❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
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"So if you're Super-girl, what's your kryptonite?"
Shane found himself with the breath knocked out of him by her reply. He was pretty certain that his eyes were as wide as his bank account when she winked at him. So shocked was he that he didn't even complain when she suddenly leaned across the table and took out the feather embedded in the fold of his hat. She then snapped it in two with a satisfied smile. She let out a bark of laughter at his face, apparently amused by the situation.
After a while he was laughing with her. It brought him a sense of completion. Knowing that he didn't have to fly. He didn't have to fly. He was going to be okay. He didn't have to fly. Everyone knew that the higher you flew the more painful it was when you were banished from the skyline. He didn't have to fly. He didn't have to be upgraded. He didn't have to become this non existent 'better version of himself'. He was perfect as he was, even if he was a little broken.
She was the first person to see that.
She would also be the last.
Lost Boy was the kryptonite. Lost Boy was the one to make her stumble on her words. Lost Boy was the one that she was her true self with. Not Peter Pan. Lost Boy.
Lost Boy.
For once, he was okay with that. For the first time: he didn't want to be found.
It was at this point that they both realised the same thing.
Peter Pan was a fictional character. Perfect. Young. Energetic. Kind. Daring. Adventurous. Brave. Fictional. Quite literally too good to be true.
Lost Boy was real. Not a false sense of perfection.
