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The night was rich — cold air drifting through the Boston sky as the full moon hung low, pale and steady. Snowflakes spun through the dark, scattering light like sparks, and the waves crashed against the frozen shore, the ice filling every crack.
To most, it was an ordinary night. The moon, a distant lamp. The snow, just winter being itself. The apartment lights glowed softly, keeping in the warmth of people who dreamed behind closed blinds.
But to the right kind of eyes, the night was alive.
Golden threads of sand slipped through every window and keyhole, carrying warmth and dreams to those who slept. The Sandman was at work, and above him, the Moon kept watch — guardian of all who still believed.
And then there was him. The wind’s laughter. The frost’s artist. The reason children woke to snow days and parents sighed over cancelled work. The one who never stopped playing, because play was the only way he knew to live.
Jack Frost.
He streaked through the clouds in his tattered blue hoodie, barefoot, staff in hand, grin wide as the horizon. He dove, he looped, he carved frost trails through the air just for the fun of it. The city glimmered beneath him — unaware, asleep, dreaming — and he was their ghostly painter, touching clouds with his staff until they spilled snow like secrets.
The night stretched wide over Boston, pale light gleaming across rooftops and quiet streets. Jack drifted above it all, twisting his staff in lazy circles as he watched the snow drift down.
He paused midair, glancing toward the glowing city clock tower. Almost midnight. He grinned to himself.
“Monday,” he said under his breath. “Can’t have the kids dragging themselves to school after a weekend like this.”
He twirled his staff once, then gripped it tight with both hands. Frost shimmered along the carved wood, pulsing faintly like it was alive. With a short breath and a sharp swing, he struck the clouds.
A burst of icy blue light rippled outward, curling into spirals. The clouds shuddered, darkened, then began to move — circling and folding like ocean waves under a current. A low hum filled the air, and snow began to fall in earnest, soft at first, then thick, spilling over the city like a white tide.
Jack laughed as he drifted higher, watching his handiwork take over the skyline. Below, he caught sight of a few late-night stragglers — bundled figures rushing for doorways, heads ducked low against the sudden storm. Car tires hissed against new snow. Streetlights blurred into halos. Everything was perfect.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, something flickered.
A flash of green and gold.
He turned, scanning the sky. Nothing. Just the storm he’d made, swirling wild and bright.
He shrugged. “Probably Sandman’s dust or something,” he muttered, and flew on, dragging his staff behind him to lace frost across rooftops.
But there — another flicker, closer this time. He caught it just before it vanished again, a tiny shape tumbling through the wind, wings fluttering too fast.
Jack blinked. “Whoa, hey—”
He darted forward, reaching out, and closed his hand around it just before the gust could throw it off course. He opened his palm slowly, and there, shivering against his skin, was a baby tooth fairy.
It was warm — startlingly so. Like holding a living ember. Its feathers shimmered turquoise and gold, tiny hands clutching a gleaming white tooth almost too big for it.
“Hey there, little guy,” Jack said softly. “Where’re you headed in all this mess?”
The tiny creature blinked up at him with bright, glassy eyes, then pointed a minuscule finger toward a window below.
Jack followed its gesture. A small bedroom window, cracked open just a sliver, a faint nightlight glowing inside.
“Oh,” he said, smiling. “Right. Important business.”
He floated down, shielding the fairy from the wind with his hand, and let it slip through the window. A few seconds later, he saw a faint glow — the fairy landing by the bed, grabbing the tooth, and leaving a shiny quarter in exchange.
When it darted back out, Jack chuckled and opened his palm again. “All done? Lead the way, then.”
The tiny fairy zipped upward, wings steady this time, and Jack followed, rising through the snow until the clouds broke open above them. Moonlight poured across the frozen night, sharp and silver.
He lifted the fairy gently, letting it hover free above the clouds.
“There you go, kid. Clear skies now.”
He was about to turn away when a voice cut through the air behind him — bright, quick, and not exactly pleased.
“And what are you doing?”
Jack smirked before he even turned. He knew that voice.
“Oh, hey there,” he said, spinning his staff lazily in one hand. “Just giving the kids a day off, that’s all.”
Toothiana — the Tooth Fairy herself — hovered a few feet away, arms cradling the tiny fairy he’d rescued. Her wings shimmered like shards of emerald and sapphire in the moonlight as she checked her little underling for any frostbite. Satisfied, she gave the small creature a gentle pat, sending it fluttering off into the night.
“At the cost of my operation?” she asked, arching a brow, the corners of her mouth curving into that half-playful, half-exasperated smile she wore so well. “Do you have any idea how many teeth I have to collect tonight?”
Jack grinned and drifted backward a little, the smirk on his face widening. “Let me guess — four, maybe five?”
She gave an incredulous snort, shaking her head as her feathers bristled in irritation. Tooth always floated just high enough to meet him eye to eye — and at barely four feet, she had to work for it.
“Try five hundred, Jack,” she said, her voice rising with that melodic trill he secretly liked. “The kids had some growth spurts over the weekend!”
Jack laughed under his breath, his breath curling in the cold between them. “Five hundred, huh? Guess you’ve been busy.”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was a spark there — the one that always danced when they crossed paths.
Jack’s grin stretched wider, that familiar spark in his eyes lighting up the storm around them.
“You want me to make your work a little harder?” he asked, tone light but daring. “Might give you the adrenaline rush you’ve been missing since Pitch got taken care of.”
Tooth let out a sharp breath that was half laugh, half groan, her feathers rippling in the cold air. “Don’t you dare,” she said, but there was a lilt in her voice — not annoyance exactly, more like she was enjoying herself.
He tilted his head, still wearing that grin that never quite left him. Her eyes flicked to it for a second — to his teeth, bright against the moonlight — and he could almost see the thought cross her face. She’d always liked his smile, and she didn’t even try to hide it.
“Turn the wind down, Jack,” she said finally, though her tone had softened. “Please.”
Jack only smirked wider. “Make me.”
Before she could answer, he was already gone — shooting backward into the night, snow bursting in his wake, his laughter rolling through the air.
Tooth’s feathers flared as she hovered there, caught between irritation and thrill. Then that spark lit in her eyes again — the one he hadn’t seen in a while.
“Fine,” she said, voice sharp but alive with excitement. “Have it your way.”
With a sudden rush of color and sound, she darted after him, wings cutting through the snowstorm. Frost and feathers tangled together in the air as she chased him through the clouds, both of them laughing now — one out of mischief, the other out of pure, unexpected joy.
Jack figured this had kind of become their thing. Ever since he’d joined the Guardians, he’d made it a point to mess with everyone — Bunny, North, even Sandman once or twice — but Tooth had always been his favorite target. She added levity to everything she touched, even when she didn’t mean to. And yet, for all her color and brightness, she could never seem to slow down. Too serious most days. Too focused. Always chasing one more tooth, one more child’s dream.
He knew she didn’t have to. She had hundreds of mini fairies to do the work for her, but she still insisted on doing it herself. Jack understood that — the need to stay close to the joy, to feel the purpose firsthand.
So, every once in a while, he’d make it his own kind of mission to help her ease up. To give her a reason to laugh, to play, to just breathe for once. He liked seeing her unwind, the tension in her feathers melt away, her laughter cutting through the noise of her constant work.
Maybe it wasn’t part of his usual mischief. Maybe it was something different. But he didn’t mind making a habit out of being near her.
Jack shot through the city streets, the cold air biting at his face as laughter slipped out of him. Behind him, he could hear the soft, quick buzz of her wings. He risked a glance over his shoulder — there she was, eyes bright, that same grin plastered across her face as her feathers fluttered wildly in the wind.
She was fast — faster than him, he had to admit. But he was trickier. A little more unpredictable.
He swung his staff in a wide arc, sending a gust of snow straight into her path. The wind hit her head-on, scattering a cloud of shimmering frost around her.
Tooth only laughed, darting straight through it without slowing. Her wings blurred, and then she was gone — slipping clean through a building’s window, vanishing behind the brick and glass.
Jack chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Clever girl.”
He banked sharply and flew in the opposite direction, wind trailing in his wake as he curved around another block. Snow spilled from the sky with every pass of his staff, coating rooftops and empty streets in white.
