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There was an old story, about humans and demons and warrior women with voices powerful enough to seal the evil away. It was told much the same for several centuries, and gradually fell into a comforting myth for humans to tell to frightened children who believed in monsters lurking in the shadows.
Hunters were strong, and had no weaknesses. Hunters remained in perfect harmony with one another. Hunters devoted their lives to the cause of upholding the Honmoon, for the sake of the world’s safety.
Hunters were chosen for their ability to see.
They saw the ripples of the Honmoon barrier over the land, when their voices rang out to ignite power within souls. They saw the demons; hideous, deformed beasts that slipped through the cracks. They saw the flash of a glowing spirit-weapon as it sent them back to eternal suffering in the underworld.
It was this knowing of the unknown, this intrinsic understanding, this utter belief that had the old tale change, just a little.
For there was a boy – not a demon, yet still something other – with stark white hair and piercing blue eyes, who walked with winter in his steps, wind in his laughter, and mischief on his fingertips.
“And if you are lucky,” the old Hunter continued to tell her bright-eyed successor, “you might see him, too.”
*
Rumi sat by herself in front of the gravestone. The words carved into the stone were nearly all she knew of her mother.
The other thing she knew was that her mother had been great, and Rumi was expected to be even greater, despite…
Behind the little girl, the great tree whispered in the wind, old ribbons billowing. She shivered at the sudden breeze, tearing her gaze away from the characters to watch the strips of fabric play, feeling it tug at her purple braid of hair.
“I miss you,” she whispered, tiny hands clenching in her lap. “I wish you were here, mama. I wish you did my hair, not Celine. That's what mothers do, not aunts. I wish… I wish you could teach me, so I can be as good as you.”
“She was good,” a boy's voice spoke suddenly, and she whipped around.
He was standing, barefoot, with a hooked staff next to the gravestone, staring at it with an expression Rumi thought might've been something like sad, but not quite. She hadn't heard his footsteps, or seen him coming or– or anything she should've been able to, after all her training. Tears welled in her eyes, frightened and frustrated and–
And useless.
“Hey, hey, don't cry,” his voice was achingly soft, though the Korean was odd on his tongue, and he crouched down. “She was good. You're right. And I wish she'd had the chance to know you, too. You two would've had so much fun together. But she's never truly gone, is she?”
“Huh?”
He grinned with teeth that nearly glowed, ice-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “You still believe in her. Belief keeps things alive, even if only in spirit.”
His head cocked to one side with curiosity. She followed his gaze, mouth opening in horror as she realised her arm was bare. Rumi slapped her hand over the stupid purple demon marks and scooted backwards, wishing she was strong enough to summon a spirit-weapon, or wishing she could sprint away to the safety that Celine brought, but she didn't dare turn her back on the stranger. He was bigger than her – he could kill her!
“Oh, half-demon,” he remarked casually, leaning against his staff. “They're pretty marks. Like tiger stripes, y'know?”
Rumi floundered for words, grabbing anxiously at her hair. “But– no, you've got it wrong– I'm not– you're wrong! Shut up!”
“Your mom always liked to keep her hair braided, too,” the boy commented, as though she hadn't spoken, and she was abruptly rendered silent. “She loved having long hair. It wasn't really practical for battles, because it got in her face so she couldn't see. So, she started braiding it, trying all sorts of beautiful hairstyles…”
“R-Really?” She croaked, finding herself leaning closer.
“Really! She rarely had the same hairstyle twice. Always known for her bold styles that defied the fashions of the era. And there was that time a demon dared to cut her hair in one battle – boy, did she make him regret it!” He threw his head back with full-bodied laughter that made her heart feel light and warm. “She was so furious that the demons didn't dare to attack for months after that. Hair didn't mean much to the others, but it meant the world to her. Sometimes, it's the little things you fight for. Things that other people might find silly. But as long as it matters to you, you'll have a reason to keep going. That's the philosophy she lived by.”
