Lost In Neverland

Chapter 7: Shifting Tides

Gwen

I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

The heat of Peter’s lips against mine, the way his hands hovered as if he was afraid to touch me, and the intensity in his eyes afterward—it was all seared into my memory. Even as we moved deeper into the forest, the tension between us was unspoken but palpable, and my mind kept replaying those moments. And as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stop thinking about how he looked shirtless—the sculpted lines of his chest, the defined pecs and abs that shifted with every movement, and even the firm curve of his backside as he moved through the dense forest ahead of me. He was a living contradiction: wild and dangerous yet steady and protective.

“We’re here,” Peter said, stopping suddenly and breaking through my thoughts.

I looked up and realized we were standing at the base of a massive tree. Its gnarled roots twisted and coiled around the ground, and the trunk was wide enough to fit an entire room inside. Peter crouched, moving to a concealed opening at the base, and motioned for me to follow.

“What is this?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Home,” he said.

I hesitated before crawling through the opening after him. The space opened into a dimly lit underground lair, the earthy scent of the forest mingling with something faintly metallic. As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I took in the room. It was rough and wild, the walls made of packed dirt reinforced with roots that twisted like veins overhead. But despite the rawness, there were signs of a boy’s touch everywhere. Shelves carved into the dirt walls held jars of trinkets—feathers, marbles, bits of shiny metal—and a worn hammock hung in one corner, draped with a patchwork of old blankets. A makeshift table sat in the center, surrounded by stools made from tree stumps, and a pile of what looked like wooden swords and daggers leaned against one wall.

“It’s like…” I trailed off, my fingers brushing over a shelf of small treasures. “It’s like a time capsule of your life with the Lost Boys.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and he turned away, busying himself with something on the table. “They’re not here anymore,” he said, his voice flat.

“Peter…” I stepped toward him, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was pain there, raw and unspoken, and I realized this place wasn’t just a home. It was a reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Sit,” he said abruptly, gesturing to one of the stools. “You must be hungry.”

I obeyed, sinking onto the stump as he pulled a few items from a hidden compartment in the wall. He worked with practiced ease, slicing something with a small knife and setting it to cook over a flame that flickered to life in the center of the table.

“This is impressive,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re like a survivalist.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips quirking up slightly. “You learn fast here, or you don’t survive.”

As the food cooked, I glanced around the room again, my gaze landing on a cluster of carvings etched into one of the walls. They were crude but detailed—figures of boys with swords, animals, and what looked like a pirate ship.

“Is that… Hook’s ship?” I asked, pointing.

Peter followed my gaze, his expression darkening. “Yeah.”

I frowned, leaning forward. “You… you’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?”

Peter hesitated, his hands stilling. “Yes.”

“And?” I pressed. “What happened between you two?”

He sighed, straightening and crossing his arms over his chest. The movement only emphasized the broad planes of his chest and the way his muscles shifted under his skin. My cheeks flushed, and I quickly looked away.

“Hook wasn’t always how he is now,” Peter said, his voice low. “There was a time when we weren’t enemies. But the island changes people. It twists them, makes them into something they’re not. He became what the island needed him to be.”

“And you?” I asked softly. “Has it changed you?”

Peter’s gaze locked on mine, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. When he handed me a plate of food, I accepted it gratefully, the warm, savory smell making my stomach rumble. As we ate, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him. He was a puzzle I couldn’t quite piece together, and the more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to understand.

When we were done, Peter stood and rummaged through a chest in the corner, pulling out a pair of soft, worn pants and a loose shirt. He handed them to me without meeting my eyes.

“These should fit,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the clothes. His hand brushed mine briefly, and I felt a spark shoot up my arm.

As I slipped into the corner to change, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to him. The kiss, the way he looked at me, and the question lingering between us: what happens next?

Peter built a fire in the center of the room, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows along the dirt walls. I sat on the edge of a blanket he’d spread out, pulling my knees to my chest. Despite the warmth of the fire, a chill settled into my bones, and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering.

Peter noticed immediately. Without a word, he crossed the small space and lowered himself beside me. “Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms.

I hesitated, my breath catching at the sight of him. The firelight highlighted every angle of his face and every contour of his chest, where the shirt hung loosely. His blue eyes were intense but gentle, and I found myself leaning toward him before I could stop myself.

He pulled me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me with a warmth that seeped through every layer of my being. My cheek rested against his chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was oddly soothing, grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

“Yes,” I whispered, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

For a while, we sat in silence, the fire crackling softly. But the longer I stayed in his arms, the more aware I became of him—the heat of his skin, the strength in his hold, the faint scent of earth, and something uniquely Peter. My heart pounded, and I was sure he could feel it.

“Peter,” I said softly, tilting my head to look up at him. His eyes met mine, and the intensity there made my breath hitch.

“Yes?” he murmured, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips.

I swallowed hard, my voice barely a whisper. “What are we doing?”

His hand moved to cup my face, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite name. “But I don’t want to stop.”

The space between us disappeared, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was softer, slower than before. But the gentleness didn’t last. The kiss deepened, his arms tightening around me as if he was afraid I might slip away. I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, and the world outside the lair seemed to fade.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing heavily. His forehead rested against mine, and he let out a shaky laugh. “This… this is dangerous.”

I smiled, my heart racing. “So is everything else here.”

Before either of us could say more, a faint sound echoed from outside the lair, sharp and distinct. Peter’s body went rigid, his protective instincts kicking in instantly.

“Stay here,” he whispered, his voice a command.

But as he stood, I grabbed his hand, my heart pounding for a very different reason now. “Peter, be careful.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before slipping into the shadows, leaving me alone with the fire and the racing thoughts of what had just happened—and what might come next.