Hooked (english sub) - Peter x Garfio fanfic

James

- No, no, it can't be - Peter began to despair, holding both hands to his head - Mom! Dad!! - the boy lay down on the tombs worn by the passing of the centuries. The tears falling on his reddened cheeks, digging the ground with his nails, staining the leaves and branches that dressed his chest.

- Come back, I promise to be good, I swear I'll behave, Mom! I'll let you hit me ! just... come back... it can't end like this... No... - Tinkerbell grabbed him from behind trying to stop the boy's outburst. But he pushed her away. As soon as Peter heard the tinkling sound of the fairy falling to the ground, he stopped in front of the tombstones, and turned around and took her back in his hands. She was fine, if a little dizzy. - I'm sorry. - She stood on tiptoe on his hand and hugged his nose with both arms outstretched.

Peter stood up and walked away from his parents' grave to continue walking through the cemetery. It wasn't long before he came to another area that caught his attention.

Henry Wilson - 1535-1560.

A friend.

Damian Taylor-1533- 1589

His best friend.

Wendy Brown. - 1534- 1578

Wendy, one of his best friends, almost the only girl he had among his group. He could remember his heart racing every time he saw her, and that imminent burning in his cheeks. Now that burning was not warm and sweet, it was painful and salty with tears ending up in her mouth.

A distant sob echoed through the trees of the cemetery. Peter turned his gaze to the distance. He saw a boy kneeling at the grave next to the one where Peter parents lay'.

As he approached cautiously he caught a glimpse of him through the mist. The boy was crouched in front of a grave with a portrait of a woman. His jet-black hair was thigh-length, and the clothes he wore were elegant and shiny. But they were stained. Her nose was bleeding and Peter noticed a couple of bruises on her eye.

The boy seemed to hear him, but when he turned around he and the little bell hid behind a mausoleum in front of his parents' grave.

After a while the boy left.

The gardens of the mansion had never been more in bloom.

James Fry, the youngest son of a wealthy aristocrat, was picking the last of the jasmine in his basket, his long jet hair swaying in the breeze in a ponytail, and the lace of his robes turning warm in the sunshine.

James could expect many things that day. That the neighbor children would make fun of his delicate face, that his father would ignore him from his desk all day, or that one of his brothers would decide to play a prank on him by throwing him into the fountain in the gardens. But what he would never have expected, was to be being watched cautiously by someone, not only from another time but from another place.

- Is this what you do all day? - asked Dany, the new boy his father had paid to keep him company. James sincerely preferred to be alone rather than in bad company, but Dany didn't seem to be a complete jerk, at least from the first two hours he had known him.

- No- His father barely let him have moments alone with himself since he found him snooping through the dresses, linen sacks and lace in his mother's closet. As if keeping him from being alone would prevent him from having any ideas of "dissident" fun- Sometimes I feed the geese on the lake after my piano lessons. Sometimes I help the maids in the kitchen. - He answered seriously.

- But what for? They are paid to cook for you, you shouldn't worry about that.

-I like to cook. - Answered the boy sharply, looking the other in his eyes, evaluating his reaction.