Then — a flicker of green ahead.
Before he could react, Tooth shot out from behind a billboard, wings glowing in the moonlight, her hand reaching for his staff.
Jack jerked it back just in time, the end of it grazing her fingers. She still managed to clip the edge of his sweatshirt, almost catching him before he twisted away.
“Nice try!” he shouted, laughing.
Then, in one fluid motion, he let go completely — dropping out of the air.
Tooth gasped and dove after him, feathers scattering light as she raced to catch up.
Jack fell just long enough to make her worry, then stopped short, the air freezing solid around him as he snapped his staff downward. He hovered for a heartbeat, smirked up at her as she barreled past — and then shot forward again, vanishing down the next street in a trail of frost and laughter.
Jack shot down the street, snow and wind twisting at his command. He sent flurries spinning behind him, hoping to throw her off, laughing as he cut around corners and skimmed past rooftops.
Then, as he turned sharply past another building, something golden flashed — and a cloud of sand smacked him full in the face.
“Gah—!”
He coughed, blinking as grains sparkled across his eyelashes. The sand shimmered, turning faintly blue where it touched him, crackling with frost before fading into the wind. He spat some out, wiped his mouth, and blew the rest from his nose. “Ugh, sorry about that, Sandy,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “Didn’t see your—”
Before he could finish, something slammed into him from behind.
He heard a burst of laughter—bright and unmistakable—just as hands closed around his staff. Jack whirled, half-laughing, half-shouting, until the two of them landed together atop a snow-laden roof, tangled in wings, feathers, and swirling frost.
For a moment, the world hushed, leaving only the sound of the wind.
Jack blinked up, startled into stillness.
Tooth was on top of him, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other layered over his—both gripping the staff. Her feathers shimmered in the moonlight; her wings cast a gentle, golden light across his pale skin.
Her hand on his shoulder was warm, but the one covering his own radiated something deeper—a true, pulsing heat that seeped straight through the lingering cold in his bones.
He shivered before he could catch himself.
So did she—not in discomfort, but in a silent, matching surprise. Her eyes lifted to his, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. He could feel her warmth—steady and alive—slipping into him, and for the first time in ages, he didn’t mind the chill melting away.
Tooth blinked, still catching her breath from the fall. Her hand was still resting on his shoulder, the other still gripping his staff. She seemed to realize it at the same time he did and quickly let go, her wings fluttering slightly as she steadied herself.
“I—sorry,” she said softly, moving a little closer as her eyes scanned his face. “Are you all right?”
Jack didn’t answer right away. She was leaning over him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her — not just from her hands this time, but from her face too. It was a gentle, steady warmth, and for a split second, a selfish thought crossed his mind: he didn’t want her to move.
But she did.
Tooth pulled back, still a bit flustered, and stood up before offering him her hand. “Here.”
He could have floated up easily, but he didn’t. He reached out and took her hand instead. Her fingers were small but firm, and she pulled him up with a soft flutter of her wings until he was standing in front of her again.
She hovered up until they were eye level, her feathers ruffling slightly as the cold wind brushed over them.
“I’m fine,” he said finally, his grin creeping back. “That was fun.”
She gave him a playful once-over, lips curving into a faint smirk. “Fun for you, maybe. Now, could you please turn the wind down? Or should I have Bunny come after you next time?”
Jack chuckled. “No need for that, Feathers.” He gave his staff a lazy wave, and the gusts around them eased, the air falling into a calm, quiet snowfall.
“There,” he said, lowering the staff. “The kids’ll still have plenty to work with. And, uh… sorry for interrupting your business.”
Tooth chuckled softly. “You? Interrupting? Never.”
She was about to say more when a flutter of wings came from behind her. A small baby fairy zipped up, caught sight of Jack, and immediately flew straight to him. Before he could react, it nuzzled into the side of his neck, chirping softly.
Jack laughed under his breath, reaching up to steady it. “Hey there, little girl,” he said, smiling as the tiny thing nestled closer. Its warmth seeped through his skin — not quite like Tooth’s, but still comforting.
When he looked back at her, Tooth was watching, her expression softer, almost wistful. But then another fairy swooped up beside her, chattering urgently in its tiny voice.
Tooth blinked, the softness fading into focus again. “Sector 3A? Thirty-two teeth? How did we not know about those?” She grabbed her feathered coat, muttering under her breath. “Go grab them before we forget.”
Then she turned back to Jack, her tone lighter again. “It’s been fun, Frost. And thanks for turning the wind down, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
She gave him a warm smile, before glancing at the little fairy still nestled against his neck. “You heard me,” she said, teasing but with a hint of authority. “Hurry up. We’ve got things to do.”
Jack chuckled as the tiny creature chirped, then reluctantly fluttered off to follow the others. Tooth laughed quietly at the sight before she spread her wings again, the clear insect pink catching the moonlight.
“Try not to cause another storm tonight,” she called over her shoulder as she lifted into the air.
Jack raised his hand in a mock salute. “No promises.”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught the faintest hint of a smile before she disappeared into the clouds, a trail of gold and turquoise feathers fading into the snow.
Jack stayed there for a moment, watching the spot where she’d gone. The night was still again, the wind soft, the city below calm beneath its blanket of white. He breathed out, the cold mist curling away from his lips.
When he finally looked up, he caught sight of Sandman’s golden stream drifting lazily across the sky. Tiny trails of dream-sand shimmered through the air, curling like quiet constellations.
Jack gave a small smile, then he turned, his grip tightening around his staff.
Maybe he’d call it a night.
Or maybe he’d fly a little longer.
The thought came before he could stop it — the image of bright feathers cutting through the snow, of laughter in the wind.
He kicked off from the rooftop, frost blooming in his wake, and flew into the night, hoping — maybe just a little too much — to catch sight of those wings again.
…
Another Christmas. Another celebration from North.
As he did every year apparently, the man had gone completely overboard — lights strung across every beam in the workshop, ornaments bigger than elf heads dangling from rafters, and snowflakes so oversized they looked like they’d fallen straight from a dream.
Jack was all but forced to attend. He drifted through the crowd, staff in one hand, eggnog in the other, taking lazy sips as he moved. The drink was sweet, too sweet, but it kept his hands busy.
He found it all a little amusing, really. The elves, who usually jingled around with bells on their hats, now had trays balanced on their heads — teetering through the crowd as they tried not to spill drinks or drop cookies. A noble effort, if it weren’t for the fact that half of them were sneaking sips and bites themselves.
Jack snorted into his eggnog as one elf tried to swipe a cookie off another’s tray, only to get smacked across the face with a candy cane by the one he tried to steal from.
The yetis were doing their part too, though in true North fashion, it was chaotic. Each of them wore a bib that looked about two sizes too small as they ladled out snow cones dyed in bright reds, greens, and blues. The whole room smelled faintly of sugar and peppermint, the air buzzing with chatter and magic.
Jack made his way over to one of the tables, watching a yeti pour blue syrup onto a mountain of crushed ice. “Nice touch,” he said, pointing at the color. “Matches the theme.”
The yeti grunted knowingly and handed it over. Jack accepted it with a broad grin, swapping it for his eggnog and spinning his staff with lazy ease. “You get me,” he said.
The yeti rolled its eyes and lumbered off, mumbling something that Jack didn’t catch but assumed was friendly.
He leaned back against a pillar, licking the edge of the snow cone absently, eyes drifting over the room — Bunny talking animatedly with a cluster of elves, North laughing so loud it shook the icicles, Sandy perched above it all, weaving tiny dream shapes from gold dust just for fun.
It was warm, loud, and alive. Everything Jack wasn’t — and yet, he couldn’t help but feel a little caught up in it.
He felt a little out of place, really.
Even as he sipped on the snow cone, the chill running down his throat, he couldn’t shake the feeling from this being his first Christmas actually being here — up north, with the Guardians.
He wasn’t unwelcome. Not exactly. North had insisted he come, and Bunny had even grumbled something that almost sounded like an invitation. But welcome? That was harder to say.
