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Sometimes, Jack goes outside at 2am during Winter wearing nothing but thin pajamas.
There's not much of a reason for this behaviour other than wanting to freeze to death.
Okay. Maybe he doesn't want to freeze to death but the thought is comforting. It's just that the cold has a sort of numbing effect. It slowly creeps into his system until it overtakes him. Not realizing until it's too late.
That's why most of the time, he curls up in some corner or alleyway, out of sight, and closes his eyes. He doesn't know whether to be happy or disappointed that he has always opened them the next morning. Freezing, weak but still able to pull himself back to his house for a slow recovery. His undead body can die again but it's much more resistant.
But right now he's walking. No snow but negative degree weather. It's rare for him to make it back home before curling up somewhere and praying for death. But it's even rarer for his purple coworker to show up, in better suited clothes for the weather and absolutely shocked at the sight of Jack.
Actually this is the first time it's happened.
“Old Sport?” Dave exclaims, “What are you doing out here at two in the fuckin’ mornin’?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack responds in a voice deceptively calm in contrast to the state he's in.
“But where are your clothes?”
“I am wearing clothes.”
“I mean like-” Dave makes some weird motion with his hand. “Clothes that prevent hypothermia from gettin’ yer ass.”
“Eh, I'm used to it.”
Dave blinks like he doesn't know how to react to that information. Maybe he really doesn’t.
“Where are you going?”
Jack looks around. He's never really thought of that, he's always just walked wherever his feet took him. “I don't know.”
Dave sighs. “Alright I'm comin’ with you.” He plants himself next to Jack and twirls around so they're facing the same direction.
“Didn't you come from over there?”
“Doesn't matter, old sport!”
“Alright.” Jack sighs.
He continues to walk and Dave obediently matches his pace, staying beside him.
The presence of someone beside him really makes him focus more on his environment. Usually he's lost in his head but not even thinking about anything. His breath puffs out in a cloud of mist. The frost in the grass glitters from the moonlight. Jack subtly eyes Dave who surprisingly isn't talking.
Honestly it isn't that bad. Maybe he can force Dave to carry him home if he collapses on the side of the street again. Then again that's a gamble since he doesn't fully trust him not to carry him all the way to Freddy's just to throw him into the ballpit. Maybe he'll put him in a cardboard box if asks nicely.
“Dave, do you like me?” His abrupt question surprises even himself.
Dave looks at him like he just asked him if the sky was blue. “Take a wild fuckin’ guess, Sportsy.”
“But, why?”
“Why do I like you?” Dave asks, a bit taken aback.
“Well, yeah.”
“Uh,” Dave taps his chin with a contemplative look in his eye. “You're cute and orange-”
“I don't like myself.”
Dave abruptly falls silent again. The look on his face is the same as when Jack said he's used to the cold. He doesn't know how to respond. But that's fine.
“I don't think I've ever liked myself,” Jack continues, “Even before I turned cute and orange.”
Dave doesn't laugh at the joke.
“Oh c'mon, Dave,” Jack gently nudges him. Dave looks at the action. “I hardly think this is a rare occurrence. A lot of people hate themselves. I'm pretty sure you do too.”
“It's weird when you also hate yourself,” Dave finally says. His voice is quiet. “It's one thing if I do it. But another if you do too. I don't like it.”
Jack turns away to hide his amusement. He sounds like a kid trying to make sense of his feelings. Maybe at heart, he is.
“That's what happens when you like someone,” Jack says matter-of-factly.
“Do you like me?” Dave turns the question on him. He finally makes eye contact after staring at the ground the entire conversation.
Jack sputters. “I-I-” he swallows. “I wouldn't be here otherwise.”
Of course Jack likes him. But a simple ‘yes’ is too much for him to say for some reason.
Dave lets out a huff of laughter and only then does Jack realize how much he missed the sound. It's strange to have such a long conversation without it.
“I know, Old Sport.”
“Then why did you ask?” Jack rolls his eyes.
“It's nice to be reminded every now and then.”
Dave suddenly comes to a stop and Jack also halts a few steps ahead of him.
“What?”
Dave fumbles a bit with the scarf around his neck before taking it off and wrapping it around Jack who freezes.
“Uh-um, dude, I don't need-”
“Accept it before I strangle you with it.”
Jack stays still as he avoids eye contact like the plague. Still, it doesn't stop him from being able to see Dave's concentration on placing the scarf on his neck. He looks down as Dave finally backs away to admire the view. It's purple because of course it is.
“There, that's better isn't it?” Dave smiles.
Honestly it really isn't. It covers his neck and every other part of his body is still freezing to death. But Jack raises a hand to touch it and he swears he starts to feel a little warm somewhere.
“I guess so.”
Then Dave drops his hands on Jack's shoulders and turns him around. “You should go home.”
“Uh? Okay?” He finds himself unable to decline at the suddenness.
“It's okay if we hate ourselves, Sportsy,” Dave says happily from behind him. They start walking in a conga line, not going back to each other's sides for some reason. “Because we love each other enough to make up for it!”
“I don't think we used that word.”
Dave just lets out a content hum and continues to guide him back to the direction of his house. Of warmth.
Tonight, for the first time in a long time, he'll make it back home before the sun peaks over the horizon to tell his weak body to get up and keep living despite his reluctance to.
Jack brings his hand up to the purple scarf again. He's definitely stealing this shit.