Two months later

Two months had passed since we arrived on the island. The first few nights I laid wide awake at night, watching for ships out on the sea, trying to find two boys who disappeared in London waters.

The ships never came, and by the third week I had lost hope.

"Don't worry," Peter had said when he noticed I was awake one night. "We have everything we need right here."

"Peter, we have limited access to fresh water, food and shelter. How is that everything we need?"

"Because," he said, eyes meeting mine earnestly. "I have you."

My heart jumped in my chest at his words and I swallowed nervously, looking away.

My gaze travels up the island. "What else do you think is out there?"

"I don't know. From the looks of it, more forest."

My eyes fell on the large volcano protruding from the centre of the island. "Do you think it's dormant?"

Peter follows my gaze. "It looks like it." His eyes sparkle as he turns to me, grinning. "Only one way to find out."

The next day, we decide to explore the island more. In the two months we'd been here, as counted in scratches on a rock, we had barely left the beach for fear of getting lost. Peter was eager to change that.

He dragged me up the mountain-side of the volcano, a steep climb that took nearly two hours by the time we reached the top. Our clothes were torn and palms raw.

Peter's excitement basically lifted him up the mountain while I groaned on slowly behind, panting and cursing my weak boy lungs.

"Wow," Peter breathed when we made it to the top. "Look at this James, the island is huge!"

I took up position beside him and cast my gaze out over the large island. It was bigger than I'd imagined.

"Look," I say, pointing towards the south of the island. "There's another beach, some sort of cove."

"No way!" Peter turns to me, beaming. "Do you think any pirates live there? Maybe we can dig up some treasure!"

"Pirate treasure?" I ask with an amused smile. "What makes you think that?"

Peter taps his nose. "Sometimes you've got to create your own stories James, and not let them be written for you."

"Huh," I say, turning to my friend with a teasing smile. "And what exactly would this story be?"

Peter's eyes glimmer as he watches over the bay. "One where anything could happen."

He points in another direction of the island where a small lagoon sat. "A story where mermaids live in a lagoon and you play all day, search for pirate treasure and believe in magic."

"Why do you believe this place is magic?"

Peter's smile never falters. "Why don't you?"

When I don't respond, Peter sighs. "All my life I've been searching for something. Hope, maybe? Ever since my mother left me on that doorstep at the orphanage, I've been trying to find the small things in life that fuel the wilds of my imagination. Now, we really have escaped. Why waste such a precious thought on the boring misconception of life?"

"Because it is you know," Peter continues, causing me to look up at him from where he stood atop a boulder, overlooking the island like a fierce warrior.

He looks down at me. "Life, it's a foul misconception of our imagination. Things would be so much better if we could live in our dreams, never having to deal with the tedious happenings of each day."

"Do you really believe that, Peter?" I ask.

Peter's eyes travel down to meet mine. "What other choice do I have? I've seen our lives in London, James. They were boring and mundane but here?"

He inhales a deep breath of salty air. "Here we can be anything we want."

Something in my face must've lacked persuasion because Peter jumps down from the rock and comes to a stand-still behind me.

"Do you trust me?" he whispers and his voice is carried away in the winds.

"Yes." I said, because I did.

"Close your eyes." he instructs and I do.

I feel Peter place his hands over my eyes before his voice is in my ear, soft as he says, "Take a deep breath."

I do, and he continues. "Imagine this place. Imagine you have an empty canvas, waiting to be turned into art. What do you paint, James?"

Images cycled through my head, memories. London, the orphanage, the dirty streets filled with merchants, the market in the city square. A place that was my home but had never felt like it.

Then I picture the island. The open water surrounding the land, the clear sunny skies filled with birds that sung until the sun went down. The forest, and all the animals that we'd discovered lived inside. The cove, where pirates buried their treasure. The lagoon, where mermaids sunbathed.

I had a choice, and I made it. A home that only existed in my wildest dreams but was so real that I believed it.

"Here," I answer Peter, a grin breaking out on my lips. "I would paint this island."

"And what would this island be?"

My childish fantasies took over and suddenly I was a young boy again. "A place where you play all day and you never grow up. A place where you get to decide who you are and who you want to be. It is a land that you never have to leave."

"A land that you never have to leave." Peter echoes. "Like a Neverland?"

I turn, gently lifting Peter's hands from my eyes as I face him. I beam. "Just Neverland."

"Neverland." Peter tests the word on his tongue before grinning. "A place to play pretend."

My grin matches his. "A place where you never have to grow up."

"You know," Peter says. "A place like that sounds kind of perfect."

I nod. "A place for just you and me. Our Neverland."

Peter turns his head to watch the view of the island from our mountain-top. "A place for only you and me." His focus shifts to me.'"I couldn't think of anything better."

"That was where it started." I say, leaning forward in my chair as I turn a small knife over in one hand, the light glinting off the silver hook I call the other.

Ambrosio watches me, the flickering light of the lantern above our heads being the only source of light in the room other than the moon's pale glow.

"So you created Neverland." he says. "I get that you were a kid and had these childish fantasies, but didn't you ever think of home?"

"Of course I did, but that was the thing about Peter," I said. "He had a way of making you forget reality. Of course, the island fuelled that fantasy."

"How is it that an island could do that?"

"The more we believed in the idea, the more of a reality it became. We were trapped in a time-loop of distorted perceptions."

"And now you're not," Ambrosio concludes. "That's why you age."

"I age slower than the human world," I answer. "But yes, my dreams are no longer fuelling the island's power because I don't believe anymore. I am immune to its ageless wonder."

"So what you're saying is, the island runs on dream-power?"

"It relies on the imaginations of children," I nod. "With every fantasy, every belief in magic, every play-pretend, the island keeps drawing power from those who still believe in their youth. It's how Neverland is constructed."

"When did you lose your faith?" Ambrosio asks.

The smile on my face is bitter and cold. "When he ripped my heart out."

"Who?"

"Peter Pan."

"He ripped your heart out?"

The memory struck a tense note on my heartstrings, like a wire coiling itself around my throat. I looked away out of reflex. "It was a long time ago."

"Why?" Ambrosio pushes and I look back at him. "Because I possessed something that competed with the island's power. Something that could destroy Neverland."

"What was it?"

A beat of silence passes and for a brief moment, the ocean stands still. "Love. I possessed love."