Where: The park
When: Probably a week ago or so
Peter shifts, a sleepy sigh escaping his lips as he rolls over. He's napping in the park, curled up on a patch of grass, his curly, dark blonde hair gleaming in the late afternoon sunshine. He yawns, wrinkling his nose a little, and curls one arm under his head, drawing his knees close to his chest. Wendy's probably expecting him home, but he feels too comfortable to move.
Hook is out for a stroll, walking along the path tracing through the park. He takes a hand from his pocket to adjust his aviator sunglasses and scratches his jaw, glancing to the right. His footsteps slow. there's a boy, sleeping on the grass. For a moment, he thinks of it as a sort of victim, someone who he might be able to lure into something. But as his footsteps bring him to a curve in the path, just a bit closer, he realizes... no. Peter. The Peter. He narrows his eyes at him slightly, then smirks softly, stepping easily from the path and ambling across the grass toward the sleeping boy. His footsteps are all but silent as he comes closer. He drops down lightly beside him, settling into the grass on his stomach, chin resting on his hands. He stares, waiting for Peter to stir.
Peter makes another soft noise, turning over on his side to face Hook, though he doesn't know it. His eyelids flutter a bit and he yawns again, cracking an eye open. He sees a blurry figure beside him and opens his eyes more fully, letting out a rough yell and scrambling away when he sees it's Hook. He stands a bit clumsily, clenching a fist, and stares down at Hook, jaw set. He was really hoping he'd never have to see this man again. "What are you doing?" he asks a bit angrily, his voice a bit creaky with sleep.
It's such a sweet victory to catch him off guard like that, to see him flail a bit. Hook sits up, smoothing his hand over his shirt, brushing the grass from the front of it. "Well you were sleeping so soundly, it seemed like a good spot. I thought I would check it out for myself, since we seem to have such similar tastes." He takes off his sunglasses and cleans them on the hem of his shirt.
"Similar tastes?" Peter repeats, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. He's tired and he hates Hook, and this is really not his ideal way of spending his naptime. "What are you talking about?"
Hook shrugs a shoulder, putting his sunglsses back on. He gets to his feet, dusting himself off. "Good to see you again. Paul, isn't it?"
"Peter," he corrects Hook, folding his arms. People don't forget Peter Pan. "And it is horrible to see you again," he adds petulantly, roughing a hand through his rumpled hair in frustration.
"Of course. Peter. Don't know how I forgot. Wendy must have mentioned it... at least once." He smiles, wolfish, and turns to walk away.
Peter pauses, watching Hook move away. "What do you mean, at least once?" he calls to his retreating back, his curiosity getting the better of him. "You only saw her the one time." It's a little possessive. Wendy belongs to him, her kiss belongs to him, her everything belongs to him. Hook insinuating otherwise shoots a little dart of fear into his heart, and Peter wants that to go away. Peter Pan is not afraid. Peter Pan does not know fear or love or jealousy, but Hook is starting to make him question whether that's true or not.
"Hmm." Hook looks over his shoulder at Peter. "Oh. Yes. Of course." He pauses a moment. "Is that what she told you?" He had only seen her once, but the way he says it leaves a lot of interpretation.
Peter feels a falling sensation somewhere in the region of his stomach. "Yes," he says, not wanting to give away his insecurity. "Wendy wouldn't lie to me. Besides, why would she want to see you, anyway? She likes me better." He smiles smugly, his expression reeking of superiority, though there's still that niggling feeling of doubt twisting his stomach into knots.
"Oh. Does she?" He raises his eyebrows. "I think... oh, yes, I think now I remember the context of when she'd mentioned you when we were together. I think it was something about... what you wouldn't do for her." He shakes his head a bit. "And if that's true, that is a true loss on your part, Paul. Oh... Peter. So sorry."
Peter sucks in his lower lip, scowling at Hook. "What do you mean, what I wouldn't do for her?" he asks, curling his fingers into the sides of his shirt. He's suddenly very nervous that Wendy is talking about him behind his back, and to Hook, of all people.
"Things you wouldn't do," he repeats. "Just... oh..." He waves a hand as if trying to come up with an example. "Kissing her, for instance." He smiles. "If you were worried about being her first, you needn't fret about that now."
There's a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Peter is pretty sure that's what betrayal feels like. Wendy said it was his kiss. It was his. But it's been tainted now. Hook took it first. Hook stole Wendy's kiss from her, from Peter. He swallows, his merry blue eyes turning hard and cold. "That was mine," he says, his hands curling into fists again.
"Mm." Hook makes a thoughtful face. "No, sorry. Mine now, Pauley." He gives Peter a little wave and turns, walking back toward the path.
Peter is torn. On one hand, he's furious at Hook (and Wendy, too) for making him feel like a fool. On the other hand, he feels completely betrayed and is glad that Hook is finally leaving him be. Peter won't go home tonight, doesn't want to face Wendy. But he can't let Hook walk away unscathed, can't let himself be humiliated without repercussion. He stoops, finding a jagged rock in the grass, and cocks his arm, launching it towards Hook. He's far enough away that when it finds its target in Hook's shoulder, it doesn't draw blood, but it should leave a bruise. And just as well, Peter thinks.
Hook lets out a soft bark of pain, turning around and looking at the rock, rubbing his shoulder. He looks up at Peter, taking off his sunglasses and glaring at him with those light, bright eyes. "Did you just throw a rock at me?"
The smug, satisfied smirk on Peter's face is more than enough answer, but he crosses his arms, finding amusement in Hook's anger. Serve him right. "Who, me?" he asks, lifting his brows at Hook.
Hook looks down at the rock again, as if making sure that it's actually there. He looks up at Peter again. "A rock. Really? Are you eight?" Bad form. Very bad form.
"No," Peter says petulantly, proving Hook's point. "But you deserved it."
"I..." Hook takes a few steps toward Peter, eyes narrowed. "You don't throw rocks at people, little boy."
"Says who?" Peter snorts. "You think I'm going to listen to you? You're not my mother."
"Says good form, you cretin." He rubs his shoulder again, scowling fiercely at him.
"It's always about form with you, isn't it?" Peter says, rolling his eyes. "You bore me." He smirks at the expression on Hook's face and, feeling somewhat vindicated, turns on his heel, moving back towards the path out of the park. He won't go home, he knows that, but at least he feels like he hurt Hook, too.
For an awful moment Hook considers picking the rock up and hurling it at him. But that's not how he's playing this game. If he does, it will get back to Wendy, and he can't have that. He couldn't possibly. His fingers curl at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He turns on his heel, stalking in the other direction from Peter. Loathsome boy.