Pan's Game || OUAT Fanfic || EDITED VERSION

Chapter 22; Lucky Shot My Arse

"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."

~ Rainbow Rowell

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Ray's P.O.V

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    I wake up a few hours before daybreak. There's not much light in the tent but I can still sense that Alice is sleeping somewhere near me. I stare straight ahead, waiting for my eyes to get used to the dim lighting. I jerk back when my eyes come into focus. Less than two inches away of my face, is Alice's face. Her eyes are closed and her brown hair falls in waves, covering one eye.

    I watch as her chest slowly rises and falls as she inhales and exhales. Her breathing is even and calm, matching mine. Suddenly, a strong breeze blows through the slit in the tent flap, sending a shiver down my spine. I pull the blanket up to my waist. Alice then snuggles closer to me, probably for warmth.

    She shivers due to the cold air, and I pull her closer to my body, using my body heat to warm her delicate frame. Her head lies against my chest and my chin is resting atop of her head. Alice stops shivering and nuzzles her face closer to my chest. I smile. This feels right somehow, our bodies next to each other. They fit together in all the right places, like pieces of a puzzle.

    I close my eyes and invite the good dreams with open arms.

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    Alice is no longer in my bed when I wake up. The faint smell of roses and mint fill my nostrils as I breathe in. Alice's shampoo. I wasn't surprised when she told me that roses were her favorite flower, they mirror her personality. Fierce and sassy, eye-catching and bold, delicate and beautiful all at once. Alice, the girl who reads books as one would breathe air, to live.

    I love how she always finds the time to read to the younger Lost Boys. I admire how she can use nothing but words to create a beautiful image in my mind. Like when she describes a garden during spring time, or when she describes her old life in the city, in the modern England.

    I love it when she tells me stories about her favorite quotations. Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than the stories and people we're quoting. And I love what her favorite quotations are saying about her at the moment.

    Although I'm not sure what scares me the most, that she'll never love me the way I love her or that I'll never stop loving her. I suppose they're both are equally terrifying in their own ways. Even if all we'll ever be is just friends, I'll still take that.

    Because even if you can't be with someone you love, isn't it good enough to be friends with them so you'll be able to protect them from people who don't deserve them?

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Alice's P.O.V

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    I bring my hand back and thrust the knife forward. The familiar sound of metal on wood tells me that I've hit my target. I remove my blindfold to see how accurate my shots are.
    "Yes!" I exclaim. "I hit three bullseyes while blindfolded."
    "That was a lucky shot," Peter says, pointing at the knife.

    "I don't suppose you can do better?" I challenge, placing my hands on my hips.
    "As a matter of fact, I can," he replies arrogantly.
    I hand the blindfold to him and he ties it around his head. He then raises his hand and uses magic to remove the knives from the board. The knives land hilt up on the tree stump next to us.