Author's Note: Long time no update. This chapter has basically been a bitch for me to write (not much is going on this one), but at least now it's out of the way! I wanted to plow through this one in one-go, so I stayed up last night working on this one. Kind of an intro-chapter, more than anything. Next chapter, we're hanging out with the Stage Crew again, and the excitement unravels. Also, Jack will be in for a surprise~ Shutting up now.

Basic Overview: Hiccup and Jack make a new friend, and discuss a more pressing matter.

Point of View: 3rd person: Jack/Hiccup alteration

Warnings: Nothing, I'm pleased to say! Just introductions~

Age Reminder: Jack is 14 (9th grade); Hiccup is 13 (9th grade); Emma is 12 (7h grade)

Chapter 39: I Caught Myself

March 24th

Wednesday

"Gear up, ye' lazy bums—we're startin' a fun new project today!"

Henrik found himself groaning with the rest of the class, on this one. For whatever reason, Gobber had decided that the second classes began again after February break, they absolutely had to cram in as many last-minute projects as they could manage. Last week, it was bottle rockets (which he firmly regretted after Guy's when shootingthrough an open window), the week before that it was a soapbox derby (which surprisingly turned out well; despite a few noise complaints from the teachers a few rooms down), and the week after break it was a cut-out project with the saws (Henrik nearly lost a finger or two just trying to get the head of his dragon cut-out shaped). Honestly, his hands were calloused and by now he'd gotten pretty sick of the constant building—and if it wasn't Gobber barking orders, it was Gothel or Flynn.

Stage Crew had gotten hectic around the winter show back in November. Tensions were running high as sets still hadn't been completed, and the rehearsals just kept getting longer and longer; Gothel was high-strung over the fact they weren't even remotely close to ready for the show, and one of the leads actually broke their leg coming off of the stage. He half-expected her to have an aneurism that afternoon, judging by the way she could barely function at rehearsal. A couple of the crew members arranged weekend rehearsals just to get things moving, but it felt like they were constantly lagging behind. Of course, all that work was for naught about a week later. The Friday afternoon they'd planned their first show for brought about 4 inches of snow—the days after another 2! And who says irony doesn't exist?

So now that the spring musical was on its way, the stakes had been raised even higher—Gothel was set on finishing the sets well before Hell Week could begin (which it seemed everyone was dreading months in advance), and now that the cast had been posted things would move a little smoother. After-school sessions with the crew were mostly dedicated to getting as much of the sets blown through as they could, at such a speed Henrik probably had at least twenty different slivers and splinters in his hand he had no intention of attending to.

"Oh, ye poor things," Gobber sarcastically moped. "What? Am I 'workin' ye to death'? Are my projects too hard for ye?"

Henrik caught Guy's exhausted nod in the corner of his eye. He choked back a snicker.

The teacher swatted his hand at the crowd of seated kids with a holler. "Well, too bad! Step up yer game, would ye? We haven't even gotten to the fun projects, yet! Anyway... startin' today, we'll be workin' on homemade moving parts."

The groans crescendoed. Gobber banged his hands on one of the benches to regain the class's attention once more. He offered a loud Would ye shut it already?! in retaliation before getting into the lecture. Instruction packets came around the benches and finally landed sloppily on Henrik's. He slid one over to a despondent Guy and smiled at him when he shot a gracious wave back. Thumbing through the packet, it didn't... seem like that hard of a project. If anything, the hard part was measuring the parts and sanding them smoothly enough so the damn—um... well, whatever they were building—would even move.

Henrik tuned in to the lecture as best he could, despite every fiber of his being begging him to take this opportunity to nap. He could vaguely make out Gobber's voice screeching over certain syllables and the titter of his classmates attempting to sneak in some conversation mid-lecture. Of course, they'd quickly zip their mouths shut when Gobber glared bench to bench at the offending voices, but they were also quick to return to their conversation when his back was turned. Honestly, it was kind of annoying—but it happened in every class, so... well, Henrik didn't really mind.

If anything, he was a little irked at a couple of girls who weren't even trying to keep their voices down. Gobber could glare them down all he wanted, but they weren't getting the hint. Finally, he let his voice trail and loudly cleared his throat.

"Ladies," he began. "Do ye see me talkin' up here?"

All eyes turned to the group. They quietly shook their heads, the black-haired girl pursing her lips to keep the laughter under control.

"Oh. Good. An' here I thought ye might've been ignoring me." He retorted. "Do ye mind?"

