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Pitch stared into the eyes of his fiance, standing before the altar, the judging gazes of their parents watching his every move. Green irises that made Pitch think of poison stared back at him, expectation and triumph dancing in them. His eyes trailed to the cup on the table, the candle in his grip, and all he felt was disdain.
"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows." The priest declared. Pitch fought the urge to scowl. The only sorrow he was intended to lift was her empty pockets. Of course, she had no such vows to make, and Pitch had no doubt she'd only be a source of sorrow.
"Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your water." Water. Right. He wondered how bad it would be if he were to change the vow to "coffer" and "gold" which was far more accurate.
"With this candle, I will light your way in darkness." Pitch actually had every intent of holing himself away in darkness as soon as the wedding was over. He narrowed his eyes at the unlit candle in his hand. He'd never been a fan of fire anyway.
"With this ring, I ask you to be mine." Pitch would much rather ask her to go the fuck away. He hated everything about it, hated the idea of moving forward into a life bland and grey. He'd always dreamed of escaping as a kid. He didn't know where, he just wanted something exciting, different, somewhere where he was encouraged to enact all his big ideas instead of being told to put his intelligence to more practical things, like banking or some other sort, something to keep the family fortune growing.
He hated everything about the event, hated the way the priest stared at him, waiting for him to repeat the useless excuse of vows drenched in lies. He took his candle and lit it, subtly eyeing the audience. His mother, the one who orchestrated it all and the entire source of his misery, wasn't even bothering to look interested. Pitch pulled in a slow breath as he looked down at his candle.
"With this candle-" Pitch started.
"Wrong order." His wife-to-be piped up, clear annoyance in her voice.
"Ah. Is it?" Pitch asked sarcastically. "I must have forgotten again. Would you mind repeating?"
The priest glared at him. "You are making a mess of this."
"Hmm. Terribly sorry. Let's continue."
"Did you at least bring the ring?"
Fighting an eye roll again, Pitch reached into his suit to pull the little thing out.
"Good, at least you can do that part right."
Pitch dropped the ring. "Whoops." He intoned as he watched it bounce down the steps and roll over by his mother's feet. He kept the candle in his hand as he walked over to her, entirely unconcerned. When he was standing just before her, the two of them exchanged sharp looks. They held the same argument they'd had so many times before they no longer needed words.
His mother told him what to do, and Pitch promised to take every opportunity to make her regret it. After a few tense moments, he slowly crouched down to grab the ring. Every inch of hatred and anger boiled up in that moment and with a sudden crystal clarity, he saw the candle before him, painted with the backdrop of his mother's dress.
His mother's very flammable dress. He picked the ring up, and before he could remember why it was a horrible idea, dropped the candle in its place. As intended, the bottom of her dress caught fire and chaos ensued as multiple attendees rushed over to her to try to put the fire out. Pitch merely backed up, looking over the scene and relishing in it.
His eyes cast up to the large doors of the church, still held open for some ungodly reason. He saw his escape and he took it. If he'd already gone so far as to start a fire in protest, he figured he might as well go all the way.
He tucked the ring back into his suit, and, feeling the best he had all day, brought his arms behind himself and strolled around the pews, walking out without a single glance back. He went entirely unnoticed among all the commotion.
Outside the church, the air was brisk, the moon shined down, glimmering off the snow that had fallen. It cast the night in an otherworldly aura that Pitch appreciated as he continued his stroll across an old bridge made of stones and into the dense woods where he was promised not to be found.
When he was tucked far enough into it that he could no longer see the town behind him, he took a deep breath, relief spilling over him. It wasn't complete though, still tinged with the knowledge that he'd have to go back at some point. With a following sigh, he once again reached for the ring, thinking over the vows.
The worst thing, he found, was he wanted them to be true. Perhaps he was a romantic, but he couldn't let go of the longing for a family. A real one. He wanted someone who actually wanted him. Who wouldn't cast him out if it weren't for his riches. He wanted someone who believed in him, in the hopes he had, someone who understood what it was like. He wanted someone he could say those vows to and mean it.
He stopped as his feet met the edge of a ditch, the ground sloping downward with the footprint of an old lake that had once been there, now dried up and gone. The moon's light was able to come through again in the large clearing as little grew on the old lakebed, much less in winter. There were only scraggly dried-up branches, haunting in the night.
He stepped forward and dropped down the distance before the ground sloped forward enough to stand on and continued his stroll forward. He tossed the ring up and caught it, watching as the gold glinted in the dark moonlight, making it seem almost silver.