He stood off to the side, half-hidden in the corner, a grin fixed on his face that wasn’t entirely real. His staff twitched nervously in his hand, the wood tapping against the floor with a soft rhythm. He didn’t mean to seem awkward — it just came naturally. He’d always been a loner, more comfortable drifting over rooftops than standing in a crowd.
Now, surrounded by laughter and warmth, he didn’t really know what to do with himself.
That was, until a hand suddenly hooked around his arm and tugged.
Jack blinked and turned — just in time to see Tooth standing beside him, her wings shimmering in the golden light, her grin as bright as ever.
“Hey, Jack!” she said, both hands wrapped around his sleeve as she pulled him forward with surprising strength. “How’s it going? Fun party, right? I barely made it — you would not believe how many teeth we had to collect today.”
She laughed, breathless, feathers fluttering quick bursts of color. “It’s good to see you! How are you doing?”
Jack blinked at her, half-stunned, the grin on his face this time a little more real.
“I’m doing fine,” Jack said, taking another sip from his snow cone. “The ice is nice. The elves keep stealing my cookies. And North’s laugh—” he glanced across the room, where another booming roar echoed off the rafters “—is probably going to crack open the ice caps.”
Tooth laughed, the sound bright and effortless. A passing yeti shuffled by with a tray, and she snagged an ice cone from it without missing a beat — green, of course. It matched her perfectly.
Jack watched her lift it to her lips and take a delicate sip, her wings giving a small, pleased flutter as she swallowed. He smirked. “Figures you’d go for green.”
She shrugged, smiling. “Gotta stay in color coordination.”
It was then he noticed that her hand was still looped around his arm, fingers resting lightly against his sleeve. Her palm was warm — that same steady warmth he remembered from the rooftop — and without even realizing it, he relaxed under the touch. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let himself lean slightly into it.
If she noticed, she didn’t mention it. But her grip shifted just enough to hold him a little closer, and he caught the faint curve of a smile before she raised her drink again.
“Oh,” she said softly after another sip, eyes bright as she looked at him. “This is good.”
Jack smiled back, the corners of his mouth tugging higher. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
“It’s really good to see you,” Tooth said, her voice softening a little as she looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Jack’s grin turned genuine. “Yeah? Glad I was dragged into the holiday chaos?”
She laughed. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get.” Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment before her smile tilted playfully. “And those pearly whites—”
Jack groaned, already laughing. “You’re not seriously—”
“Oh, I am,” she said, grinning wider. “They’re practically glowing. It’s like they’re reflecting the blue off the ice sheets!”
He tilted his head, smirking. “That so?”
She paused mid-sentence, blinking, then squinted at his snow cone. “Oh—wait.” She started laughing, wings fluttering with the motion. “That’s just the blue dye, isn’t it?”
Jack let out a laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You had me going there for a second.”
“Still,” she said between giggles, “it’s a good color on you.”
He shook his head, chuckling as he looked at her — feathers glowing, laughter bright, the cold around them somehow a little warmer.
Then, as if the moment itself had summoned it, North’s voice boomed across the room. “Music! We must have music!”
Fiddles leapt into melody, drums picked up the beat, and Jack’s laughter rolled through it all like thunder. Elves darted about, clearing space as colorful lights spun across the floor, and the Guardians gathered, ready for the dance.
Jack lingered at the edge, but Tooth gave him no chance to reconsider. She caught his wrist, her fingers firm and mischievous, and pulled him into the center, wings fluttering bright as sparks.
“Come on!” she teased, laughing. “Don’t tell me the legendary Jack Frost can’t dance.”
He shot her a grin, giving his staff an easy spin before setting it aside. “I never said I couldn’t. I just don’t.”
“Well, you will tonight!”
Before Jack could object, Tooth spun him around—quick, dizzy with energy. Her laughter rang out like tiny bells as they slipped effortlessly into the rhythm, elves cheering on the sidelines while Sandy sent golden dream shapes floating through the air like confetti.
Jack did his best to match her pace, his boots sliding across the smooth floor as Tooth practically swept him into the dance. “You call this dancing?” he gasped, laughing.
She smirked, wings buzzing as she twirled by. “You’re keeping up, aren’t you?”
“Barely,” he admitted.
“Then it’s dancing!”
They picked up speed, weaving between lights and drifting snowflakes. Her feathers shimmered in motion, catching every spark and color that filled the room. Jack couldn’t stop smiling. The excitement in the air was almost electric.
In the midst of the chaos, Bunny groaned from the sidelines, “You two are exhausting just to watch,” drawing a hearty laugh from North.
But Jack and Tooth didn’t hear a word. They were lost in the music, the laughter, and each other.
The beat picked up, faster and wilder, and with it all of Jack’s hesitation melted away. Tooth spun around him, her feathers a blur of color and light, and for once, he didn’t feel out of step. He laughed, really laughed, and with a flick of his staff, snow burst into the air — spiraling around the room in soft, glittering flurries.
The others cheered as the flakes caught in the light, but Jack wasn’t watching them. His eyes followed her — the way she danced, the way she smiled, the way her wings brushed the air like the beat itself belonged to her.
It almost felt like she was trying to stay near him, though maybe that was just his wishful thinking. Every time she spun away, he found himself reaching for her hand, and every time, she didn’t stop him.
The tempo climbed higher, the laughter louder. Tooth twirled around him again, so close he could feel the rush of air from her wings — and then a stray feather flicked across his face.
He blinked, startled, and she giggled — that quick, musical sound that seemed to fill the whole room.
He chuckled in return, brushing the feather off his cheek. “Watch where you’re shedding,” he teased.
“Maybe you should watch where you’re standing,” she shot back, spinning past him again.
He couldn’t help it — he followed.
They moved together in sync now, the music driving them faster, until in a sudden moment of motion she turned straight into him. Her hands found his, steadying herself, and his right hand came up instinctively, fingers brushing her cheek.
The contact froze them both.
Her skin was burning hot — not just warm, burning — and the contrast sent a rush through him. Tooth looked up at him, eyes wide but soft, her breath quick, her feathers still trembling from the motion.
And just like that, the music shifted.
The wild beat that had pulsed through the room just moments ago slowed and softened, fading into something low and gentle. Laughter and cheers dwindled around them, as if the world itself had decided to pause and catch its breath. Where there had been motion and dazzling light, stillness settled in.
For the first time since becoming who he was, Jack’s hand didn’t feel cold. It felt warm. Alive. Her warmth seeped through his skin, reaching places inside him that had long forgotten what comfort felt like. In that single, simple touch, he nearly forgot what it meant to be made of frost.
He shivered, but not from the cold—for a very different reason. She shivered at the exact same moment.
Their eyes met. She hovered there, wings quietly buzzing to keep herself level with him, until a sudden blush bloomed bright and soft across her face. Her wings faltered, and she gently drifted down, feet touching the floor, now just a little shorter than him.
Neither of them spoke. She gazed up at him, breath catching, her eyes glowing that soft violet-purple he found himself liking more the longer he looked.
Jack kept moving, but only just—his feet following the faintest hint of a rhythm he’d long forgotten. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Sandman drifting near the band, handing out fresh music sheets, and North watching from across the room with a curious, knowing gaze. Jack ignored them all.
At that moment, nothing else mattered but her.
Tooth lifted her hand, slow and tentative, silently seeking permission.
Before he even knew it, Jack leaned down to meet her.
Her palm pressed against his cheek, warm and real in every way possible. The heat rolled through him again, filling him in the best way.
He could tell she liked the chill too — the way her fingers spread, the way she pressed her palm against his skin as if trying to absorb it.
Neither of them spoke. The music had shifted, softer now, threaded with a new melody.
Then she began to move again.
Just a gentle sway at first, the smallest motion in time with the rhythm. Jack followed without thinking, his hand still against hers, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.
As they moved together, the world slipped away, leaving only the quiet pulse of warmth meeting cold. They swayed beneath the lights, unhurried, the music curling around them like a soft winter breeze. Her feathers shimmered with each movement, catching the gold from the lamps above, while the faint frost beneath Jack’s boots glowed silver across the floor.
For a few moments, there was nothing else just the rhythm between them. Her hand stayed on his cheek, his breath cool against her wrist. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d touched something warm, something alive, without it disappearing beneath the cold.
