Chapter Text
Jack Frost had attended Burgess High since the second week, apparently. He was the sort of guy you couldn't miss - white hair, electric blue eyes, skinny shoulders, tight pants, and a smile like Adonis - and yet, somehow, Hiccup had never noticed him until early October. Jack sat in the back corner of History with his phone out, leaning dispassionately against the wall. The teacher ignored him.
Hiccup usually liked to get out of class quickly so he could set up for the next period or take full advantage of his spares. He hadn't spent a lot of time twisted around in his seat to check out the back wall, so he must have rushed in and out without noticing the new kid behind him all of September. It was disconcerting, actually, that Jack had probably stared at the back of his head for a whole month before Hiccup had even known he'd existed. It made him uncomfortably aware of his body. He knew Jack was probably busy playing Candy Crush, but he thought he could feel the trajectory of his piercing gaze shooting bulls-eyes at his back, tingling his spine like pins and needles.
Hiccup was a couple sentences ahead in his notes, so he dropped his pencil to give himself a reason to turn and take another look at the new boy. Sometime during the current slide on the teacher's PowerPoint and the film clip preceding it, Jack had pulled his hood over his head and slumped further in his chair, so his knees stuck out and spread under the table. He'd propped his phone up against the desk. He didn't even have a notebook out. Hiccup straightened just as the teacher turned the lights back on.
"Alright, I hope everyone has their yellow sheet from last class, because I'll be collecting it now." Hiccup flipped his binder cover over to retrieve his own completed assignment. "It was due." The teacher was saying, as some of the class made surprised and disapproving noises. "If you need to hand it in at lunch, I will accept it until 1h15." She took Hiccup's paper and he angled himself so he could see her turn away from Jack without even approaching him. He had put his phone flat on his desk with the screen on, obvious. The teacher reprimanded another student for losing his page, promising him another after she was finished collecting from the rest of the class, but not Jack. Jack just sat in his desk and watched with his chin in his palm.
When class let out, the teacher waved to Hiccup, and he gave her a small wave back. He lagged a little making his way through the door and then stood on the threshold, letting the rest of the room file out. But not Jack.
"Why do I even care." Hiccup mumbled to himself, tugging at the strap of his backpack. He'd only noticed Jack a week ago, but he was... well, weird. Interesting, and incredibly weird. He was gorgeous, with a perfect smile and a soothing voice, and Hiccup had never been great at expressing himself socially, so he'd been making excuses to catch glimpses of Jack at every opportunity, graces be damned. But either Jack skipped class half the time or he was in some sort of programme, because Hiccup rarely saw him. He didn't eat lunch in the cafeteria, or on the hill outside. He didn't play soccer, take woodshop, go to art meetings, and rarely went to his locker (#156). Hiccup, ok, yes, he found Jack very easy to look at and he'd been harbouring the beginnings of a crush, but mostly he was just bored and friendless and he was curious, really, how Jack managed to attend school without ever being there.
He checked his watch and shook his head, dancing a little on his feet. He really had to make his next class. "What were you hoping for anyway?" he chided himself as he turned towards the stairway, "Hey, Jack, didn't see you there, yeah, I was just casually waiting for you outside. Yeah, we've never spoken, but I just thought, hey, first time for everything." He sighed, skipping the last two stairs and speed walking into the courtyard on his way to the sciences building.
He enjoyed his science classes, which was why he'd opted for advanced physics and biology, despite his upper level English and history classes already cluttering his schedule with enough essays to bury him alive. He liked learning how the world worked at its deepest, lowest level, and seeing the result of that: the laws of motion culminating in the perfect flight of a sparrow, entropy and energy and the circle of life. It made sense to him, studying the top level and the machinery underneath in equal measure.
He had a test in Physics, which he found challenging but manageable, and then he had an empty slot in his timetable during which he visited with Bunnymund, the Arts teacher. He was a gruff, burly man with early greying and strong arms who painted with the delicacy of a flower petal kissing a canvas. Hiccup hadn't taken art this year, to make room for some breaks in his schedule for free periods and woodshop, but he had been an excellent student in years before, and Bunnymund let him paint over the abandoned canvases under his desk and use the charcoal in his office whenever he felt like stopping by.
