Page 33 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
A hard shove that sent Locke stumbling backward. Toward the sound. Toward the danger. While Corbin ran the oppositedirection, not looking back, not checking if Locke was following, just gone.
Locke had stood there, stunned, watching his boyfriend disappear around a corner. Then someone grabbed his arm. A stranger, some random person who cared more about his safety in that moment than Corbin did. They pulled him behind a parked car. They’d crouched there together, breathing hard, waiting for the sounds to stop.
The next day, Corbin showed up with flowers and apologies. Expensive flowers. The good kind from the fancy shop downtown. “I panicked,” he’d said, eyes wide and earnest, performing contrition like he’d rehearsed it. “I was trying to grab your hand, I swear. I just... instinct took over. You know how fight or flight works, right? My body just... moved. You know I’d never...”
He’d made it into a self-deprecating joke. Called himself a coward, laughed about his terrible flight response, admitted to being selfish and scared. Brought expensive takeout (Locke’s favorite Thai place) and more apologies until Locke, exhausted and confused, let it go.
But Locke remembered the push. The direction. Away from Corbin. Toward the gunfire.
He remembered standing there, watching Corbin disappear around a corner, and thinking: I’m not worth protecting.
That feeling had lingered. Through the rest of their relationship, through discovering Corbin was cheating, through the breakup and moving back to Hollow Hill. Through every interaction afterward. The knowledge that when it mattered, when there was actual danger, Corbin had used him as a shield. Had pushed him toward harm to save himself.
And now Jack. Jack who’d summoned a demon. Jack who’d gone way too far, who’d created something dangerous thatalmost hurt Rowan. Jack who kept failing at every grand gesture but kept trying because he wanted to keep Locke safe.
The demon had been wrong. Absolutely wrong. Catastrophically wrong. But the intent behind it...
Locke pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Jack had been alone for 259 years and his first instinct when Locke might be in danger was to summon protection. Overboard, yes. Catastrophic, absolutely. But protection. Not running. Not pushing Locke toward danger to save himself. Jack had literally called forth something from another realm because the thought of Locke being hurt was unacceptable to him.
That was... that was...
Locke didn’t know what to do with that feeling. Didn’t know how to process the difference between someone who’d use you as a shield and someone who’d summon a demon to guard you. Both were wrong in their own ways: one through cowardice, one through excessive force. But the intent...
He thought about Jack’s voice during the confrontation.I was trying to keep you safe.Not defensive. Not making excuses. Just hurt and confused about why protection was unwelcome.
Locke had spent two years believing he wasn’t worth protecting. And here was Jack, a literal deity, acting like Locke’s safety was the most important thing in the world. So important that Jack would fail spectacularly and publicly and keep trying anyway.
“Fuck,” Locke whispered to the empty apartment.
He was so screwed.
The evening before Halloween, Locke was closing up the shop when Jack found him.
The day had been busy. Last-minute costume shoppers, people buying candles for tomorrow night’s festivities, the usual pre-Halloween rush. Locke had been restocking the crystal display, trying not to think about tomorrow’s performance, trying not to think about Jack sleeping in the next room over, trying not to think about anything at all.
The shop was quiet now. Dim. The purple neon sign in the window cast everything in soft lavender light. Outside, the street was mostly empty, just a few people hurrying home in the October chill.
Locke was counting the register when he felt Jack’s presence behind him. That autumn-magic feeling, crisp and wild and uniquely Jack.
He turned. Jack stood in the doorway between the shop and the apartment stairs, backlit by the warm light from upstairs. His robes pooled around him, sage and burnt orange, and even in the dim shop light, Locke could see the tension in his posture.
“I want to show you something.”
Locke’s stomach dropped. Here we go again. “Jack, it’s okay. You don’t have to...”
“Yes, I do.” Jack’s voice was firm. Determined. A little desperate around the edges.
“The feast was sweet. The seed was beautiful. I would rather we talked about everything.” Locke set down the cash he’d been counting, turning to face Jack fully. They needed to have this conversation. Needed to talk about what was happening between them, what these gestures meant, what Jack wanted.
The jack-o’-lantern features twisted. “Do you know how humiliating this is?”
“It’s not about...”
“I am a DEITY. I’ve existed for millennia. I’ve been worshipped, revered, celebrated. Men and women clamored for my body.” Jack’s voice cracked slightly on that last word. “And I can’t even properly court a mortal.”
This was it. The moment. He let his voice drop, go softer. Seductive in a way he hadn’t dared before. “So you are trying to court me?”