"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows." He spoke into the empty air as though he had someone to say it to.
"Your cup will never empty, for I will be your water." He held the ring up, closing one eye to peer through it, and noticed a hand-like dead bush on the ground ahead of him.
"With this candle, I will light your way in darkness." He continued, looking up at the light of the moon.
He reached the little branch and crouched down. "With this ring, I ask you to be mine." He slid the ring on as though it were truly a hand. He spent a moment feeling ridiculous at his own actions. He needed to go back and own up to his life, but before he could think much more, the wind picked up significantly and the beckoning of cawing crows prompted him to turn to look around him. He noticed that dozens of crows had gathered in the branches around the lake.
Something felt significantly wrong about the situation, putting him on edge, so when he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and yank down on him, pure terror coursed through him and he jerked his arm back, fighting against the skeletal arm that seemed to be coming out of the ground. On the first finger of it, his ring sat, and with a hysterical sense of horror, he realized he'd put the ring on an actual hand.
The realization just caused him to pull harder until the arm popped out of the ground, detached from a body and Pitch fell backward. The ground beneath where the arm had been begun to bulge and crack. Pitch scrambled backward away as it got worse and worse until another hand, pale and frostbitten, burst from the ground and shot forward, fingers curling into claws digging into the ground as a head followed it. Stark-white hair followed by a pale ghostly face with piercing blue eyes came up. It hissed out a seething "Marry me." before shoulders followed as the ghoul pulled itself farther up.
With about half of its torso out of the ground, it stopped and leaned forward on the arm and Pitch could finally process that he was looking at an undead young man, a stunning spectre of death that seemed both a beckoning and a warning. He stared into a blue that reminded him of ice, glittering with promises Pitch couldn't begin to guess at.
The ghoul paused there though, not coming up any further, only staring back at Pitch with, if Pitch didn't know any better, something that looked like excitement and amusement.
The moment lasted uncomfortably long, his heart rate seeming louder in the waiting silence. Eventually, Pitch spoke up with a scowl. "Why are you just sitting there? If you're here for my soul, just do it already."
The undead man gave him an unimpressed look. "Do you know how hard it is to crawl out of the ground with one hand?" He responded in a sarcastic tone. "Have you ever tried it? No? Then shut up."
That was when Pitch remembered the other arm still attached to him and, with a scared noise, pulled it off, throwing it toward the ghoul.
The spectre just watched it bounce a few times toward him, sapphire eyes staining Pitch even as they looked away. When the arm stopped, he intoned a dead "Thanks. Now if you could uh, possibly move it a bit closer, that'd be great."
"What?" Pitch asked, utterly lost, fear slowly giving way to confusion and some weird urge to please.
"This would be so much easier with two arms."
The fear in Pitch continued to fade as he reappraised the being before him. He didn't seem all that dangerous and in the wake of the fear, interest rose. His heart still pounded, and he was still pretty sure he was in danger, but something about the man before him was strangely magnetic. "And how, exactly, do I know you won't try to eat me?"
The ghoul snorted. "I'm not a cannibal, and even if I was, I wouldn't eat my own husband."
"Your what?" Pitch's voice fell flat, unsure why his heart seemed to kick.
With a cocky little smirk, the ghoul pointed toward his detached arm. "That's your ring isn't it? You said vows and everything. Pretty sure that makes me your husband."
A questioning laugh emitted from Pitch as he considered that. "I suppose it does, doesn't it."
The ghoul's eyebrows rose. "Wow. I can't believe you actually agreed that easily."
Pitch spent a few moments just looking over the undead man before him. He had a white suit almost as if he were getting married as well. It was turned off-white with dust yet it gave off a preternatural blue hue, and Pitch couldn't deny, despite the fact that a zombie should be anything but, the man was beautiful. He made being undead look like grace and spirit, and those shining blue eyes still stood out, promising everything new.
He supposed it was kind of strange. He really didn't find much protest in him at all at the idea of having married the-, whatever it was Pitch was looking at. There was certainly a sense of trepidation still, but he'd been experiencing that the whole day, only now, it was laced with possibility instead of dread. His heart kicked up again the more he studied the man who was unlike anyone in Pitch's life. He couldn't help but appreciate the humor in hindsight, the confidence in his grin, the fact that this otherworldly being was there before him as though this were totally normal, prepared to jump into the unknown without a second thought. He was fascinating and beautiful.
Love at first sight didn't exist, and there was absolutely no way Pitch could fall in love with a zombie at first sight, surely. However, he figured, there were certainly worse options. That was why he was feeling the way he did. It was just, happy acceptance.