“...who are you?” Rumi finally had the courage to ask, looking at him with big eyes and choking down the desperation to hear more, more, more about her mama – and crushing the odd hope that he might've been her father, even if he was a demon, because surely that was better than nothing.
He smiled that wonderful smile of his again, touching the grass of the grave. The little girl stared in shock as curling fronds of frost crackled across the ground, twisting up and around in shimmers of pale light, until he pulled his hand away. After a moment, trickles of moving patterns stilled. There was a wreath of flowers made from pure ice, glittering in the dappled sunlight cast through the tree's leaves.
She touched it, cautiously, snatching her hand back at the cold, but then curved her fingers around a perfect frozen bloom, embracing the ethereal chill in the midst of summer.
Slowly, Rumi looked at the stranger. He was kneeling now, loose hand in his lap. Frost lapped at his toes. The wind tousled his white hair. Otherworldly-pale fingers tapped away on the twisting wood of his hooked staff.
Brown eyes went wide. “You're…”
He gave an awkward bow from his position, lifting his head at the lowest point to flash her a cheeky grin. “Jack Frost at your service, little Tiger.”
*
Rumi cried out in pain as the metal staff clipped her arm. She automatically threw herself to the side in a roll, but her injured leg collapsed when she tried to pick herself back up. Fearfully, she stared up as the figure advanced.
Celine shook her head in disappointment, withdrawing the training staff and sighing. “Not good enough. You showed weakness, Rumi! Hunters do not show weakness! The demons will exploit it, understand?” She carelessly threw the staff aside with a clang, walking away. “Training is over. Sort yourself out. I expect better next time.”
All the girl could do was stare at her predecessor’s retreating back, tears stinging her eyes that she couldn't let fall, because that was weakness, and she wasn't allowed–
A cold touch. She resisted flinching, already relaxing as frost caressed the reddening mark on her bare forearm. Rumi didn't have the energy to get up after fighting all day and getting nothing but criticism. The grass was already blissfully cool as she slumped back onto it, chest heaving with the aftermath of endless exertion, messy braid sprawled around her head like a curl of frost.
Celine said she was too old to be picked up and babied, now. She said the demons wouldn't take pity on her if she fell. The young girl should get up by herself.
“Can I see your leg?” The boy asked gently. She gave a tired nod and hum.
He pulled up the leg of her pants, and she felt his hands ghost across her skin, soothing bruises that rarely had a chance to heal. Jack was always so careful with her, so kind, so understanding – every brutal training session was worth it, whenever he turned up afterwards to be a balm upon her wounds. She wondered if this was what having a big brother was like.
“We are Hunters, voices strong…” She murmured, clinging to the musical mantra.
“She works you too hard,” Jack muttered, sitting by her head and smoothing back the flyaway purple hairs that clung to her sweaty face. “You're just a kid. You've got time.”
“We don't. I have to be perfect, Jack. We're so close to the Golden Honmoon. I can't mess this up,” she retorted in a rasp, squeezing her eyes shut so he wouldn't see her weakness.
“...Celine is doing her best,” he began slowly, tone holding a note of anger that made her feel both protected and guilty, “but this really isn't the way she should be treating you. Like, like you're some kind of… child soldier, or something! It's really messed up, okay, and I don't like it.”
“It's my duty,” she parroted, voice hollow.
Jack huffed, still stroking his cold hand over her hair. “It's not yours alone.”
“It is until we find the others. My mother was a Sunshine Sister. I have more of a legacy to live up to than whoever the other two are.” She gave a bitter laugh, hand moving to her jacketed arm. “And more secrets to hide.”
“You're perfect as you are, little Tiger. Never let anyone tell you how to feel about yourself. Except me, of course, always listen to me, because I’m super old and wise.”
They lapsed into silence, settled together with the rustle of wind through the large tree’s branches. No matter what Jack said, she was still half demon. Half of what she had sworn to destroy. She just had to be good enough to create the Golden Honmoon before her patterns spread any further.
Then she would be free.