He tried to hold onto it — to memorize the feeling.
Tooth smiled faintly, her eyes flicking from his to the space between them, as if she couldn’t decide where to look. Then she stepped closer, her hand sliding from his cheek to his shoulder, and together they fell into a simple, perfect rhythm.
Jack let her lead at first, following the gentle flow of her steps. Soon, the rhythm found him again and he moved with her, turning here, spinning there, always stepping just a little closer than he needed to. Every motion felt effortless, natural, and perfectly in tune.
Around them, the music shifted, picking up a touch of brightness as the instruments found a lighter key. The spell between them began to break.
He sensed her start to withdraw, her fingers gliding softly against his as she took a step back. Quietly, he let her go.
For a fleeting moment, she stayed there, her eyes searching his, her cheeks still aglow. It was as if words trembled on the edge of her lips, but instead she simply smiled, a gentle laugh escaping as her wings stirred the air.
“Thanks for the dance,” she said, her voice light, almost shy.
Before he could answer, she darted back — wings flaring as she rose, weaving into the crowd and vanishing in a shimmer of green and gold.
Jack stood there, the ghost of her warmth still clinging to his skin.
He realized, only then, that he hadn’t taken a single breath.
So he did — slow and steady — the air misting white as it left him, curling upward toward the lights.
And for the first time that night — maybe for the first time in longer than he could remember — he wished he could hold onto that warmth a little longer.
…
The palace was alive with motion.
Golden light spilled across the marble floors as tiny fairies darted through the air, each carrying glints of white enamel and ribbons of memory. Feathers drifted down like soft rain, and the hum of wings filled every corridor — a sound Toothiana usually found comforting.
But not tonight.
She moved through the air with her usual grace, hands full of tiny teeth that shimmered with the dreams of children, yet her focus kept slipping. She’d place a tooth in its designated alcove, pause, and find herself staring blankly at her own reflection in the polished walls.
Cold.
The word kept coming back to her — not just the sound of it, but the feel. The way it had wrapped around her in that dance, steady and calm, and beautifully cold. It wasn’t sharp or harsh, just there — like a calming touch that lingered long after it should’ve faded.
She sighed softly and tried to shake the thought away. She was surrounded by warmth — the constant hum of magic, the pulse of energy from thousands of tiny fairies, the endless movement that defined her world. It should have been enough. It always was.
But her hands still remembered the chill of his skin, the way it felt when her palm pressed against his cheek. That strange balance of opposites — warmth meeting cold, neither overpowering the other.
She caught herself midair, realizing she’d stopped moving entirely. A few of her baby fairies fluttered near her face, chirping questioningly.
“I’m fine,” she said softly, smiling despite herself. “Just… distracted.”
They tilted their tiny heads, unconvinced, before flitting away again.
She sighed, running her fingers along a row of newly stored teeth. They glowed faintly under her touch — warm. Too warm.
For the first time in centuries, the constant heat of her world felt heavy.
She stretched out her wings, letting the air run over her feathers—cool, thin, almost elusive. For a moment, it steadied her. But then she remembered what that same air felt like when Jack’s laughter filled it—crisp, vibrant, unmistakably alive.
A smile crept onto her face before she could stop it.
The smile lingered longer than she intended. It wasn’t until a gentle chorus of chirps echoed down the corridor that she blinked back to the present. Her little fairies hovered nearby, arms overflowing with teeth, coins, and ledgers—waiting for her command.
Right. Work.
She straightened up, schooling the warmth from her expression, and clapped her hands sharply. “All right, everyone,” she said, tone bright but focused. “Let’s get back to it.”
She raised her voice, letting it carry through the grand hall. “Sector four, east wing—double-check those molars. I want them cataloged before sunrise!”
Tiny fairies zipped past her in a blur of color and sound, chirping in reply. She moved through them like a conductor guiding an orchestra, hands gesturing with practiced precision.
“Sector two, make sure you’ve got enough coins. No mix-ups this time — no pennies, all right?” she added, half amused, half stern.
A few of the smaller ones saluted and darted off. Another group hovered near, holding up a small container that glowed faintly. Tooth turned, wings humming as she reached for it.
Inside was a single tooth, marred by a dark cavity. Her smile faltered.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You’ve got to brush better.” She sighed, turning to the little fairy that brought it. “Give him a dime instead of a quarter. Maybe it’ll inspire him to try harder next time.”
The fairy chirped in acknowledgment and fluttered off.
Tooth exhaled and got back to work, reorganizing teeth, adjusting labels, making sure each memory glowed with the right intensity. She was efficient as ever, her movements quick and exact — but there was something off in her rhythm.
Her feathers itched, her wings beating harder than they needed to. Sweat gathered along her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The air was hot, too humid for comfort.
She frowned, shaking her head as she muttered under her breath, “Damn you, Jack.”
The warmth clung to her — thick, cloying, endless.
She wished she could feel his cold again. Just for a moment.
She wished she could feel his kind of cold — that strange, gentle chill that had settled into her hands when she touched him.
She caught herself smiling despite the frustration, a quiet sigh slipping through her teeth as she looked down at the endless rows of glowing memories.
Her hands drifted up, brushing faintly against her own face — and for a fleeting second, she wished they were Jack’s cold hands instead of her own.
…
The Northern Lights stretched across the sky in ribbons of green and violet, glimmering over the endless dark of the North Atlantic. Jack flew beneath them, the wind cutting cold and sharp against his skin.
He didn’t know why he was still here. Ever since the party, he hadn’t found it in himself to leave. He told himself he liked the open air, the quiet, the freedom — but even that felt hollow now.
The wind pushed at him, tugging at his hoodie, blowing through his hair, and for a moment he thought he heard laughter in it — her laughter. Light, quick, impossible to mistake.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just the wind mocking him for thinking it could be.
He sighed, shoulders sagging as he drifted lower. His staff hung loosely in one hand, his other buried deep in the pocket of his hoodie. There was no warmth there — there never was — but even the idea of it was better than nothing.
A quiet breath escaped him, fogging the air before his face. He lifted a hand to his forehead, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “What’s gotten into me?” he muttered to himself.
Ever since that night — the dance, her touch, the way her hand had fit against his cheek — he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her warmth that sank into him like a spark trying to light something long frozen.
He missed it.
He missed the tingling heat on his skin, that moment of feeling alive. He hadn’t felt that since before he was a Guardian — before he was immortal — and now that he’d had a taste of it again, he couldn’t shake it.
He tried to stop the thought before it went further, before his mind conjured her face, her smile, her lips—
Jack groaned and threw his arm out in frustration, swinging his staff through the air. He didn’t let go, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of blue light streaking upward. It split the sky for a moment before spreading out, stirring the clouds and sending a fresh flurry of snow falling over the ocean.
The world around him dimmed a little. Jack sighed again and muttered under his breath, “Smooth move, Frost.”
He shook his head, the wind catching in his hair as he hovered in place. His thoughts were a tangle — too loud, too crowded — and the cold air around him did nothing to quiet them.
“I need to clear my head,” he said softly to no one in particular.
The North Pole suddenly felt too still, too small. The longer he stayed, the more the silence pressed on him.
So he lifted his staff, gave it a small twirl, and turned south.
Europe. It had been a while since he’d stirred up a proper snowstorm there. Maybe it was time.
He grinned faintly to himself, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and let the wind catch him. The auroras faded behind him as he flew into the dark, the sky opening wide and empty ahead.
…
A few months after Easter, Jack was back to his usual wandering—drifting high above North America, tossing gusts of wind and patches of snow across the northern edges of the continent.
Summer was coming on fast. The air carried that kind of heavy warmth that makes kids run for sprinklers, but for Jack it never changed much. The sun, for all its brightness, never really touched him. Even on the hottest days, he felt nothing. Still, he tried to enjoy it. He ran his fingers through tree branches and tall grass, leaving thin traces of frost that glittered in the light before melting away.
Down below, most of the Easter fun had long since ended. Kids had collected their eggs weeks ago, though Jack still found a few Bunny had hidden too well. He couldn’t resist snagging one or two and leaving them where some sleepy kid might find them—on a porch step, under a swing, beside a mailbox. Little surprises to keep the magic going.
