In the end he had become that which he hated. Everyone seems to forget that Hook himself had once been a boy. Not an ordinary one, but one chosen by the Neverland. A boy like Pan. He had stolen away and know the singular pleasure of being the island’s darling boy. Until he had killed his own Hook, then the island had spurned him and the fairies brought it a shining new boy after he had grown, nourished on bitterness and unfathomable rage, into the man. Into Hook. You see it’s a cycle. The faces are different and always changing, but the roles remain the same. There must always be a Hook and there must always be a Pan to fight him and cast him down.
You don’t need to buy me expensive things or take me out to dinner every night or even every weekend. I don’t need the world or want the world. I want the little things. If you push my hair out of face or rub my back. Or if you randomly kiss my cheek. Or text me randomly saying you miss me. Or if you make a tweet about me or post a picture of us on instagram. Then that’s all I care about. I want the little things. I care way more about that, than anything else.