Warning: Uh, it's really long, no joke. Also, how the heck did I turn the ending into a fluff-fest! Sigh, I'm such a fail. Greg Laswell really inspired this story. Listen to his stuff. Stole one of his lines for the title while we're at it.
Major thanks to faerietaleredux for just, honestly everything. This wouldn't be finished or up if it weren't for her support and help. Makes sense why I'm dedicating this to her, doesn't it.
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Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: What's it like, Neverland?
J.M. Barrie: One day, I'll take you there.
-
prologue.
There are a lot of things in life that Nick Lucas has always been sure of. Things better left unquestioned because they are what they are and that's all there is to the matter.
Things like how sometimes the music just pours out, the words flowing across the thin sheet of paper, on top of faded blue lines, in messy cursive writing.
But most importantly, things that are less obvious, things that come from the heart but can't be seen or tasted outright but exist all around you regardless; things like love and imagination.
They have unbreakable spirit and oceans of never-ending audacity, but only if you actually take a chance to believe in them.
-
five.
He's five and they say out of all his brothers, he's the one that looks the most boyish and angelic. He's heard it enough times to last him a lifetime by now, and he always sighs and takes the compliment, the pat on the head, or the coos about the curls politely, because that's the easiest thing to do.
But frankly he thinks it's getting kind of old. He keeps his opinion to himself though.
"Joe, it's my turn! I want to fly the kite!"
His middle brother looks down at him with mischief glinting in his dark eyes and a teasing smile. "You're too young Nick. You're so small and light, it'll probably blow away with the wind the minute it's in your hands."
Nick stomps his foot in frustration. "No it won't Joe! I'm old enough to fly the kite, you promised!"
He feels like crying, but he won't let the hot tears spill out and down his pale cheeks because big boys don't cry and he's trying so hard to be big, trying so hard to break the image of being the baby brother.
Joe never does let him fly the kite on that windy March day. Nick goes home defeated and cries in his mother lap where no one can see him, and falls asleep promising himself that one day everyone will take him more seriously. One day he won't be so small.
-
six.
He's six when he gets mad at his brothers and refuses to leave the park to go roller-skating with them. He sits there all alone, hands splayed on the sides of his face, his legs folded pretzel-style, and that's when he hears the squeaking of sneakers, and there's this little girl who runs past him, and jumps onto the swing set.
She has silky, straight dark brown hair and the prettiest light brown eyes he's ever seen. There's something strange looking about her, her features aren't like any other he's ever seen on a girl before but he likes them nonetheless.
All of a sudden, she's shakily standing up on one of the swings, and the thought of how dangerous this could be sweeps across his mind.
"You'll fall." He calls out warningly, his brown eyes far more serious and mature than they should be at such a young age. He stares right into her eyes.
She beams at him, eyes dancing daringly, flashing lights all around. "If I fall, I fall," she shrugs care freely, "I'll have to learn from it I guess."
She wobbles for a few seconds, before in fact starting to fall off like he predicted. Except her body never makes direct impact with the sand. His does though, as he rushes over and catches her, her weight pushing him hard against the ground. His legs hurt and he has a few scratches on them, and he wants to cry but big boys don't cry. He's had to learn that the hard way with two older brothers.
She stares at him in disbelief. "You caught me."
"Guess you don't have to learn the hard way." He wheezes out, still trying to hide the shock from the pain, despite his eyes watering.
She observes his expression, biting on her lip hard in concern, before taking something out of her yellow shorts.
It's a band-aid designed with baseballs and bats, and she carefully puts it on one of the little cuts he's gotten. She smiles at him encouragingly, before whispering, "You're really brave… like Peter Pan."
He stares at her questioningly, forehead creasing in confusion. "Peter Pan?"
It occurs to him, as they sit there in the sand and grass, away from everyone, far from the eyes of neighborhood kids playing soccer on the soccer field, and the girls and boys playing tag on the streets, this is the strangest compliment he's ever received.
She nods her head energetically, her eyes in a dream state and shining of innocence. "Yes, you know, the boy who never grew up. Never had to fall and grow up."
He can't stop looking at her as he tries to absorb her definition of Peter Pan and growing up. It's kind of confusing because well, he did fall technically, didn't he?
He's still thinking about how to take her comment, when she moves closer to him, and kisses his cheek gently. He's pleasantly surprised because he's just received his first real kiss from a girl.
And he'd like to tell her he's not very brave, that she's much more brave, but she's already up and walking away. She looks back one last time, with those big light brown eyes of hers beaming at him.
"Thanks for not letting me grow up just yet, Peter."
He stares after her for what seems like forever, long after she's out of his sight, and as he's walking home, he realizes he can't seem to take off the dazed smile on his face.
"You're welcome, Wendy." He murmurs into the empty humid air around him and for once he doesn't feel goofy for doing something so silly.
