this is just a one-shot, born from procrastination of school work
leave a review if you think I should continue this story thnxxxxxx
Wendy Darling finished telling a bedtime story to her two younger brothers, John and Michael, and kissed them goodnight.
She made her way to the doorway, but stopped and looked back beamed lovingly at them. As she turned to close the door, a small voice stopped her.
"W-Wendy?" The youngest- Michael- was sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes with his small, chubby fists.
Wendy walked to his bedside and kneeled by the headboard, hurriedly. "Yes, Michael, honey?" She reached out and pushed his brown hair from his eyes. "Are you feeling ill? Do you need something?"
He twisted his striped pajama shirt in his hands nervously. "No, I feel just fine. It's just- maybe- could you open the window?" Wendy's concerned expression vanished into a smile and she said in mock-seriousness, " Michael, dear, you know Mother doesn't like it when the windows are open at night. It brings a dreadful draft, and who knows who could sneak in?"
He fiddled with his shirt more fervently. "Yes I know. But Mother and Father are away, remember? And I don't think anyone can come in because you said you'd protect me and John if anyone- like a pirate- did try."
She shrugged. "You're right. If any pirates decide to venture here, they would be very sorry they did." Wendy stood up and unlocked the small window, letting in a draft- like she said- but it wasn't at all dreadful, and the sound of the boundless, buzzing energy of the city below.
She would never tell her brothers this, but she secretly loved having the windows open at night, and she frequently has them unlocked in her own room. Something about the way the stars illuminate her dark room, or how the moon shines so brightly that she can make out the shape of it on the insides of her eyelids. Or the fact that the sky that she looks up at is the same sky someone else- who could be in the midst of a tremendous adventure- is looking at. And that makes her feel more connected to people she's never even met, then her own parents.
"Thank you very much, Wendy" Michael's voice drifted and breaking her out of her thoughts.
Wendy's blue eyes rested on him as he fell back into a deep sleep. He was so small; just barely 5 years old. She was only 10 when he was born, but was entrusted with his care nonetheless. How their Mother and Father don't seem to have time for him and John, she had no idea.
She bent down and kissed his forehead "Goodnight, love."
She got up and closed the door behind her.
Once Wendy entered her own room- strategically placed down the hall from her brothers so their parents didn't have to bother themselves by moving about if they ever chose to actually talk to their children- she changed into a large flannel that fell to just above her knees, and crawled into her sheets.
As soon as Wendy's head hit the pillow, she instantly felt the fatigue of all the nights she went without sleep. While her eyes drifted shut, she noticed her curtains swirling with a sudden gust of freezing wind. Wendy could've sworn she closed her window, before she lied down, but she was pulled too far into exhaustion, so she snuggled deeper into her blankets and fell asleep.
After an inadequate number of sleeping hours, Wendy was awakened by a startling sight.
She felt a slight tickle on her nose that slowly woke her up from her dream. She groaned a little at the thought of getting up and making breakfast for her siblings. "Surely I cannot be morning time already." Wendy mumbled to herself.
Her eyes flickered open and immediately she was greeted with the loveliest eyes she'd ever seen.
Her hazy mind was mesmerized by this stranger's clear and curious, greenish-gold eyes.
But only for a moment.
Once Wendy's thoughts registered that she wasn't dreaming, she sat straight up-her heart racing at a mile a minute-. There was a painful crack to two skulls and Wendy cried out in pain, reached for her forehead and shut her eyes tight, as the person whose eyes she was distracted by, was likely holding their head above her own.
A deeper voice yelped out, just as Wendy had, and brought her back to reality.
She looked down at herself, covered in nothing but an oversized flannel shirt, and scooted back to the corner of her headboard. She brought her duvet over her head as if to hide herself from sinister offenders.
With a throbbing forehead and a racing heart she said, "P-please leave. My p-parents will surely b-be home soon. Take a-anything you w-want. I won't s-stop you." She blushed at how shaky her voice was and how complacent she sounded.
There was a short silence and then the person began to laugh.
It was too deep to belong to a woman , but didn't seem as rough and loud as the other men she's heard. And it was such a rich and natural laugh that she just had lift her head from the mountain of blankets she piled to protect herself , to see the man.
Wendy opened her eyes and saw not a man, but a boy about her age standing at the end of her bed, with a smile illuminating his face.