Mostly, though, he was trying to distract himself.
He knew it.
It had been months since he’d seen Tooth—probably not since the Christmas party—and he still didn’t know what to do with that. He wanted to see her again. Wanted it badly. But part of him was afraid she wouldn’t feel the same. He’d been bold that night, maybe too bold. Still… it felt right.
And she was always busy. This time of year, kids were losing teeth left and right. He could picture her buried in work, feathers ruffled, energy stretched thin as she tried to keep up. She probably hadn’t stopped flying since spring began.
Jack sighed and dropped lower, gliding over a quiet city street. No one could see him—not the adults, anyway—and the few kids who still believed weren’t looking his way. He touched his staff to the pavement, tracing a lazy swirl of frost along the sidewalk.
A little girl walking beside her mother stepped on the ice, slipped, and started laughing from the ground. Jack grinned, the sound of her laughter chasing away some of the weight in his chest.
He scraped his staff along the street again, sending a playful breeze past a boy with glasses. The wind fogged them instantly, and the kid yelped, laughing as he wiped them clean.
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “Still got it,” he muttered.
But even as he flew on, his grin didn’t quite hold. The laughter faded quickly, swallowed by the warm air—and somewhere beneath it all, he still felt that pull.
That quiet, stubborn thought of her.
Jack drifted down the empty street, his staff spinning lazily in one hand. He let it swing in a wide arc, the end tracing a faint shimmer through the air. The afternoon sun still burned bright overhead, but a sudden draft of cold swept through the town. People on the sidewalks shivered, tugging their jackets tighter, breath fogging in the air.
Jack smiled. “That’s better.”
He floated higher, rising above the rooftops, the city shrinking beneath him as he took off toward the next stretch of skyline. The air thinned as he climbed, the sunlight fading into a deeper blue.
He flew until the warmth began to dim, until he could feel the edge of his own element again. The sky darkened as he broke through a bank of clouds, brushing his fingertips against them. Wherever his hand passed, they bloomed white and heavy with snow.
He closed his eyes and let the wind carry him, the cold biting pleasantly against his skin. For a moment, it was just him, the air, and the silence.
Then something small and solid smacked him right in the face.
“Wha—hey!”
Jack blinked, spinning midair and rubbing his nose. He looked around, scanning the empty sky, but saw nothing. The clouds drifted lazily, the horizon stretching out in all directions.
Then he heard it — a faint, familiar chirp.
Warmth spread across the top of his head.
He tilted his eyes upward and groaned. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Perched right in his hair, clutching a handful of white strands for dear life, was a baby tooth fairy — feathers ruffled, wings flickering with gold light, and chirping happily like it had just found home.
Jack sighed, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You again, huh?”
The tiny fairy trilled in response, tugging insistently on a lock of his hair and pointing toward the horizon.
Jack followed its gesture, frowning slightly. “Where are you trying to take me this time?”
The fairy chirped again, louder this time.
Jack laughed under his breath. “All right, all right. Lead the way.”
He adjusted his grip on his staff, glanced once more at the darkening sky, and took off in the direction the little creature pointed — unaware that this time, it wasn’t just lost.
It was bringing him back somewhere.
“Where are you taking me?” He asked as they flew through the afternoon and dark sky.
They soared through the tundra of clouds, the world below hidden beneath a soft, endless white. The air brushed cool against his face — something he thought he felt, though he could never quite be sure anymore. Maybe it was just his skin remembering what feeling was supposed to be.
The baby tooth darted ahead, its glow a small pulse of gold against the gray expanse. Jack followed easily, the cold wind curling around him in familiar patterns.
Then, far off in the distance, a warm shimmer broke through the haze — a soft, golden light hovering above the horizon. He knew that glow. He’d seen it once before, high over the northern forests.
Her palace.
He felt it before he even realized he was smiling — that faint shift in the air, the warmth that wasn’t really warmth at all, just the absence of cold. But it was enough. Enough to make the edges of his chest loosen, enough to remind him why he was flying this way in the first place.
He tightened his grip on the staff and angled downward, the wind howling quietly around him as he followed the little fairy’s light toward the golden spires ahead.
When they broke through the last stretch of clouds, Jack finally saw her.
Tooth hovered above the edge of the palace balcony, wings fluttering in slow, uneven beats. She was still calling out orders — or trying to.
“Sector three—no, no, that’s not right—wait—” she mumbled, pointing toward a group of fairies already working perfectly fine without her. They zipped around the golden towers, efficient and cheerful, carrying teeth and coins in neat glowing lines. The air was alive with their soft chirping, a comforting rhythm that didn’t seem to reach her at all.
She didn’t even notice that everything was running smoothly without her.
Jack slowed, a small, fond smile forming as he hovered a few feet away. Even dead on her feet, she was still trying to control everything. Typical Tooth.
He descended lightly onto the marble balcony. The instant his bare feet touched the polished surface, frost spread beneath him in delicate whorls, vanishing almost as soon as it formed. The air here was warmer — thick, sweet, golden — and he could feel the difference against his skin like stepping into sunlight after years in the shade.
The fairies noticed him first.
Their excited chirps rang out like a chorus of tiny bells as they darted toward him, wings buzzing in quick bursts. A few tugged playfully at his hair, one perched on his shoulder, and another clung to his staff, inspecting it like it was a new toy.
Jack chuckled quietly. “Hey, easy, easy,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace.”
The baby tooth that had led him here puffed out its feathers proudly and tugged at his finger, clearly intent on showing him Tooth...who’d didn’t look the best.
“Yeah, yeah, you did good,” Jack murmured with a grin. “Now let’s check on your boss.”
He followed the little guide forward until he was standing right behind her. Tooth’s wings buzzed weakly as she tried to keep her focus on the crowd of fairies, but her voice had gone faint, slurred with exhaustion.
Jack hesitated for a heartbeat — then reached out and brushed his fingertips gently against the back of her neck.
He gasped.
“Dang,” he muttered softly, “you’re really warm, Tooth.”
She startled, wings flaring slightly as she spun around. Her eyes were heavy, the purple dimmed beneath faint shadows, but her smile — tired as it was — still carried that familiar brightness.
“H—” she yawned, blinking hard. “Hey. I didn’t hear you stop by.”
Jack’s grin softened. “Didn’t think I needed an invitation.”
She huffed out a small laugh, her wings twitching weakly behind her.
He hesitated only a moment before letting his hand settle fully at the back of her neck. His palm was cool, his touch light — but even through the fine layer of feathers there, she was burning.
Tooth drew in a quiet breath, her shoulders relaxing beneath his fingers. For once, she didn’t pull away. She leaned into his hand instead, the warmth of her skin thrumming against his cold touch.
“You don’t need an invitation…” she murmured, her voice drifting off into a sigh. “I just—oh, that feels nice.”
Without finishing the thought, she pushed back into his touch, her wings fluttering weakly as if her body was chasing the cool.
Jack let out a low chuckle, the sound quiet and fond. “You got a cold or something? You’re really hot.”
She laughed faintly, the sound soft and tired. “We can’t get colds, Frost.” Her head tilted just slightly, eyes half-closed. “But I wish I was cold now.”
Her gaze drifted toward his staff. “Can you… put a chill on my head? I think I’m seeing stars.”
Jack blinked, his grin fading into something softer. “Yeah,” he said quietly, adjusting his grip on the staff. “Yeah, I got you.”
Jack lifted his hand and gently rested it against her forehead. Her skin was hot — almost feverish — and for a second, he hesitated, afraid the chill might sting.
Then, with a quiet breath, he let a slow curl of frost spread from his palm. It bloomed outward in delicate patterns, thin and glimmering, coating her skin and the edges of her hair in a faint shimmer of ice. The air around them cooled instantly, a soft mist rising as warmth met cold.
Tooth let out a long, shaky sigh, her body easing beneath his touch. The glow in her feathers dimmed to something softer, calmer. She closed her eyes and leaned forward just slightly, letting the frost settle. Her wings fluttered once before settling against her back.
Jack watched her, the glow of her palace reflecting off her feathers, light mixing with the pale blue hue of his frost.
