Jack sits in the coffeeshop, waiting for Pitch to arrive. He's taken the window seat and watches the snow hurry past, spots of whiteness that are stark against the dark. The streetlights are out and the darkness is alien in this city that never sleeps. The bright windows of the stores and cafes hang in the darkness, unreal and eerie. The cars that drive past seem weird and out of place, and the whole scene seems like an avant garde French movie.

It makes Jack feel disconnected, like he's caught in a dream that he can't quite wake up from. Or - no, maybe the movie analogy was right, because his whole life seems like a movie these days. The whole thing with Pitch which is still, unbelievably, going right. Meeting Seraphina and her seeming to like him is even more unbelievable. Sure, Pitch and Tooth didn't seem to like each other much, but movies have to have their antagonistic characters or it would make them dull. And Jack's life is certainlynot dull. That promise in Pitch's text message suggests that's not going to change any time soon.

He tries to decide how to act when Pitch arrives. Should he immediately bring up the response to the photo and ask what Pitch has in mind? Or should he wait for Pitch to mention it? He feels like he should maybe wait and let Pitch control the situation - the thought of Pitch in control makes his breath catch - but he also really, really wants to know what Pitch has planned. He's not sure how long his patience will last.

He has a half-formed plan of being all seductive - fluttering lashes, licking his lips, the whole cliché shtick - to try and coax a quick response from Pitch. But then Pitch walks in and all thought flees from Jack's mind. Tall, dressed in black from head to toe, snow in his hair and on his jacket, he's just so thoroughly Pitchthat for a moment Jack forgets how to breathe as his heart races – now there'sa cliché.

And then Pitch fixes him with this intense lookand it's all Jack can do to stare back.

I want you,he thinks, and he aches with it, down to his bones, suffusing his soul. It's not just sex, or the kinky stuff, it's everything. He wants to be part of Pitch's life, he wants to belong and be needed and oh fuck I think I'm in love.

The revelation floors him nearly as much as that look does, and he has to look away, completely unable to cope with both of them at once, or either of them if he's being honest.

He hears the scrape of the chair on the floor as Pitch pulls it out from the table, and then the soft sound of him sitting.

"Is everything alright, Jack?"

"Yeah." Jack dares a glance up. There's concern in Pitch's eyes, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Jack swallows. "Yeah. You?"

"Everything's fine. Better now that I'm here."

Jack risks a small grin. "You charmer, you."

"Obviously." Pitch pauses and reaches across the table to hold Jack's hand. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Jack's heart's still aching, and racing laps in his chest. He nods, and paraphrases: "Now that you're here."

Pitch gives him a smile and then lifts Jack's hand to his lips, pressing a sweet little kiss to the back of it. "And you said I'm charming."

"Yeah, because you are. Come on, man, are you trying to make me swoon?"

"Yes," Pitch says, and then gestures at Jack's mostly-empty cup. "Can I get you another drink?"

"Sure."

"What would you like?"

As if Jack's in any state of mind to make decisions like that. "Surprise me."

Pitch nods and goes to the counter, but there's no possible way that Pitch's choice of drink could surprise Jack more than his own realisation. He prods and pokes at it, as though more information might emerge, like what exactly he's supposed to do about it and how to deal with it.

The only thing he comes up with is that he's sure that he's right. He's in love with Pitch. After four weeks. Is that too soon? Is it normal? Jack's slept with a fair number of people, sure, but fallen in love? Nope. He loved Jamie, but that was a weird transition from friendship to romance and back again. This is the kind of huge thing they make movies about, being swept off your feet and running off to Vegas to get married by Elvis.

His heart is still racing when Pitch returns with the coffee - light roast, swimming with cream, just the way Jack likes it.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Jack shrugs. "I'm just - jittery."

"Maybe I shouldn't have got you coffee, then," Pitch says, but Jack grins, suddenly inspired.

"Nah, you should help me calm down instead."

Pitch raises an eyebrow and then sips his tea. "And how would I do that?"

Only the nervous energy thrumming through Jack's veins lets him speak, that and the honest truth that he needs it because it will help him calm down, maybe better than anything else. "Well," he starts, and licks his lips. "It would involve rope."

Pitch stops, and then puts down his cup. He fixes another lookon Jack. This one makes Jack shiver, his hand tightening around the coffee cup. He breathes deep and feels - sort of like he's sinking. Or floating. Or some other damn thing that doesn't make any sense.

"Jesus, Pitch, you need to stop looking at me like that or I'm going to pass out or something."

Pitch flicks his gaze away and breathes out slowly through pursed lips. "I'm sorry. But you make me want to do things to you."

"And you should do those things. Definitely. As soon as we get back to your apartment."

"Then drink quickly, Jack," Pitch says.

Jack doesn't need to be told twice.