But Morozko wouldn’t let him.
“I am,” he said, and placed his hand directly on Jack’s chest, over his heart.
Jack’s breath stuttered, feeling his chest rise and fall under the weight of that touch.
“I—okay. Sure,” he said, and he might have even believed it. That didn’t take away from the instinctual embarrassment, though—the innate fear that someone would notice that quirky little Jack Frost had actual feelings, and therefore feelings to be hurt. “But that’s—I mean, you didn’t have to say it out loud.”
He hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful, and thankfully, Morozko didn’t seem to take it that way. Instead, he merely raised a brow.
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
Jack pouted. Sure, that’s true—but only because Morozko had that look on his face, and if anyone else noticed, they would
