He didn't understand it.
Because of this, he didn't like it. Nope, not one bit. Not one bit at all.
Not a whole lot bothered him, or got in his way. Was he not a fearless Lost Boy, gosh, their leader? The thorn in ol' Codfish Hook's side, and 'Chief Flyin' Eagle of the neighboring Indian tribe? His friends told stories about him, were always eager to hear the latest of his adventures. How he'd cut off the Captain's hand, thrown it to the crocs, (everyone loved that one,) or how he'd saved Tiger Lily from the raging tide closing in, with no way out?
Everyone thought he was wonderful, the greatest. The mermaids, down at the lagoon, the chief's daughter, the Boys, Tink. He was the whole of Never Land's hero, the one who never failed to save the day.
So why was it, when life couldn't get much better, that he felt this funny, strange way? He often came to it, especially during the morning, when everyone would collapse from the previous night's fun. Cubby would snore, real loud-like, the twins would start a kicking battle, notice, and calm. Tink would daintily retire, bidding good-night with a big smile.
Girls always smiled at them in that goofy way. He didn't think too much of it, because it didn't cause any problems. Well, there were occasional fights.
He would examine an arrowhead absently, sharpen it in time with his racing thoughts, until, eventually, it would snap. Tossing into the pile of others, grunting, he'd then lean back and think some more. He'd think about what would happen the next day, and the day after that, and how nothing much changes. Maybe this was boredom.
No, it was too bothersome to be just boredom.
Could be he was restless. Restless, in Never Land?
Never.
It'd been awhile since he'd visited the tribe, but he could do that any ol' day. Or the girls down at the lagoon as well.
The lagoon..
The last he'd been there, he'd brought Wendy along.
He stopped. Wendy.
This was about Wendy.
He didn't think too much about girls.
Because there weren't any like Wendy in Never Land. There's the problem.
But this didn't help. Why would he think about her? She was only a girl, and only their mother. True, she told great stories, and she was very nice.
She smelled nice, he thought. And looked nice. And even sounded nice, though she talked an awful lot. What else was there?
For once, he was thinking hard, really trying to figure this out.
Well...I like her hair.
He chuckled. He could practically hear her now: "Oh, Peter really! Is that all?"
But it's true, Wendy. Honest. Your hair is...What's the word? Pretty. It's soft, and it was tied into those little curls. And your eyes. I can remember getting a good look at them, that day when I saved you from the men. They were a deep blue, just like the sea you nearly fell into. I'd saved you again. And, well, I sort of liked how your skin felt. You were warm, and our noses were touching when we laughed.
He listened, making sure the boys were fast asleep, ridiculously afraid that they could hear his private thoughts. He'd made absolutely sure that all was dead quiet before continuing. Let's see.
It's been so long. What if you've changed? What if you don't laugh the way you used to? Do you..look the same?
It was at this point that the heroic, fearless Peter Pan started to get an even funnier feeling. He knew what it was to feel sick, and he definitely knew what it was to feel hungry. But this? He placed a hand to his chest. This was like..
I think I like this feeling, he decided. Whatever it is. And it's just for Wendy. In this feeling, his heart sped up, he started to feel a bit hot, and he wanted to do things that he'd never tell his men. But enough of that.
Yeah, Wendy's pretty alright. And not at all like the mermaids. Or Tink, really. He liked the way she was to the Lost Boys, how she'd sang them to sleep. She should've stayed. He wouldn't've minded if she sung every night.
He could use that right night. Because right now, he really missed her.