“...I sparred with your mother a few times,” Jack revealed quietly, and she stilled. “Well, more like coerced into sparring because the other two couldn't keep up with her, but same thing, right? She was a demon of a fighter– uh, not literally, obviously, but wow, for such a little thing she packed a helluva punch. Hit way harder than Bunny could ever dream of. He still doesn't believe that the blizzard was an accident because I was concussed as hell by a tiny magical Korean woman who fought demons… Honestly, all about keeping belief, and not once checking to see if I was telling the truth.”
Rumi couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her. Things like the Easter Bunny and the others actually being real tended to take a backseat to literal demons trying to take over the world, but it was still exciting to hear snippets of Jack's side of life, whenever he had time to drop by. The mental image of him getting pummelled by her mother – her ruthless, restless, righteous mother – was enough to make her grin.
“Yeah, she'd probably be furious as heck seeing you getting trained like this. It's not to her standards, I don't think…” Jack mused, then took his hand away, much to her hidden disappointment.
Rumi wondered, as she often did, what her life would've been like if her mother had survived. Whether it would be as Jack described, or if it would be no different to training under Celine.
She sighed with her entire body.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, and she cracked open an eye to peer at his crooked grin that promised fun, “You wanna learn some moves your mom taught me?”
*
Jack hadn't visited for a long time. Rumi swallowed her grief, covered her patterns, and trained ruthlessly. Celine turned ghostly white when she saw the teenager’s movements.
*
The bathhouse fight had terrified her – not that she could show it.
A demon. A demon knew her secret. Her gut churned with fear.
They returned, thoroughly beat up and exhausted, to their penthouse apartment that overlooked the lights of the city. The couch sounded good right about now, but she was too wired to relax.
“Hey, whoa, what the hell?!” Mira exclaimed.
Zoey yelped. “He's gonna fall! Oh my god!”
Rumi’s gaze snapped to the panoramic windows. On the handrail of the balcony, a bare-footed boy was carelessly wandering along. She stared, unblinking, frozen.
“What do we do?!” Zoey hissed, tugging at her black buns anxiously. “We might scare him if we go out!”
Mira abruptly halted her strides at that statement, long pink hair swinging to a stop. “How did he even get up here?!”
“Rumi! Rumi, why aren't you panicking?! You're supposed to be panicking with us!” Zoey grabbed her arm and shook her lightly.
She snapped out of her stupor and glowered at the floor. “He'll be fine.”
“What?!” The girls yelled.
Rumi let out an aggravated grunt, storming towards the balcony door and slamming it open before her friends could stop her. “Hey!”
The boy startled, and fell off the balcony. The girls screamed and rushed to the edge. Rumi crossed her arms and waited.
Sure enough, laughter grew louder as he floated back up into view, hovering in front of their balcony.
Spirit-weapons fizzed into existence in a flash. “Demon!”
“Whoa, whoa–!” He dodged Zoey’s pink projectiles with an airborne spin. “What, wait, hold on–”
Rumi took sick satisfaction in watching him flail and twist. She leant back against the glass, clenching her hands over her biceps, silently observing her friends jab and strike at the unearthly figure, who continued to try and placate them.
“Rumi, help us out!” Mira snapped, twirling her weapon and sending out a slash of energy.
Jack turned pleading eyes on her. “Little Tiger, for the love of everything, I’d really appreciate it if you could please make your friends stop trying to kill me!”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, wincing as she touched a forgotten cut, and let out a long, tired exhale. “Guys, relax. He's not a demon. He's just a moron. And I'm not little anymore.”
“Thank you!” A pause. “Hey, wait–”
Mira and Zoey stared at her in bewilderment, still in battle-ready stances.
“He's literally floating. Humans cannot float, Rumi!” Zoey pointed out, emphasising with a swipe of her weapon.
“Rumi,” Mira said cautiously, “do you know this guy?”
“Mira, Zoey, meet Jack Frost, that winter guy in the Hunters’ story– yes, he's real. Idiot jerk, meet my friends,” Rumi responded flatly, shooting him a glare that would make demons cower.
Jack had the decency to look uncomfortable as he drifted down to crouch on the handrail, staff leaning against his shoulder. “Nice to meet you?”