They nodded, the same black-haired girl offering a quiet apology.

The newfound silence lasted for all of... what, five minutes? Within moments of getting yelled at, their giggles and snorts grew louder and louder with each word that came out of Gobber's mouth again.

"And if yer plannin' on using a saw, ye' ought to let me know first—" Gobber quickly shifted his tone. "Heather! Would ye' shut it already?!"

The black-haired girl across the room let out a little yelp. She softly apologized, and let Gobber return to his lecture.

Minute by minute, Henrik couldn't help but note the faint titter of girls in the right corner of the room. His attention shifted from Gobber's explanation of the instructions to the corner of girl huddle up together. Judging by the way his teacher's voice trailed off slowly, he wasn't the only one to notice. Gobber let out a loud scoff and narrowed his eyes, hoping the three of them would break from their little huddle. It was funny—at least, it was to Henrik—that these girls would not get the hint. Even when the class went silent and a few kids snickered at their insistence, they kept chatting. The teacher put down his packet quietly.

"HEATHER!" Gobber hollered, slamming his hand against one of the benches.

The entire room fell silent, the girls tittering in the corner jumping at the sudden outburst. Their eyes bugged as they turned to look at the angry teacher, mouths pressed into thin lines as if his shout had zipped them shut.

"Do's the word quiet mean anythin' to ye?" Gobber quipped, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "Yer past tha second strike, ye know. Stack yer books and stand up."

Henrik glanced over at the table of girls, noting the black-haired, skinny young girl piling her books into her arms carefully. She batted her eyelashes, letting out a long sigh. Her friends stared at her with stifled giggles, one of them sarcastically waving at her. She stood up and stepped away from the bench, books in hand.

"Now, where c'n I put ye so ye'll shut up?" the teacher sighed, looking around the room. He scanned each table and its sitters carefully, humming to himself. When his gaze reached Guy and Henrik, a smile lit his face. He brought up a hand to gesture toward their bench. "Heather, meet yer new partners for th' year. Boys, don' go scarin' her off."

Henrik and Guy nodded complacently, watching Heather shyly make her way to the table. She gingerly took a seat on the other side of the bench, keeping her books close to the edge. Thin fingers tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears, the eyes behind them lowering to the table.

Gobber sighed contently. "Ye hear tha?" he cupped a hand next to one ear. "Silence. Ain't it a thing o' beauty?"

The class kept quiet. The teacher seemed pleased with the reaction.

"Now git to work!" He hollered. "Instructions 're on the board, sheets're on my desk. Ye have any problems? Thank Heather."

She rolled her eyes, shrinking in her seat.

It felt like neither of the boys really knew what to say or how to talk to her. Then again, judging by the way her hands were folded on her lap and her stool was as far to the other side as one could get, Henrik had gotten the impression Heather wasn't particularly interested in talking to either of them. Her eyes stayed glued on the instructions printed on the hand-out.

Heather's eyes wouldn't move from the wooden piece she'd locked into the vice. She sanded it carefully, as if the edges would crumble under her fingertips is she placed more pressure on the piece. Guy and Henrik looked at one another, both boys shrugging. The former cleared his throat, hopping closer to the end of the table with his stool still beneath him. He peeked over at her, following the direction of her movements with his eyes. "Try sanding in the other direction," he quietly suggested, smiling at her warmly when her eyes came up from her project. "If you go against the grain, it won't sand. Or... well, it will—but really slow-like, and messy. If you go with the grain, it'll even trim smoother. Hell of a lot more dust, but it's easier time-wise."

Heather processed his words, blinking a few times. Following his advice, she grinded the little paper along the thin, dark lines in the wood. Rather than the rigid scrapes that came with her grinds last time, a familiar shaa filled the air. The ridges smoothed beneath her fingers. She slowed to a stop with a small breath. "Oh, she commented simply, eying her own work. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," Guy nodded, scooting his seat away from her. "If you need any more help, just ask. Us three, we're partners." He strolled over to Henrik's side and slinked in arm around his shoulders, tugging him close. "This here's my buddy Henrik. He ain't half bad at this building stuff, for a newbie. And I'm Guy! Always willing to lend a hand."

"Thanks." She smiled courteously. Her smile drooped to a scowl that soared in Gobber's direction. "I'm sure you already heard, but... my name's Heather."

Guy tipped his imaginary hat. "Good t'meet you."