When he gets home, he's already forgotten about his anger towards his brothers, and when his mother ask a him where he got the band-aid, he shakes his head, the smile still on his face. She raises an eyebrow, before patting his unruly curls, and sighing something about boys being boys. He doesn't know why he keeps the girl a secret, but something in his heart tells him to and for once, he listens.
-
seven.
He's seven and technically he isn't the 'baby' of the house because they got a new baby a month or two ago and it cries a lot, so there's no two ways about it (even Joe's begrudingly admitted it). Frankie Lucas has now rightfully taken the place of baby brother in the house and Nick doesn't mind one bit.
Joe's at Stella's house playing dress up or something (don't ask him why a normal eight and half year old boy would be doing something like that) and Kevin has always been the nicer, goofier but yes nicer, brother out of the two, so it doesn't take long for Nick to convince him to take him to the park while their mother desperately tries to get the baby to fall asleep again.
Kevin's hands are only just a little bigger than his and maybe a little sturdier than his now that he think about it, and they firmly grasp his hands as the kite goes higher and higher in the air and the wind blows it here and there, and the fragmented sunlight hits and reflects off of the material of the kite ever so gently, and it's beautiful.
"Tell me when to let go, Nick." He hears his older brother whisper into his ear, his older brother's curls tickling the side of his face.
"Now." He whispers assuredly.
"Now?" His brother asks to confirm his request.
"Now!"
And all of a sudden, he's standing all alone, his hands drawing the delicate strings of the kite from afar, against the harsh whispers of the wind, and the skies are so very blue and in the background he can here the laughter of his brother.
"You're doing it, Nick! I always knew you could!"
He smiles, feeling this indescribable joy in the pit of stomach for some reason. It's such a simple action and he doesn't know why it brings him so much happiness but it does. Still, he lets his usual calm demeanor take over once again and subdue his frenzy of emotions before Kevin can notice.
"I'm really doing it, aren't I?"
Kevin promises to take him to the park to fly a kite for the rest of the summer, but by August, Nick's already gotten bored of flying a kite and baseball is his new obsession. Kite-flying is for little children but baseball, baseball is for older kids. He mimics Joe, who always spits on the ground before batting, and runs as fast as he can around the bases, the sweet sound of victory and cheering from his team in the sidelines making him feeling invincible. He likes competing, he likes winning.
-
eight.
When he's eight, he sees her again. She's flying a kite and he hears some of the boys on the baseball field calling her to come over and play with them, but she refuses, telling them she'd rather fly a kite today.
He walks off the field to join her and he doesn't know why but there's something about her pulling him to her.
"Don't you want to come play baseball with us?"
Her eyes never leave the kite in the sky, and she sighs almost longingly at it. "No, I don't feel like it today."
He wants her to look at him, wants to see if she recognizes him, because he recognized her round, smiling face the second he took a glimpse of it all the way from the baseball field, and he wants her to remember him, because he never forgot her.
"You want to fly a kite instead?" He pries further, not wanting to lose the conversation just yet for some reason.
"I want—" She finally looks at him, her eyes shimmering of unspeakable dreams, of golden sails swept away in dark blue skies and pink clouds gliding across azure colored seas that dance around to the beat of moonlit waves in a land or galaxy far, far away.
"I want to fly away, like the kite." She confesses, her eyes genuinely yearning for the impossible, for the adventure. Somewhere in the horizon he can hear the faint tinkle of something child-like and too hopeful to be real, to be believed in.
He only feels comfortable believing in the tangible and she can't seem to live without the intangible.
"That's silly." His voice is like searing glass, full of disbelief and doubt, and it carelessly cuts her confession in half, like the strings that keep the kite attached, laying it in on the ground shattered. He doesn't know why he does it, but it's too late to take it back now.
She blinks a couple of times, and then slowly smiles a sad smile and shakes her head, the enchantment in her eyes crumbling and falling away obscurely. "It is, isn't it? What was I thinking?"
Her eyes accuse of him of tricking everyone and he wants to run away, but his legs won't move. He stands frozen. She knew it was him (peter) the entire time; she just never brought it up. The light brown eyes drift down from his own to the ground because maybe she can't bear to look at him any longer, maybe he never really was who she thought he was, maybe he's just another person letting her down after all.
And maybe he is growing up too fast, or maybe she isn't growing up fast enough.
He walks away slowly, only turning around once to see the string attached to the kite cut off, and as the yellow, diamond shaped kite breaks away from her and flies off with the wind, he watches her run as fast as her legs will carry her after it, the wind carrying her voice along too. He doesn't know if he hears the sound of a kite runner's laughter or cry as she gets farther and farther away from him.
-
thirteen.
