A short, sweet series of events (chronological, of course) following the story of Peter Pevensie and his spitfire of a childhood friend, Lilith Moore.
FEATURING: Domestic!Pevensies, plenty of plasters and a good deal of suitcase use.
Sidenote: After...
Peter had never been to Exeter before, and so it took him quite a while to navigate around. He also hadn't ever communicated with, never mind written to, Lilith's Aunt, in which he'd had to do to find out their address.
But now, there he stood, realising just what Lilith had meant when she'd mentioned her Aunt had had 'some money'. The house, by Exeter standards, very near put Cair Paravel to shame, and the once High King found himself nervous as he pushed open the huge gates and begun up the drive, a suitcase clutched in one hand, a bunch of flowers in the others.
"Ah, you must be the Pevensie boy." Lilith had clearly failed to mention that her Aunt had staff, Peter realised as he smiled pleasantly and gave a nod, "I am. You were expecting me?"
"We were. Mistress Lilith, of course, isn't."
"Brilliant." Peter replied gratefully, before trying- and failing- to convince the member of staff that he was quite capable of taking his own case into the house. Besides, if his plan went to pot, he doubted he'd know what to do and would possibly be on the next train back.
"I heard the door." Lilith called, beginning down the central staircase, "Thomson, who - oh!" Once again, her best friend looked so much different than the last time she'd seen him. He, once again, was taller. He held himself differently, too, though. He seemed happier, despite his current look of mild anxiety, he seemed ever so much more mature than she'd last seem him- it had been over a year though now, after all.
They'd written multiple times a week, exchanging every detail of what they'd been up to, even the occasional photographs, but after Peter had moved in with Professor Kirke to study and she'd been sent off to a boarding College, arranging a meet up had been impossible.
They'd mentioned meeting up at Christmastime when there were both home, but that was it- both had agreed- to be with family in the days leading up to Christmas...
"What're doing here?"
"Lilith." The blond straightened his back, taking the sight of her in as she reached the bottom of the stairs, "Your braids are out."
"They're not one of my permanent features, you know. But I admit," She reached back to her hair which was now in a half up, half down style- her Aunt had never liked her braids, and none of the few girl's at college wore them- "it still feels weird."
"It looks weird, too. No! Not bad weird, good weird." He should never speak again, Peter decided, but did, nonetheless, "It looks good. It looks really nice."
"Thank you. Why're you here? We agreed to leave it until the next holidays-"
"I know, but I couldn't wait."
Lilith laughed slightly, albeit her flattery and full empathy, "I'm sure you could have. You should be at home with the others, not coming with a suitcase and- flowers?"
"I-" Peter's eyes widened. He'd planned everything; the time between the Professor's and time with his family, the journey, even what he'd bring for only a night or so but- but not this bit. He ought to have, he realised too late. "Well, I came to ask you- we've been friends for a long time and-"
Lilith smiled. "Neither of us can hardly bear being apart just as friends, you know that would be even more difficult to do if I had the right to kiss you, right?"
Peter could only blink, "I didn't- How did you know?"
"Why else would you bring flowers? You're terribly obvious, Peter. But sweet, and they are my favourite-"
"Only because you're named after them-"
"A bunch of lilies must've been expensive-"
"I won't lie to you, they did cost- no! I've waited a year to ask you, I'm not about to miss another chance!"
"Go on, then, Mr Six Plasters, ask away. Oh, do all your Medical Books suggest six plasters or seven?"
Peter rolled his eyes, but finally walked toward to meet her. "Very funny, Lilith. That joke's years old. Now, will you be my girlfriend or not?"
"And they say romance is dead." Lilith mused before she nodded her head, "Peter Pevensie, nothing would be a greater pleasure."
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Bittersweet farewells before Peter returns for Christmas Taken in Aunt Jaqueline's foyer, 22nd December 1943
