Chapter Text
There’s a special kind of freedom that only comes with the first day of a long vacation. Jack breathes in the fresh summer breeze, and it feels like it’s blowing all the cobwebs and the dust out of his bones and organs.
The park is busier than usual, filled with white tents and people. There’s some sort of art festival today, where any artist, regardless of age or experience, can show off their work. Wooden food stands with colorful banners are everywhere, delicious scents like cinnamon rolls, popcorn and hotdogs mixing together.
He and Flynn are taking it easy, simply strolling along the paths of the park, taking a few peeks inside a tent here and there. There’s a certain soft contentment inside him. He’s with his best friend, walking in comfortable silence, enjoying a sweet ice cream, feeling the summer sun on his face, hearing children laugh from the playground.
The taste of mint ice cream tingles on his tongue, sharp and refreshing. He holds onto the cone with a firm grip, so he won’t suddenly lose it and see it splash onto the ground in slow motion like The Great Ice Cream Disappointment of two years ago.
Flynn takes a huge bite into his banana and chocolate ice cream, immune to brain freezes like the freak he is. Jack watches him gobble up the cold chunk.
“What?” Flynn says, his eyes growing big and round like an innocent puppy. Hah. Flynn. Innocent. Good one, Jack.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Jack says and shrugs. “It’s just interesting… seeing you devour that ice cream like you’ve never had anything to eat before.”
A little girl with pig tails runs past them with a huge balloon depicting that annoying snowman from Frozen.
“Hey, can’t a guy enjoy a delicious ice cream without getting attacked?” Flynn says with an offended frown on his face.
“When he’s eating it like a honey badger tearing off someone’s testicle, he’ll have to put up with some comments,” Jack says, putting on that crooked smile that Flynn says makes him look like a smug bastard.
Apparently, some woman with a short fringe and the thickest lips Jack has ever seen heard him say “testicle”, because she covers her little son’s ears and whisks him away from Jack and Flynn. Wauw. Dramatic.
They pass yet another tent and go to the opening flaps to take a quick peek.
“Lay off me, Frost,” Flynn says and waves one of his hands around. “Exams almost killed me. I have every right to savor this beautiful example of human ingenuity,” he says and looks lovingly at the ice cream.
All the tents have some sort of theme to the art works inside. This one seems to be candy and other sweets; paintings and drawings of shiny lollipops, cakes with gleaming frosting, bonbons in colorful paper. It looks delicious and usually, Jack wouldn’t mind looking at some candy-related art, but this tent is almost packed with kids and parents.
He licks his own ice cream and savors the minty freshness filling his mouth. “You know… There are pretty girls all around… One of them could see you like this, eating like a squirrel who’s not prepared for winter. Not to mention the ice cream on your nose and cheeks.”
The brief moment where Flynn’s eyes go from relaxed to panicked is glorious and Jack can’t help but laugh.
“Dude!” Flynn says and wipes his hands over his face. “You should have told me that! I have a reputation to uphold.”
Something cold trails down his hand. He sees a light green streak of melted ice cream. Ugh. He better speed it up before it melts entirely. He licks the ice cream again and wipes his hand off in his jeans like the uncivilized person he is. “What reputation is that?”
Flynn stares at him with dead eyes but it looks ridiculous because of the bright yellow ice cream in his hand and his teal T-shirt with the little duckling and the words “The Snuggly Duckling” – that pub he loves back in his home town.
“I am hurt, Frost. Deeply hurt. You can’t claim you haven’t noticed the effect The Smolder has on women. It should be imprinted in your brain by now.”
“Are you a handsome guy who gets attention from women? Yes. Are you some sort of playboy with a magical seductive move? No.”
Flynn gasps and shares a brief look with his ice cream, like it’s supposed to share his outrage. “How dare you? I’ll have you know I'm a legend in the dating scene.”
“You forget that I know you, asshole,” Jack says and bites into his cone. He crunches it between his teeth and wishes he had something to drink on him.
Another tent. A little girl with a dragon plushie drags her mom into it, eager to see the art works, apparently. There’s a little food stand outside the tent selling candy and cookies shaped like dragons.
“You forget you’ve refused to acknowledge my skills before and been proven wrong,” Flynn says, chewing the last remnants of his ice cream. He tosses the paper he had around the cone in the trash can. Jack follows his example.
When Jack is able to peek inside the tent, he’s not surprised to see the theme of the art works inside: dragons.
He spots a huge painting of a black dragon. It has its wings unfolded, ready to take off from a cliff. It looks alive; black scales gleaming in the sunlight, green eyes playful, ready for adventure. The artist must have a good imagination. Not to mention incredible talent. He can almost feel the warm, rough scales under his fingertips.
He considers whether he and Flynn should stop walking and take a closer look at the works in this tent, when a hand waves in front of his eyes.
“Heeelloooo,” Flynn’s voice says. “It’s no use going quiet, just because you’ve been beaten.”
Jack snaps his head to the side and stares into Flynn’s teasing eyes. “You wish. You’ll never beat me, Rider.”