The two girls exchanged glances. “Uh.”
Rumi, done with his games, stalked forward, grabbed his arm, and pulled him onto the balcony. “We need to talk.”
“Okay?” He squeaked.
“Give us some privacy?” She asked, eyes silently begging her friends, who shared a look and nodded slowly, weapons evaporating.
“Alright,” Mira agreed slowly, backing up into the apartment.
“One wrong move and you're dead, mister!” Zoey threatened as she pulled the glass door shut. “One wrong move!”
“...Your friends seem nice.”
The city was loud, but the silence was louder.
She needed to know. What had she done wrong? Why had he abandoned her? Was she not good enough?
She couldn't say. That would be weak.
“You need a change of clothes,” she told him bluntly, averting her eyes. “Ever heard of fashion?”
“You're hurt,” he whispered.
She shrugged, a little painfully. “Demons.”
He hummed with a frustrating lilt of amused interest, as though it wasn't a big deal. “Oh, yeah, demon boy band. That's a new one.”
“They're trying to steal our fans. Brainwash them. Weaken the Honmoon barrier and steal their souls.” She walked to the edge of the balcony, swallowing as she stared at the ripples of pink over the landscape. “And they're succeeding, Jack.”
He stood beside her. She knew he couldn't see it like she could. It was just another city to him. Nonetheless, he gave a strange huff, as though he'd tried to laugh but gave up halfway.
“You're gonna fight back, though, huh?” He cocked a dark brow. “You're not gonna back down that easy. I know what you're like.”
Hatred and fury bubbled to the surface before she could clamp it down, and she whipped around to stare at him, her thick braid slamming against the balcony glass. “Do you? Do you know me, Jack? When was it you last saw me, huh?!”
He flinched back, surprised, infuriatingly confused, then slow realisation seemed to dawn as he took in her appearance. “Oh.”
“‘Oh.’ That's all you have to say – ‘oh’?!” She snarled, only stopping herself from punching his stupid face by clamping her hand on the cold metal railing. “It's been over a decade! You didn't visit once! You–”
You left me, she couldn't say, and looked back at the blurry city.
“I've been busy. Like, mega busy, I swear,” Jack explained quickly, as if she wasn't important enough to bother with. “2012 was a wild year. Pitch Black – the Boogeyman, yeah? – decided he was sick of being invisible, and tried to stop all the kids from believing by destroying all the holidays.” A heavy pause. “He killed Sandy. No more dreams, just nightmares.”
She glanced at him, slowly, heart constricting. Vaguely, she remembered that time when the other kids were dragging themselves about like zombies, weeping over ceaseless nightmares. They'd stopped believing so easily?
Jack shook his head, forcing a laugh that didn't sound real enough. “A lotta stuff happened. Pitch tried to kill me–”
Rage. Patterns pulsed.
“I'm fine! I'm okay!” He added hastily. “I regained my memories of before I was a spirit. The lack of belief was rough for the Guardians. Bunny became an actual bunny , can you believe it?! Anyway, I managed to get one sweet kid to keep believing, believe in me, roped in his friends, brought back Sandy, found my center, and together we defeated Pitch and sent him back down underground.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I became a Guardian. Which, uh, turns out is kinda… a lot of work. Boring work. Don't have much time to play in the snow days anymore. Time passes weirdly for me because, I mean, three centuries of being a spirit? I'm super sorry, seriously, I kinda forgot human lifetimes run differently, so–”
She couldn't stop staring, a few of his casual statements looping through her mind, unable to make sense of it.
“Three centuries?” She echoed without thinking.
“Uh, yeah, y'know. Been around the block a few times. I thought you knew…?”
Of course. It… it did make sense. The Hunters' story had been around for centuries – longer than Jack, but he had been added later. She knew that. How had she never thought about it? As a kid, she'd just assumed that he was old enough to know her mother, because he was older than Rumi at the time, so he seemed like a proper, real adult.