“Better?” he asked.
“Better,” Tooth murmured, voice drifting off in a tired hum. She lifted a hand as if to motion for something — maybe to dismiss him or call over a fairy — but stopped halfway, swaying slightly in midair.
Her wings fluttered once, unevenly, before she tried to push off the air again. She only made it a few inches before her balance gave out and she stumbled — somehow managing to trip in the middle of open air.
Jack caught the motion just in time. “Carefu—” he started, then let out a soft scoff as she tilted again, her wings folding clumsily. “Oh, that’s it.”
He hesitated a moment, then sighed and bent his knees slightly. With a careful motion, he slid an arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her easily off the ground.
Her eyes widened, startled. “What are you—?”
“Carrying you,” he said without missing a beat. His tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that she blinked in disbelief.
She blinked once. Twice. “Oh,” was all she managed.
“Easy,” Jack murmured, shifting his grip. “You’re done flying for tonight.”
The coolness of Jack’s skin drifted through the fabric of his hoodie — not harsh or biting, just calm and steady. It balanced the restless heat shimmering beneath her feathers, pulling a quiet, involuntary breath from her as her muscles eased.
“You shouldn’t be this kind,” she whispered.
Jack smiled faintly. “Only when you're watching.”
Around them, a few fairies gathered, chirping curiously.
Jack tilted his head. “Where’s her room?” he asked.
The fairies lit up, pointing excitedly toward a staircase wrapped in soft light. One even pointed a tiny wing toward the golden hall that led deeper into the palace.
“Thanks,” he said, and started walking.
Tooth blinked up at him, her vision hazy. The cold radiating from his arms was soothing, steady — and for the first time in months, she felt herself actually relaxing. A yawn slipped out before she could stop it.
She probably should’ve been embarrassed — being carried through her own palace by Jack Frost, of all people — but she wasn’t. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was how peaceful the cold felt against her skin.
Her heartbeat stayed uneven, though — quiet but fast. She bit her lip lightly, hoping he didn’t notice.
Jack said nothing. He just walked, barefoot, his frost whispering faintly across the polished gold floor, melting the instant it formed. His staff leaned against his shoulder, humming softly with every step.
The palace glowed around them, all gold and silver and soft light. But even with all that warmth, the only thing she could really feel was him.
Tooth shifted in his arms, feathers brushing lightly against his forearm. “This isn’t necessary, Jack,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I can—”
He stopped her with a quiet laugh, glancing down. “How do you feel?”
She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy. “A little tired, maybe,” she admitted through a yawn. “Warm, perhaps.”
Jack snorted softly. “You’re more than warm. You’re hot.”
Tooth frowned, confused, her brow furrowing slightly — then a realization flickered, followed immediately by a blush creeping across her cheeks.
Jack’s eyes widened. “Wait—no, I mean—” He coughed, looking away, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Very warm. Just very warm.”
Her laugh was quiet and breathy, but the sound of it made something inside him loosen.
“Well,” he added after a beat, trying to recover, “if you need to, you can put your hands on my shoulders. More cold that way.”
“Sure,” she said softly.
She shifted in his arms and raised her hands, sliding them carefully around the back of his neck. Her palms pressed against his skin, and he felt the heat of them immediately — not gentle warmth, but a slow, spreading burn that seeped through his cold like sunlight through ice.
The contrast made him draw in a sharp breath, his chest tightening with surprise. Her warmth wasn’t uncomfortable—just startling, alive in a way he hadn’t felt for so long that it almost made him ache.
Tooth nestled deeper into his arms, her hands gliding up to rest at the back of his neck. She pressed her head to his chest, letting herself sink fully into his cold. It was pure relief—dizzying, like diving into cool water after a long, blazing summer day. Only now, she was the heat, and he was the water.
Almost without thought, she tugged him down, needing him closer. A quiet sound slipped from his lips—part hum, part sigh—as her touch lingered, pulling him into her warmth until the space between them disappeared.
He chuckled, the sound soft and low. “Careful,” he teased gently. “If you pull me any closer, I won’t see where I’m supposed to be going.”
Her response came muffled, her face buried against his chest. “That’s fine,” she murmured, her voice drowsy but playful. “Just don’t hit your face on anything.”
Jack raised a brow, glancing down at the top of her head. “Why?”
She smiled, eyes still closed, voice soft as feathers. “Don’t want to mess up those pearly whites.”
He laughed quietly, shaking his head as he kept walking. “You and the teeth, shoulda guessed.” he muttered.
Her grip around his neck loosened just slightly as she relaxed further into his hold, her breathing steady and slow. Jack smiled to himself, the sound of her quiet breathing mixing with the faint jingling of fairies following behind.
Tooth didn’t remember much after that. The world around her blurred — the lights in her hallway, the beating of Fairy wings, the steady rhythm of Jack’s footsteps. Sleep was already pulling at her before they even reached her room.
She never felt the bed beneath her—only the moment before it, frost and winter air wrapping around her like a blanket.
Then she slipped under, the last thing she knew being the soft shimmer of Sandman’s dreams settling over her.
When Tooth finally woke, she wasn’t sure if it had been a night, a day, or several. Time felt hazy — stretched and soft, like the edge of a dream that refused to fade.
She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the warm gold light of her chamber. The air shimmered faintly, alive with drifting motes of dust and the faint hum of her sleeping fairies beyond the archway.
With a quiet groan, she pushed herself upright and stretched, her limbs extending gracefully. Her feathers — those layered plumes that framed her arms and shoulders — flared and rippled with the motion, flashing from teal to emerald to soft yellow before settling back into place. They weren’t perfectly smooth; a few stuck out at odd angles, the colors dulled at the edges. She didn’t care. For once, she didn’t feel the need to fix them.
Her wings — translucent and veined like a dragonfly’s — twitched gently as she stretched them out, catching the morning light. The faint hum they gave off was soft and uneven, a sleepy vibration that matched her pulse.
She took a long breath and exhaled, feeling the warmth of her palace press around her. Then, without warning, a cool breeze drifted through the room — subtle, clean, cutting through the heat like fresh air after rain.
Tooth sighed in relief, her shoulders loosening.
“You slept for three days,” said a voice behind her, smooth and teasing. “You must’ve really needed it, Feathers.”
Her lips curved before she even turned. That voice could only belong to one person.
When she glanced back, Jack Frost was sitting in a chair beside her bed — slouched, barefoot, staff resting across his knees. A faint shimmer of frost clung to the marble under his feet, melting into tiny droplets that caught the light. He was smiling that same cocky, lopsided grin that always made her roll her eyes.
“Three days?” she echoed, rubbing her eyes. “You stayed here that whole time?”
Jack shrugged, still grinning. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t melt.”
She snorted, feathers fluffing slightly. “You didn’t have to watch over me, you know.”
“I know,” he said easily, eyes softening. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She’d expected that answer — it was so very him — but even knowing it didn’t stop the warmth that bloomed quietly in her chest.
She smiled, small but sincere, her feathers catching the light again as she looked at him. “Thanks, Frost.”
He tilted his head, grin turning gentle. “Anytime, Feathers.”
…
The palace was quiet that night. The little fairies had, for once, forced their queen to rest. They’d swarmed her gently, chirping insistently until she’d given in, promising to take a short break and nothing more.
So now Tooth wandered through one of the long, open corridors of her palace, her bare feet brushing against the cool marble. The air hummed faintly with the leftover magic of the day — a golden glow from the walls, a faint shimmer that clung to her feathers.
She stretched her wings slightly as she walked, letting them hum low and soft, more from habit than anything. She was supposed to be resting, but her mind wouldn’t let her.
Mostly, she was thinking about him.
Jack Frost.
She told herself she thought of him as a friend — a fellow Guardian, someone who cared for the children as much as she did, someone who brought laughter where she brought comfort. But lately, that word friend had started to feel too small. There was something else beneath it. Something she didn’t know how to name.
Every time she remembered the feel of his hand against her skin, or the sound of his laugh cutting through the cold, her heart beat just a little too fast.
She sighed softly and rounded a corner, ready to chase the thought away — and then stopped.
There he was.