The boy had a unkempt mop of wavy beachy-blond hair that fell just above his eyes and curled at the nape of his neck and was areas highlighted in some areas, she reckoned was due to excessive sun exposure since his skin was also tanned like the color of her favorite caramel candy; that highlighted his green eyes like magic. His eyes; they seemed to make her feel faint if she looked at them too long.
But the strangest thing about him wasn't childishness of his aura or the faint glow outlining his frame. It wasn't even that he was an unfamiliar boy in her room, it was the fact that he was adorned with a peculiar outfit that seemed to be comprised of of large leaves and braided twigs. The leaves covered the essential bits and intertwined with the twigs that held the whole thing together, in its entirety, but left his entire torso exposed, causing Wendy to blush intensely.
"Are you alright?" The boy asked curiously. He bent down and leaned his face closer to hers. "You're face is really red."
Wendy jumped and tried to back away, but the wall was preventing her from going any further. "Please- just don't come any closer." Her voice was a breathy whisper.
He cocked his head to the side and looked at her strangely. "I'm not going to hurt you, Storyteller. You're fine. And stop being so jumpy, there's no need for it."
Wendy was slightly offended by his dismissive tone, but relaxed , as he didn't appear to want to harm her. "Why are you here?" She asked a bit more confidently than before.
"Oh! Right," He reached his hand into his leather satchel. "Here, fix this."
He pulled out a thin garment that unravelled then fell to the floor and was so black, it looked like you could walk right into it- like a black-hole.
Wendy's confusion and curiosity out balanced her fear so she pushed the blanket off her small frame, got to her knees and leaned forward to run her fingers over the silky fabric. She looked up at the boy- who now that she was closer, she could see a light splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks and how his lips were slightly chapped- and said, "Fix it? What do you- what needs to be fixed?"
He glanced down and said simply, "This."
At that moment, she saw his finger peek through a hole in the fabric.
"Fix it with the string and the pointy thingy. I know you know how, Storyteller, I've seen you do it before." Wendy shook her head, confused. "Wha- do you mean a thread and needle?" He shrugged and she looked back down at the silky fabric. She didn't think she had a thread to match it. "And wait- what do you mean, you've seen me before? I've never met you." Wendy frowned up at him.
The boy shrugged again and said matter-of-factly, "I've been watching you."
Wendy's eyes widened. "Watching me?! How?" She exclaimed.
His mouth twisted into a smug smile and Wendy could clearly see one of his canines were chipped.
"Well, I think it was two full moons ago, I was making a trip to the Mainland for something- I can't really remember, and I was flying past your house and I noticed your window was open so I flew closer-"
Wendy- now standing with her arms crossed- was staring at the boy incredulously. "You what?!"
"I flew. I do it all the time; it's the easiest way to travel. All you need to do is think of a thought that makes you happy, and sprinkle some pixie dust on yourself, and your off!" He said proudly.
Closing her sapphire-blue eyes and taking a deep breath and said seriously, "Obviously you are extremely delusional as there is no such thing as pixies, not to mention their dust, or flying because of a happy thought."
Now it was the boys turn to cross his arms.
"Oh really? You really believe that? What happened to your stories? About adventure and mermaids and pirates? You feigned everything just for entertainment?" He took a step towards her and uncrossed his arms.
The boys accusations rendered Wendy speechless. "I- uhmm" she squirmed under his questioning gaze- her eyes finally settling on a thin, four inch scar on his left shoulder. "Exactly as I thought; no one who tells stories like you do, can fully not believe." He stood back and smirked. "Now I really need you to fix this." He handed her the black cloth once more.
"Oh, right. I'll sew your-er- thing , but on one condition. You must tell me who you are , and how you know about me and why you were watching me. Oh! And why you keep calling me 'Storyteller'."
The boy raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Okay that seems fair."
She 'hmphed' in agreement, got up and walked past him to her dresser.
The boys eyebrows shot up at the sight of her bare legs. "Nice shirt." He said.
Wendy looked back to see the boy staring at her legs, and she turned so he couldn't see how red her face was. She grabbed her sewing kit, and motioned for the boy to sit in her bed.
"By the way, my name is Wendy. Darling. So you don't have to keep calling me Storyteller." She said while looking at her hands.
He smiled and repeated her name, as if testing the feeling of it on his lips.
As Wendy began sewing, she noticed her hands were shaking. She never felt this nervous, but yet inexplicably at home with a person before. While thinking this, her hand slipped and the needle pricked her index finger. A drop of blood surfaced and she sucked on it, not a classy move, but she didn't have a bandage. Wendy looked up to see the boy staring at her with his head resting on his palm, sitting criss-cross, with eyes full of fascination. She pulled her finger out of her mouth slowly, and she could swear she saw the boys eyes darken. After running a hand through her hair and clearing her throat, she sputtered, "Well, if you're just going to sit there, then make yourself useful and keep up your end of the deal."
