𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 ♡ 𝘰𝘶𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯

ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ɢᴜᴅᴅʟᴇʀ

"Even though you want to try to, never grow up."

—♢♡♧♤—

Peter Pan smirked at Mirana, lifting one of his eyebrows as he questioned her again, "What are you questioning that you'll ever know?"

The White Queen stared at him, her lips forgetting how to speak. They opened once and closed soon after, her face taking a look of childlike surprise. Without warning, she let Nivens jump out of her arms, and Mirana wrapped them around Peter Pan's middle. She forcefully knocked Peter back a step as she clung to him.

Peter Pan was surprised at Mirana, carefully wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close. The White Queen relaxed into his arms, relief and safety washing over her. She closed her eyes, not wanting the moment to end.

"Are you alright, love?" Peter's soft, British voice whispered in her ear.

Mirana didn't answer, still clinging to the leader of the Lost Boys. After a moment, Peter tried to pull away, but Mirana still trapped him.

"Leave us—go on inside, the lot of you," Peter Pan told his lost boys. After they were gone, he grabbed Mirana's shoulders and forced her body away from his. He looked into her eyes and whispered, "Are you alright, Mirana?"

"I thought you'd gone," Mirana whispered back.

Peter Pan relaxed, thankful that no one had done anything to her to make her act the way she had—it was only her thoughts and feelings. Now, Peter wouldn't have to beat anyone up. He smiled, one side of his mouth higher than the other, and looked at Mirana's wide, uncertain eyes. "That's all it is—I thought someone had hurt you." he paused, studying her features. "I would never leave you, Mirana of Marmoreal. I did all of this Storybrooke nonsense for you—so that no one could separate us and we'd be out of reach of the Red Queen. I cannot—physically—part from you willingly."

Mirana nodded and looked down, embarrassed. She couldn't believe her mind had jumped to such drastic circumstances. She'd jumped to the worst conclusion in such a short time. Meanwhile, Peter Pan was probably just strolling about Storybrooke without a care in the world, unknowingly adding to Mirana's fears.

"Sorry," Mirana laughed at herself, though it held no humour. "I don't know why I thought that. It's just—I hardly know you, and this was the first time I was trying to seek you out, and—"

"Mirana," Peter touched his fingers to her jaw, gently forcing her eyes back to his, "stop rambling. I know."

"Okay," she whispered.

Peter Pan led Mirana inside, waving away any Lost Boy that crossed their path. When they reached his office, Peter Pan closed the door behind them and told her to sit on one of the couches. They were comfy, and Mirana felt like she sat on a cloud—which she had done before. Maddix suggested it once when Apollo came down for tea, and the sun god had thought the idea perfect.

Mirana frowned, thinking of Underland. She wished she were there now—but a part of her wished she could stay with Peter Pan forever, and everyone would stop bugging her to get him to leave Storybrooke. The White Queen watched Peter move around the room. She had no idea what he was doing, but she knew he looked attractive while he did it. Suddenly, her mind started creating fantasies of her and the leader of the Lost Boys. She'd never speak of them to anyone, especially Peter Pan.

She snapped out of her thoughts as Peter drew nearer, sitting beside her. He held something in his hands, but Mirana couldn't see it.

"Mirana," Peter said her name so softly that the White Queen wasn't sure she heard it at all. "I have something for you."

"What is it?" she asked him at the same volume.

"It's a flute—well, more like a whistle. Whenever you want me around—if you're scared, or in trouble, or you simply just want me with you—just blow into this. I'll hear it and be there," Peter told her. He opened his hand to reveal a small wooden device Mirana had never seen before. She took it out of his hand and turned it over, examining it.

Peter took it and lifted one end to her lips. "Blow into it."

Mirana wrapped her lips around the piece and blew. A strange, high-pitched melody graced the air. It sounded urgent like it was calling someone desperately. Mirana backed away, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Peter laughed softly, "You like it?"

"Yes," Mirana said, a small smile forming as she tilted her head. "It's odd."

"It is," Peter Pan agreed.

Mirana turned her head to face Peter as he placed the whistle in her hand. "I like it," she told him.

"I'm glad you like it," he responded. "I made it."

"You made it?"

"I make lots of things—I'm good with my hands."

Mirana placed the whistle on the couch beside her and put her hands in Peter's. She was too shy to look at the Lost Boy, though, so she stared at their hands as they intertwined and grasped each other.

"Mirana," Peter called her breathily. She looked up at him, intoxicated by his presence. If they leaned in a bit more—just a bit more—their lips would touch.

But a Lost Boy burst into the room, and Mirana ripped her hands away from his, turning away from his attractive eyes, her cheeks growing red as the moment disappeared. The White Queen hated it when she blushed—everyone could tell since her skin was usually so pale.

"Pan!" the Lost Boy shouted, breathing heavily and resting his hands on his knees as if he'd run a marathon. "She's—they're—Pan—"

Peter was angry at the Lost Boy for interrupting him and Mirana, but his stuttering pushed him over the edge. "Spit. It. Out." Peter managed through gritted teeth.

"She's here!" the Lost Boy shouted desperately.

"Who?" Peter stood from the couch.

"The Red Queen!"

—♢♡♧♤—

Guys, things are happening!!!

I'm so excited. I love writing this story.

(This chapter is shorter than the rest, I'm sorry, but next week's chapter will be a bit longer!)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Au revoir!