Jack sat on the edge of one of the wide balcony railings, his staff resting beside him, eyes fixed on the horizon. The moonlight washed over him, silvering his hair and skin, making him look almost carved out of frost. The wind played around him gently, as if it belonged to him — which, she supposed, it did.
Tooth couldn’t help the small smile that found her lips.
“Of course,” she muttered fondly under her breath.
With a quiet buzz of her wings, she lifted herself from the corridor and glided over to him. Her movement stirred the air just enough to send a shimmer of frost dancing across the marble.
Jack glanced over his shoulder as she landed beside him, his grin appearing immediately. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. You’re up, and not working?”
She rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. “The fairies gave me no choice. Said I was ‘a hazard to my own feathers’ or something like that.”
He chuckled, the sound light and genuine. “Sounds about right.”
For a few moments, they didn’t speak. The night stretched out before them, quiet except for the wind and the faint hum of the world below. Tooth watched the stars reflected in the frost along the balcony edge; Jack traced shapes idly on the marble with his bare toe.
Finally, he broke the silence, voice softer now. “How’re you feeling?”
She turned toward him, the smile returning — small but warm.
“Better,” she said honestly. “Thanks to you.”
Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she reached out and took his hand.
The gesture was simple. Her fingers curled lightly around his, and for a moment, neither of them said a word.
Jack looked down at their joined hands, his grin fading into something quieter, more real.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking me to bed, I needed it.”
His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles — instinctive, thoughtless — a motion so gentle it almost didn’t feel real.
“Anytime, Toothiana,” he murmured.
The sound of her name — not Feathers, not a joke or a tease — hit her in a way she didn’t expect. It carried a warmth that felt different. It wasn’t the kind of warmth she was used to giving; but it was one she suddenly wanted to keep.
Something inside her stirred, sharp and quiet all at once — a feeling she couldn’t quite name, though she knew it all the same.
Tooth’s fingers lingered around his for a moment longer before she spoke again.
“What can I do in return?” she asked quietly. “To thank you.”
Jack blinked, then gave a quick laugh, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “That’s not necessary—”
But she caught his wrists before he could pull away, her grip gentle but firm. “It is necessary,” she said, smiling — though there was something in her tone that stopped him short. “As much as you don’t want me to, I do owe you, Jack.”
Her voice wasn’t playful this time. It was soft, but steady — the kind of tone that always made him listen.
Jack stared at her for a moment, then shook his head, rolling his eyes with a faint smile. “You’re serious.”
“When am I not?” she teased, tilting her head.
“Fair point,” he said with a grin. But when she released his hands, he didn’t move right away. He just sat there, thinking, the usual spark of mischief in his eyes dimming into something quieter.
For a long moment, he looked more serious than she’d ever seen him.
Then he said, carefully, “All right then. Tell me your story.”
She blinked, surprised. “My story?”
He nodded. “You owe me nothing, Tooth. But if you really want to give something back… tell me your story.”
Tooth laughed softly, the sound airy and bright in the cool night. “That’s not worth what you’ve done for me.”
He smiled back, but there was a sincerity in his voice she wasn’t expecting when he said, “You’re right. It’s not comparable. But it’s worth it to me. That’s all I want — your story.”
She laughed again, shaking her head. “You know, I would’ve told you regardless of what you’ve done for me.”
Jack tilted his head slightly, still smiling. “Yeah, but now I get to call it even.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening. He wasn’t teasing this time, not really. He wanted to know her — not as the Tooth Fairy, not as the busy Guardian who never stopped moving, but as Toothiana.
She felt that warmth again — the kind she didn’t quite know how to name.
“All right,” she said finally, her voice gentle. “You want my story? You’ll have it.”
Tooth looked out over the dark, her dragonfly wings catching thin lines of moonlight. She didn’t start right away. She turned his hand palm-up and traced a thumb across the white ridge of his knuckles like she was relearning the shape of his hand.
“My story, then,” she said. “All of it.”
Jack nodded once. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She laughed under her breath. “You didn’t last night either.”
A beat past. Then she began.
“I was born in heat and salt. An archipelago—with small islands, cliff houses, cormorants on pilings. The air always tasted like mango and iron, and the nights sang with insects. My mother kept a small courtyard of white stone adorned with feathers from all kinds of birds. The children called it the Garden of Firsts.”
She glanced at him to be sure he was with her. He was—utterly still.
“In that courtyard, we kept a little clay bowl. When a child lost a tooth, they’d bring it to us for safekeeping. My mother used to say bone remembers, but what I know now as enamel. That while bones mend and skin sheds, teeth keep the oldest echoes—the first laugh, the first mango juice down your chin, the first time you swam without fear. She said those memories are the scaffolding that holds a person up when the world tries to take them apart.”
Jack’s mouth twitched. “So you were… the tooth fairy before you were the Tooth Fairy.”
“My people were caretakers,” Tooth began, her voice soft with memory. “We worked quietly, collecting the bowls where each child kept their teeth. We promised them their firsts were safe with us. When a bowl was full, we’d tuck the teeth into little silk sachets with petals and camphor, label them with names and dates, and place them high on our shelves. If a child was ill, or woke frightened from a nightmare, my mother would take their teeth in her palm and tell a story from them. Not a fortune, like the seers do—just a true thing they’d forgotten.”
She smiled, the memory glowing warm in her eyes.
Jack returned the smile. “Your mother must’ve had an incredible memory.”
“She did. One of the best,” Tooth murmured.
She paused, gathering her thoughts. “One year, the monsoon arrived too soon. The air was heavy and wrong, water rising everywhere. A crowded ferry capsized off our pier—too many people, not enough boat. I was nineteen, and too reckless. I dove in, because everyone else was screaming and I couldn’t do nothing. Under the hull, I found a boy—lungs burning, eyes wide and terrified. Blood on his lip, a gap in his smile. I pressed my mouth to his, gave him air, and kicked us both up to the surface.”
Tooth’s fingers had stilled on Jack’s hand; he flipped his palm and held hers more firmly.
“We surfaced in the wreckage. He coughed once—loud, alive—and I was so relieved I laughed. That’s when the next wave hit. It threw us both against the pier. I felt something tear in my shoulder; my arm went numb, and he slipped from my grip. I caught him by the back of his shirt with my other arm, desperate not to lose him again, and something small and hard pressed against my cheek.”
A faint smile touched her lips as she pushed her tongue against the spot. “His tooth. He must’ve lost it when the hull hit—and I must’ve picked it up when I breathed air back into him.”
She took a slow, steady breath.
“I kept that tooth in my mouth so I wouldn’t lose it,” she admitted, giving him a rueful smile. “Not exactly dignified. But all I thought was: if I can’t save him, at least I can keep his firsts safe.”
Jack’s voice was gentle. “You didn’t save him?”
“I tried.” Her throat tightened. “But the current did what currents always do. It pulled at us. I could only hold one of us above the surface. I remember his breath on my cheek, and letting go of the pier to lift him higher with one hand. I remember the water closing over my head, and everything going so, so silent. I don’t know if I saved him or not.”
Silence settled between them. The wind brushed along the balcony rail, raising a delicate lacework of frost beneath Jack’s foot. Tooth watched it melt as she spoke.
“I didn’t feel pain—just heaviness, and then… a coldness I’d never known before. Not heat, not the vibrant pulse of my islands, but real cold. The kind you never find living beneath monsoon skies. In that hush and chill, I heard another voice. Not in my ear, but in the light itself.”
Jack’s eyes drifted to the moon, then returned to her.
“He asked if I wanted to keep doing what I’d tried in my last breath. To keep the firsts safe, out of reach of the darkness. I couldn’t answer aloud, but something inside me screamed yes so fiercely that even the water trembled. And the moon—” her smile was tinged with wonder “—the moon listened.”
“Tooth,” Jack breathed quietly. It wasn’t a question.
“I awoke in the air,” she said. “No pressure, no pain. Wings I couldn’t yet feel, just a clear sense of direction I’d never known before. I looked down and didn’t see the boy in the water or on the pier. His tooth—his very first—was in my palm. When I lifted it, it wasn’t enamel I saw, but a room: his mother humming him a lullaby, a paper kite tangled high in a tree, a lopsided dog with one ear up and one down. His first laugh when that dog sneezed on him. That sound was so pure and bright. Then I realized—the tooth didn’t just hold a memory. It held the life of these children.”
