You can see me?

Late winter was a stubborn thing.

The snow had stopped falling weeks ago, but it lingered anyway—packed hard into the ground, clinging to tree roots and burrow doors like it had something to prove. The sky stayed pale and tired, the sun weak as it dragged itself across the horizon.

Bunnymund stood outside the burrow, arms crossed, ears tipped forward against the cold wind. “S’pose this is the part o’ winter that don’t know when t’leave,” he muttered. “Bloody thing’s lingerin’ like a bad guest.”

Jack Frost was sprawled on the frozen ground nearby, carving idle patterns into the snow with his staff. His power hummed softly beneath his skin—steady, strong, but no longer sharp. Late winter suited him in a strange way. It wasn’t the thrill of the first freeze or the roar of a storm. It was quieter. Older.

“Winter’s just… catching its breath,” Jack said, glancing up at Bunny. “Can’t rush a good exit.”

Bunny snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the carrots. They’re sick of waitin’.”

Jack laughed and pushed himself to his feet, frost curling around his boots as he moved closer. He brushed his hand along the burrow’s entrance, reinforcing the ice-lined supports he’d laid weeks ago. The magic came easily, flowing like muscle memory—no spark, no showmanship. Just purpose.

“You’ve been keeping it solid,” Bunny said, quieter now. “Reckon I’d be patchin’ holes nonstop if you weren’t here.”

Jack tilted his head, surprised. Compliments from Bunnymund were rare creatures—harder to catch than Easter eggs.

“Well,” he said lightly, “someone’s gotta make sure your precious burrow doesn’t collapse before spring shows up fashionably late.”

Bunny huffed, but there was fondness in it. He stepped closer, close enough that Jack could feel the warmth under his thick fur, the contrast to the cold air biting at his own skin. “Still… appreciate it, mate. Late winter’s a rough one. Not enough cold t’be useful, not enough warmth t’get things growin’.”

Jack looked at him then—really looked. At the weariness in Bunny’s eyes, the patience stretched thin but unbroken. Late winter did that. It tested the ones who kept things going.

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “It’s the waiting that gets you.”

They stood there for a while, shoulder to shoulder, the world hushed under old snow. Somewhere beneath it all, the ground was preparing to wake—but for now, winter still had its say.

Jack let his frost drift outward, gentle and protective, not claiming new ground—just holding what was already there. Bunny leaned into it without comment, solid and steady as ever.

“Don’t get used to this,” Bunny muttered. “Soon as spring hits, you’ll be underfoot again.”

Jack grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving quietly.”

The burrow smelled of earth and hay, mingling with the sharp tang of the first autumn chill. Outside, leaves tumbled in fiery shades of gold, amber, and crimson, whipped along by the crisp wind. Bunny was hard at work, hauling root vegetables into stacked crates and patching cracks in the burrow walls.

Jack Frost hovered near the entrance, staff in hand, his eyes bright as the first tendrils of frost slid across the windowpanes. The chill had returned to him fully, awakening his powers with a soft hum of ice in the air.

“Feel that, kangaroo?” Jack said, twirling his staff. Frost danced off the tip in delicate, sparkling arcs, coating the edge of the burrow in glittering patterns.

Bunnymund paused, wiping sweat and soil from his furred hands, his ears flicking back. “Aye… autumn’s proper here, ain’t it? Reckon ye’re feelin’ it too, eh?”

Jack grinned, landing lightly on a nearby crate. “Oh, I definitely feel it. Winter’s waking up.” He flicked a swirl of frost across the stored hay, making it sparkle. “And that means me.”

Bunny shook his head, an amused sigh rumbling in his chest. “Careful, mate. Don’t go freezin’ me hard work.”

Jack ducked under a low beam, laughter tinkling like icicles. “Wouldn’t dream of it… well, maybe just a bit.” He brushed his fingers along the walls, sealing cracks with a touch of frost. “You’ll thank me when it keeps the burrow warm.”

Despite his scolding, Bunny couldn’t hide the twitch of a smile. “Alright, then. If yer gonna muck about, help me properly, aye? No dawdlin’.”

Jack’s grin widened. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Together they worked. Jack’s frost flowed freely now, strengthened by the early bite of winter in the air. He shaped the frost like soft, crystalline curtains for the windows, lined the doorframe with shimmering ice to keep drafts out, and even frosted the exterior walls where leaves threatened to rot the wood. Bunnymund moved alongside him, stacking supplies, patching holes, and muttering under his breath in clipped tones.

“’Bout time ye gave me a hand with these crates, mate. Yer dawdlin’ again, eh?”

Jack twirled a pile of leaves into a spinning frost-whirl above the crates, making Bunny duck. “Oi! Watch it!” Bunny barked, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. “Ya daft git.”

Jack laughed, skating along the floor as frost followed his every step. “Ya love it, Bunny.”

Bunny shook his head, eyes softening despite his feigned annoyance. “Aye, maybe I do… yer magic makes things easier, can’t deny it.”

Jack landed beside him, resting a shoulder against Bunny’s. Frost danced along their shoulders, mingling with the warmth of their closeness. Outside, the leaves continued to fall, and frost began creeping through the edges of the clearing. Autumn was here in full, but inside the burrow, warmth lingered—not just from the work, but from the bond forming quietly, stronger than any winter chill.

Jack brushed a stray leaf from Bunny’s ear, teasing softly. “See? Not all winter’s bad.”

Bunnymund grunted, but there was no anger in it. “Nah… reckon yer right, mate. Might even be alright, havin’ winter around… if it’s you bringin’ it.”

(Jackfrost x Bunnymund)

Jack Frost perched on a tree branch, idly twirling his staff as he watched Bunnymund work below. The Pooka was knee-deep in fresh soil, tending to the first blooms of spring with practiced ease. The sight was mesmerizing—the way his powerful hands moved so gently, coaxing life from the ground.

Jack smirked. Too serious, as always.

With a flick of his wrist, a fine dusting of frost trailed over the petals of the nearest flower, making it shimmer under the morning light. Bunnymund stiffened, ears flicking back before he turned a sharp glare upward.

"Frostbite," he growled, brushing a paw over the now-glittering petals. "Ya know spring don’t mix well with winter."

Jack grinned, leaning lazily on his staff. "Looks better this way, don’t you think?"

Bunny sighed, rubbing his temples before shaking his head with a fond chuckle. "Yer impossible, mate."

Jack landed beside him, nudging his shoulder playfully. "And yet, you keep me around."

Bunnymund huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. Instead, he reached out, brushing a stray snowflake from Jack’s cheek.

"Yeah, guess I do."