When he's thirteen, his brothers and he become famous. It sounds strange and surreal and it comes out of nowhere, but that's how it happens and he can't really describe it any other way. They aren't just the everyday, typical Lucas Brothers anymore. They are JONAS.
There's tour dates and album promotional, and agents following them around telling them what the schedule is for tomorrow, and what product they should be endorsing— and now they even have to have a spokesperson of sorts too, just to keep them from getting bad PR from the tabloids and confirm only the thing they want to confirm when it comes to their personal lives.
Everything moves a little quicker, the unexpected always around the corner, and there's a thrill to this lifestyle, but there's also a little burden.
During one of his tours, he picks up a random book lying on Joe's bed, left abandoned because Joe never really was much of a reader, especially for school assignments.
It's called The Catcher in the Rye and Nick stays up the whole night on the road finishing it, immersed in each of the chapters. It occurs to him he's not really anything like Holden. He would never fail out of school, much less spend empty nights wandering New York streets aimlessly and he's been playing 'life according to the rules of the game' since he could walk. He knows what people want from him and just the amount to give them to keep them happy in the dark and he's always had this sense of maturity and grounding for life. Holden is more confused with life than he'll probably ever be.
But still, he can't seem to stop himself from connecting with the character secretly.
He falls asleep dreaming of twinkling (like the stars), light brown-eyed kite runners falling in love with (phony) peter pans in Neverland and little boys with scrawny legs running around baseball bases forever and ever and…catching youth and freezing it in time so it can never escape too fast from people's grasp.
His favorite book becomes The Catcher in the Rye because he wants to be the catcher that catches children before they fall off the edge of innocence just like Holden. But more importantly, he wants to be the catcher that never let certain kite runners down once upon a time, that never had to grow up too fast, but lived in a world where nothing ever changed, where everything was simple, colorful, infinite instead.
-
fourteen.
When he's fourteen he meets Stella's best friend. The Lucas boys have come home (finally) from all the tours and they're going back to school.
Their mother has ironed their uniforms out to the point where they are slightly uncomfortable, and maybe he's just a little nervous, but his sweater feels slightly itchy, and some of the boys and girls he passes by in the hallway stop and stare, whisper to one another by the lockers, not sure how to welcome him or his brothers.
Stella grabs him by the shoulder, taking careful notice of his anxiety, and gives him a small smile, before introducing him to the petite brunette next to her as Macy Misa. The girl seems slightly jittery and familiar, but he can't put his finger to it, so he clears his throat instead, politely asking her what grade she is in, because she seems a little younger than Stella.
She stands their frozen for a second and her light brown eyes and exotic features jar him in place with their pureness and wholesomeness and all of it seem so much like—
All of a sudden, she shrieks out in happiness, jumping into him for a hug, and he's in too much shock to realize her arms are around him, and that she's chanting how she never thought she'd actually be able to meet him; them and wait, she's a fan isn't she—
Her baseball bat hits him on the side of his temple swiftly, right beside his eye and holy crap—that hurt.
He has to walk around the rest of the day with an icepack to his face, and even more whispering behind his back, the trail of fervent apologies never too far behind him either. He reminds himself to steer clear of her and keep the interaction to minimum as much as possible from that day onwards.
But sometimes…sometimes he can't help letting his eyes wander, letting them seek her out in the middle of the crowd, and as he sees her through the glass or passing in the school hallways, he's hit with a gust of nostalgia, and there's a presence to her that feels so familiar but blurry at the same time. He can't stay away from her for too long.
Because sometimes, when she doesn't realize he's close by, he can't help admiring the agility in her movement, the grace and flutter to her steps, and sometimes he swears, it's almost like she's just barely flying above the polished, marble floors of the school hallway.
And maybe it's just him, but as the days pass and he observes her from afar, she seems to be taking the shape of that girl from his childhood more and more. And she fills in the outline of the kite runner from all those years ago, coloring her in with the way she laughs so freely at Joe's jokes, or can't seem to push down the tears welling up in her lovely, round eyes when she realizes Kevin's been lying to her the entire time about her voice; but most importantly the way she sighs achingly every time she looks at him and doesn't think he notices.
She reminds him of how it feels to be seen as Peter Pan (unattainable almost) through the eyes of Wendy. And maybe she's not the same girl from all those years ago, but he'd like to go on pretending. He's missed out on too much to stop now.
-
fifteen.
When he's fifteen the drama teacher in their school forces him to take part in the annual school production as the leading role. Something about him getting a B+ in the class if she hadn't boosted his grade up, and needing this tiny little favor. He wants to ask her why she would ask him of all people for such a 'tiny little favor' if he was one of the borderline students in her class last semester, but he keeps his mouth shut, nods his head, and forces a polite smile.
He's not Holden. He's Nick and he'd probably die before defying the rules of the game, before returning a favor.
