H A U N T E D

t h i r t y - f i v e

t h i r t y — f i v e

My fingers curl into Jack's hair, as I play with the gray strand that rests on his forehead. The boy in question, rests his head on my lap, allowing me to glance down at him. He stares up at me, as if in wonder and awe, and it makes me shyly duck my hair in embarrassment.

We're sitting on a wool blanket on the porch, underneath a dim yellow light that barely lights the small space. Jack holds my mug of hot chocolate in his hands, resting it on his stomach and lifts it up to my lips whenever I ask him to. On a small radio nearby that Flynn brought over for us, a song plays that fits the mood perfectly.

"What color were your eyes as a human?", I curiously wonder out loud, trailing my fingers from Jack's hair over to the bridge of his nose. My favorite part of him, is the gray streak of hair, that sets him out from his siblings. It is almost a comforting sight that puts him apart from the rest of his family. Where they are beautiful and almost too perfect, he is beautiful and perfect, with the graying hair that makes him seem more, I don't know, humane. I say this, in the sense of how relatable he can be at times. Although I might have a few interests in common with Alice, or Emmett, or Bella, I feek distant from them, intimidated by their lack of...something. Maybe that's why I get along with Renesmeé so well. She can still blush.

Jack closes his eyes in content, and I run my fingertips over the soft skin. The peace is heartwarming, and it feels as though it can reach its fingers into the future, lacing itself into each moment to come.

"I think they were blue. My maman used to compare them to the oceans we fished in", he reminisces with a nostalgic hum. It is strange to think that the boy laying in my lap, has lived nearly the entirety of the modern human. He swam in oceans far older than he is, but younger than they are now. His fingers dug into ground that no longer exists, and his eyes took in a moon that held the earth closer in its gravity.

Of course, he has not had the opportunity to see the world grow, as his siblings had the opportunity to. From the little he has told me, he spent many years in a makeshift grave, too weak to break free from its barriers. A stranger had to save him, a stranger I have not yet met. I want to ask all these questions, but I have a feeling it would sour the peaceful evening.

"You probably had many girls in your village fawning over you", I tease and poke his nose. He playfully acts as if he's going to bite at my finger, but I pull away in time.

"Oh yes, I was quite the charmeur", he drawls sarcastically. I have noticed he feels more comfortable in his home tongue, letting loose one or two words every now and again. It is comforting to know that it is because he feels more at ease around me.

"Why do you say that, like that?", I question him, frowning slightly at his use of sarcasm. My fingers trace over the outline of his lips, my pinky landing on his perfect cupid's bow and my thumb wiping over his bottom lip.

"I was not popular, Blondie. Not like you, it may seem", he grins up at me, attempting to change the subject. I have told him about my few flings and romantic relationships in the past, as it is only fair for him to know. He accepted it all with an open-mind, even saluting the way I have grown from some of these relationships.

"But you're beautiful?"

Jack laughs deeply, his chuckle rumbling from his chest and vibrating through his body.

"As a human, I was merely a fishermen's boy to the village, easily missed among others. I was not an attractive conquest, except the way I seemed to spin golden stories from thin air, at feasts. It was the only admirable thing about me", he shrugs awkwardly, due to his position in my lap. He captures my fingers, and brings them to his lips, kissing his fingertip gently. Between each kiss, he speaks and explains his supernatural beauty.