She exhaled and let her shoulders relax, as if the story had eased some old burden.
“The moon whispered his name to me,” she said quietly. “It told me that sometimes, darkness finds children — it tries to hurt them, to slip quietly into their small, bright lives. Sometimes fear tries to make itself at home. So the task became clear: gather their firsts, protect the children, and keep the darkness from touching those precious memories.”
“Were the coins his idea too? Teeth for metal?” Jack asked.
Tooth rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. “No — that was mine. A bit of reassurance, so they’d know their tooth hadn’t just vanished under a pillow or behind a bed. It was safe. They were safe. And maybe, with a coin left in its place, they’d feel gratitude instead of shame for losing their tooth.”
He paused, then his grin returned, easy and teasing. “Not exactly the most profitable system, though. You pay them.”
Tooth chuckled, her eyes sparking with amusement. “I’ve always believed in overpaying.”
Jack tilted his head, smirking. “You don’t say.”
“The moon wasn't finished,” Tooth continued, ignoring Jack’s grin. “It told me I’d need a place to keep all the firsts while they waited to be kept safe—a place of safety, yes, but more than that. I’d need many hands to help sort them and protect them. And I was determined not to divide anyone else to get them. So I was offered a choice: I could stay alone and move slowly, or become many and move swiftly.”
Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You chose many.”
"I did," she said, gently tracing the faint gold veins shimmering along her wing. "I drew them from my very core—pieces of myself given shape. The little ones flitting about aren’t just helpers, Jack. They’re fragments of me. They do what I would, only with a little less restraint."
Jack’s smile was immediate, impossible to hold back. "No wonder they like me."
"They do," she teased, her voice soft and playful. "They love a bit of cold, it’s true. But more than that, they’re good judges of character. They always flock to someone they find trustworthy."
Jack glanced at their joined hands, his breath catching just a little. "So that’s why they burrow into my neck—they trust me."
Tooth blushed, rolling her eyes with a laugh. "Like I said, they’re like me—only bolder."
She paused, then continued, “To make it all run smoothly, I learned a few tricks—how to slip coins beneath pillows, open windows quietly, and tiptoe past even the deepest sleepers.” Her gaze softened. “The palace grew with me, a place warm enough to shelter millions of little hearts, their light never fading. I taught the small ones to catalogue, to keep what matters safe. And when grief swallows a child, the tooth still remembers their laughter—the way it sounded before the sadness. You can give it back, like striking a match. And suddenly, there’s hope again.”
Jack murmured, “Lighting a first fire.”
“Exactly.” She released the word on a gentle breath. “But I also realized I can’t stand being still. Not since the pier. So I… keep moving.” She offered a small, sheepish shrug. “Probably more than I should. I stay busy—just warm enough that I never have to feel the cold.”
The truth hung between them, quiet and tender. Jack’s voice grew softer. “And now?”
She met his eyes, calm and unwavering. “Now I can be cold,” she murmured, “without losing myself in it.”
The words hung between them. A gentle rush of wind brushed past, and far below, a fairy’s bell chimed a solitary note—a sound out of place but somehow just right.
Jack cleared his throat. “Do you—” He paused, managing a crooked smile. “Sorry. If you want to say more, I’m listening.”
“That’s really all there is,” she replied softly. “I died saving the boy, but I was remade because I clung to what the tooth carried—memories kept the children alive, warmth kept me moving. And—” her fingers rose, tracing his cheek with the same gentle touch as during the dance, “I found a winter that didn’t feel unkind, who loved children as much as I do.”
He was quiet for a moment, breathing out a mist that faded between them.
“Thank you—for telling me,” Jack said finally.
“You asked.”
“I did,” he admitted, his smile tinged with humor. “I guess I owe you a story now.”
“You don’t,” she assured him, her smile soft. “This is more than enough.”
He nodded, glancing out at the balcony edge, seeking courage from the horizon.
“I’ve been chasing warmth ever since I fell into the water—after saving my sister,” he said quietly, opening up at last. Tooth’s gaze held his, her still wings speaking the depth of her attention.
“Most days I can’t feel the sun. Most nights I can’t tell if the wind is outside or inside me.” He exhaled softly, then gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “And then your hand…” His voice dropped. “Your hand made my palm feel alive again.”
She didn’t speak. The corners of her mouth rose.
Jack risked a glance back at her. “I don’t know what to do with that except tell you. I keep thinking if I say it wrong, I’ll melt—or you’ll disappear.”
“You won’t,” she said. “I won’t. I’m not so easily broken… or quick to leave. Especially not with you.”
For a moment, the only sound between them was the wind — soft, steady, carrying both their breaths.
He hesitated, then asked, quieter still, “And you? What do you want?”
Tooth didn’t shy away from the question. “I want a wave that doesn’t scare me,” she said softly. “And to feel cold that isn’t deadly.”
He exhaled a sound that might’ve been relief. “I can make that happen,” he murmured. “You don’t have to be afraid of the cold with me, Tooth.”
“I know,” she said—and the words came out almost as a laugh.
They sat with it. The night went on being night. Somewhere deep in the palace, the faint hum of fairies at work echoed softly through the halls.
Finally, Jack said — light trying to return to his tone and not quite making it — “If this is the part where you pay me with a quarter, I’m going to be offended.”
She squeezed his hand, a soft smile curving her lips. “You don’t have a use for quarters, Jack. And you haven’t lost a tooth—thankfully.”
“I knew all you cared about was my teeth.”
“Hmm.” Her eyes warmed, a faint spark of teasing there. “You asked for my story — and there’s one more part.”
He tilted his head, curious.
She took a breath. “When the moon asked me what I wanted most — after I asked to keep the firsts safe — I told it I wanted one more thing. I wanted a way to remember being human. So I’d never talk down to a child. So I’d never think a laugh was small.”
Jack’s expression softened. “And what did the moon say?”
“It told me to remember the cold,” she said quietly. “To find solace in it — and I’d remember being human.”
He went very still. She didn’t move her hand.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said — quiet, raw, and for once not a joke. “Tooth.”
“I know,” she whispered, leaning in so slowly there wasn’t a single moment to startle from. “It just doesn’t feel like it.”
It wasn’t fireworks — not even a kiss at first. Just the soft meeting of their foreheads, a quiet exchange of warmth and cold. His breath cooled her lips; her warmth softened his.
When their lips finally met — briefly — it was as if a weight had been lifted from their shoulders, two halves joining at last rather than a claim
Even after they parted, neither moved far. Her hand stayed on his cheek, his thumb brushed her wrist, and the air between them stayed calm — balanced — as if the world itself had finally settled.
Jack’s voice fell to a whisper. “Confession?”
“If you go first,” she replied, her smile so small it nearly ached.
He took a slow, careful breath. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “Not really of being forgotten—well, maybe a little—but of wanting this. Wanting you.”
Her smile trembled delicately on her lips. “Confession,” she echoed, so softly. “I want you too. Not to change you. Just to sit beside you. To feel the cold and know I don’t have to keep running from it.”
He swallowed, the grin he’d tried to hold back slipping free. “Okay,” he said—a promise in a single word.
“Okay,” she repeated—her own promise returned.
They didn’t rush to move, or try to label what was forming. They simply sat together on the balcony, hands entwined, as the breeze drifted through—chill meeting warmth, neither flinching, both sinking deeper into the moment.
The air between them became neither cold nor warm—it was simply right.
Tooth turned first, a gentle smile curving her lips. Jack met her gaze with a crooked, heartfelt grin—his and his alone. For a time, they just looked at each other, lost in a quiet so deep it made words seem unnecessary.
Then, almost naturally, they leaned in.
This kiss was slower, steadier. Her warmth mingled with his cold, not canceling each other out, but blending together, soft and sure as the hush after fresh snowfall.
When they drew apart, both were smiling.
Above them, the night flowed on, tranquil and balanced, the air cradling both their warmth and frost, as if, in that moment, frost and feathers had finally found a place to rest side by side.