Rumi looked at him. Really looked. It wasn't just his clothes that had remained completely unchanged – he, himself, was exactly the same as she remembered. Dark blue hoodie with frost-coated shoulders, brown trousers, ripped at the ends and held tight to his skinny legs with old twine. Skin frosty pale, big blue eyes… A cold weight of dread settled in her gut. He looked like a teenager. She looked older than him, now.
“Jack,” she whispered, “what do you mean, you regained your memories from before you were a spirit?”
He winced, fiddling with his staff, rolling it between his palms. “Uh, turns out I was human? Brown hair, brown eyes, normal kid. I died saving my sister, so the Man in the Moon revived me as Jack Frost… but told me nothing else.”
She eyed the dark sky with darker eyes.
“I'm going to beat up the moon,” she declared firmly.
Jack burst out laughing. “You can't beat up the moon!”
“I can and I will!” She scowled, but her lips quirked slightly, something inside her finally relaxing at the easy familiarity.
Rumi tried to picture him with dark hair and eyes. It didn't seem to match his bold personality – he liked to stand out.
He'd spent too long being unseen, after all.
“My thing with Pitch kinda feels like your thing with the demons,” Jack quietly broke the silence.
“Yeah, it does.” She watched the Honmoon barrier ripple again, responsibility settling heavy on her shoulders once more. “...what did it feel like? To finally defeat him?”
There was a long pause. “...not as good as I'd thought, I guess.”
She thought of Jinu. He'd kept her secret.
He was a demon.
So was she.
*
All it took for Rumi's face to flush embarrassing red was a single raised brow from Jack. She scowled at him, trying to hide her face with a hand without being conspicuous despite knowing that made it all the more obvious. Until that moment, she'd been enjoying having his presence back, especially with the girls accepting him as well, encouraging him to share lyrics and sing – mostly so they could giggle at him stumbling over Korean.
But in that moment–
“Shut up,” she snapped at him, trying to storm down the steps past his annoyingly casual figure.
“Hey, I didn't say anything,” he responded with a very clear grin in his voice, floating down in front of her with his palms splayed in surrender, staff tucked under his arm. “Though, I do hear it's nice to be free.”
“Shut up!” She exclaimed, groaning in humiliation. “Why are you even spying on me?”
“Someone’s gotta make sure the guy is decent before you start dating, y'know?”
She briefly summoned her weapon and threw it blindly towards his voice, which turned into laughter. Rumi did her best to sink into the cool stone wall, forehead pressed against it and cheeks hot with a traitorous blush for a demon, of all people.
But… a nice demon. Maybe Zoey wasn't wrong in the first place.
“He seems alright,” Jack admitted, leaning against the wall next to her and looking up at the moon. “I mean, he is literally, like, nearly a century older than me, which is no mean feat, but–”
“Oh my god, shut up,” she whined, grabbing at her braid to try and hide behind it.
He snickered, patting her shoulder fondly. She glared at him from the corner of her eye, between the purple furls of her clutched hair. Jack practically glowed in the moonlight. It sharpened his young face when his expression turned hesitantly serious.
“It's good for you. To have someone who understands you,” he told her.
She reluctantly turned around, leaning back against the wall, mirroring him. “You understand me.”
“Not really. Not the whole demon thing. Not when I haven't experienced it myself, like Jinu has. He knows what it's like on a personal level. That’s important.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a chilly half-hug, resting his chin on her head. “I worry about you, little Tiger, you know this.”
“Mm, you worry too much. I'm not little anymore; I can take care of myself. You know this,” she rebuked, bristling instinctively at the insinuation that she wasn't good enough.
“Yeah, yeah.” He huffed, the cool breath ruffling her hair pleasantly. “But…”
She knew that tone.
“Oh, no, what now?”
“...I just think…” He gnawed on his lilac lip, fingers restless on her shoulder. “Maybe… Maybe you should tell your friends about… about your spreading patterns?”
She stiffened defensively.
“It's fine.”