The teacher grunted from over Hiccup's shoulder when he sat down at a slanted desk and began sketching on darkened paper with a heavy pencil - a bird of prey, spreading its great wings from its perch on a line of led. "You're always doing critters in flight." Bunnymund commented, crossing his arms. "Mean something?"
Hiccup shrugged, sweeping his pencil along the animal's back and blocking in a long feathered tail. "Probably. Maybe I'm supressing something."
Bunnymund chortled. "In any case, I miss you in my class. Don't see what wood carving's got over this."
"Sawdust in your shoes, the constant threat of grievous bodily ingury, enough students nicking themselves to singlehandedly support the Band-Aid industry... just to name a few things."
"Doesn't seem like those are positive points, mate."
Hiccup smiled, still sketching. Bunnymund settled down at his desk in silence for the rest of the period, looking over projects, and by lunch Hiccup had shaded and highlighted his piece to completion. He rolled it up and slid it into a nook near the bookcases on one wall, waved to Bunnymund, and retreated before the ninth graders started crowding the tables with their lunchboxes. His dad had prepaid for him at the cafeteria, so he usually ate at a table with the company of an interesting book.
In line for spaghetti with green salad and baby tomatoes, he spotted Jack. He was rubbing his eyes near the microwave, waiting for something to cook. It always baffled Hiccup how someone so good looking and, from what he'd seen, gregarious, always stood around looking lonely.
When the girl in front of him was finished, Hiccup gave the lunch lady his name and ID, quickly collected his can of cranberry juice and his food, and in a rare bid of impulsiveness, moved towards Jack.
"Uh, I need to... this is a bit cold." He explained.
Jack smiled at him. He'd probably seen him dash over from the line with his freshly heated food, but he didn't say anything. "You can put it in with mine, no problem." He opened the door and pushed his container over to make room for Hiccup's spaghetti.
"I'm Hiccup, by the way."
Jack's smiles were devious. "Jack Frost."
"We have History."
"And Biology."
Hiccup blinked in surprise. Biology? He'd had no idea.
"I'm in the back." Jack explained. "Sit-down education isn't really my thing."
"No kidding. I never see you."
That seemed to make Jack upset, because his eyebrows slumped over his bright eyes and his mouth tightened. "No, I, uh, don't have much presence, I guess."
"Sorry, it's just - me neither, actually. Under the radar."
Jack smirked. "Sounds cooler in your words."
They waited for a moment as the microwave worked, and Hiccup tapped his fingers on the top. Jack's hands were deep in his pockets.
Hiccup had spent the first two years of high school a measly 5'6", with full cheeks and poor fashion taste. He'd seen twigs thicker than his thighs, and better muscled middle schoolers. His voice had been taking its time adapting to puberty, and it wasn't until last year that he'd grown into his gangly arms and long fingers, leaving him comfortably tall and human proportioned. His new found soccer talent had granted him the adoration of everyone until they realised he mostly liked to talk about newts and poisonous reptiles, as well as giving him the shoulders his father had always wanted for him. He'd graduated into being nice looking apart from being about as undesirable as a very nerdy slug, so it made sense that the kids in their grade had never actually absorbed him into their circles - they had well established friendships and groups, and Hiccup still wore khakis.
But new kids were an exception. When someone like Jack, who rolled his tan skinnies up to mid-calf in a casual way and opted out of socks with more grace than a Calvin Klein model deciding to go without a shirt, whose narrowness was more willowy than it was scrawny, and who boasted a cool and glaring genetic mutation like albinism for Gods sake strolled through the doors with a grin like he'd never been told no, he usually made friends. Everyone loved new kids.
Jack saluted an 11th grader who walked past them, but he was busy opening a pop can and didn't see.
