“What are you smiling about, Harrison,” the boy spits, body language suddenly getting defensive. “I’ll have you know that I’m-”
“Harry,” Harry interrupts, giggling. “My name is Harry. And if you’re not called Peter, then what are you called?”
The boy tilts his chin up slightly, surveying Harry like he’s checking if he’s worthy of knowing something as important as his name. “Well, Herschel, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Louis.”
Or, Louis isn’t Peter Pan and Harry isn’t Wendy and Neverland is nothing like Harry thought it would be, but it’s perfect anyway.
(thank you to Gabby @loupsandhirry for the beautiful pictures in this post)