“I don't want this secret to blow up in your face, not when you're so close to reaching Gold,” Jack said hurriedly, fully aware he was pushing buttons that she did not want to be pushed. “They'll take it better if you tell them personally than if it's revealed accidentally! People assume the worst–”
“Not happening. Drop it.” She whipped out of his grasp, suddenly feeling all too trapped. “We'll get the Golden Honmoon, and the patterns will disappear.”
Rumi shoved past him, stalking down the steps, her boots clicking loudly on the slabs, purple braid flicking like the tail of an angry feline.
“And if they don't?” Jack's worried voice echoed after her like a warning.
She clenched her jaw and didn't stop walking.
The patterns would all go. Not a crack would need show. Her friends would never know.
Everything would glow–
“Would you leave me alone. You're good at that – go home.”
*
Heaving sobs wracked her body the moment she reformed from the maroon demon cloud. Rumi dropped to her knees on the rooftops, letting out a keening cry of betrayal that rippled red through the Honmoon barrier.
Celine had always hated her, wanted her to hide herself, wanted her to hate herself–
It didn't make it hurt any less when Celine refused and denied and clung to her poisonous beliefs. Her adoptive mother would not kill her, just wanted to cover up her secrets and choke on her shame so it didn’t inconvenience anyone else.
Perhaps her real mother would've granted her the mercy of death.
She was alone. No friends. No Jinu.
She thought of family. She thought of snow.
“Jack! ” She wept into the night sky, to the moon, to anything that would listen. “Jack, please, I'm sorry!”
Another surge of red. She clamped her incisors down, trembling violently, clutching at herself in the mockery of a hug over the shame-terror-disgust of her demon patterns.
A cool breeze. Fluttering snowflakes. Bare feet quietly touching down next to her. She'd called for him, but now she was too ashamed to look at him. She didn't deserve –
Jack slung his arm over her hunched back. “Hey there, little Tiger.”
Another round of sobs wracked her slim frame, and she weakly tried to resist as he pulled her into his chest, rubbing her back and dancing his fingers across her bare arms. She could feel the telltale tickle of frost sneaking along from his every touch, and risked a nervous glance at her bicep to see the damn demon patterns embraced with glimmering ice. It almost made them… beautiful.
“Rough day, huh?” He commented, offering a smile when she automatically gave him an incredulous look with mismatched eyes. “It's pretty tough when you hit rock bottom… when everything breaks.”
Rumi stared back out at the city. In the distance, she could see the stadium, all lit up. A tsunami of fans wielding red lights were surging towards it from every avenue.
“But, that's kinda the best bit, because when it feels like there's nothing left–” A sad pile of snow formed in his outstretched palm, and he enclosed it within thin fingers, squeezing for a misty breath then letting them slowly unfurl– “You get to choose what to become next.”
In the moonlight glimmered a tiny ice tiger.
She took a deep breath of cold air. Then another. And a third.
And she looked towards the stadium.
*
“You gave me my soul back,” Jinu said, soft, far too soft for the demonic flames gnawing his precious edges jagged. “And now–”
Rumi's vision flashed with white. Jinu gasped, tumbling into her clumsy arms as she frantically blinked away the burnt afterimage the light left. She blindly wielded her weapon, keeping it raised, ready for a second barrage of Gwi-Ma’s hellfire that never came.
Music began to play through the speakers. It was familiar…
A silhouetted figure glittered on stage, tiny compared to the beastly flame that rose above the stadium. There was a hooked staff in their hand, but the clothes were… different. More reminiscent of Huntr/x's Golden outfits, in the shoulders… What was going on…?
Gwi-Ma snarled incomprehensibly, throwing forward another blast– and was immediately countered by a wildly sparking bolt from the staff. It left a blackened mark on the writhing demon king. Snowflakes began to drift from the clear night sky, dancing down to burn the fire, harmlessly kissing the stage.
Baby, take a freeze frame
I've had enough of this flame
A near-hysterical laugh escaped Rumi at the familiar voice singing unwritten lyrics to the unfinished music. His staff repeatedly slamming ice onto the stage added a beat, immediately mimicked by the awakening fans who eagerly stomped their feet and cheered as he beat back the monster. She glanced at the stunned Jinu, his shimmering demon patterns, his returning humanity, and locked eyes. Both knew what words needed to be sung as they began to run towards the main stage.