Henrik snickered. "Try not to take the whole 'moving' thing personal. Gobber just likes to talk. You know—without interruption."

"Oh, I noticed." Heather groaned. "We weren't being that loud, were we?"

Henrik shook his head, holding up a hand. "No," he lied. "I totally couldn't hear you."

"Really?" Guy blinked. He shrugged his shoulders frankly. "I could. No offense, but ya'll laugh super loud."

"Right. Sorry," The young girl bowed her head apologetically. Tucking an extra strand of hair behind her ear, she let out a long sigh. "We were just trying to work out our history project."

The scraggly brunet shrugged again, turn his attention to the instructions in front of him. "No biggie. Sooooooooo," he drawled out the last word, smacking his lips a few times while he read. "How about this project? We're... apparently building... something that moves."

Henrik peeked at the paper. "Moves? But he just... he just threw us a pile of wood."

"Mhm... mhm..." Guy nodded thoughtfully. He clapped his hands and gestured toward the pile. "Something tells me that's the challenge, my friend."

He had to think about that one. How did you make something move when it's made out of wood? "So what... we're making wooden joints and a wheel, or something?"

"I... I think so," Guy clapped again, handing his instructions over to the boy beside him in favor of fingering through the wood pile. He glanced at a couple of scraps and thought for a moment. "I mean, it's kind of a stretch, but we could make like, a reaaaally itty-bitty wheelbarrow. Like, ferret-sized."

"You just... know off-hand how big a ferret is?"

Guy shrugged. "God, I hope so! That or Belt's been a lanky rat this entire time."

Heather blinked. "Belt?"

"Alright!" the scraggly brunet moved on quickly, waving his hands at both of his partners. "So. Tiny wheelbarrow. Who's doing what, and how much of the wood am I cutting?"

He skipped over to the wood pile, leaving Heather and Henrik to stare at each other blankly. The two of them shrugged their shoulders, and eventually opted to follow Guy's lead.

The bell rang, and with it came a relieved set of sighs.

The room buzzed with little zippers shutting pencil pouches and books being slammed into a neat stack so they could be moved, along with the creak of the door with every kid that threw it open and kicked it for the next person. As usual, Henrik waited for the congestion in the doors to clear up before he wiggled out of the room, Heather following behind him. He held the door for her and nodded at the small thank you, while Guy gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before he made his way down the opposite hall. On his way to his next class, Henrik couldn't help but noticed Heather walking down the hall with eyes darting from wall to wall, as if she were desperate to find someone familiar. He wasn't sure if it was out of kindness or downright pity, but he ended up slowing down and walking alongside her.

...of course, he hardly had anything to say, so most of the walk was quiet and kind of awkward but—well, that was Henrik for you.

Henrik sputtered his lips, searching for something to say. "Right. So, intros—" He improvised, noting the slight interest flickering in the girl next to him's eyes. "So, My name's Henrik, I... have a dog, I'm in stage crew, my left leg's a fake, and... that's kind of all there is to me."

"What do you mean your left leg's fake?" she blinked. "You... have some kind of peg leg, or a prosthetic?"

"Yeah. Sorry, that's weird." He shook his head. "That's... really weird. But most people seem creepily interested in my limbs when they figure it out."

Heather snickered. "It's fine, it's fine. You're fine. That's... good to know, I guess. No marathons for us, anytime soon."

Henrik forced a laugh.

"Okay. Right. My turn. Intros..." Heather clapped her hands together. "You already know, but my name's Heather. I'm... on the volleyball team, I volunteer on Sundays, and I like long walks on the beach."

"Volleyball, huh?" Henrik thought back for a moment. "Hey, you don't happen to know a girl named Astrid, would you? Blonde hair, blue eyes, usually has a braid?"

Heather thought for a moment, her eyes bugging for a moment Henrik assumed was her remembering something and quickly drooping back down to a scowl. Her lips pursed, as if she were biting her tongue or forcing some kind of comment back. Henrik had half of a mind to say she looked a little annoyed. "Yeah," she nearly spat. "I know her."

Henrik... did not like the way she acknowledged that. There was a bite in her voice, as if he'd said some secret word that completely pissed her off—and the fact that word was Astrid did not bode well for him. Instead of trekking further into the topic, he nodded his head nonchalantly and fiddled with the key chains hanging off of his backpack. "Ah. Gotcha," he replied calmly. "Figured I'd ask. We went to middle school together and I... basically never hear from her anymore."

