Wendy turned over in her sleep, sighing heavily, reaching for the warm body next to hers. London seemed to be permanently frozen lately, covered with a thick layer of frost and snow. But, with Peter next to her, everything was warm. Peter sighed her name quietly, and Wendy had to stop her own breathing to hear it. A smile curved onto her face as he tangled his dirty hands into her hair.
Her mother had asked her a month ago if she needed an extra blanket on her bed, and Wendy, with a smile, said no. Some unexplainable part of her liked how Peter had to curl into her to keep warm, tangling their limbs up together, how she could feel his breath stirring her hair.
That night, Peter had no nightmares. He awoke the next morning to a dull gray sunrise, placing his usual acorn on the pillow. Peter hugged his knees to his chest and just sat there, watching his Wendy breathe. No matter how much he internally denied it, he no longer wished to return to Neverland. He was bored most of the time, shooting arrows at squirrels and catching fish in the lagoon. The mermaids could only offer so much conversation, and he had grown tired of repetitive pow-wows with Tiger Lily's tribe. Even the pirates had become tame, confused with what they were to do with themselves after Hook's death. The Jolly Roger floated there, bobbing slightly offshore, and Peter watched from the clouds as the pirates swabbed the deck or polished Long Tom, bored.
Neverland had seemed… off, lately, and Peter silently wished for some fiend to come to his paradise, some inevitable evil to give him something to do. But, he wouldn't admit it, not even to Wendy. Neverland was his, and would always be his and no one else's.
Peter smirked, twirling her soft hair in his fingers as he floated off of her bed, opening her window with a soft click. He's see her later that night, after he'd struggled to her window through a snowstorm of flurries or a thick layer of London fog. But, he'd always manage to make his way to the warmly lit Darling window, and would listen to a story of adventure and pirates and everything he'd ever known.
Because Peter, of course, would never miss a story.
… Or a night with his Wendy.
Her mother had asked her a month ago if she needed an extra blanket on her bed, and Wendy, with a smile, said no. Some unexplainable part of her liked how Peter had to curl into her to keep warm, tangling their limbs up together, how she could feel his breath stirring her hair.
That night, Peter had no nightmares. He awoke the next morning to a dull gray sunrise, placing his usual acorn on the pillow. Peter hugged his knees to his chest and just sat there, watching his Wendy breathe. No matter how much he internally denied it, he no longer wished to return to Neverland. He was bored most of the time, shooting arrows at squirrels and catching fish in the lagoon. The mermaids could only offer so much conversation, and he had grown tired of repetitive pow-wows with Tiger Lily's tribe. Even the pirates had become tame, confused with what they were to do with themselves after Hook's death. The Jolly Roger floated there, bobbing slightly offshore, and Peter watched from the clouds as the pirates swabbed the deck or polished Long Tom, bored.
Neverland had seemed… off, lately, and Peter silently wished for some fiend to come to his paradise, some inevitable evil to give him something to do. But, he wouldn't admit it, not even to Wendy. Neverland was his, and would always be his and no one else's.
Peter smirked, twirling her soft hair in his fingers as he floated off of her bed, opening her window with a soft click. He's see her later that night, after he'd struggled to her window through a snowstorm of flurries or a thick layer of London fog. But, he'd always manage to make his way to the warmly lit Darling window, and would listen to a story of adventure and pirates and everything he'd ever known.
Because Peter, of course, would never miss a story.
… Or a night with his Wendy.
