This story originally began in November of 2012. Since then, it has accrued 236 Favorites, 309 Follows, and 436 Reviews. I have truly appreciated all of the love I have received since beginning this fanfic and know I have neglected it. Back when I used to read fanfiction almost religiously, it always broke my heart when a fanfic that I loved was never completed. So, after three years, I am going back, editing the chapters I have, and will try to do my best to finish this fic. If you are joining for the first time, I appreciate your traffic and truly hope that you enjoy it (let me know what you think!) and if you are coming back again, I welcome you and hope you can forgive me.

Jack Frost didn't believe in simple, easy fixes. Ever since he was a young child, before anything bad had ever happened to him, he thought it was nonsense and never ran away from a fight or a problem. He either tackled dilemmas head on, or let them settle under his skin, but never turned his back to them. Not like his parents were making him do. Making him run away from what troubled him. He tried to tell them that it wouldn't work; that leaving wouldn't magically dissipate his wrongdoings and that he'd always keep what he did locked inside of him- the visions and memories constantly burning in the back of his head, flaring up when he'd least expect it. They wouldn't listen and insisted that a "change of scenery" would do him good. Maybe his grades would go up? Maybe he'd make some new friends? And maybe... well, just maybe he'd learn to forgive.

It was a big load of bull.

Don't get him wrong, Jack's parents were understanding enough. But parents could only connect so much to a troubled teenager, and emotional and mental capacity levels are usually not shared between parent and child. It had been a long process for them to start feeling slightly normal, but Jack had never gotten over it. Mr. and Mrs. Frost still had their days where getting out of bed seemed impossible, and their lives had certainly turned upside down. It seemed perfectly logical that moving to a new, small town would be a good healing process for their son and for them too. Their family had suffered tremendously. A breath of fresh, unburdened air was just what they needed.

They had moved from a two story, three-bedroom house in the countryside to a two bedroom, one story house in a suburb with yellow paint and rose bushes in the front yard. It had two bathrooms, a spacious living room with blue carpet, and Jack's room in the back right corner of the house had two windows that kept it brightly lit. The first thing he did was unpack his curtains and shut out the sunshine. It was an especially warm summer-a season Jack never much cared for-and his mood had diminished from angsty to downright miserable. He had been in Burgess for three weeks, just enough time to unpack his most important items and get enrolled in Burgess High School. He had already bought his new school supplies, which had been thrown carelessly in the corner of his room, and he dreaded organizing them for school that Monday. His third year of high school in a new town. He was only vaguely excited to see what type of art classes he'd be able to take and the types of resources that would be there for him to experiment with. The closest he'd been to touching a paintbrush recently was when he unpacked them four days ago but hadn't gotten a chance to actually use them. He was feeling antsy. His fingers were itching to paint, but his canvases were dug deep into some unpacked boxes buried in the garage, and he didn't want to ask his dad to go get them.

His body was aching for a cigarette too, but he saved those for his alone time in the woods. To keep both of his addictions at bay, he settled with drawing until he couldn't tell what was real and what was art. When school started, and everything was unpacked, he'd try to relax and have his zen time. Just two days. Two days and he'd be subjected to hormonal teenagers at a whole new place and be ignored and invisible like he'd been for the past three years of his life. He hated nothing more than being invisible.

But there were some things you couldn't change in life. Like how some people just seemed to be born athletic, or popular. He was born translucent. Not literally, of course, but sometimes he did look down at himself to see if he was still there. He had a knack for blending in, a knack that he didn't highly value. You'd think a teenager like him would want to disappear into the crowd. But that wasn't the case one bit. All he wanted was to be noticed and appreciated and looked at, like he was at least worth something. Hell, he even bleached his hair a blindingly bright shade of snow white and wore iridescent blue contacts. He was desperate. Even with his incredibly noticeable appearance, people's eyes skirted over him. And it wasn't like he was unattractive, or short.

Jack padded to his closest window and pushed back the blinds. It was eight in the evening, but as he touched the glass, it was still heated from the afternoon sun beating down. His fingertips warmed slightly, an altogether unfamiliar sensation, and he drew them back and to his chest. They went back to their usual temperature; a chilly, uncomfortable state. He shivered and quickly snatched his hoodie off of his bed and tugged it over his head. He was often cold, his hands and feet always freezing and he both disliked and cherished the feeling. He rubbed his eyes a bit and yawned. It was still early, but moving across the state had taken a toll on his body. He decided that he'd draw for a few hours before submitting to his drowsiness.

His sketch book was on the top drawer of his desk, right next to his tin box that contained some of his tangible secrets. The sight of the box made his fingers twitch and he became hyper aware of the sensations he felt on his skin. He quickly retrieved what he wanted before he could change his mind and flopped onto his bed. For the longest time he just stared at the blank page. Getting frustrated, he snapped it shut and tossed it onto a pile of clothes by his bed. With a fluid motion, he clicked his lamp off and tugged his blanket up to his chin. Who said you had to stay up late on the weekends?

And if anyone did, it's not like they talked to him.

I'm going to go chapter by chapter, slowly replacing the old files with my minor reworks. These won't be anything major, but they will help me to re-familiarize myself with the story and catch any mistakes or inconsistencies. These will be dated at the end of the chapter with the new dates I publish them.

10/10/2018

*Update 11/1/18* All the chapters that were uploaded originally (1-21) have been edited, with minor adjustments (mainly grammar and spelling mistakes). If you read this story when it was originally published, I would recommend going back and re-reading it to understand/remember what's going on with the plot (even if it's just a couple chapters back).