Taking off her thick tortoise shell glasses and climbing into bed, Delaney sighed and watched the light from her candles' flames dance with the shadows on her deep brown curtains. She was 16 and reminded herself of it as little as possible. Growing into adulthood was her biggest fear. Who would want to get old and become an adult? Going to work everyday and paying bills, raising children and no longer having fun. No. She wouldn't think of it tonight. Not again.
The later it got into the night, the less she could focus. She found herself playing with one of the many small braids that were mixed in with her beachy blonde hair. Eventually she kicked her legs over the edge of her sea foam green comforter and out of bed into the glossy wooden floor. She reached over and grabbed her notebook and pen so, once again, she could write into the night. She wrote many stories and poems, all about wild things, adventures, her deep thoughts, fears, and dearest dreams. Why could her mother not understand? Nightly, it seemed, she ran to her room to bury her tear-streaked face into her many stuffed animals and pillows and whimper as she wished and prayed. Most often she wished of flying. Growing the wings of a beautiful angel and soaring into the clouds. Into the clouds and away from the pressures of everything.
"Go to sleep Delaney," she would often mumble to herself between yawns, "you know you're tired."
Once finally asleep, head under the covers, something strange happened. Her dream-catchers blew a bit from the sudden breeze that escaped past the curtains and the candle flames blew out. The only reaction from the sleeping girl was a soft grunt. There was a slight squeak, and then another as one of the screens covering her windows slid out of place. Soon the culprit's hand, slender and caked in dirt, grasped a curtain to slowly pull it to the side. Two glowing, mischievous, silver orbs peered around the room through the shadows and then in flew the boy, sinewy and gently tanned. A snore emerged from her sheets and Delaney felt the presence in her deep hibernation. This caused the mysterious teen to quickly back himself into the corner of her cream ceiling. He visibly relaxed when her breath returned to its normal, calmed, self. The boy lowered himself to the floor and now his full form could clearly be seen in the soft moonlight. Standing about 5'10", his lean, yet muscular, frame was hidden with vines and leaves that seemed to be fashioned into shabby shorts and miscellaneously crawled up to cover patches of his waist and torso ununiformly. His hair was a shaggy, mess of loose curls, acorn colored with the occasional subtle blonde highlight. Freckles were softly scatter amongst his sun-kissed face. He was a truly beautiful thing to behold, the young man standing there. Peter was there for a reason though, he knew she left the papers someplace around here. He just hoped to find them before he woke her.