Gonna be free again
And put an end to his reign
She felt more than saw the familiar, protective presences of her friends sprinting up to join them in song and surge, slashing away the final few demons in their path. Nothing would keep them apart, ever again.
Throw shade on the name
Beat him at his game
The girls grinned at each other, gleeful, vengeful, fearful. They took to the front of the group, protecting a slightly limping Jinu behind them, his chest filled with renewed light. Their weapons shone a defiant pink, watching ripples of the Honmoon cast across the ignited crowd.
Make room on the throne
We take back our home!
*
“We didn't achieve the Golden Honmoon,” Rumi murmured, standing on the balcony and observing the city, allowing herself a smile.
“Next time,” Jack said with an easy shrug. “Piece of cake now you've scared even Gwi-Ma back down.”
“Just like my mother,” she remarked, laughing.
“Even more fearsome, I'd say,” he joked.
She nodded smugly. “Correct answer– hey, is that my jacket?”
It was the first moment of clarity she'd had that evening. Everything had happened so fast, and she hadn't caught up, now everything was slow again. Rumi took in the outfit Jack had finally changed, noting that it was definitely her Golden jacket easily fitting over his slim shoulders. The rest of the ensemble was an almost acceptable attempt at Korean street fashion, in deep blacks and sleek whites and shining golds, with the addition of a cute snowflake keychain dangling at his hip. A few more sections were accessorised with delicate ice, some chains here and there, some fake frozen earrings, some translucent rings, some gleaming diamonds cresting his cheekbones. White hair had been swept back roguishly, a few strands curling down in defiance back onto his forehead. Everything, including his skin, was covered in a layer of frost, giving him that ethereal glitter she'd noticed on stage.
He was even wearing boots, what the hell–
Jack smiled sheepishly, shuffling in his snowy boots. “Took your advice for once. Plus, Zoey kept trying to give me makeovers, which was pretty fun, I’ll admit. I'm totally changing back the first chance I get, though, so don't get your hopes up! Shoes are the worst.”
She snickered, leaning on the railing and looking him up and down in approval. “You look good, Frost. What made you wise enough to finally listen to me?”
He shrugged, lilac lips lightly lilted. “Had a feeling one of you would do something stupid, so I made an equally stupid back-up plan so you couldn't out-stupid me. It made me look like part of the performance, to anyone that could see me – makes it easier for you to explain away later.” He grimaced playfully. “And I knew you'd chew me out for years if I disgraced your stage wearing my comfy clothes. I wasn't gonna deal with that! Alas, shoes were the lesser evil.”
“Oh, I'd absolutely never let you hear the end of it. I'm honoured you wore shoes, just for me, Jack,” she teased delightedly, relishing in his discomfort.
He huffed, then gained a glint in his eye. “So, is this the point where I give the shovel talk to your maybe-demon maybe-boyfriend, or–?”
Rumi nearly pounced on him, shoving her hands over his laughing mouth as she hissed and snarled. “You won't! Besides, he's already dead!”
“Undead,” he corrected, muffled, casually trying to prise her hands off. “Like me. Ergo, perfectly valid shovel talk potential! I could just go over there now, and–”
“You will not, Jack! I'll throw you off this balcony! I'll feed you to the demon tiger! I'll–”
“Hey, okay, okay! You've really grown into your stripes, huh?” He giggled, pulling at her wrists and beaming, nose scrunching sweetly. “And here I thought being a big brother gave me certain obligations. Oh well, your friends are more than capable…”
She faltered, watching the shimmer of her silvery demon patterns dance across her skin. A reminder. A duty. A promise.
“Will you…” Rumi swallowed, scared, vulnerable, safe. “Will you stay? With me? At least, until we manage the Golden Honmoon?”
Jack grinned crookedly, threading their fingers together, silver stripes and silver frost entwined. “Through hell and high water, little Tiger.”