hiraeth

twenty-nine

xxix. Peter

Of course, he follows her.

It's ridiculous - actually ridiculous - that she would even remotely think he wouldn't. He snorts, clambering over the slope of a grassy hill. the smell of charcoal dusts the air.

A part of him worries he had said too much, or too little. He should have clarified he didn't mean anything serious by what he said, that she had read too much into things and that she was being dramatic. But he knows deep in his gut that denying the fact she was on his mind more times than he cared to admit was futile, and he couldn't lie to himself any more than he could to her.

And so, Peter can handle the rejection. But he can't handle how she dropped niceties in the antique shop when he'd done nothing wrong.

"You run so fast," he wheezes, spotting her in front of a ruined stone hut. He slows, noticing the litter of bones decorating the blackened firepits welled into the earth. "Woah."

"It's abandoned." She strides up to a skeleton that's half buried, the skull resting against the side of the hut. "The whole island. It's like a ghost town here." She spins to face him. "And I ran because I could hear a certain someone stomping after me like a giant. That shit's terrifying."

"Ghost island," Peter says, pleased she's not giving him the silent treatment. "And what else would I do here? Take a swim in the ocean?"

"Yes and I'd hope you'd drown."

"I wouldn't because I'm a great swimmer, so."

"No, impossible is what you are," she scoffs.

"Insufferable is what you are, but I'm letting it slide." He catches up to her and pokes at the compass still around her neck. "Mostly because I need this."

She glares, snatching it away. "It's not working here. I already tried."

"What'd you tell it?"

"To take us to Narnia, but the arrow's not moving." She looks around. "And..." Nia crouches down and sweeps the pads of her fingers across the dirt. She retracts her hand and shakes her head slightly. "Nevermind. I'm, uh, gonna look for a boat or something. Look out for anything suspicious."

He steps in front of her. She tries to go around him, but he blocks her. "You mean you're going to find a boat and abandon me here." She doesn't answer. The first real tinge of anger flares in his chest. "Why are you being like this?"

She only mutters "Like what?" and tries to sidestep him again.

"Oh, I don't know. A bitch?"

Her eyes flash dangerously. It was a low blow, but the only way to get through to her is by using sharp words, not gentle accusations. "Fuck you. Move." She ribs him in the side and twists her arm out of his grip. "You know exactly why."

"Did I do something to offend you, Your Highness?"

She halts. "Don't call me that."

"We're friends."

"Last time you said you were kidding."

"I was kidding when I said I was kidding."

"Hmm, okay. Let's see..." She holds up three fingers with a wry smile. "One, our 'friendship' is circumstantial, no matter what Enne says about us having been in Narnia." She puts a finger down. "Two, even if we knew each other before, I'll die with the belief that we were enemies." She puts another finger down, purposely leaving her middle finger up. "And three, I'd rather an axe to the head than entertain the idea that you're anything but a tool to me, and I suspect you feel the same." She drops her hand. "Did I miss anything?"

He swallows hard. "Yeah, you did. You," he continues, moving closer, "missed the part where you can't just speak for how I feel because it gives you a sense of control. You're not as tough as you sound, and you don't believe any of that bullshit either."

She throws her head back with a dark laugh. "I don't get to speak for how you feel, but you can for me?"

"No." He exhales. "No, but if I'm a tool to you, we wouldn't be arguing like this. You wouldn't be angry at me: you'd be indifferent. Tell me I'm wrong."

Nothing.

"So what gives? Did you want to humiliate me? Get me talking about--about my dreams and shit only to pull this stunt? Because you know we don't hate each other." In a softer tone, he adds, "You know I don't hate you."

For a moment, they stand there, fists clenched like they're preparing for one-on-one combat. Nia's expression is unreadable.

"You can't just say things like that," she snaps, and he sees something in her break.

"Why not?"

"Your soulmate marks. I saw them."

His stomach drops. The ground might as well have too. "When did--Oh."

"You said you don't believe in soulmates."

"I didn't lie," he says sternly. "But the marks? It wasn't a choice to have them pop up like fucking daisies." He steadies his breathing. "Is that what this is about? You want to give up our friendship because of some stupid phenomenon? I thought soulmates didn't mean anything to you."

She scowls. "If the universe decided two people are meant for each other, then it's decided. I won't let you fuel...whatever the hell this is" -- she gestures between them -- "and ruin a good thing."

A good thing.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he seethes. "And since you're so insistent, I'll take the hint."

"Fine."

"Fine."

He turns on his heel and continues their march forward. He doesn't look back, pushing down the hurt. He hears her footsteps, out of sync with his, and all he can think about is how fitting it is.

As luck would have it, they find a rowboat on the other side of the island. Nia doesn't argue with him when he steps in after her.

They row in silence, save for the gentle sound of the rocking boat.

It's a bitter truce.