"Well," Pitch coughed into a hand, averting his eyes, "I suppose there's nothing I can really do about it."
The man gave him a questioning little grin that Pitch was having a hard time not calling endearing. "Right. Sure. Could you uh, could you give me my arm back now?"
Pitch's eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet. "Right! Apologies." He sped over, swooping the arm up as he went, and handing it over.
"Neat, thanks!" The ghoul beamed up at him and Pitch's breath caught a little.
"Of course." Pitch muttered as the ghoul snapped his arm back into place. Pitch felt like he should have been disgusted or even horrified, but instead, he found it rather cool and couldn't help but think how badass it kind of was to be able to just put yourself back together.
"Anyway, I'm Jack." The ghoul, Jack, lifted his non-skeletal arm in an offer to shake and without a second thought, Pitch took it.
"Lord Kozmotis Pitchiner." Pitch said out of habit, but he felt compelled to add on a, "but just Pitch is fine." Nobody used that name anymore. It was given to Pitch when he was young, by the nanny who helped raise him. He always loved the way she referred to him as "little lord Pitch." He valued the name, thought it suited him much better, and, against reason, he wanted Jack to have it.
Jack grinned and rested his chin on his propped-up hand after he took it back from Pitch. "Does that make me Jack Pitchiner?"
The way Pitch's chest warmed at the combination of names was far too damning for his own liking. "Perhaps. Before making any declarations though, you should probably come out from the ground."
Jack chucked and reached out again. "Mind giving me a hand?"
As Pitch obliged, a whisper of 'with this hand' went across his mind. He ignored that in favor of helping Jack, finding it very difficult to pull him out and he suddenly understood Jack's first comment.
Jack pushed up against the ground and after quite a bit of mutual effort, Jack seemed to pop the rest of the way out of the ground. Pitch, surprised by the sudden release, pulled too much and fell back, Jack coming with to land on top of him.
Jack started laughing which pulled laughter from Pitch as well, the entire ridiculousness of the situation settling in. After their laughter died down, Jack lifted himself up, propping himself on his arms so he could look back down to Pitch.
Breathing was suddenly more difficult for Pitch as he stared back. Jack's little smile was enchanting that close-up. A little voice nudged at Pitch, reminding him that he'd kind of married Jack. That, technically, it was his husband hovering above him and wow the air was thin. After a few too many heartbeats of tension, Jack gave another small laugh and rolled over to stand up, leaving Pitch discombobulated and surprisingly warm in the winter air. He sat up and watched as Jack stretched, unable to help but appreciate the movements.
"Stars, it feels good to be out of there." Once he seemed content, he turned back to help Pitch stand as well.
Once he was steady on his feet, Pitch brushed himself off, straightening and trying to gather himself back up. He didn't really want Jack thinking him any more of a mess than he probably already did. Though, he supposed if they were husbands there wasn't much point in it. Surely, over time any mess he was would be evident anyway. The idea of spending more time with Jack, spending that much time with Jack was doing awful things to his insides. He coughed, pressure in his chest needing to go somewhere.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes." Pitch quickly assured, looking back up to Jack and giving another awkward cough behind his hand as that pressure only grew. "Just, dry throat."
Jack gave him a concerned look before he lit up with an idea. He scanned around them before hurrying over and climbing back up the slope of the lake bed. Pitch just helplessly followed after like a magnet. When Jack got to a tree with low-hanging branches, he reached up and snapped off a sizable icicle.
"Here." He passed it over to Pitch. "It's not a cup of water, but it's basically the same thing. Should help. My sister and I used to eat them all the time instead of trying to warm up ice from the well."
A wistful smile crossed Jack's face and as Pitch took the icicle from him, the overwhelming need to know more, to know everything about Jack hit him like a train. Rather than embarrass himself by asking a thousand personal questions and scaring Jack off, Pitch just bit off the tip of the icicle. As it melted to water on his tongue, another whisper went through his head, 'your cup will never empty.' "Thank you." He choked out, trying to sort out the dozens of emotions going through him.
"No problem." After shooting Pitch another grin, Jack looked up and frowned at the sky.
Following his gaze, Pitch saw where dark clouds rapidly approached the moon, only seen by the way they blacked out stars. "Shoot, you should probably get home, huh."