"Well, I'll see you around, Hiccup." Jack said, when the microwave beeped. He pulled his lunch out and opened it, revealing a bright green botvinya soup.
"Yeah, see you."
Jack left the cafeteria, and Hiccup settled at the table closest to the microwave, eating his lettuce without pulling the book out of his bag. Jack confused him. He had ever since the first time Hiccup had turned to pass a sheet to the person behind him and locked eyes with the most dazzling boy he'd ever seen - stunning in a bulky cardigan and light grey jeans and wrinkling his nose when he smiled as he accepted the handout from Hiccup. His first impression was that Jack was brighter than fluorescent and really beautiful.
He sighed, curling his pasta around his fork. He wanted to know where Jack slunk off to eat his lunch, but figured it was rude to up and follow him through the halls like a confused lost dog. At least now they'd had a real conversation, so Hiccup didn't have to feel incredibly awkward thinking about Jack almost constantly. Ah, young love, he thought, so irrational and creepy.
Jack liked to eat in the staff room. His adoptive father, North, was friends with Principal Sandy, the grumpy art teacher Aster, and his bubbly tutor, Toothiana. They always had cookies, coffee, and fun in there.
Sandy was waiting when he returned with the soup North had made for his lunch, sipping at a cup of dark tea. He smiled kindly when Jack slumped down on the thick couch across from him. He'd never learnt sign language, but Sandy's expressions and gestures came across well enough that he knew he was prompting him to talk about his morning.
"It was alright." Jack said, putting the spoon in his mouth a moment before continuing at Sandy's interested encouragement to elaborate. "We have these little books for calculus - I can't tell the difference between six and eight. Seriously! Tooth? Yeah, I'll... I'll ask her. I know she'll help. Class wasn't bad. You know I'm awesome at Maths; it's always great! I wish we'd watch more movies though..."
Sandy shook with silent laughter, and Jack grinned.
"You should look into a movie theatre for the gym. I'm serious! It would be a massive improvement. Who needs beep tests; we could watch some sports thing, like Million Dollar Baby. We'll absorb the sports through photosynergy."
Sandy began to laugh even harder, and Bunnymund walked in halfway through Jack's plea, pouring himself some coffee. "Photosynthesis." He corrected. "And humans can't do that. No wonder you're failing Bio."
"Hey, you can't speak to a student like that! You better watch out - I'll report you for defamation of character."
"It's not defamation if it's true."
Jack snorted, accepting a cup of coffee from the Art teacher. "I did great on the weather unit."
"Hum. Don't they teach weather in sixth?"
"Yeah, so?"
"You're in high school, mate."
Jack blew out his cheeks and then returned to his soup. He didn't like being reminded how behind he was - there were a lot of things he struggled with, but that was what Tooth was for. He just wanted to eat his awesome lunch in peace.
After the lunch break, Jack waved goodbye to good natured Sandy and stuck his tongue out at Bunny before making his way to Tooth's little classroom. She had a circle of desks, two computers, and a bookshelf so she could work with students more individually. She was helping Jack learn to read so he could participate better in his normal classes, helping him complete his assignments verbatim, and she always tried her best to make sure he was engaged and focused enough to get his homework done. He appreciated the one on one lessons with her, as she was always brightly dressed, smiling, and ready to offer him hugs and kindness.
They worked on his English, and she read him Shakespeare in preparation for the class trip to the theatre they would be taking the next day. He loved classic literature: epic tales of heroes and criminals, thrilling battles, even gritty moral commentary and pastiches of long ago lives. It took him too long to decipher letters by himself, and he could only reliably read children's books, so Tooth's classroom was the only place he could experience those sorts of wonderful things.
It was hard to learn so late, not to mention embarrassing. He crossed his legs, pulling his ankles up onto the plastic chair, and leant over the table.
"You okay, Jack? Want to work on something else?" Tooth asked, lowering the play and smiling at him. Her feather earrings and bold eyeshadow made her look like a very lovely tropical bird.
