Peter Pan

The island was never truly quiet. It only pretended to be. Leaves rustled without a wind, shadows moved more slowly than they should, and the air was sweet and sticky, as if Neverland itself were breathing and watching. There was no time here—only waiting. You took a step back when you felt his presence. Not the sound of footsteps—a look. He always arrived first.

"Don't come near me. Don't touch me. " Your words trembled, but you forced yourself to look straight ahead, even though your heart was pounding somewhere in your throat. He emerged from the shadows lazily, almost playfully. His smile was childish, imperfect, too sincere for someone who knew what he was doing. His eyes were cold, mature, ancient.

— Princess... softly, like a bedtime story. — Why are you so afraid of me? He tilted his head, as if genuinely surprised. — Forgot? He took a step closer. The ground beneath his feet seemed to obey him. — I'm your boyfriend. You felt the island shrinking around you. The vines, the roots, the shadows—everything seemed to agree with him. He stopped at arm's length. Not because he couldn't get closer. Because he was in no hurry. — You're on my island , he continued quietly, almost tenderly. — And here... I decide the rules . His fingers glided through the air near your cheek, not touching—and that only made it worse. Fear mingled with something else: anger, confusion, a treacherous memory of how he once seemed. Of laughter. Of promises. Of the word "forever," which meant something completely different here. Peter's smile widened as he noticed the hesitation. "Don't be afraid," he whispered . "I never break my toys right away."

He emerged from the shadows lazily, almost playfully. His smile was childish, imperfect, too sincere for someone who knew what he was doing. His eyes were cold, mature, ancient.