He doesn't even know what play they're doing when he enters the room for the first line-reading, and as the script is passed out to him and he sees the big, bolded words on the title page, he nearly chokes. It comes out as a cough instead.
Peter Pan.
The irony just about kills him.
And just as he's about to look up and ask Ms. Barrie if this is some kind of joke, that he can't take this starring role, let alone play Peter Pan, there's a clamor of movement near the door, and he winds around quickly to see a girl with the softest strands of brown hair and the shiniest light brown eyes in the world standing there, out of breath and smiling.
"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Barrie." She finally says breathlessly, her eyes locking with his for a second, and he swears they're jovial with laughter, but she looks away blushing and flustered too quick for him to be perfectly sure.
"Ah, not a problem dear. Better late than never I say. Don't you agree?" She turns around to him, smiling, "I almost forgot to tell you Nick, Macy got the part of Wendy. You know her right?"
He smiles, not sure what to say exactly, because for some reason he feels like he's in one of those dreams he used to have about that kite runner all those years ago, and that any minute now he'll wake up and he'll be far away from his kite runner (his Wendy) all over again and he can't bear it any longer, not after the hundred times she's gotten away from him in his mind.
"Yeah, I know her."
The line-reading goes over smooth enough, except for the fact that Ms. Barrie is always clucking her tongue at him and telling him to say things with more emotion, more passion. "You're Peter Pan, Nick! Come on, I know you watched the movie as a kid. Be Peter Pan. I know you can. Let your emotions out."
He's never really been good with that which is why he feels kind of guilty. He doesn't deserve the part and he wants to walk away and have her give the role to someone who wants it so much more than him, but every time he looks across the table, and observes the way Macy speaks her lines, the lightness and sweetness of her voice, so Wendy-esque, he can't think of walking away from this chance. The part was made for her.
So he stays and he delivers his lines and soon enough they practicing the movements on the stage with the props and the costumes are being worn and it's not half that bad because Stella's the costume designer and he's used to her OCD with everything having to be "just perfect" when it comes to costume designs and Macy doesn't seem to hyperventilate as much during the play rehearsals because she's too busy getting into character. In fact, she seems completely infatuated with the whole production, even more infatuated than with JONAS (hard to believe but true) and the more he shares scenes with her, and the more they practice lines, the more she seems familiar to him.
He watches for the intricate details, the curve of her mouth as she smiles in delight and chants a line excitedly, strands of hair falling out of her messy ponytail as she goes over a certain step over and over again on the stage when she thinks no one is watching. She goes away somewhere far, in her own little world.
One evening, he finds her sitting in front of the black piano in the auditorium stage, her hands casually sliding down the white keys, pressing random notes.
Except they're not so random if you listen closely; there's a faint, hesitant melody to it and he realizes that she's playing a song. She stops at one point, slowly turning around to see him standing there, and she smiles, her eyes glimmering.
"Hi." She finally greets him warmly, and ever so softly, with a Macy-like quality in her tone.
"Hello." He says back quietly, "You play?"
She laughs and he can't help thinking there's sort of a musical tone to her laugh, this auspicious airiness to it.
She shrugs, "I'm not very good," before turning back around, pressing a key here and there. "When I was little, my dad tried to teach me. He'd sit me down and try to get me to practice scales but I was always so jumpy and impatient. I wanted to play and write musical scores even before I learned the basics. I figured that if you tried hard enough, you could jump from the boring things onto the exciting things…classical masterpieces, dreamy ballads and love songs, the list goes on."
He stares at her back long and hard, before something takes over him and all of a sudden he finds himself moving closer, bending down so his head is right next to her ear, his tousled hair touching the side of her face, and he hears her take a sharp intake of breath at their close proximity, and he wonders if the sound of his fast beating pulse vertebrates through his skin, resounding against her own.
"Relax." He whispers into her ear and he hears her breathe in and out slowly, before nodding her head slightly.
There's a feeling of lulling and magical voltage (full of potential energy) in the contained air between them but he tries not to think about it, as he lets his hands cover hers gently, as if afraid he'll break the spell and make her run away if he rushes things too fast.
"Close your eyes." He instructs her and watches as the light brown eyes disappear behind the lids of her eyes, and then he gently guides them along the ivory and black keys, pushing harder on some keys, and lighter on others, and it comes out a little choppy and fragmented, but it's nice nonetheless and when she's finally sure of what he's making her play, she stops fast, her fingers curling over his, as she turns back around, eyes a whirlpool of awe and delight.
"That's from Finding Neverland! I love that movie!"
He gives her a half-smile. "Me too."
They stare at each other for a few minutes, before she looks away finally, letting go of his hands at the same time.
"Play it for me?" She requests and he nods his head before sitting down next to her and starting to play.
