( Time passes. He doesn't know how much, either. He fades a little, sometimes, eyes going halfway between closed and open, glazy, staring downwards. He doesn't melt into himself, though, not fully, not like before. He stays Peter.
Although he feels strange, lost, confused. Time passes, and he sits there over watch of the sleeping girl, and things flicker just outside of his vision. Flashes of things, like scratching hands outside of a stained glass window, a kaleidoscope of movement and colour. Memory? Things he can't quite reach. It frightens him a little. He finds himself staring down at his own shoe, recognising it in one breath and not remembering it at all in the next. His body continues to feel strange, like a foreign place he doesn't occupy quite the right way. He lifts his hands and stares down at his palms, and realises he doesn't like looking. He looks at the girl instead, comforted by her presence. He hears the patter of rain against his window.
The girl is moving.
The boy startles, but quietly. Eyes going wide, body tensing up and alert. He stays where he is, though watches her intensely, a silence stretching between them until the girl speaks.
And she says.... the word again. Peter. He doesn't answer, not right away, can't. Just stares, mouth tipped open slightly. He isn't afraid, not of her, he thinks. His eyes move to stare at the girl's cheek again, where the outline is barely perceptible at all, practically invisible.
'It's Luna. You're Peter, and I'm Luna.'
His eyes lift again, slowly, to find hers. They feel wet and hot again, and filled with stars. It hurts to look at her, but he doesn't know why. Luna.)
Do we..... know each other?
( The words come soft and unsure and a little strange — thicker than his usual tone, like he struggles through them. The wet thing in his mouth feels odd. He finds it forming a question, finds the right word, one that blossoms into his knowledge and with it, associations. Warm. Safe. Trust. )
Are we........ friends....?
( He sounds uncertain, and there's something that still lacks, hasn't clicked into place, no true recognition of the girl sitting so close to him. It's there beneath, but there's still so much burying it, so much heavy confusion and loss of self, and he blinks widely at her in stun. )
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Although he feels strange, lost, confused. Time passes, and he sits there over watch of the sleeping girl, and things flicker just outside of his vision. Flashes of things, like scratching hands outside of a stained glass window, a kaleidoscope of movement and colour. Memory? Things he can't quite reach. It frightens him a little. He finds himself staring down at his own shoe, recognising it in one breath and not remembering it at all in the next. His body continues to feel strange, like a foreign place he doesn't occupy quite the right way. He lifts his hands and stares down at his palms, and realises he doesn't like looking. He looks at the girl instead, comforted by her presence. He hears the patter of rain against his window.
The girl is moving.
The boy startles, but quietly. Eyes going wide, body tensing up and alert. He stays where he is, though watches her intensely, a silence stretching between them until the girl speaks.
And she says.... the word again. Peter. He doesn't answer, not right away, can't. Just stares, mouth tipped open slightly. He isn't afraid, not of her, he thinks. His eyes move to stare at the girl's cheek again, where the outline is barely perceptible at all, practically invisible.
'It's Luna. You're Peter, and I'm Luna.'
His eyes lift again, slowly, to find hers. They feel wet and hot again, and filled with stars. It hurts to look at her, but he doesn't know why. Luna. )
Do we..... know each other?
( The words come soft and unsure and a little strange — thicker than his usual tone, like he struggles through them. The wet thing in his mouth feels odd. He finds it forming a question, finds the right word, one that blossoms into his knowledge and with it, associations. Warm. Safe. Trust. )
Are we........ friends....?
( He sounds uncertain, and there's something that still lacks, hasn't clicked into place, no true recognition of the girl sitting so close to him. It's there beneath, but there's still so much burying it, so much heavy confusion and loss of self, and he blinks widely at her in stun. )