She merely nodded without a word. Why did Henrik feel like he screwed up mentioning her?

"So eh... woodshop, huh?" He tried to save himself, shrugging his shoulders. "I take it you're not big on building stuff, or...?"

"Honestly, I thought it'd be an easy A." Heather's expression softened once more. Henrik nearly breathed a sigh of relief. "So yes, but no. I mean, I was okay at arts and crafts as a kid and maybe I thought that's what this class would be, or something. Like, you need a popsicle stick birdhouse? I'm so your girl."

Henrik snorted.

"For real, though—I can rig, or hammer and nail, or leather-work. Just..." she hissed. "Keep me away from all the saws and sandpaper. I'm probably going to end up lopping off fingers."

"If it's of any console, I'm probably about there with you," Henrik offered. "I'm not bad with tools—but I... wasn't born a 'Grace' for nothing. Natural klutz. It's definitely a blood thing."

Heather smiled. "You mostly leave that stuff to Guy?"

"He seemed like the type to be better with it," the brunet shrugged. "And hey—I wasn't exactly wrong, persay."

"He's very..." Heather pursed her lips, clearly searching for a nicer word. "Eccentric." She must've caught the blank look on Henrik's face, because she quickly corrected herself. "—but he seems very sweet. I... never would've figured out the sandpaper... thing."

"Grain." Henrik supplied.

She nodded. "The grain, yeah. Ugh. I can tell taking this class was a mistake. A lot of my friends just took art electives—and in retrospect, I probably should have too."

"Art's not that easy of an A, though."

"Really?" Heather raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"I eh... my friend Jack comes home with projects every other week and ends up stressing over them," Henrik thought back to all the nights he watched Jack redraw a piece at least three different times. Half the time, they didn't even look that bad—but he had this weird thing with how the lines looked, or how thick they were, or... well, whatever. "Plus, drawing's hard. I mean, it's one thing to sketch. It's another to actually finish something. I never usually make it past a couple of scribbles and a date."

She pursed her lips. "I guess so, yeah."

"Yooo! Hiccup!"

Henrik spun on his heel, noting the approaching Jack on the other side of the hallway with a huge grin stretched across his face. A sigh left his lungs. He turned to Heather once more with a lopsided grin. "And... speak of the devil."

Heather's eyes followed the voice, landing on Jack. She batted her eyelashes a few times, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing for a moment. Henrik could only describe the blankness of her expression as awe-struck. It seemed like she'd straightened her back a little, too, her stance now seeming a little more confident. The fingers around her bag-strap tightened their grip slightly, her other hand loosely hanging at her side.

Jack smiled. Not-so-gracefully stumbling over. He mumbled a soft "meant to do that' under his breath and stopped before them, straightening his back from the slouch he had going. "'sup Hic?" he lazily asked, eyes darting between Henrik and Heather. He blinked a few times, sputtering his lips. "And... nameless... lady friend?"

"Heather," she quietly supplied, smiling at him timidly.

"Heather. That's a pretty name," Jack complimented her, his smile bright and wide. "And a color... I think. That's like... green-ish gray, right?"

He looked to Henrik for confirmation. The other brunet merely shrugged. "You're asking me? Aren't you the one in art class?"

"Well excuse me for asking," he scoffed, shoving Henrik in the arm. The other boy merely rolled his eyes in response, shoving him back. "Watch out, Heather. I don't think Henrik here is capable of talking without attitude. You know, it really starts to wear on you after a while."

The younger scoffed. "You're so dramatic."

"See?!" Jack hollered, waving his arms crazily.

Heather just giggled in response, a wide smile spreading across her lips. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The eldest huffed, a small responding smile working onto his own lips "Anyway... nice to meet you. I'm Jack."

"Heather." She let out a long sigh and covered her face. "I definitely just said that. Sorry."

"No, no, you're fine," Jack reassured, waving his hands in front of her to draw her attention back. "Now I'll just... definitely remember your name. Heard it twice—hard to forget, you know?"

Heather reluctantly peeled back her hands, revealing a pair of rosy cheeks. She shook her head and groaned at her own folly. Henrik had to blink a few times. He wasn't quite sure... when it... did he—had he seriously been booted from the conversation? It seriously felt like he was spectating some shitty chick-flick, or the first meeting between two characters in one of those "after dark" shows he caught on TV around midnight. Eh... not that he watched them. He just... knew of them. Either way, something about the way Jack and Heather were smiling at each other made him feel... I don't know, like something was... welling in his stomach and sitting there like a brick. And that stupid look on Jack's face, that dumbass grin that made it look like he was trying way too hard to fight it off, made Henrik feel like blowing chunks.