He keeps his eyes closed to keep his concentration unwavering from the music piece. It's always been his favorite piece, from the first time he heard it during the movie. His fingers dance along the keys for what seems like hours, echoing against the empty curtained walls around them and he's always wondered if this is what it feels like, to be lost in your own little world.
He finally stops, opening his eyes, to see her gazing at him with strange look in her eyes. He laughs nervously. "Sorry, I'm uh kind of rusty…"
"No." She cuts in, shaking her head, "That was great…I guess it just kind of rendered me speechless—"
She stops short, looking a little flushed, as she tries to get a few wisps of her hair out of her face. "Sorry, that probably sounds cheesy or something, but I guess I never thought I'd be sitting here listening to you play something like this on the piano…I was happy enough with the concerts of course." She gives him a big, earnest smile and he can't help noticing how the curve of her face is enhanced by the softness of her features against the stage lights.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" She continues, looking away, her eyes becoming distant and dreamy.
He swallows softly, unable to keep his eyes off of her. "Yeah, she is."
She turns back around to him, eyes full of question. "What?"
He snaps out of is reverie, suddenly realizing what he's just said. "It. Sorry, the uh—piece—music—I treat it like a person sometimes." He stammers over his words, desperately trying to cover up the last comment.
Her eyes are dazzling, almost like diamonds, and she beams at him. "Oh, I understand. Well thank you for playing this for me. It really means a lot," her voice is coated of genuine appreciation and he doesn't know how a person can be so real yet unattainable at the same time.
There's something about her that comes and goes and it's hard to hold her in place, completely still. But maybe it's because she was never meant to be tied down to anything, maybe she was born to be in constant motion, an innate need for continuity that thrived off of a never-ending capacity of imagination—something he couldn't seem to acquire any longer, something that he lost a long time ago when he gave it up carelessly for growing up instead, letting the absence of it be veiled under a systematic and obvious lifestyle that kept him too busy to notice till he met her.
"You're welcome." He responds awkwardly, waiting for her to get up and walk away. After a few seconds, he realizes she's staying in place, a caressing shadow in the way she gazes at him.
They sit there for a few more minutes, soaking in each other's presence, and a million images of kite runners and blue skies swim across his mind, and something tugs him towards her, and he thinks maybe this magnetic feeling, attraction, isn't so as unnerving to him as it was before.
-
sixteen. part i.
When he's sixteen, the universe spins around, a whirl of emotions and he realizes the world does not lie flat around his feet any longer. The night of the play is on his birthday. He finds the coincidence kind of funny.
He's trying to remain composed, trying to talk himself into keeping a sense of calmness and control over the situation, but no matter how many times he tries to convince himself this is nothing compared to the world-wide concerts he's taken part in, for some reason he can't help the overwhelming urge inside of him to throw-up.
He's just about to walk up to Ms. Barrie and flat out tell her he can't do this, that he needs to get out before he—
"Nick?"
He turns around quickly, feeling a little a light-headed and he's taking shallow breathes, as he notices Macy standing in front of him, clad in her costume. She really looks the part of Wendy and he probably looks like a fool.
"Are you okay?" She takes a few steps closer to him, clearly worried at the paleness of his face and the manner of his breathing.
"I'm going to mess up and I look like an idiot, so what do you think?" He snaps harshly, instantly feeling bad at the crestfallen look that appears on her face at at his response to her question of concern towards him.
"Macy—"
"It's okay—" She interjects before he can apologize for his rudeness, offering him a cheerful, encouraging smile, and he never understands how she does this, how she always lets him do this to her, "You're nervous. I understand. If it makes you feeling any better, I think you're the most dashing Peter Pan I've ever seen." She nervously admits, trying to laugh off the little secret.
He swallows, his throat feeling dry, and in the background he can hear the audience, the crew, Ms. Barrie furiously hissing both of their names, but time has stopped and all he can think about, all he can feel is her soft hand rubbing his chin soothingly.
"Yeah?" He's finally manages to reply, voice coming out raspy as he closes his eyes and lets her continue.
"Yeah." She breathes out, her warm breath tickling his skin, and reminding him of strawberries, impeccable, and spinning dreams around his head momentarily and maybe he's just delirious or she's just having some effect on him, but he doesn't mind either way because it's calming him down and freezing away the dizzying thoughts and the creeping doubts .
"Just so you know, I believe in you." She confesses in a whispery tone, her words invigorating and inspiring his senses to come alive, adrenaline pumping at the performance just moments away, as long as she's nearby, always.
"Just breathe in this moment, Nick. Grab hold on to it, so you'll never lose it. So years from now, you can look back and relive being this: the boy who never had grew up, the boy who never had to fall and grow up."
It's been ten years. It's been ten years since he's heard that same voice say those precise words, share that—
His eyes snap open and he stares at her in shock. She stares back, biting on her bottom lip and looking slightly troubled at what she's revealed to him without meaning to.