An intense feeling of dread ripped through him at the reminder of home. It only lasted for a moment, because holding onto the coattails of that reminder was the idea of introducing Jack to people. The horror it'd cause was a very promising idea, especially the face his mother would make when she found out he'd gone and gotten himself married. To an undead man no less. With a blooming glee, Pitch gave a wholehearted, "Yes, of course! I have people to see."
"Right." Jack responded, eyes darting to the side. "Nothing to it then." And with that, he marched forward back toward town.
As they walked, Pitch was thrumming with energy. After everything, he found he really wanted to impress Jack. There was some strange urge to prove himself, prove that he could be a good husband which was never something he'd wanted to be before. However, Pitch wasn't entirely sure how to do that.
He thought about bringing up the family fortune, but with Jack being dead and all, he figured that wouldn't mean all that much. Then he considered how he could possibly bring up his expertise with a whole range of weapons, or his mind for strategy as he knew those were impressive, but it would be a little strange just to brag about it out of nowhere. He wondered if Jack had any interest in books. Pitch had an extensive library and offering it up wouldn't be too weird a topic. Then again, if Jack didn't have an inclination, Pitch would just seem nerdy and pretentious.
Thankfully, Pitch was eventually pulled from his dilemma by Jack. "So uh, what do you do? In town, I mean."
Pitch pressed his lips together, not entirely proud of his career in banking. He had a sneaking suspicion that wouldn't gain him any points in Jack's book. "Nothing I want to be doing." He admitted, figuring that truth was at least better than banking.
Jack gave him a studying look, a small half grin as he appraised Pitch and Pitch had no idea how to nudge that appraisal to something good. "Alright. So what do you want to be doing?"
Pitch blinked, genuinely wondering if he'd ever been asked that question before. As soon as he thought about it though, a thousand ideas entered his head, all the buried plans and dreams, the ambition. As they did, he found the words spilling out of him, hands gesturing wildly.
He spoke of the things he wanted to do to change the town, make it better, how he wanted to take over as mayor, rule over it. He told Jack about the world and where he wanted to travel. He told him about the writing, how much he loved scary stories ever since he was a kid, and how he wanted to write something that made everyone a little more afraid of the dark. He talked about his two horses, the stables he'd always dreamed of having, a whole herd of shining black horses, spoiled and beautiful.
He got lost in it, stopping Jack multiple times as he danced in front of him to get his point across, circling around Jack like a planet even as they walked. As all these dreams tumbled out of him, he couldn't help but imagine Jack in them and he just hoped, maybe if he made them sound good enough, Jack might agree.
He ended up so entangled in his own speech that it took him far too long to realize Jack had barely said anything. As hindsight rushed through him, Pitch trailed off and winced with a bit of shame. So much for not scaring Jack off, but when he tentatively took in Jack's expression, he found something gentle there, something fond. There didn't seem to be anything annoyed in him, just amusement.
After a few moments of Pitch staring though, Jack shook his head a little, like Pitch was something cute. The idea rankled him a bit, not particularly wanting to be deemed cute, but the way Jack's eyes shined at him made offense impossible. Anything that made Jack look at him like that, Pitch supposed he could be proud of. "That all sounds awesome."
Pitch swelled with pride for a moment before it was shot down by the reminder that, ultimately, he was just a banker. He shrugged. "Well, they're dreams. If you think anything of me for them, I'm afraid I've defrauded you." He admitted.
Jack shrugged back. "No reason they have to stay as dreams. You uh, you really seem like you could pull it off." He gave a little smile Pitch couldn't quite read. "You should go for it. Take it from me: don't wait until you're dead."
Pitch slowed down until they both came to a stop, thinking that over. When he searched Jack's face, he found no sign of deceit or platitudes. Jack believed in him, just like that. Pitch had never really had much intention of trying to chase much of it at all, except maybe the mayor part as he wouldn't have to fight his mother on that one, but having Jack's faith made Pitch burn with the urge to prove it.
Whatever Jack was seeing when he looked at him, Pitch wanted to make sure it was true. The longer he stared though, the harder Jack was to see and Pitch looked up just in time to see the last sliver of moon disappear into black. He scowled. "I can't see a thing."
He could still make out Jack though, all his white and blue unearthly in the dark. He saw as Jack's full hand reached out to take his. "That's okay. I can see in the dark, just follow me."
'With this candle' echoed in Pitch's head and he agreed without question, admiring the cold of Jack's hand in his. He thought, perhaps, it would be off-putting. After all, Jack was dead, but his hand felt plenty alive, just very cold. It was snug in Pitch's and he stared down at them in the dark. That was when he realized he was remarkably, inexplicably, gone. So much for the impossibility of love at first sight, Pitch was pretty sure he'd follow Jack off a cliff and be happy for it. He hadn't even known Jack for three hours and yet he was ecstatic to think he'd accidentally married him.
