by Austin Chant
That was one of many questions he left unasked. There was too much to say, so neither of them said anything for a while.
"This is very strange," James said, breaking the silence. "I don't know what I'm going to say to anyone who asks where you came from—or where I've been, for that matter."
"Say you've been traveling the world to find inspiration for your paintings," Peter said. "Say I'm a model you discovered and had to bring home with you."
"My own Dorian Gray," James said with a laugh. "No—you're far more than a model, don't you think?"
"I'm not sure," Peter said. "I don't know what I'm going to do." He felt his way through the uncertainty. "I always thought the only way to grow up was to be… her. I don't know what to do as me."
James's brow wrinkled as he thought. Then he said, "I have a typewriter in the attic. We could dust it off if you'd like to keep telling stories."
Peter startled. "You mean write books?"
"Or plays, or poetry—whatever suits you."
Peter's skin prickled at the very idea, like a bolt of lightning had run through him. "Yes," he said. His voice cracked when he realized James had cut easily to the heart of him. "I'd like that."
James smiled.
They came to the apple tree around the next bend in the path. The tree had an unusual shape, taller and more withholding than the average apple, with what little fruit there was clustered toward the upper branches. The apples were small and green. James sighed. "I always thought the appeal of apple trees was that you could grab something to eat as you walked by. This one you have to shake and pray that the fruit falls—Peter, what are you doing?"
Peter finished kicking off his overlarge boots and socks and rucked his trousers up to his knees. "How many apples do you want?"
"Are you going to break your ankle on your first day back in the world? You do remember you can't actually fly?"
Peter grinned at him. "That's half the challenge," he said, and scrambled up the tree. It didn't go quite as smoothly as he'd hoped it would. He was used to the way things worked in Neverland, where he was as strong as he wanted to be and found branches conveniently located wherever he reached for them. Here, his arms were shaking by the time he managed to haul himself up to a split in the branches and rest. Glancing down made him dizzy, even though he was only a few meters from the ground.
"I hope by this point you've realized that I live out in the woods alone," James called, in an anxious tone poorly disguised as chastisement. "If you fall and hurt yourself, there's no fairy dust to fix you."
Peter tested the strength of the next branch. "I won't hurt myself," he called back, dragging himself up to the next intersection and stretching a hand toward the nearest apple. "I'm the spirit of youth and joy, remember?"
"You're a grown man and a nuisance."
"I'm your nuisance," Peter said, and then paused, embarrassed with himself and glad that he was too high up for James to see it. James fell into an equally awkward silence until Peter began tossing crabapples at him.
When he had thrown down what seemed like plenty of fruit for the two of them, Peter began an incautious descent, sliding down through the branches and scraping his palms on the rough bark. He misjudged the height of the last drop and hit the ground a little hard, tripping into James, who dropped an armful of apples to catch him.
"Thanks," Peter said, grinning.
James's cheeks were flushed, and he looked a funny combination of annoyed and charmed, scowling even as his mouth curved into a smile. He had wrapped his arm around Peter's waist; he straightened Peter up, setting him back on his feet. He stopped drawing away when Peter caught the front of his shirt in his fingers.
His mouth was softer in this world, absent the tang of rum and salt, but something of the ocean still swept over Peter when they kissed.
Fin
About the Author
Austin Chant is a bitter millennial, decent chef, and a queer, trans writer of romance and speculative fiction. He cohosts the Hopeless Romantic, a podcast dedicated to exploring LGBTQIA+ love stories and the art of writing romance. He currently lives in Seattle, in a household of wildly creative freelancers who all spend too much time playing video games. Website: austinchant.com