He's about to open his mouth and say something, anything just as someone tugs on the sleeve of his costume—hard.
"Nick! The show has to start, so enough of all this fooling around. Macy needs to get on stage!" He's being a pulled away from her, and she stares at him, looking almost deserted and lost for a second, before covering it up yet again, like always, with another small, jarring encouraging smile.
"Be brave. I believe in you, Nick. I always did." He thinks he hears her enumerate almost inaudibly, and her voice buzzes in his ear like restless, serenading, sleepy-eyed hymns.
-
sixteen. part ii.
The scenes seem to fly by so fast, he barely has time to register any of them and he seems to be in a daze as he plays his character. In between scenes, sometimes he sees her in the middle of all the frenzy, tries to adamantly get one or two words in but she always seems to slip out of his reach just before he can. Nothing is making sense and he's surprised he hasn't messed up any of his dialogues yet with all the disarrayed thoughts jumbled up in his mind.
There is one scene that sticks out in his mind though. It's the one that involves Peter Pan and Wendy being stuck on Marooner's Rock, their only hope of escape: a kite, a kite that is only capable of carrying one person away.
He delivers his lines fluidly, staring at Macy intently the entire time, about her being the one the kite must take away.
And just like planned, just like it's always been rehearsed countless of times, the kite lifts her up and sweeps her away from the makeshift rock.
He stares at her, standing on the side of the stage, right behind the curtains. And she seems completely unaware of the hushed, frantic whispers of the people around her who are fluffing her hair and patting more make up on her face, her eyes only on him, and there's something about this moment, something about how she's going to soundlessly mouth his lines with him like has so many times during rehearsal.
"To die will be an awfully big adventure."
Her eyes are round and they remind him of misty crystals, full of wonder and curiosity and beauty.
And here in this moment, he realizes she is (his) Wendy.
And he's not afraid to fall anymore.
-
sixteen. part iii.
At the end of the show there are a lot of wet kisses from his mother, snickering and pats on the backs from his older brothers, as Joe mimics his lines from the play and seems to bend down in peals of laughter just about every other second, no matter how many times their father tells him to cut it out, and no matter how many times Nick tries to make him back off with the icy, discerning gazes that seem to have no effect tonight for some reason (he thinks it might be the costume, he should thank Stella for that).
The night air is cold and Nick has to squint his eyes slightly in the dark to see a figure standing against the street lights that line up on the grass near the pavement in front of the high school. She's laughing off something with a few of the other drama kids who can't seem to contain their post-production excitement. They have every reason to gush about her to her; after all she's the prime reason the show was such a hit. There's no question about it.
He waits for her to notice him as his family walks toward the parkway, completely unaware that they've left him behind because they're too busy watching Joe and Kevin argue over Joe ever being able to pull off Peter Pan or not. (Kevin thinks not.)
He's finally able to catch her eyes and she gives him a small smile, mouthing congratulations to him with a flustered look on her face, cheeks tinged pink and still glittering of fairy dust.
He moves his head in the direction of the cars and she tilts hers towards the light in question. He mouths 'come here' gently and she finally seems to realize what he's asking her as she politely excuses herself from the crowd around her and walks toward him.
"Hi." She whispers with bated breath when she finally gets near enough to him.
"Hey." He greets her back and she smiles at him, this off-beat innocence to it and he wonders if she'll ever lose her childish charm (he hopes not, he'd like to think she'll carry it with her wherever she goes).
They stand there in silence patiently for a little while before he finally works up the guts to ask her the question he's been thinking of since the end of show.
"Do you want to go to the playground for a little while…I know it's late but I just thought for…old times' sakes." He stumbles over the words clumsily and can't help releasing a breath of relief at the recognition in Macy's eyes as she puts the words playground and old times' sake together."
"I thought you forgot." She bites her bottom lip (he's pretty sure it's just a nervous habit of hers), eyes as dazzling as the white light coming from the street lights around them. He thinks she meant she was hoping he forgot.
He shakes his head earnestly. "No I never forgot. How could I? But I guess it did take a little longer for me to put the pieces together." He pauses for a second. "Sorry about that."
"Please don't be." She replies in a rushed tone, brown eyes filling up with distress and he can't believe she feels guilty for him apologizing. Only a girl with a heart like hers (golden and pure) can feel bad for someone else's mistakes.
"Macy…" He takes a few steps towards her but she takes a few steps back instinctively, her eyes becoming rounder at his actions and he wonders if he came off a little too forward.
They both start to say something when the sound of his mother's voice can be heard in the background along with some other unfamiliar male's voice.
"Macy!"
"Nick!"
"Come on Nick, I invited the Misas to our house for some hot coffee to celebrate. You two were just so amazing in that show. We're so proud." His mother ushers them to start walking over, waving her arms around like a crazy, excited person.