He shrugged-all the excitement and wonder in his demeanor, gone. "Okay. My name is Peter Pan. I'm from and island called, Neverland-"
"I'm going to stop you right there, because if you can't answer me honestly, then I simply cannot fix your- your-"
"Shadow." He offered. "Yes, your sha- wait what? Your shadow?" She inspected the cloth closely. "How could this be your shadow? It's a fabric."
Peter raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "And what did you suppose shadows were made of?"
She looked at him, seeing humor evident in his eyes, she chose not to be angry. "Well, I never supposed they were made out of anything. A shadow is just a silhouette of you blocking out the sunlight. Or any light, really."
His eyes darkened, accepting an unspoken challenge. "If that's what you think, then how come your shadow follows you everywhere you go? Even when there is no sunlight?"
Wendy snorted unceremoniously. "Ha! Your shadow follows you because it is you. As for no sunlight, that is simply ridiculous , you cannot have a shadow without light being casted on you." Peter grinned. "Okay, good point. But how do you know a shadow can't exist without light? Have you seen it disappear?"
She frowned. "Well, no. But-"
His eyes lit up and he pointed at her theatrically. "Then how do you know completely that a shadow can't exist even in the darkness?" Wendy stopped sewing and looked at Peter in annoyed amazement. "Well, Peter, it's not as if a shadow could hide from me in the dark as if it had its own mind."
He smiled at the sound of his name sliding so smoothly off her lips like she'd known him forever, and reached out to twirl a lock of her reddish-brown hair around his finger. "But- you see- that is where you are wrong, Wendy-Lady."
He leaned closer and stopped twirling her hair, but gave it a gentle tug.
Her breath hitched.
"Every single shadow- including your own- has their own mind. In fact, they are an entirely different person than you. They might have the same shape, but where you might me a shy, introverted type, your shadow could be an excitable, loud personality. For instance, my shadow is rude and ruins a lot of my stakeouts. He hides from me sometimes making it appear as if I have no shadow in the first place. We always think they disappear when there is darkness-as you pointed out - there is no light to cast the shadow, but in reality they are with us at all times, hiding in places we couldn't be bothered to look."
But Wendy was barely listening, because as Peter was telling her this, he trailed a finger lightly along the length of her cheek, to her pale throat, and finally resting where the neck of her flannel was unbuttoned, on her collarbone. By then, her breathing was ragged at best and her eyelids were fluttering, and she just couldn't believe that one strange and mysterious boy's touches were making her become so- weak. And just as Wendy was thinking this very thought, Peter himself was mystified by how her skin felt like the softest, warmest thing he ever felt, and how when she blushed- like she was now- she looked even more endearing than he thought possible. He also busied his mind with fleeting questions like if her skin was as soft and warm in any other places….
Peter's hand reached up from her collarbone, to cup her cheek affectionately and he looked at her seriously. "Do you trust me?"
Wendy couldn't believe what he was saying. Trust him? How could she trust him? A boy that broke into her home, has been spying on her through her top floor window, say he can fly, believes shadows are separate people, and who knows what else?
But as he swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, she couldn't help but notice how connected she felt to this boy she just met; she felt more comfortable with him than people she's known for years.
She gazed at him.
"Y-yes. I trust you. I don't know why, but I do."
Peter grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but Wendy stopped him by placing a finger over his lips. "But that doesn't mean, Peter, that you can go do anything dangerous, okay?"
He smiled again. "I would never, Wendy Darling."
Peter grabbed her hand and pulled her to the edge of her room - by her balcony window.
"I want to show you something." He looked out the window and pointed at the night sky. "You see how it looks like diamonds stuck to black velvet?"
Wendy focused her eyes to where his finger pointed. "Yes. It is very beautiful."
Peter's hand came up to rest on her shoulder- thereby quickening her heartbeat dramatically.
"Indeed it is. But that's not what I wanted to show you." He directed her eyes to a startlingly bright star just south of the moon. "That is the star I use to get from home to here and from here to home."
She turned to look at Peter. He was still gazing up at the sky, and Wendy began to feel something deep in her belly. It felt like a million little butterflies were fluttering around inside her, much like how she felt when Peter touched her earlier. She had an inkling that these unfamiliar feelings were the fault of his evil sorcery.