Jack shook his head. "I was enjoying your Macbeth impression." He answered, putting on a gravelly voice, "Is this a dagger? Wherefore however is this item perchance? Which is before me? What is it? Like, oh my God. Is it a dagger?"
Tooth giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. She returned to the book. "Alright, let's see how this ends. I'm a little excited, as well!"
Jack knew she'd probably read Macbeth a thousand times, but he appreciated her enthusiasm as she launched into the next soliloquy.
Hiccup sighed. No one in his English class seemed to be able to read. If Lady Macbeth stumbled over her lines one more time, he was going to pull his braids out. Why volunteer, he thought, if you can't pronounce anything over three syllables?
The class dragged as Hiccup doodled in the margin of his notebook. He'd read Macbeth in ninth grade, and seen the play twice since, so he wasn't worried about paying attention.
He was a little more preoccupied thinking about Jack.
'It's cooler when you say it.' Remembering that made Hiccup's stomach clench. No, he thought, if anyone here's cool, it's definitely you.
By the time the bell rang, Hiccup had wasted the entire class wondering about Jack. Where was he from? Where did he hang out? Did he have any friends? Amazing, far away friends from his old school whom he texted all day to keep up with their wild escapades? Would it be weird to start talking to him before class? Hiccup already walked past his locker every day on his way out of school, might as well up the weird by trying to engage Jack while he was at it. Not like he had anything to lose.
Class let out when they'd finished the final act, seven minutes early, and Hiccup packed his books in his black and red bag and waited for the excited students to pile out the door, flooding the hallways and shushing each other, 'other people are still in class!', and all that. He put his History book back in his locker and took out his Bio so he could review it at home before class tomorrow morning, and then waited for the bell to ring before making his way to the Maths and Arts building... and Jack's locker.
As usual, Jack was nowhere to be seen. Hiccup slowed his steps in case he might appear in the next couple minutes, lingered a moment at the exit, and then accepted that Jack was not going to show up today - not unusual, just disappointing. He zipped his jacket and stepped into the bitter snow.
Hiccup didn't mind the chill. The snow fell soft and fresh, only deep enough to brush the treads of his boots, and the walk home was only 20 brisk minutes. His house stood near the end of a luxurious road on 1.2 acres of landscaped lawn, flowers, pool, and fire pit. His dad liked holding barbeques well into early winter, grilling whatever thing he'd shot on his most recent hunting trip. Hiccup had been a vegetarian since he was 15, when his dad had finally handed him a rifle and instructed him to point it at a young doe in the forest behind their vacation home. He'd shook so hard he missed and nicked the creatures leg, sending her sprawling and stumbling into the underbrush while his dad cursed and charged after her. He'd thought about how she must have suffered, traipsing through the trees, her blood tracking behind her, too hurt to leap the fences of the golf course, maybe too pained to eat, before collapsing somewhere and succumbing to her slow, torturous death. He wished he'd just killed her cleanly, like his dad had told him to. He wished he'd never touched a gun at all.
When he arrived home, his dad wasn't home.
"Mum!" He called, toeing his boots off and hanging his coat in the closet. "I'm home!"
She called back from upstairs, and her large golden dog, Cloud, came bounding down to greet him, laying calmly on his back for Hiccup to scratch.
"I made cookies." His mum said when she emerged from her room. Cloud slowly thumped his tail and watched her hug her son. "How was school?" She asked, leading him to the kitchen. "Your father will be home soon, he's asked us to make dinner without him."
"School was fine."
Val offered Hiccup a cookie and he took it with a thankful smile. "I'm glad to hear that." She said. "We're always lonely at home without you."
Cloud had lay down on the mat in front of the sink, his tail still wagging. Hiccup doubted Cloud missed him; he was entirely his mother's dog, and he preferred her company over anyone's.
