Second star to the right - Larry

EIGHT

We spend the next week or so sailing around Neverland. The boys learned how to work the ship rather easily, but despite the amount of time we've spent on the water, the result remains non-existent—we sail away only to sail right back, so there's simply no sight of a world beyond Neverland. Flying is supposedly the only way out.

The reality is starting to sink in. I'm not sure what I was expecting when we started looking, but I want to go home so much that I momentarily convinced myself that Fawn's dust would work on us. But not only are we too old, we also don't believe in it anymore. And the second you doubt your ability to fly, you'll never be able to do it again.

It's a shame because the boys can no longer see an upside to staying. Jack has a hard time adjusting to the thought of leaving, not because he doesn't want to—he's made it very clear that he does—but because he knows nothing is ever going to be the same in case we get away. This is undeniably the only home he has ever known.

The boys have somehow, miraculously, survived in this place where nothing makes sense anymore. I understand now that they didn't expect to live through it, but even without a happy ending in sight, they kept going, kept believing in something that got them to where they are now. They deserve nothing more than to escape.

I bend my neck to look up at the sky. It's pitch black and littered with stars that seem too close. I'm drawn to Neverland because there's magic and beauty in the island, but mostly I'm drawn to it because my most treasured memories are rooted here. And yet I understand now that Neverland is never going to be my home.

I turn around when I hear the deck creaking, smiling when Harry wraps me up in a blanket—we've recently discovered it's warmer the closer we are to the island and much, much colder when we get away. Harry looks lovely, though, that being despite how much we need soap and water and some clean clothes.

"Feel okay?"

I hum as I reach up to tuck one of his loose curls back in place. "I'm just... looking at the stars."

"They seem closer than at home."

"I think they might be."

"Stargazing is easier here," he points out. "Sometime soon we should spend the night out here. Maybe once we get closer to the island so it's warmer. We can just... watch the stars as we talk."

His eyes contain everything we're both worried about saying, every desire we can't explain without letting things become too deep. It probably doesn't matter anymore, yet we hardly speak about anything that might get our hopes up. We haven't even discussed whether or not we're dating yet, so mentioning a future of any kind seems wrong—even when it's more about getting home than it's about planning our wedding. And it's not that I can't picture it, being his husband and having babies with him, but it's about the last thing we should be discussing. And that's not because we're stuck in a fairy-tale, it's because discussing our plans at home seems oddly wrong as well, not because we shouldn't, but because I don't want to get my hopes up.

"I'm worried."

"I know," he says, reaching up to trace my cheekbone. "But you can't give up. I promise you it's not supposed to end this way."

I'm starting to think I'm being punished for wishing my way back only to realise this world isn't something I want anymore. But at the same time, I'm quite certain Harry isn't supposed to go down this way. He never wanted this, but he wanted me, so he went anyway. And it just means that he deserves to make it home even when I don't. But in case we're meant to live out our lives here rather than at home, I'm gonna be content—beyond heartbroken, but content because I have Harry, someone who makes it easier to settle, yet at the same time someone who makes it seem as though we're not merely settling.