luna | peter pevensie

chapter nine

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Peter can't sleep. He never can, especially not when he has a lot on his mind, so it's a miracle he managed to even get into bed.

He just lays there, feeling a bit like the passage of time exists only to mock him. He thinks about tea with Gloria, and how her eyes don't really shine in the same way that Luna's do. And she doesn't have that little spring in her step when she's talking about something she loves.

Peter shouldn't compare the two, but he can't help it.

He gets up — ignores the morning chill because he can't be bothered to put on a shirt, or a robe for that matter — and heads out of his room and into his study. Maybe he can get some work done out of this, and Aslan will reward him with the need for a long, afternoon nap.

A man can dream.

He walks into his study, rubbing his eyes. Sometimes, he sees things that aren't really there, like a random shadow or a trick of the light. It happens when you're tired and in a magical land. But he's not imaging this.

Luna is sitting on his desk in her own emerald green robe, leafing through what looks like private documents.

Peter clears his throat. "Uh..."

"Oh!" Luna looks up, startled. Peter doesn't miss the way her eyes trail down and then up again just as quickly. "Your Majesty, I can explain!"

Peter feels a bit vulnerable in just his cotton pants (maybe he should've grabbed a shirt,) but he's more interested in why Luna is in his private study. "Why are you in here?"

"I'm—" She goes silent, and her shoulders fold. Drawing in on herself, refusing to meet his eyes, she speaks timidly, "I was trying to look for my dad's old nautical records. I, uh, sort of searched every other study in the Cair. I figured this was as good a shot as any."

Peter closes the door behind him and realizes that Luna's already lit the two oil lamps he keeps on his desk. "Why didn't you just ask?"

"Well it's not like you would've said yes," Luna rolls her eyes, but she still won't meet his gaze. "And besides, I can't risk my mother finding out, and you're close to Gloria, so..."

"I'm no closer to her than I am to any other friendly noble," Peter assures her, like she cares. He knows she doesn't, but something in him wants to make sure she knows that he's not closed off. Not to her. "Anyway, I might've said yes, considering it's an important matter. Of course, if you had asked me, I would've been able to tell you that the nautical records are kept in the cartography room. You know... maps and all."

Luna looks bashful. Even in the glow of the lantern, Peter can see a rich shade of pink adorn her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she says. "Genuinely. It's true what my mother says— I'm not exactly a proper lady. That's no excuse for sneaking into your private study, though."

"It's not," Peter agrees. "I'll accept your apology. Though, it is late, and I have no hope of getting back to sleep, so it would be nice to have your company..?"

He hates that he sounds unsure. He's definitely sure. It's just... Luna has these dark eyes that make Peter feel kind of useless, like he's back in primary school, yanking on a pretty girl's pigtails. The feelings-to-expression filter is just not there. Not that he even knows what he's feeling anyway.

"A dark study is so drear compared to the narnian countryside. I wonder how a king stays sane." Luna comments. She runs her slender fingers across the spine of one of Peter's beloved novels, Is Man A Myth? He'd gotten it from Tumnus: a strange reminder of their beginnings. It's so dear to him that the cover is all but worn down, the words hardly discernible.

"Are you insulting the interior of my study?"

Luna chuckles quietly, like she knows it's the dead of night, the dawn of morning, and neither of them are really supposed to be here. It ignites a flame beneath Peter's chest; watching Luna smile at him and tease him. "I'm only saying that a window would do wonders for the soul."

"My soul could use a bit of wonder," Peter confesses. He leans against the wall opposite of Luna and tries to memorize her silhouette in the lamplight. His breath feels choppy, like his own lungs are telling him to slow down, and stop talking before the moment leaves.

"How has a High King managed all this time without any wonder?" Luna leans forward, nearly in his space, eyes as mischievous as the dimple in her chin.

Peter opens his mouth to answer, finds the words stuck in the roof of his mouth. It's only when Luna leans back that he can breathe again. "Kingly duties don't really reserve time for wonder."

"You should change that," Luna says.

It's a passing comment, but Peter wonders if he even could. Perhaps he could set up an advisor team, and give the seats to Narnians instead of all these foreign nobles who think they know what's best for his own kingdom. Maybe there is a bit of room for change, and it's such a simple thought that Peter wants to beat himself up for not having it before.

"You're right," he says. "I'll make more time for wonder. What do you suggest?"

This time he's leaning in, all bravado and no hesitance, because the passage of time exists only to mock him, and he's going to take advantage of this moment that feels frozen. Untouchable.

Luna's all talk with big hand gestures. She's saying something about the sea, and about the forest, but Peter's attention falters in the space where her cupid's bow meets her lips. 

Then Luna smiles at him. A new smile. This one feels more tender and secretive, like it's reserved just for him. "Your eyes are a wonderful shade of blue," she says, "I find myself getting lost in them when I try to speak to you."

Peter decides he likes this. Whatever this is.

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triple update because i still can't sleep and i wanted to write a scene with them together