He looks back at the brown-eyed girl in front of him and he rolls his eyes and muttering 'mothers' sheepishly under his breath so only she can hear and she shakes her head and laughs, "It's fine. I think she's sweet."
He nods his head, staring at her a little uncertainly. "So do you want to?" He asks again and this time she nods her head, probably still in a little disbelief about the whole situation. "I guess we'll meet at my house first and then we'll go for a little while?"
"That's fine." She blurts out, her voice a little higher than usual and he can't help chuckling. They start walking towards the parking a lot side by side and his arm briefly brushes against hers and he feels her shiver at the touch.
"Okay, so I'll see you soon then?" He says as they get closer to their respective parent, before deciding to add in something else, "Wendy."
She giggles, playing along. "See you soon, Peter."
Her eyes dance of adventure and mirth and if he could, he'd kiss her right there and then but he's trying his hardest to take this slow. He doesn't want to scare her off again like he has so many times in the past. He doesn't think he can bear losing her ever again.
-
sixteen. part iv.
"You know Macy, you were pretty hot up there as a fairy," Joe gives her a heartbreaker smirk and she raises an eyebrow, laughing off his compliment. He definitely has a charm, despite being a tad bit cocky.
"Uh Joe. I wasn't a fairy...I was Wendy." She stretches the sound of the name to emphasize how far off he just was, as nicely as she can of course.
He brushes it off suavely, still grinning playfully, "I knew that...I was just testing you." He puts his arm around her shoulder and she shakes her head in defeat, still smiling to herself, "So anyways how about it? You. Me. Ice cream tomorrow—"
"Whoah there cowboy," cuts in Kevin, daintily prying Joe's fingers off of her shoulders, "why don't we hold our horses and not try to embarrass ourselves in front of a girl like Macy for once, okay? Remember the rules—" Kevin finishes of in a sing-song voice, turning towards Macy and rolling his eyes toward Joe before he can catch him and she tries to stifle a giggle.
Both Kevin and Joe notice.
"What?" Joe asks completely bewildered, and looking between the two, fully aware he's probably just missed some exchanged look.
Kevin winks at her, a brotherly affection in the gesture, and she smiles back warmly at him, then Joe.
Nick finally decides it's time to get involved, getting off the wall he's been leaning against the entire time. He smoothly takes her hand in his, and she turns around almost immediately, her breath hitching and he's pretty sure he loves that he's the only one out of all the brothers to get a reaction like that out of her, despite her being a fan of all of them.
"You ready to go? Talked to both my parents and yours, and they said it's fine as long as we don't stay out for too late." He says in a steady, low voice.
She nods her head.
"Awww, well isn't that precious. I guess our dear little Peter Pan will get his happily ever after with Wendy after all, won't he Kev?" Joe coos, eyes shining with unwavering amusement.
Nick gives him a withering look for a second before shaking his head and deciding to let it go. Turning to Kevin he exchanges a brief nod with the oldest brother, who consequently turns toward Macy and notices how self-conscious and aware she is suddenly of Nick's fingers intertwined with hers. She's blushing and Kevin can't help give her a friendly smile.
"Don't pay any attention to Joseph. He thinks he can make a joke out of everything in life. Well at least when Stella isn't around. Which reminds me maybe we should call Stella in here..."
Joe suddenly stiffens, turning red himself, eyes pleading for Kevin not to do it. "Don't do it man, please. I'll behave, I promise—"
As Nick starts leading her out of the room, she notices how much fun Kevin is having with Joe nearly groveling on his feet, just before exclaiming enthusiastically, "Oh Stellaaa!"
As Nick and her rush out the front door, the two of them break out into a fit laughter. They stop short, observing each other for a second before she looks down anxiously, pulling the sleeves of her jacket down closer to her hands, to keep the cold out. He notices, automatically pulling her closer and letting her lean her head on his shoulder as they start walking down the sidewalk to the park nearby.
"That was hilarious." She whispers talkatively, trying to keep up with the lithe stride he's maintaining, "You're so lucky. I wish I had siblings."
He chuckles, "Yeah. It depends on the day I guess though. Trust me, there have been days where they refuse to stop getting under my skin."
"Well you are kind of moody," She points out without thinking and he halts in place, and she suddenly realizes how that might come across, covering her mouth with a hand, "Oh I'm sorry. I have no right saying that—"
He takes her hand off of her mouth gently. "Macy—"
"No seriously, that was obnoxiously rude of me—"
And he can help exhale a groan because he knows there's no way he'll get her to stop now that's she's on a roll about making herself feel bad. Wait, unless of course...
He grabs her chin, and she draws out a cloud of cold air in surprise, as he pulls her mouth closer so he can kiss her properly.