No. Wait. Gross, it didn't he just—where was that thought even going?

Henrik cleared his throat, seemingly catching the others off-guard. "Well eh... Heather, good talking to you. Jack... well, I'll probably see you later—but I've really gotta get going to class. If you guys don't... mind."

"Oh! Shit, that was the second bell, wasn't it?" Heather groaned, her head lolling back. "Good call, Henrik. I'm gonna end up late for Bio."

He nodded his head slowly, lowering his eyes to the floor. Somehow, not looking at either of them made the stirring in his belly went away. "Yeah. I'll talk to you guys later."

Without another word, he sped off, ignoring Jack's faint "...okay, bye!".

March 26th

March 26th brought the last of the winter's snow, a quiet sheet that drifted onto the lawns and shut down classes for what looked like only an inch.

Plows roared down the streets, pushing the short white piles to the sides of the road like barriers at the edges of the sidewalks. By the time Henrik had woken up, the rooftops were already covered—though as he peeked over at the other side, he noted the big foot prints in the fresh powder on the other side and a little smiley face traced in the frost on the windows next to a comically backwards "Snow day!". Turning his attention from his neighbor's window, Henrik noted that North's car was already missing from their parking space next door, a pair of lines disconnecting it from the snowy spot into the road. The base of a small snowman stood proudly beside the front steps, but a head and body were nowhere in sight. Henrik felt himself snort. The two of them probably got too cold and opted not to build a snowman this time around.

The morning was quiet, but what else was new? Like usual, his father had already left for work and—much to his surprise—left a small box of hot chocolate on the counter with a sticky note that merely read "Happy Birthday, Henrik! Stay warm!" with a poorly drawn birthday cake and a matching set of scribbles over it. With a grin, he boiled some water for himself and made himself a cup of it, scrunching his nose when the steam came off the liquid and tickled the tip. In the living room, Toothless waited for him on the couch, curled up in a little ball to keep himself warm. Henrik naturally sat down next to him, carefully placing his cup on the coffee table so he could pull the little floof-ball onto his lap. He flipped on the TV to the History Channel for a little bit and mindlessly watched whatever came on.

At the fudgy bottom of his cup, Henrik carefully wiggled out from beneath Toothless and put his cup in the sink. He glanced out the window just above the counter and noted the faint glow of light coming from the Overland's living room. Part of him wanted to go and join the fun but... well, the other made arguments of "It's too cold" and "I'm so lazy...". Ultimately, he ended up taking a lone, lazy day to just lay back on the couch and enjoy his own company.

Around five o'clock, Henrik flicked off the TV and fixed himself a hot pocket—just to hold himself over until his Dad got back at seven. He hissed when the little pizza pocket poured what felt like molten lava onto his teeth and threw that sucker back on the counter to cool for a few more minutes. He paced the kitchen for a little bit, refilling Toothless's water bowl and scratching behind his ears when he yipped at him. With a quick poke to the meat gushing from inside of the pocket, he opted on bringing it up to his room.

Most of the night was dedicated to catching up on comic book issues his Dad had picked up for him, but he hadn't the time to read through. He chomped little bites out of the hot pocket whenever he thought of it, making sure to keep the dripping end as far from the glossy pages as he could manage, and shooed Toothless when he tried to swipe a bite himself. The sizeable stack of Amazing Spiderman issues... well, lasted him about an hour (and still ended on a cliff hanger, dammit), so he turned to his bookshelf for something else to skim through. It was weird, he could see the bookmarks jutting out of at least six different books, but he still couldn't bring himself to pick up any of them—it felt like every time he started something, he wanted to read something else mid-way, or grew so sick of reading the same old characters making dumb mistakes he had to give it up.

In the end, he settled on a chapter book he'd plowed through months ago, carefully scooting his little stuffed dragon on the shelf aside so he could get to it. He patted the little guy on the head before returning to his bed, sprawling out comfortably. Toothless even trotted up to peek at what his human was so intrigued by, and ended up curling up at his side shortly after. Henrik opted on holding the book open between the fingers of his right hand, while stroking the little dog's fur with his left.

Amidst the comfortable silence, he could make out the faint crunch of snow just outside. He sucked in a deep breath and braced himself for the incoming intrusion he knew was about to come.