They began making dinner: roast salmon in herbs and lemon, broccoli and cauliflower similarly cooked, a creamed soup, spinach salad, and a fruit crisp. Hiccup was handy chopping, filleting, and mixing greens, as well as a passable baker, so he focused on the prep and dessert while his mum brushed the fish with butter and cooked the vegetables. His mother had only been part of their family since 8th grade, when Stoick had finally decided to give up his love of Scandinavia and follow her west. She'd left when Hiccup had been too young to know her after an accident and a mistake she'd thought she'd never mend, taking her modern ideas and her self directed shame with her. Hiccup had never understood why; she and his father were as loving and perfectly matched as any couple he'd ever met. He enjoyed every night spent eating with them, every movie during which his parents held hands and he held the popcorn on his lap, and every morning his mother kissed his freshly shaven cheek before he got out the door for school. She took every opportunity to show him and his father that she cared for them. Making up for lost time.
He'd always struggled to see eye to eye with his dad, but she understood him unquestionably. When his dad met his thoughts with confusion, Val countered them with awe and an open mind. She celebrated his uniqueness, and liked hearing about his less 'desirable' interests: lizards, art, the cartographers guild he'd joined last year, particularly interesting classwork, animal behaviour theories. Not just soccer. Sometimes, he wondered why he never told her he was bisexual, too. He couldn't imagine a scenario where she'd balk and get upset. She knew everything else about him.
When the crisp was prepared and sealed, waiting to follow the fish into the oven, Toothless came scampering around a corner, mewling. The smell of salmon and citrus was clinging to his mother's hands, and he eagerly rubbed against her leg, his large green eyes silently begging.
"Toothless," Hiccup chastised, "you have your own food. This is ours." He picked the cat up around his middle and held him to his chest, stroking the smooth black fur under his chin as Toothless purred appreciatively. Cloud had jumped up too, tilting his head at the cat.
"Well, it's only right to look after them first, I think." His mother said, closing the oven door on the salmon. Toothless ate on one of the ledges on the cat hotel Hiccup had built him near a window in the long room off the entrance, which was also equipped with carpet to scratch, dangling toys to pounce on, and holes to curl up inside. He'd picked Toothless up as a stray back in Scandinavia, and had dedicated a great deal of time in shop class making sure he had all the amenities he needed to live like a feline king. Hiccup put a couple treats on the structure so Toothless could eat them without Cloud bothering him, and his mother asked the big dog to sit, lay down, shake, and speak as she gave him pieces of meat.
Hiccup had been delighted when he met his mother and found that she was an animal lover. His father had been staunchly against pets before Toothless, and had only been won over after Toothless had curled up under his chin one night after a particularly long day's work, set to purring, and pressed his tiny paws to the large man's bearded face, his eyes blinking slowly and affectionately up at him. It was a rare person who disliked Toothless - even though he sometimes tore at top speed around the house, his steps like thunder in the early mornings, waking everyone up when he wanted breakfast.
Dinner with his family passed as usual. Stoick returned home tired, kissed his wife, and offered his son a greeting and a nod. Hiccup ate with one hand, as Toothless settled himself in his lap, kneading at his legs and purring loudly, demanding to be stroked along his spine.
Hiccup lost track of his parent's conversation, as he was helping himself to some crisp and grieving the early morning run his soccer team was required to go on the next day. The evening saw him help his father with the dishes, show his mother how to attach a picture in an email, and read a chapter ahead in the bio textbook before settling in front of his laptop with his back to the headboard.
He was responding to messages from his friends back home, telling Astrid about the mild autumn weather, when it occurred to him to try searching for Jack Frost on facebook.
And there he was. Jack Frost, Burgess. His profile picture was a slightly off kilter snowman, and the only other thing on his page was a shot off a ski mountain somewhere and a picture of Jack grinning with a pair of skates, his hair hidden by a knitted toque and his bare feet curled against the ice of a lake surrounded by forest and backed by grey mountains. He'd liked the pages 'parkour' and 'Burgess High Grad Class :P'.
"Congratulations, Hiccup." He mumbled to himself, enlarging the photo so he could better see the mirthful expression on his classmate's face, feeling breathless as he met the pixelated blue eyes. "You've got it bad."