You could feel all of the cheerfulness be sucked out of Jack when he heard those words.
"What do you mean 'Pitch is back'?"
The giant rabbit standing in front of the pale boy sighed, tapping a long foot absentmindedly on your wooden floors. "Just that, mate. He's back."
Now a heavy silence brewed between them. The tension in the air nearly suffocated you, but you had no idea what was going on.
Still sitting up in you bed, you called Jack's name out. He turned around, letting you know you had his attention. "What's going on?"
Looking back at the Easter Bunny, Jack's lean shoulders slumped. He stepped closer to you, pressing a chilling kiss to your temple.
"I have to go for a bit," he told you, "but I'll be back." His pale blue eyes searched yours for something as he reassured you, "I promise."
The words were weighted down by heavy meaning and you nodded to him.
Smiling sadly, he looked away from you and back to the bunny in your bedroom. Four words left his thin lips that made you want to cry. "When do we go?"
The rabbit noticed your tearful expression and tried to avoid meeting your gaze, instead staring professionally at the teen he was talking to.
The sobs tore through your throat when they disappeared through a hole in the ground but, eventually, you drifted into a nightmare-filled sleep.
Waking up the next morning, you would've thought the previous day was just a dream. That is, until you slipped on a patch of still melting ice in your living room. Then it all became very real again.
You held back the sobs. There was no reason to cry, really, you had hardly known the guy. He was just some creep who forced his way into your life.
But was that really how it was? He didn't feel like some creep; he felt like a childhood friend that you hadn't seen in years.
Sighing, you curled up on the couch with your sketchbook and began scratching out the guidelines for a face. Without even knowing what you were doing, you had drawn out his dark eyebrows and shaggy hair. Somewhat angry at yourself for not being able to push the boy from your mind, you tore the paper from your book and began drawing again.
This time, it was his lean figure leaning heavily on his shepherd's crook-like thing. Frustrated, you threw the book onto the couch next to you and watched the pages flutter as they landed. The page it had turned to was wrinkled from water damage, but you could still faintly make out the notched edges of the picture you had drawn only a few minutes before meeting Mr. Jack Frost.
Slowly lifting yourself from where you sat, you decided to stop wallowing in self-pity and call a friend up. But, everyone already had plans or had gone away for the holidays.
Now pitying yourself very much, you made your way back into your bedroom, crawled into bed, and prayed that Jack would be home soon.
You smiled to yourself and thought about what you had just wished then decided that yes, your home was now the home of Jack Frost.
In a sad, cracked voice, you whispered out a short little song, the lines ringing in the silence surrounding you as you drifted off into sleep once more.
"May your days be merry and bright,
And may all your Christmases be white."