"Birthday boy, you owe me ice cream!"

Henrik looked up from his book, and sure enough, there was Jack—tapping away at his window excitedly with a wide grin. He let out a long sigh and hollered back, "It's not locked, you know!"

Jack immediately pushed it open, all but throwing himself through the frame. "Yeesh it's cold out there," he dramatically shivered for good measure, wagging his head back and forth to shake off what little snow stuck to the chocolate tresses.

"Yeah, you'd think it just snowed or something."

The other boy merely blew a raspberry at him. Henrik rolled his eyes.

"Did you want something, or?"

Jack grinned, whipping out a slip of paper from his pocket. "Damn right I want something. You owe me ice cream."

Well, it was clear Henrik wasn't going to be finishing his book anytime soon. He carefully shut it and tucked it under his leg, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. "And... what makes you think I'm buying you ice cream?

"AHEM," Jack cleared his throat melodramatically, knocking his fist into his chest a few times. "'I, Henrik Horace Haddock, will buy Jack Overland 2 ice creams if it snows on March 26th'."

Henrik blinked a few times, not entirely sure what to make of Jack's dramatic reading. No matter how far back he thought, he couldn't recall ever saying something along those lines. Henrik snorted. "...is... that supposed to mean something?"

"Damn right it is." Jack pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket with a wide grin. "Read it and weep, Haddock—I've got it in black and white. You signed it and everything!" He defended, holding the paper up Lion King-style as if the slip of paper was the answer to all of his problems. Henrik snatched it out of his hands and smoothed the creased edges with his palms. Sure enough, the words were in black and white (well... blue and green crayons—but it was the principle of the thing), though the paper was crumbled up and the edges were torn. It took him a moment to recall the meaning behind the little slip of paper, searching its ridges carefully for some kind of date. Judging by the little green arrow connecting the Over and Land in Jack's name, it had to be around the time they'd first met (it'd only taken him a week to realize Overland was his actual name, and not some weird pseudo name).

...3rd grade. Jack had kept the damn thing since the third. grade.

"No way," Henrik gaped, staring at his friend with widen eyes. "You... actually hung onto this."

"Yep!" At first, the eldest teen nodded. His confidence faded into a hesitant hum. "Eh... well, technically I didn't," Jack admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I found it, in my room. North's making me nuke the place... something about, 'not being able to see floor!'" He adopted a mock-Russian accent for the last quip, furrowing his eyebrows. "Anyway, I dug up that little beauty under my bed. I couldn't believe it lasted this long! Thought someone would've chucked it by now..."

The younger laughed. "Yeah, me either! Gods... was my hand writing really this sloppy?"

"Nevermind your handwriting—you owe me ice cream, Haddock!" He pointed to the last, illegible sentence on the paper, a wide smile on his face. "Two, to be precise."

Henrik snorted. "You're kidding me, right? It's like... twenty degrees outside."

Jack folded his arms, puffing out his chest proudly. "I want a vanilla twist."

"...can you hear me?"

"—with gummy bears."

"Hello~?" he knocked his knuckles against Jack's temple, jokingly staring through his ears. "Is there anything even up here?"

Jack swatted away his hand and stuck out his tongue. "Insult me all you want—but, we had a deal."

"Yeah, in the third grade," Henrik rolled his eyes. "Besides, it's freaking cold outside."

The older boy scoffed. "There's no such thing as too cold for ice cream.

"Yeah? You really wanna eat ice cream in the snow?"

Jack squinted his eyes, contemplating his comment for a brief moment before shutting the window. With a long sigh, he grumbled, "...alright, so maybe it's a little cold out for ice cream right now. But you owe me, either way—I'm getting that ice cream!"

Henrik rolled his eyes, crossing his own arms. "Fine. If I say yes, will you shut up?"

The older teen nodded quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy.

"Fine," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll buy you ice cream when it's not the north pole outside. Deal?"

"Deal!" Jack agreed, smacking him on the shoulder. "Just you wait. I'm getting the two most expensive sundaes on the menu. Seven scoops. All the toppings."

"Joy," Henrik groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. He thought for a moment and snorted, looking at the other with a smile. "Man is it going to be funny to watch you eat two huge ice creams by yourself."