Ridiculous. They’re both stubborn, always trying to get the last word, but Jack is willing to go a lot farther than Flynn, so he almost always wins their arguments.
Flynn holds a finger to his chin like he’s in thought. “Uh, I think I just did?”
“Pffft, yeah right,” Jack says and spots a cotton candy stall. Damn, that’s tempting. He’s just eaten an ice cream, but he’s nothing if not a bottomless pit, when it comes to sweet things. And they even have the blue cotton candy. Maybe he should buy one and they can go back to the tent they just passed with all the dragon stuff? Or maybe they could just come back to it later, when they’ve circled the park?
“Good comeback, man. I’m close to falling to my knees from the sheer humiliation,” Flynn says and clutches his chest like his heart is aching.
Jack nods at him, slow and superior. “Good. Since that’s where you should be, peasant.”
“Well, excuse me, your highness. I didn’t know you had suddenly transformed from a sleep deprived college student who eats soup straight from the can to a member of the royal family.”
The path is expanding up ahead, turning into a little picnic area with lots of colorful flower beds next to a massive fountain with a huge water beam in the middle and a bunch of smaller ones in a circle around it. There are people sitting on the edge of the fountain, some throwing coins into it, some just eating ice cream or talking. The tables and benches in the picnic area are occupied by families with children and groups of people his own age enjoying themselves. There are some stands selling fast food, ice cream and cold drinks. Damn, he’s thirsty after that ice cream cone.
“I’m a prince at heart. Never forget that, Flynn,” he says, jutting his chin up to look extra arrogant. The sound of the splashing fountain is relaxing. A few cool drops land on his arm and it’s refreshing in the baking summer sun. "It’s just a matter of class, you know? I have more of it than you ever will.”
He eyes a food stand, where a massive fridge stocked with ice cold soda and juice is calling to him. There’s a line of people, but it’s not too long.
One of the customers walks away from the stand with a bright green soda in his hand.
Jack’s heart jumps like he’s walked into a glass door.
What. The. Fuck.
This might just be the most beautiful guy, he's seen in his entire pathetic life.
“I’ll have you know that-“ Flynn’s voice ebbs away.
Jack keeps walking, his breath like glue in his throat. Can’t stop now, has to follow him, see him some more before he disappears forever. There’s a tightness in his neck and shoulders.
This guy is just… an intriguing mix of young and older features that really shouldn’t work so perfectly. He has a cute, rounded nose and big, expressive eyes that make him look younger than he probably is, but then there are those dark, thick eyebrows that give him a serious edge and holy shit, that jawline… It could cut Jack wide open like he was a fat, beached trout and he’d say thank you for it. The guy’s hair bounces as he walks, brown locks, a bit long in the back, with a reddish shine under the glowing sun.
“Jack?” Are you even-“
Jack keeps walking and doesn’t take his eyes off him, looking to the side to see him properly but still keep enough distance, so he won’t come across as some kind of stalker. Because he’s not. Right?
The guy is tall and slim, dressed in skinny jeans and a big, green T-shirt with a black dragon on it.
How does Dragon Boy just… exist like that? Strolling about in this ordinary park, like he’s just a normal human being like everyone else. With his handsome face and the whole kind and boyish vibe he’s exuding?
And what the fuck is wrong with him right now? His neck’s starting to hurt from being stretched to the side, keeping an eye on a literal stranger that he can’t seem to walk away from.
“Jack? What’s going-“
Crash. Pain in the knees. World upside down. Ground slamming into his skin. The taste of dirt.
Jack rolls to his side. Pain jolts through his skin. He holds a hand over his knee.
“Jack! Are you okay!? Shit!” He hears Flynn’s panicked voice from somewhere.
He rolls onto his back and narrows his eyes, the sun too strong. “Oww,” he says and rubs a spot on his knee, where the pain seems to grow stronger and stronger. He feels something wet on his face. Wonders if he’s bleeding. Can hear whispers around him.
Shit. Well done, Jack. Embarrass yourself in front of lots of people.
“Are you okay, son?” he hears a woman say from somewhere next to him.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine, just hurts a little.” He forces himself to sit up. Looks around. Huh. He knocked over a tiny wooden stand that sells something he can’t fully identity right now. But it sure is colorful.
“Uhm, do you need help cleaning this up?” he asks the woman, because it seems like she’s the owner of this, but she shakes her head with a smile.
His gaze finds Flynn and they simply stare at each other for several seconds. Flynn seems to be frozen. Until he breaks down laughing, even bending forwards like he’s about to snap in two. He hears scattered laughter from here and there around them.
“What are you laughing at?” Jack says, feeling heat seep into his stupid pale cheeks that always make it painfully obvious, when he’s embarrassed. Usually, he would shrug something like this off, but there’s clearly something he’s missing here.
Flynn tries to get words out, but he can’t breathe properly. “You, you, you,” he says between hysterical laughter.
It’s rare to see Flynn break down like this, so Jack is unnerved. What the hell is going on here? Is it really just because he walked into a stand and fell on his face like an idiot?
“What is it, asshole? Just say it,” he says and reaches his hand out for Flynn to help him. Flynn grabs him and pulls him up. Jack winces from putting weight on his knees.
