Wendy, almost unconscious in her daydreams clumsily made her way through the rest of the evening. She did not even do her proper washing up (for which she was sure to receive a bad mark) and headed straight to bed. Her heart had not ceased its rapid tattoo, and she feared it never would. Peter had never been part of her world, her actual world, and it thrilled her quite terribly. It frightened her, too, because she was sure that their pretend kisses were now good as real, and felt horribly ashamed. She hid her face beneath the blankets. Her thoughts danced about Peter as she remembered his kisses. She melted into a fantasy and found that she had fallen asleep.
Again, she was awoken by an ominous moaning. She was scared at first, but with the recent sighting of Peter, quickly realized it was just him, having a nightmare. Her guts churned, for she longed to comfort him. She gazed out of her window towards the moaning tower.
"Peter…" She called out softly. The moaning continued.
"Peter!" She called more loudly. This time, the moaning ceased, and with great alarm, Peter poked his head from the uppermost window and searched for her voice.
"Wendy!" He called back. His heart was fluttering at the sound of her voice, and he nearly jumped for joy that she had indeed recognized him. He found her small face tucked into the window of the dormitories. Completely filled with the happiest of thoughts, he leaped quite daringly out the window, which proved foolish, considering he could no longer fly, and only float precariously down. He ran, quite unfazed by his near treacherous fall, across the courtyard to her window. Wendy did not fully expect him to come down to visit, she merely meant to soothe him, but she was happy for the fact that soon she could hold him. Climbing clumsily into her window she barely had time to help him before he held her so strongly to him, that her feet left the ground. He shook, a bit, and he naughtily wiped his nose on her nighty when he began to cry, quite unashamed.
"Wendy…" He blubbered. "I've had the most horrid time without you…" She held him too and was filled with warmth at hearing his voice again.
"I thought that you would never come back…" She cried. He looked down at her, almost angry that she could even think of such a thing.
"Never." At this he kissed her. He meant to do it softly, but it was out of his hands, now, and the kiss naughtily took her lips quite forcefully. With her knees now wobbling she sat on the bed. All too happy to hold her in bed again, Peter sat on her pillows (to her dismay) and propped his back on the headboard. Opening his arms wide in invitation to hold her. Wendy did not hesitate to place herself close to him, as she really knew that was where she belonged. His leaves were gone, and were replaced by a nightgown, quite similar to her own.
"Why were you crying, Peter?" She asked.
"Well, isn't it obvious?" He asked. "They're tying to turn me into a man!" She looked at him and realized that his hair had grown darker, losing its boyish blondish glow.
"Did they capture you?" She asked, thinking of pirates. He thought for a while.
"Yes… and no." He said pensively, drawing out his words to entice her curiosity.
"Oh, Peter, what happened?" She begged.
"When I left you, Wendy, I could not find my star." He began. "And Tink, she was gone. I quite think that my star has been blown out." He said dreadfully. Wendy held a gasp.
"Your Neverland… Peter…" He began to cry again and she wiped his tears with her hand. He began to resume his moaning and howling, and quite suddenly, felt that the other girls might soon hear him. She held him like she knew how and hushed his crying.
"There, there, Peter. I'm sure it has not been blown out. Merely that you have lost your way." He all too willingly took advantage of her coddling to hold her closer still, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
"They are trying to teach me how to read." He moaned. She chuckled at this.
"But Peter, do you not wish to read stories?" He paused at this. He so preferred to have his Wendy tell them to him.
"I'd rather you read them to me." He said stubbornly.
"Shall I read one now?" She asked. He smiled at the thought.
"That would be lovely." Wendy went to pick out a book that she felt he would enjoy, as she had been banned to read it, and stowed it away with her in secret. She sat back on the bed and nestled herself in the crook of his arm. His hand quite naturally came around to caress her shoulders. Consumed with joy at holding his Wendy to him, Peter planted a soft but lingering kiss on head. Wendy smiled, quite satisfied and loved, turned up the lamp and began to read.
"The Call of the Wild… by Jack London." She whispered.
It was a peaceful night at last, at Wisterian Halls, and none quite so peaceful as the little room in the Southern corner of the Dormitories. Wendy and Peter had fallen asleep, lamp still lit, and their bodies slumped against the headboard. It is without saying that Wendy's Neverland had awakened from winter, and bloomed suddenly into spring. Pan had that effect on Neverland. In the joy of seeing each other again, they played gaily as they had done before any kisses were shared between them. They also took to making Wendy's little house, a little less little by adding a cot for which Peter could sleep, and extending the walls outwards. Peter was all too happy at pretending to take off his hat to hang it in the house, and would now take joy in exclaiming he had forgotten his hat and he must return home to fetch it. When they had both gone to sleep in their new house together, they awoke in the world they now both belonged to. With nothing but a small understanding smile, Peter rose and took to making his way back to his ominous tower.
A new day had begun.
