Laughing Jack: How To Put A Jack In The Box Back In The Box (Laughing JackxOC)

Chapter 23: Jack's Nose

   Dylan's eyes fluttered open, his vision gradually adjusting to the dimly lit room. The throbbing ache that had plagued his head earlier had finally subsided. He let out a soft sigh of relief, running his hand through his messy hair, pushing the unruly strands out of his face. For a moment, he lay there, disoriented, trying to gather his thoughts. Something felt off. His gaze drifted to the alarm clock on his nightstand, the red digits glaring back at him—11:00 PM. Confusion set in. How long had he been out? The last thing he remembered was working on his school assignments at eight o'clock. How had three hours slipped away so quickly? And more importantly, how did he end up in bed? He distinctly remembered sitting at his desk, not here under his covers. 

Puzzled, he sat up slowly, a growing sense of unease creeping in. As he glanced down at his bed, something else caught his attention. "Huh?" he muttered to himself, lifting the blanket ever so slightly. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed his clothes were missing. His pulse quickened, and he instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around himself, feeling suddenly exposed. "What the hell?" he thought, panic rising within him. Where the hell did his clothes go? His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. The only thing he could recall was taking his medication. Had something happened after that? "Shit, the bath—" he started to say, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. Maybe he had been heading to the bathroom when he blacked out? But before he could fully process the thought, a soft, unmistakable giggle echoed through the room

"Oh ho~ look who's awake. Did you have a nice nap, Little Mouse?" Laughing Jack's voice cut through the air like nails on a chalkboard, dripping with its usual mockery. Dylan's eyes darted toward the source of the voice, immediately locking onto the infuriating grin plastered on Jack's face. The sight of the grinning clown standing at the foot of his bed made Dylan's blood boil. It wasn't just the situation—it was the sheer audacity of the creature, acting as if everything was just one big joke.

Dylan could feel his patience wearing thin, a familiar irritation bubbling up inside him. Every word that spilled out of Jack's mouth felt like a deliberate provocation. "Don't worry about the bath!~ I stripped you and put you in bed," Jack continued with a sing-song tone, as if what he'd just said was the most normal thing in the world.

Dylan's jaw clenched, his annoyance flaring into something hotter, more immediate. His mind barely processed what Jack had said; all he knew was that he was seething. Without a second thought, he grabbed the pillow next to him and launched it straight at Jack's infuriating face. The pillow hit its mark with a satisfying thud, cutting off that smug grin as Jack's head snapped back.

"Hey! What the hell was that for?!" Jack yelped, rubbing his cone-shaped nose as if he was genuinely offended by the attack.

Dylan glared at him, his frustration boiling over. "You stripped me and put me in bed? What the hell is wrong with you, Jack?" he snapped, his voice heavy with irritation. The situation was bizarre enough without Jack treating it like some twisted prank.

Jack, still rubbing his nose, looked at Dylan with an expression that was almost comical in its wounded innocence. "Jeez, kid, you've got quite the arm," he muttered, more to himself than to Dylan. "I was just trying to help out. No need to get all bent out of shape."

"Bent out of shape?" Dylan echoed, his tone sharp, incredulous. He couldn't believe Jack's nonchalance, the way he acted as if this was all some minor inconvenience. It was like every word out of Jack's mouth was designed to get under his skin, to push his buttons until he snapped.

Jack's casual demeanor only fueled Dylan's irritation. It wasn't just the ridiculousness of the situation—it was the way Jack seemed completely unbothered by it, as if his twisted sense of humor was supposed to make everything okay. But Dylan wasn't in the mood for jokes. He was sick of Jack's games, sick of the way the clown treated everything like it was some elaborate prank.

"Where the hell are my clothes, you damn clown?!" Dylan's voice dripped with irritation, his glare sharp enough to cut through steel. Every ounce of his being was consumed with annoyance, and the sight of Laughing Jack standing there, acting like this was all just another joke, only made it worse. Dylan could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, threatening to boil over. He was seriously on the verge of losing it and strangling the clown where he stood.

Jack's eyes widened in mock surprise as he threw his hands up in defense, trying to diffuse the tension. "Relax! You passed out, and the bath overflowed. You got soaked! I put your clothes in the laundry basket, alright?" he explained quickly, his tone almost defensive. "You act like I'm some sort of child predator or something!" he exclaimed, taking a cautious step back to keep some distance between himself and the furious human in front of him.

Dylan's glare only deepened, his irritation shifting into something sharper, more biting. "You technically are," he replied flatly, his expression matching the deadpan delivery of his words. His hand clenched around the heavy dictionary he had grabbed, his fingers curling around it like it was a lifeline.

Jack's face twisted with offense, his usual playful demeanor hardening as he narrowed his eyes at Dylan. "I mean, I don't touch kids! And you're a kid!" he shot back, his voice tinged with indignation. How dare this brat compare him to such lowly trash? Jack had standards, after all.

Dylan's expression didn't waver. If anything, the irritation in his eyes sharpened as he glared at Jack. "I'm nineteen. I'm not a kid," he snapped, his voice cold and firm. He hated being called a kid, especially by someone as irritating as Jack. He prided himself on being more mature than most people in this town, the only one who actually had his life together, who'd actually be going places. The last thing he needed was this clown treating him like a child.

Jack let out a low chuckle, clearly unfazed by Dylan's words. "You're still a kid. Give it two years, and then maybe I'll touch you!" he teased, his voice dripping with playful malice. The words had barely left his mouth before a dictionary went flying across the room, smacking him square in the face. The impact was solid, and for a moment, Jack's world tilted as he staggered back, his poor cone-shaped nose taking the brunt of the hit.

"What the hell was that for?!" Jack exclaimed, rubbing his sore nose, his usual grin now replaced with a look of genuine shock and irritation.

Dylan's eyes blazed with anger as he locked onto Jack, his voice low and menacing. "Touch me, and I'll kill you," he hissed, his grip tightening on the blanket as if daring Jack to test him. His patience had worn thin, and he was done playing games.

Jack huffed, rubbing his nose with a pout, clearly annoyed by the unexpected attack. "Yeah, yeah, not like I would anyway," he muttered under his breath, the sting of the dictionary still fresh on his face. He couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with this kid—so cold, so unyielding, and so different from anyone else he'd met outside the manor. But in a twisted way, that's what made Dylan intriguing. He wasn't like the others in this dull, lifeless town. No, Dylan was different—sharp, unpredictable, and anything but boring. And in Jack's eyes, that made him worth the trouble, even if it meant dodging the occasional flying dictionary.

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Author Note: Hi hi! Into_The_Dark here, sorry for the lack of updates life has been super busy and stressful. And Chapter 23 originally deleted itself so I had to rewrite it. I am Currently in the middle of moving into my own place so I don't know when I'll be able to update so plz enjoy this chapter! Have a good day/night! Stay spooky