If they weren't already married, Pitch would think himself in trouble. He'd never really been good at courting, but he was sure it'd be much easier to show Jack he was worth it when he could give Jack anything. Perhaps married life wasn't so bad after all.
Pitch shook his head. He was way too far into this and rather than continue to spiral into some stupid lovesick madness, he instead nudged Jack's shoulder with his arm. "So, what do you want to do?"
Jack hesitated before Pitch could feel him shrug. "I don't know. I was a shepherd before I uh- you know. I liked it, but my flock is probably long gone by now. They'll have sold all of them off. Mom and sister never really had a hand with sheep."
Jack fell quiet and Pitch gave him a few moments before prompting him again. "So, if you could do anything, would you go back to it?" Pitch was pretty sure he could get sheep for Jack. Finding land for them might be a bit harder, but he'd manage it.
He felt Jack shrug again. "I don't really know. I uh, I like your idea of travel though. I've never been beyond New Port for trading. I think I want to see other things, meet other people. I've always heard stories from traveling traders and wanted to see what they saw."
Pitch could do that. 100%.
"I also-, I like kids. I used to help watch the village children a lot when my father was alive, before I uh, had to take over shepherding. Kids are just so much more fun than adults. When I've been able to go to the land of the dead, the kids there are great. It's a little sad that they're there, but I make sure they're happy. I honestly can't wait to go back."
Right. Because Jack was undead. Pitch wondered if there was a way he could get to the land of the dead without dying, so he could go with Jack when Jack wanted to go back. He'd have to look into it. Worst comes to worst, he supposed he'd have to live with Jack leaving sometimes, at least, until he finally died and then he supposed he'd just be with Jack forever, and wasn't that a nice thought.
The moon began peeking past the clouds just as they got back to the bridge, the cursed church a little ways away. The two of them walked to the middle of the bridge while Pitch glared at it, only soothed by the fact that he'd gotten married to someone who might make the priest have a heart attack.
Pitch looked back to Jack as Jack stopped at the peak of the bridge and let go of his hand.
"Well, I uh, I guess this is it." Jack pulled the ring off his finger and a pang of panic went through Pitch as he handed it back to him.
Taking the ring, unsure what else to do, Pitch just shook his head, feeling as though the rug had just been pulled out from under him. "What?"
Jack wouldn't look at him, head turned to the side as he ran his hand through his hair. "Again, thanks, for-, for getting me out of there, but you've got-. I was just joking." He shrugged. "I'm not actually going to make you keep a vow you made to a stick. It's uh, it's been fun." A forced chuckle left him. "Gotta go back to the land of the dead now."
Pitch blinked, entirely thrown off. "Jack. I never said I didn't want to."
Jack's eyes finally met his, looking unimpressed. "Right." He dragged the word. "I'm sure you're just overjoyed to be married to a dead person."
Pitch stepped closer to Jack, desperate to keep the blue eyes looking up at him. "Better to be dead in body, yet alive in spirit, I think." Pitch spoke softly, thinking of his past fiancé. "And you, Jack, in that regard, are the most alive person I've ever met."
Jack's face softened, disbelief and hope decorating it before it turned to suspicion. "You mean that? Really?" Jack asked like he was expecting Pitch to say it was a prank.
"Absolutely. So, once again," he began, lifting Jack's skeletal hand, "with this ring, I ask you to be mine." He slid the ring onto his third finger and found the vow to be something he really did want, against all reason.
The side of Jack's mouth quirked up. "That's such a stupid idea."
"And you," he tapped Jack's nose with the hand that wasn't holding his, "are going to agree, aren't you?" Pitch asked with full confidence. Maybe he'd only known Jack for a night, but he felt as though he knew enough. Jack would agree because Jack was impulsive, full of vibrancy, and ready to take on the world at any angle. Pitch would just have to make sure he never gave Jack reason to regret it.
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." He gave a quiet laugh, eyes looking back and forth between Pitch's. "Would you be creeped out if I kissed you?"
"Well," Pitch started to lean down, "it's customary to seal the vows with a kiss, isn't it?" His voice dropped into a rumble unintentionally, eyes lingering on Jack's lips.
Jack rolled his eyes and, before Pitch could blink, had his hands behind Pitch's head to pull him down into a cold kiss, softer and lovelier than Pitch had ever known they could be.