Her mouth is like the give of a peach, and suddenly all he can taste, all he wants to taste is the mouth-watering strawberry flavor of her mouth forever and ever and ever, and he thinks maybe he'd like this to be his neverland. He'll never let her go now, not now that she's let him glimpse all the wonders of having your own little neverland in someone's heart, a place of unbreakable spirit and oceans of never-ending audacity, of things that are less obvious, things that come from the heart but can't be seen or tasted outright but exist all around you regardless; things like love and imagination.
He finally slips his tongue out of her mouth and they're both trying to regain their breaths, trying to get some oxygen back into their blood, as he lets his nose fondly dip down her neck, nestling his head in between her neck and her shoulder.
"Why'd you do that?" she gasps.
"Because," he looks straight into her eyes, "I like you. I've liked you since I met you all those years ago, since you called me brave and put that baseball bandage on my cut, since you gave me my first kiss, since you ran after that kite and never looked back, never stopped believing in me, god probably even when you hit me on the side of the head with the baseball bat, though it was kind of hard for me to notice with the sharp pain and all—" she laughs at this part, "because I could never get you out of head, because I've been waiting to do this, to show you that I never meant to let you down all those years ago, that I believe in you just as much as you've believed in me from the first day we met."
"I had to believe in you," she whispers, "you saved me from falling. No other boy would ever do that for me—"
"Macy, anyone would have done that—"
She shakes her head furiously, taking his face in between his arms, and kissing him lightly on the nose, "No, they wouldn't have, not at that age, especially for some stranger. You don't understand. You're so brave and you don't even notice it, you have so much depth but you're always pulling yourself down. You're more than just Peter Pan to me, Nick. I've liked you since that day you caught me and I never stopped. We've changed but I never stopped thinking about you either, and I mean you as the 'boy who never grew up and fell' even during the JONAS fan craze," this time around he can't help but laugh, "so I guess what I'm trying to say is, I like you too, have for way too long."
She wraps her arms around his neck, welcoming his embrace. "It's snowing," she notes eventually, her voice breathless but velvety at the same time. He takes a step back from her, noticing the slight flurry around them.
"Yeah it is," He mutters, "We should get going before it gets too bad and my mom notices and calls us back to the house," a big smile forming on his face.
She nods her head distantly, as he grabs her hand again, and they start walking. He catches her staring, and looks at her probingly. "What?"
She shakes her head, looking away shyly, "Nothing. It's just you have a really nice smile." She admits truthfully.
He laughs, kissing her cheek, "You're telling me? Have you looked in the mirror lately, Wendy?"
She swats his chest lightly, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue teasingly, before falling into laughter once again.
-
sixteen. part v.
They're sitting on the swingsets (the same one they met on ten years ago) gently moving back and forth next to each other, and they've relapsed into silence after talking for some time, when Nick clears his throat to get her attention again. "Hey Macy?"
"Yeah?" She looks up from the icy sand she's drawing figure eights on with her boots.
"I think you were wrong about me."
"What do you mean?" Her eyebrow creases in dubious confusion.
"About me being Peter Pan. About not falling. I think I'd like to fall actually."
"Why would you ever want to do that?" She stares at him incredulously.
"It's an adventure of its own, isn't it? Falling. Besides, as long as it's for you, it's fine. Incredible actually."
She stands still for a second, before starting to shake in laughter, unable to stop herself, before getting up and letting him hold her in his arms, "You're incredibly cheesy, you know that?" She mumbles drowsily into his chest, letting his body heat encompass her and everything is becoming a delicate blurry of white.
"What can I say? I'm a songwriter and you inspire me way too much. Oh—" He muses, "I think I just got another one."
"Shoot." She replies haphazardly.
"Peter Pan and Wendy...they turned out fine in the end, didn't they?"
She hums into his skin, sighing softly, "Yeah, I think they did."
He kisses the top of her head, the flakes of snow — that are making the top of her hair wet and frozen — tingling his lips, before letting his lips slide down to peck the creamy skin right beside her strawberry-flavored mouth. He tightens his hold on the petite girl in his arms, as they sit and dream away fantasies, and he thinks he really has found his neverland, found a way to believe in it and fly away to it whenever he needs to get away - finally.
"Yeah, they did..." He ends off, voice faint and still slightly dazed at the flawlessness of the kite-runner in his arms.
-
J.M. Barrie: She went to Neverland. And you can visit her any time you like if you just go there yourself.
Peter Llewelyn Davies: How?
J.M. Barrie: By believing, Peter. Just believe.
-Finding Neverland
-
A/N: I love Finding Neverland. Once upon a time, I believe so did Nick Jonas. This was practically begging to be made.
P.S. I couldn't resist using that line from Fly With Me. It would have been a crime not to add it in somehow I think.