He blinked a few times, furrowing his eyebrows as if he were deep in thought. "...it is a lot of ice cream..." Jack narrowed his eyes at the other teen, letting out a long groan. He crossed his arms over his chest and bobbed his head from side to side. "Alright. I guess you can have one of them. Heh. You're payin' for 'em anyways—might as well get something for yourself."

"Thank you for the... right to spend my own money," Henrik quipped. "You're so generous."

"I am, aren't I?" He retorted, with a toothy grin. "Then it's set. We're getting ice cream together the second it gets warm outside. And you're paying, since birthday boy owes me anyways."

"Fine."

Jack turned to look at the other boy over his shoulder, body half-out the window. He grinned. "It's a date, then."

Henrik felt his shoulders lock, and something crawl up and down his spine. Thoughtlessly, he let out a soft "...huh?"

Jack must not have heard his little gulp, judging by the way he continued to wiggle out of the small window and hop his way to the other rooftop. Half-way through his own window, he turned back to give Henrik a quick side-glance. Jack grinned, and shouted from the other side, "You'd better believe I'm holdin' you to it, Haddock! I happen to take my ice cream very seriously."

And on that note, the other boy was gone, leaving Henrik to the silence of the night and the cool breeze rolling through his room.

He closed the window gingerly and found himself shivering, eyes still on the other window. He wasn't sure... what was rolling through his head, but he could hear a familiar buzzing at the back of his brain crescendoing. A date. Jack had actually referred to one of their stupid shenanigans as a... a date.

Henrik let out a long sigh and flopped onto his mattress, sighing contently as his back met the comforter.

A date. With Jack.

Gods, the thought was actually laughable. Henrik stifled a snicker of his own when the image of Jack and him strolling along the shoreline like something out of an eHarmony commercial came to mind. He could already see that stupid grin he always has on his face when he's up to something and the accompanying, sarcastic bounce in his step that could only remind Henrik of Steamboat Willie. The image of the two of them lingered in his head and he could do nothing but mentally scoff at the idea, swatting back the thought itself like dust in the wind. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A date? Yeah right. If anything, Jack was a good friend—but not the kind of "friend" he'd go curtain shopping with, or ballroom dancing or... whatever. The thought hadn't even occurred to him until now—and even now it was pretty far-fetched.

Though, of course, it spurred the question of what kind of a partner that even made Jack.

Now, hear him out on this! Henrik had never seen Jack display... well, any kind of genuine, romantic interest in a girl, so he... did have to admit he was curious. Jack was full of quips and jokes and worn-out gags; he never really struck him as the kind of guy to, well, date. I mean, there was a teacher, or a camp counselor (if Henrik remembered correctly) that he had absolutely no problems dropping pick-up lines at but... that didn't really count, right? That hardly seemed like the right way to approach a girl. It almost felt like a joke—or maybe that's the way it struck Henrik, at least. He never actually seemed serious about stealing a kiss and he otherwise never brought her up again (the first week back from camp aside; she was all he'd tell North about at dinner). And other than her, Jack had never displayed any seriousness when it came to the ladies.

Then again, this was Jack he was thinking of. "Jack" and "serious" didn't mix well in the same sentence.

Henrik mentally smacked himself, rolling onto his side so he could stare at the wall. Alright, that last quip was a bit harsh on Henrik's part—Jack's had his moments, but... well, he wasn't completely callous, either. It seemed like he had a good idea of where to draw lines in the sand (or... well, maybe snow was a better analogy, considering the subject matter), and... yeah, I guess when he did take the time to actually think things through he wasn't as dumb-witted as he made himself out to be. In fact, he'd caught Henrik off-guard... quite a few times. He definitely had an eye for detail—and he certainly had a talent for keeping that under lock and key.

The first place Henrik's mind could go to was Emma. Probably out of some misplaced sense of familiar duty, Jack had always seemed very attentive to the way his sister was feeling and acting. It was probably just a brother-thing, but he had a tendency to pick on her and butt heads with her over stupid things, like who got shotgun on the way to the store. He poked fun at her, sure, but... I don't know. It never really struck Henrik as anything intentionally malicious. He had this habit of stopping himself or her to ask her how she was doing, or what she wanted to do. Jack took the blame for her getting stuck up in a tree, and... well, year by year Henrik could only note that Jack was... very family-oriented. He included her in his little games and watched her movies with her when she was in a bad mood (Henrik had to sit through them too, by default, but he never really minded a 24th or 25th viewing of Snow White).

