Y/N

_

PETER PAN is in my bedroom.

I might have to repeat myself, because that's insane to think about. Peter Pan, the boy who I read about in picture books, was in front of me. Wearing a sort of modernized version of his usual green-leaf ensemble.

As I sat there frozen in shock, I watched the boy scramble around my room, chasing the dark figure of his shadow. He had somehow managed to pick the lock to my window, hop inside, and yet he still didn't notice I was in the room.

He must have thought it was empty.

"Peter Pan?" I choked out, holding my pillow in front of my chest in defense, "what the hell are you doing in here?"

Here's the thing.

I know it's Peter Pan, because no human could possibly lose their own shadow, fly around a room, and look supposedly decent in a green outfit with a small cap on their head (with a red feather of course).

As soon as those words left my mouth, the boy came to a skidding stop, letting out a yelp. Apparently he didn't realize I was awake.

He blinked, snatching up his shadow, "who?"

So he was playing innocent now? Pushing aside my covers, I clambered onto my knees and stared him down. He didn't look evil, or like he was here to rob me, but I still didn't trust him.

After all, how could a fictional character be real?

"Peter Pan," I repeated, pointing at him, "you're Peter Pan."

He looked about as confused as me in math class, "who's Peter Pan?"

"You?"

He wrinkled his nose, "I'm Louis."

"Louis?"

Who the hell was Louis?

"Louis Partridge."

Who the hell was Louis Partridge?  That name wasn't familiar in the slightest, and it wasn't supposed to belong to the boy in front of me. Right? 

"What?" I said, taking a step back.

This definitely wasn't fitting with what I thought it was.

Sliding onto my feet, I stuck out my finger towards the boy in accusation. If his name was Louis, where was Peter? Who was he? Was he even real, or was I dreaming?

"You're that boy who never ages," I stated, my gaze unmoving, "aren't you?"

Peter—or Louis— took off his hat, and placed it on the floor by his feet. I noticed his wavy brown hair that had been previously hidden underneath, which was also alarming. I thought Peter Pan had red hair.

The boy bobbed his head, "that's true."

"You live with the lost boys," I said, beginning to pace.

"Also true."

"You're supposed to come to Wendy's house to take her to Neverland."

The boy bit his lip in confusion, "are you Wendy?"

"No, I'm [y/n]," I said, stopping myself, "but Wendy is supposed to give you a kiss."

"A kiss?"

He wasn't supposed to know what that was, so I could skip that part of the story. But everything else seemed to match up. His shadow, his ability to fly, Neverland, the Lost Boys, and his green outfit (which looked surprisingly modern).

I blinked, "yeah, but we don't have to do that part."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "why not?"

"Because we don't know each other," I shrugged, "and you don't know what a kiss is."

Maybe I should have stopped assuming things, because clearly this wasn't the Peter Pan from the books. Leaning over the rail of my bed, Louis gave me a cheeky grin.

"I know what a kiss is," he teased, "all you have to do is ask for one."

I squinted my eyes, "you're more straightforward than I remember Peter Pan being."

"I'm not Peter pan."

Right...I kept forgetting that. Maybe Louis was the boy the story was based off of. That still didn't explain why he showed up in my room. 

"So Peter Pan doesn't exist?" I questioned.

"Does your Wendy exist?" He questioned back, clicking his heels and floating a few inches above the ground.

He had a point.

But this was all crazy. How was any of this possible? There had to be some reason why the one moment I remembered this story it comes to life that very night.

Unless...

"Ow!" I winced, shaking out my hand.

I pinched the side of my arm in the belief that I was dreaming, but I was very much awake. That meant there was a flying boy in my room. Weird. 

"So," Louis said, circling around me with a smile, "are you coming with?"

I cocked a brow, "coming where?"

He looked surprised at my response. I definitely wasn't. Maybe I was going delusional...because this— whatever this is— is just...too...weird. Not possible. How is a floating boy in my room? Why isn't his name Peter Pan?

Louis didn't seem to care about my bewildered expression.

Holding out his hand, he grinned, "to Neverland."