Suddenly, Wendy felt Peter's finger tap lightly on the tip of her nose, to get her attention. She saw him reach into his leather satchel again, but this time, pulling out a small velvet pouch. "This," He said excitedly,"is what I use to fly."
He pulled out a tiny mound of shimmering, golden dust that seemed to emit and unearthly glow.
Wendy gasped. "Oh, Peter! Is that what I think it is?" She reached out and touched the powder and under her fingertips, she felt the unmistakable hum of magic.
She looked back up at Peter in wonder. "You really weren't lying. I know you said who you were and where you're from, but I didn't - well- I didn't think about what that meant. You're really Peter Pan."
He gazed down at Wendy and grinned- he noted mentally that now that he was this close to her, he noticed she smelled faintly of jasmine and apple spice and frankly, if he was being honest with himself, the scent was making him dizzy.
"Of course I'm Peter Pan, who else would I be?" He boasted.
Wendy punched him in the shoulder, but couldn't stop a smile from surfacing on her lips.
"But, Peter, I can't help but wonder, why were you watching me?"
He looked at the glowing pixie dust in his palm for a moment, before smiling down at Wendy. "Oh, I don't know if I would say that. When I first saw you through your window, you were brushing your hair and for some reason, I couldn't look away. I knew I didn't have time to waste, because I came to London-Town for a reason, but something about the way the light made your look like waves spilling down your back, and how fragile your pale skin was. You looked like a dream. And so, I watched you brush your hair, clean your room and go to sleep. Even when I went back to Neverland, I still couldn't stop thinking about you." Then he placed a finger over her lips and touched them softly. Wendy began to feel a mix of those strange- but not entirely unpleasant butterflies in her stomach again, because of the scorching feeling that occurred whenever Peter touched her, that made her breathing sound like she just finished a triathlon.
"But on one especially remarkable night, I was outside your window, and you weren't there. After a couple minute, I decided to leave and go all the way back to Neverland, I heard a voice coming from the smaller window, near yours. I flew closer and I saw you in the middle of telling your brothers a story. And as I listened closer, I realized the story you were telling was about me."
At the mention of her stories, Wendy turned positively red and covered her eyes with her hands in embarrassment. "Oh, Peter I didn't mean for you to hear those!" She exclaimed- her voice muffled by her hands. "I mean, they probably aren't even accurate. It's just John and Michael get such a laugh- and oh I don't know, a sense of wonder, out of the whole thing. Even if it's just for a small time, I'd like them to have a break, to act like children."
Peter gently pulled her hands from her face, and held them together at her wrists. "What about you?"
"What?"
Peter rolled his eyes."I said, what about you?"
Wendy sighed in growing frustration. "Yes, I know that. I said what as in, what do you mean."
"I meant what about you? Why can't you act like a child? You are one aren't you?"
Wendy was astonished. "Well, technically, yes. But-"
"But what?" Peter placed his hands on either of her shoulders and looked at her cryptically. "Wendy-girl, I hate to say it, but I think you might be becoming an adult."
Wendy gasped- horrified-. "Oh my- you don't- you don't really think that do you?
"Well, Darling, there is still time for you to turn back time a bit. You just have to do something daring. Something without thinking about the consequences, just throwing caution to the wind."
Wendy frowned and bit her lip in concentration, thinking of the most audacious thing possible.
Peter- mistaking her silence for refusal- folded his arms and said,"I guess if you're too chicken to-"
But Wendy will never know what he was going to say, because he was cut-off by her suddenly capturing his face in her hands, reaching up on the very tips of her toes and pressed her lips over Peter's.
He tensed up and didn't react to her kiss, slaughtering her hopes. Wendy pulled away after a few seconds and avoided his eyes, her heart falling to her feet. "I-I'm sorry. I just thought- since you said- about the- I wasn't thinking-"
Peter placed a finger under her chin and pushed her head up gently to look at him, and shook his head. "Shut up." He leaned down and kissed her with all he had.
Wendy felt like she was floating- electricity exploded where her and Peter's lips met. She was so relieved, she sighed into the kiss, and reached up to tug his hair lightly. His hands reached up to hold her face. She shivered when she felt Peter's cold hands touch her skin.
They were both so immersed in each other, they forgot to breathe. And when breathing became a necessity, they pulled away with goofy smiles etched on their faces, and heavy breaths.
Wendy laughed and Peter leaned his forehead to hers.
"Wow." She exhaled.