At Wendy seeing Peter again, and knowing they were near, the school seemed all the more interesting and inviting. It seemed that although really nearing autumn in England, spring had begun. Peter, who previously resistant to Madame's teaching, was intrigued by Jack London and made efforts to begin to read. Although the same cannot be said about Wendy, who could not give a fig about entering society as she now truly believed she would never marry, unless, of course, Peter wanted to. There were some very happy times in the day where they would cross paths and he would smile wickedly at her, which reduced her quite uselessly to melted butter. At night, Peter took to sneaking down to see Wendy, and to hear of Jack London. They tried not to fall asleep together, as it had become quite cumbersome to part in the morning when people were about. Instead, they came into the habit of kissing good night, and all too often these kisses began to wander dangerously. He was no longer ashamed of his 'pouch full of kisses', and instead reveled in pressing it wickedly against her. She also began to enjoy his kneading of her breast, and once had even encouraged it. Naughty children, they were, but now they were no longer really children, were they?
Once, in a happy moment of passing each other, Peter displayed his efforts in his studies by handing Wendy a small note which read in clumsy letters, "Hello, Wendy." She had taped that note to her wall to display how quite proud she was of him.
They had finished reading Jack London, and had even started to read Tarzan, when a murmur of the most horrible fiction started to circulate the school. A finishing school it was, but without naughtiness it wasn't. This new writing, perfectly suited to the fast approaching All Hallows Eve, was passed from one hand to another until it had finally been passed to Wendy. They opened the reader quite anxiously that night, ready to be transported to the most dreadful of place.
"Beyond the Wall of Sleep," Spoke Wendy, in her most fearsome tone. "By H. P. Lovecraft…"
Peter was now a (young) man inspired! The horrible wickedness of it, the inventiveness of it, sent him into a flurry of imaginative plots he began to write as his own. Since he had not quite mastered the art of actually writing it down, he began to write in a notebook lists of characters, some accompanied by their sketches (which were dreadfully good for a boy with such awful handwriting). They began to not only exchange smiles at each other in the hallways but they walked, quite unconcerned together chatting excitedly about stories they had invented.
This certainly did not go unnoticed, and Madame Wisteria bit at her nails quite unladylike at the sight of them. But the boy seemed happy, and she would not spoil his happiness, for she could not bear to hear his crying all night which so happened to stop just as Wendy attended school. It could not be helped, she had felt, for she could not send him away... you see.
They continued to prod the other students for more publications of Mr. Lovecraft, and Wendy was soon being slipped small publication magazines from underneath the dining table.
Peter ate alone with Madame Wisteria. It was not proper for the young man to eat with so many young ladies of society, especially since when they first met, he had been clad in nothing but leaves. He did take his chance to woo Wendy further by playing Minuets and Sonatas during the girl's dinner time that he had heard Madame Wisteria play. He played with such gusto that more often than not, Madame did not object to him not even looking at the sheet music, but turning instead to search for Wendy's gaze. Although he did meet Wendy's gaze he was blissfully incoherent to the batting eyelashes the other girls would flutter to him. Wendy too, was unaware of this and would have been quite vexed at the other's girls interested in her Peter.
All was well, that night, until the arrival of a viscount whose nose seemed permanently turned up. He smiled hollowly, although graciously, to Madame Wisteria, and bowed low.
"Dear Mother," He spoke indignantly. She raised her port figure from the piano bench and curtsied very curtly.
"Dean, I trust you are well?" She spoke. Dean shuffled about some papers from his bag and handed them generously to her, pen in hand.
"I have come on business about Father," Said Dean. "His will has been reviewed, and I have hired a lawyer to look it over and propose its meaning. He wholeheartedly agrees that I should be the heir to the grounds." Madame turned suddenly red, and spoke quite curtly to him.
"He is not your father, Dean, and you will do well to return those papers to your silly lawyer! As I am still alive, I am in charge of my husband's property." Dead laughed coolly at this.
"But you are a woman, madame, it is in the law. You may not own property!" He guffawed, as if it were moral and right that a woman should not own land. At this Madame pushed Peter quite forcefully off of the bench. He caught himself and stood, almost eye to eye with this dreadful adult.
"Well," Said Madame. "Introduce yourself…" She said, quite rushed.
"I am Peter… Sir." He said, feeling awful at having to call this person 'sir'. "I… uh…" Peter continued uncertainly.
"He is my son, Dean, and upon my death, will inherit this wonderful school, and all the assets within." She said through clenched teeth. Her face had turned blotched and red in passion. Wisteria held Peter to her, although he was quite a bit taller than her, looked very little like her at all. This retort was not something Dean was prepared to fight and he returned the papers to his bag, quite undone. Dean then made to look at all the young ladies in the next room and wiggled his brows at them in quite an unnerving way. At his leaving, dinner slowly recommenced, with a buzzing of gossip and giggling.
Wendy was unsure about this new revelation, but it did not seem a surprise to Peter. The piano did not play for the rest of the night, as Madame had escorted Peter back to his room in the south tower.