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But at this point, I think the only option I have to keep the peace between us, in Neverland in general, is to basically ignore him.

As much as I secretly hate it.

“Hey, Pan.” Wendy tips her head upside down and smiles at him—and, I can see even from the corner of my eye, he actually smiles back, a little.

“Hey, kid.” He takes a few more steps in, hands in his pockets, and tilts his head down at the floor. “What are you doing to that poor animal?”

Nana, as if on cue, grrs softly and nips as I try to latch a hand around her paw.

“You mean what’s Tink doing?” Wendy says. “Cutting her nails.”

“Trying to,” I say through gritted teeth, dodging another swipe as Nana manages to tug free of my grasp. “Jesus.” I swipe actual sweat from my forehead and look up. “Wendy, you can’t, like, hold her down, or⁠—”

“Here.” Pan crouches. “Let me.”

I lower the clippers and look up at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I said, let me.” He extends a hand and gestures for the tool. “C’mon.”

I pull the thing closer to my chest, suddenly protective. “I can do it.”

“Yeah, I know you can,” Pan says. “But how about I do it anyway, so you don’t have to?”

I’m bewildered. Suddenly lost for words. He’s being friendly, kind, even, and yet in this calm, totally non-jokesy way that’s just…

Different. A different kind of Pan.

Then a shadow of his impish grin flickers across his face, and he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Tink. Would you let me help you, for once?”

Something nudges me in the ribs. Wendy, who’s been glancing between us this whole time with utmost fascination.

“Let him do it, Tink,” she says.

I clench my fingers a little tighter around the nail clipper—God, why is my heart suddenly pounding?—but nod, and hold it out to him.

“Thanks.” Pan sinks fully to his knees and gives Nana a hearty scritch. “Ready, girl?”

Nana is not ready. Nana hates it, in fact, hates the clippers, hates being touched or held, seems to hate everything and everyone and especially the guy with bright red hair and one feather earring trying to pin her into submission and cut her toenails. But Pan doesn’t give up, doesn’t even so much as complain or crack wise, even as Nana whines and wails and snaps and swipes at him, landing more than a few scratches in the process.

After what seems like thirty full minutes, the last snk of the nail clippers sounds, and Nana is released from Pan’s grasp, only to skip-gallop down the hallway and land somewhere unseen, probably Wendy’s bed, with a flump sound.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he calls after her, getting to his feet. He looks at Wendy, clippers held out. “These yours, I’m guessing?”

Wendy gasps. “Dude. Your face is bleeding!”

“Is it?” He dabs at his temple, sees the blood, and shrugs. “Well. Not the first time a girl’s tried to claw my face off.”

It’s a joke, a very Pan joke. But he’s not smiling when he says it, even if Wendy giggles.

With that, he wipes his fingers on his pants and slips his phone out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before typing something out and sliding it back.

“Thanks,” Wendy says.

“Anytime,” Pan says. “What are crew leaders for?”

Then he just…looks at me. Not a hard look, not even a teasing or scoffing or judgmental look, even though I’m still sitting on the floor surrounded by dog toenail bits.

If anything, I’d say it’s…gentle.