The second place pertained to the way he talked. He had a tendency to keep conversations moving, or brush off the ugly parts with a quip or two about something meaningless. Call him comic relief, but Jack had a marvelous talent for laughing things off. Obviously he has taken that too far, but... he definitely knew when a laugh was needed. Mother's day falling on a school-day had always been a blow to Henrik, with all the in-school projects to make cards and little paper flowers or whatever. Jack was the one to make a paper-airplane out of his paper, or joke that he would make one for North. The one year Henrik did follow in his footsteps and make a mother's day card for his father... well, the joke was a lot funnier in theory than in practice. He mostly just got confused. Buuuuut the point still stood.

Actually, Jack's eye for detail showed up a lot when he was around Henrik—from being a miraculous weather man to helping him up the stairs when his leg was sore, Jack... always seemed like he was paying attention. Even to the little things, like snide off-hand comments about a teacher, or him having a stuffy nose all of three days ago. It never seemed like it was listening, but—true to his name—he'd pull a wild card and ask Henrik about the subject matter at a later point in time, like a quick "Hey, you feelin' any better since Wednesday?".

Though... Henrik could vaguely remember the stammer of his friend outside his window, the frustrated groans and pleas for him to "play along" with the whole "My friend has a problem" shtick. Yeah, yeah, it was... god, how long ago even was that—7th grade? Had to be. He could remember Jack and his lisps and the metal-mouth fumbling over words. They'd met up on the rooftops and Jack was a sputtering mess of questions. Oddly enough, the first thing Henrik could bring to the front of his memory was how red his ears had gotten.

Now that he thought about it... Henrik never actually asked about that, did he? It certainly didn't help that Jack never brought her up again—like Tooth—but he did have to admit he was a little curious about how things turned out with her. But if Jack hadn't brought it up again, or make some big spectacle out of his inability to flirt with women, it wasn't all that big, right? He didn't see anyone new around his house, or hear about her so... It was probably just another come-and-go crush of his, something he could toss away after a week or two of focus and fluster.

Still... Jack hadn't even tried to describe this girl to him. He just jumped straight into the "feelings jam", so to speak.

Maybe he was just being shy about it, or thought Henrik would try to tell someone else. Either way, Henrik couldn't help but find it... well, weird that the only time Jack vaguely demonstrated an interest in someone else was more of a mysterious encounter than an informative one. He must have really liked that girl—and, evidentially, gotten so frustrated with himself he finally gave up trying to tell her how he felt. Heh. Knowing Jack, he probably didn't even get what was going on in his head either; and any sort of confession that could've come out of his mouth had so be some frantic babbling. It was... probably a good thing he never told her. Henrik wasn't so sure what that'd do to him.

And all of this thought just brought him back to square one—what kind of a significant other did that make him, anyway?

I mean, Henrik already knew he, personally, was a mess of stammering and sarcasm, but Jack was a completely different story. He could only imagine he'd be the kind to dote on his partner, right? I mean, considering the way he's always had such a focus on Emma, and what she was up to, Henrik could only imagine he'd be the kind of guy to really try with a girl. And something about the way he paid attention to, well, damn near everything, gave the brunet the impression that he'd... probably be a romantic, right? He's always been a good listener—and he's pretty good about bringing back the little things that made people smile or roll their eyes at his dumb comments. I mean... he remembered a contract they'd written in the third grade. He hated to say it, but Jack's memory was a crazy thing—and with a girlfriend, he could only imagine how closely he'd have his eyes on them.

Well, girlfriend, boyfriend... other. Whichever. Jack didn't really strike Henrik as the kind of guy that cared.

Henrik stretched out his limbs and let out a long yawn. Somehow, moving his body had reminded him that yes, he was still doting on something Jack had said—he glanced over his shoulder and caught the clock—oh, like thirty minutes ago. In retrospect, he really wasn't sure what about Jack's quip had gotten under his skin so badly. It was true; Jack was definitely a mystery when it came to the dating game, but... wait, what did that even have to do with him calling their little ice cream thing a "date". It was... whatever, right? Right. It's just a poor turn of phrase, Henrik supposed, and his overactive imagination certainly wasn't helping his cause.

A date with Jack. Yeah. Right.

Author's Note: Hooray! I got to use the most overused trope in the history of ever! But~ it's still winter, so it goes on the back burner for now. I sincerely hate how this chapter came out, but if I didn't finish it now I... probably would've procrastinated it further. We'll hit the meat of their relationship developments next chapter, though. So on that note, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! See you next update.