
You stand there for a couple of seconds with your hands on your hips, as if the smell of the soup will wake him up.
Getting a little impatient, you prod his leg with your foot. “Hey, wake up,” you tell him. No response. You sigh and notice the string of his cloak around his neck. Maybe taking that off will help clear up an airway and wake him up, you reason. You walk around the couch to where the arm separates you and the top of his head, and reach around his neck to untie the string.
He’s not moving at all, but you begin to blush. Here you are, leaning over the couch, alone with him, your face close to his as you fumble with the string.
It eventually gives, and you slip the cape off of him, fixing the blanket where it bunched up. You run your fingers over the embroidery, wondering if it’s just a type of string instead of ice.
Yeah, nope. That’s ice. Real, frozen, beautifully patterned ice.
You carefully fold up the cape and set it on the other couch arm, by his blanketed feet. You snatch another long gaze at his face. He’s mesmerizing…
The fire pops, making you jump. You give it an angry glare, but it continues to crackle.
Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the staff. You’ve never seen anything like this on a tree. Not with the engraved swirl going up it, anyway. It seems to emanate a hidden power. You reach out to grab it. Maybe a just a swing or two…just to see what it does…
“Ughh…where am I?” you hear a voice say dazedly from behind you. You quickly jolt back your hand and put it and your other behind your back, turning around to face the voice’s source. Eyes barely open, he’s propping himself up with one of his arms, rubbing his temple with the free hand, the blanket fallen from his torso.
You’re about to blurt out “in my living room,” but he seems to take no notice of you. He puts his head in his hands, drawing his knees up to him. “I remember…looking out at the city on the porch. Then…then…oh yeah!” He releases his face, eyes growing wide as he remembers. “I got surprised and fell off my staff!” He chuckles to himself. The same chuckle you’ve been hearing. Deep, a bit raspy, filled with a love of fun and positively contagious.
You’re just standing there, frozen.
The smile is wiped off his face. “Wait a minute,” he says in a much more serious tone. “Where is…?” He gropes around him, searching for something. A look of panic spreads across his face. He leaps up, narrowly missing the tray with your carefully placed soup. He takes out the couch cushions, throwing them off and into the living room in his search. He gets on the floor on all fours to search under the couch, granting you a very good view of his behind. You feel your heart begin to threaten to beat out of your chest, a massive blush claiming your face. You avert your gaze and begin to think on how beautiful the ceiling looks today in hopes of calming down.
“Awwww man,” he says, sitting back on his feet. “Ah wait!” He slaps the bottom of his fist to the palm of his other hand. “It’s probably still outside!” He stands up and turns around, revving to go.
That’s when he notices you just standing there, bewilderedly staring at him. He stops completely in his tracks.
He looks back at the dismembered couch. The blanket. The water and piping hot soup that somehow managed to stay on the tray.
He furrows his eyebrows, mouth a bit open as if ready to say something. He turns back to you and looks straight at you.
He takes a cautious step towards you, head slightly tilted. You gulp. He raises his arm and points at you.
“You…can hear me?” he asks you, voice cracking in the smallest way at the intonation. His voice is deep, though not too deep. Soft as falling snow, calming, yet backed by a hint of mischievousness.
Eyes wide, you manage to nod.
He lets out a small laugh, taking a little leap towards you, a wide grin spreading across his face, revealing pearly white and perfect teeth. “And you…you can see me?”
Short bursts of laughter grow longer and louder as he begins to jump around like a football player warming up for a game. He leaps up on top of the couch arm nearest to you, perching on the balls of his feet in a crouch.
“Well, this is really something else!” He exclaims, obviously thrilled. “I never thought anyone would be able to see me, let alone you!”
Taking offense, you manage to break out of your frozen state. “Whaddya mean? Am I not supposed to see you? You’re a person, people tend to be able to see other people!”
He leaps down from the couch, landing less than a foot away from you. “I’m no ordinary person,” he tells you, grinning again.
How is he so lively? He has frostbite! You wonder to yourself. Unless…that’s just how he usually looks and feels…
He takes a few steps back from you and stretches his arms out to his side. “Can you guess who I am?” He asks playfully.
You begin to shake your head “no,” writing him off as some crazy person that you just stupidly saved. Then it begins to hit you. The chuckles, the laughter, the “see you later”…they’re all the same voice as his. That cold wind came before you turned to see him. The signed window frost. The snowflake that nipped at your nose. He smells like Winter, with hair white as snow. Winter personified…
You look into his eyes, noticing their piercing blue color. Blue as water, with a slightly lighter blue sprawling in almost unnoticeable lines like that of a snowflake, the color of lake frozen over and basked in moonlight.
“You’re,” you say in a small voice, “you’re…Jack Frost.”
His eyes began to sparkle, his smile getting wider.