He glances around him. There are still a few people staring at him, some laughing, some smiling and talking and pointing. What the hell is going on? Is his face all swollen or something?
Flynn takes out his phone and holds it up. Click.
Wonderful. This can’t be good.
Flynn wheezes with laughter, as he turns his phone to show the picture.
And fuck his entire life, fuck his favorite blue hoodie with the frost pattern, fuck his secret stash of marshmallows inside the hollowed out book, fuck Clunky Caleb – the bulgy clay elephant he made in the 3rd grade that still sits proudly in his window sill. Fuck. Everything. Because on Flynn’s phone there’s a picture of him… with pink and purple paint all over his face, splashes of glitter and what looks suspiciously like strawberry stickers. He looks like Barbie vomit.
He takes a deep breath and resists the temptation to murder Flynn and bury his remains by that riding school that has the psychotic horse Maximus that hates Flynn’s guts.
Jack clenches his fists and unclenches them again. Okay. It’s fine, it’s fine. He embarrassed himself a little, so what? It’s not like it will kill him. It’s fine.
“How did you not see that face painting booth?” Flynn says. “It was right in front of you!”
Face painting booth? That explains all the colors.
“I was too busy looking at that beautiful specimen of a human being to deal with stupid details like where I was going!” Jack says, because it’s the damn truth and in his mind, it’s a valid excuse.
Flynn looks around. “What? Who?”
Jack shakes his head and gives Flynn a weak shove. “I’m not telling you anything after you humiliated me like that.”
“Uhm, I’m sorry to break it to you, Jackie, but I’m pretty sure you humiliated yourself,” Flynn says, wincing like it’s causing him pain to point it out, when actually, Jack knows he’s loving it.
Jack shrugs to give off a carefree vibe, but he has no idea if it’s working. Usually, he’s okay with doing embarrassing things. He can play it off like the goof he is. But this might be a tad too much, even for him.
And he even lost sight of Dragon Boy. He probably won’t ever see him again. Great.
“Did you see a bathroom somewhere?” he says to Flynn. He needs to get all this shit washed off as quickly as possible, so he doesn’t look like he just rubbed his face all over a little girl’s scrapbook.
“Yeah, I think there was one over there?” Flynn says and points towards a little cluster of pink cherry trees with some benches under them. Jack follows his line of sight and yes, thank all that's snowy and cold and good, there's a little wooden bathroom house.
And right next to it, under one of the cherry trees, Dragon Boy is looking straight at him with a warm smile on his lips. There’s nothing cruel about it, it just looks amused and friendly.
Shit.
Warmth pools in Jack’s face, his cheeks feel like he’s stuck his head directly into scorching sand.
Dragon Boy’s friendliness is somehow even worse than if the guy had been an idiot. Because if he was an idiot, Jack could just not give a shit. He doesn’t have time for idiots. But Dragon Boy is not an idiot. And that’s a problem.
Jack keeps eye contact, even though he wants to look away. He wants to run in the other direction, wants to go straight home and slam his door and only have Clunky Caleb as company for the next 10 years. Because this unbelievably gorgeous guy just saw him fall straight into a face painting booth. And now he looks like the love child between a unicorn and a box of pink frosting.
“Is that the guy?” he hears Flynn say. “Wauw, he’s just your type. No wonder you lost every brain cell in your head, when you saw him.”
“Not. Helping,” Jack says, wishing for a cool winter breeze here in the middle of July, so maybe his cheeks wouldn’t feel like they’re melting.
A group of kids run past them, their little sneakers slamming against the gravel path in the same frantic speed as Jack’s heartbeat.
He tries to take slow breaths, but he and Dragon Boy are still looking at each other, and it’s impossible to calm down. What’s he supposed to do now? He’s just standing here, pink and purple in the face, looking like a complete idiot!
“What are you waiting for?” Flynn says and nudges him. “Go talk to him.”
“Uhm, no,” Jack says, because every cell in his body buzzes with resistance at that ridiculous idea.
What the hell does Flynn think this is? A rom-com? Jack does not need to make this situation any worse by letting Dragon Boy see him up close and hear him try to fumble his way through a conversation. No thanks. He’d rather be this pink and purple monstrosity for a month than to put himself through that sort of torture.
Flynn, the traitor, the idiot, the absolute dumbass, waves at Dragon Boy like this is some sort of friendly encounter with an acquaintance. And Dragon Boy looks surprised, stopping in the middle of taking a sip of his soda. And then he waves back. Because why wouldn’t he? He’s clearly not only handsome but nice as well.
Jack swallows the spit that has gathered in his mouth. His breaths are shallow, unable to fill his lungs completely. This is it. He needs to get home, before this situation escalates to the point, where he can never show his face in this park again.
But then Flynn yells: “My friend thinks you’re cute!” in that obnoxious, cheery tone he always uses, when he’s teasing the shit out of someone. In this case, Jack.
And Jack refuses to look at Dragon Boy anymore. He stares at his feet instead and wonders if he can kill Flynn with a shoelace.