AN: I swear... I was trying to hold back, but I'm just think I'm really bad at this *scratches head nervously

I JUST CAN'T HELP MYSELF! I WANT TO SHOW MORE CHAPTERS! I think I need to practice more self restraint ._.

I usually like to troll and torture people, but the more I don't upload a chapter - trust me - it probably hurts me more than it hurts you. TT TT

Anyways, please enjoy this chapter (that I was supposed to wait a while before posting) ~ Hopefully I don't cram the entire story into the next few days *NErVouS LauGhtER*  Oh, and hopefully this answers a few questions...?

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I’m shocked that I don’t have a hangover when I wake up. Though I didn’t drink much, it felt like I had been drunk enough to come so close to spilling my beans last night. The moment I wake, I scan the room for Peter Pan. But he’s returned to his hiding place inside my head.

Myungsoo was ten when he came home from school clutching a copy of Peter Pan.

One of his teachers at his school had called him “the boy who wouldn’t grow up.” The idea intrigued him, and so he consumed the first novel in a single night and devoured the rest of the series by weeks end.

My brother’s obsession didn’t end when he reached the last page. As soon as there was nothing left to read, Myung decided to become Peter Pan. And no one ever laughed. Because it didn’t take much imagination to believe he could fly.

He was smart. So much smarter than I ever was. And charming and clever. Two things I’ll never be. A handsome trickster with a thatch of dark-brown hair that he insisted on cutting himself. Myungsoo could con you out of your most cherished possessions—and make you thank him for taking them off your hands. He could look like a saint while spinning lies that would make a hardened sinner blush red.

Other kids followed him. Adults were in awe of him. When teachers called him a scoundrel, they always said it with smiles on their faces. A friend of my mother’s predicted that Myungsoo would one day be president or in prison—or both.

My father took all the credit, of course. He once told me that the moment I was born, he knew I belonged to my mother. That must have been the reason he demanded another child so soon after the first had arrived. He wanted a son of his own. And he wasn’t disappointed the second time around.

When my father looked at Myungsoo, he saw everything he’d desired. He was a man with no tolerance for whimsy. But even when he began flying through the house dressed up like an androgynous elf, my father still saw his boy. Who knows—maybe he’d read Barrie’s books for himself. And maybe he’d stumbled across the same clues I have.

Peter Pan, I’m now almost certain, was Captain Hook’s son.

But there were things about him that our father never saw. He never saw Myungsoo hiding me when the old man went on one of his soju-fueled rampages. He never realized that most of his attempts to get his attention were only meant to draw it away from me. My father thought Myungsoo despised his weakling big brother.

He didn’t know how much of his own strength he wasted trying to save me.

I won’t let Sunggyu make the same mistake that Myungsoo did. He’s lying beside me, his face cradled in a nest of his hair. None of his features fit together, and yet I’ve never seen anyone so lovely. His beauty is perfect because it’s all wrong.

I’ve been searching for flaws hidden beneath Sunggyu’s surface, and while I’m sure they exist, I still haven’t found one. I would sacrifice almost anything to stay here with him. And that’s exactly why I have to leave. He will keep me from becoming what I need to be. And if he tries to save me, I will end up destroying him.

Today I plan to be dressed and gone before Sunggyu has a chance to ask me to stay. Whenever I spend the night at the colony, I’m usually the one who sleeps in. I work the nightshift, while Sunggyu keeps regular business hours.

Every morning, he disappears to a different part of town. He returns in the evening with a bag of supplies. Jeans for the kids who’ve outgrown the ones they arrived in. Food for the kids who can’t feed themselves. Trinkets for anyone celebrating a birthday.

It’s all stolen, of course. I’d kill for a chance to observe his technique. He must be a world-class shoplifter if he’s nicking enough to support a whole colony.

But Sunggyu refuses to let anyone tag along. All he’s ever told me is that he won’t hit the same store twice in one year. And when he takes something, he leaves behind a handwritten receipt.

Thank You for Donating $___ in Goods to the LES Children’s Fund.

Somehow I doubt the IRS lets the store owners write off their losses. But it seems to keep Sunggyu’s conscience clean.

His swag bags have gotten heavier over the past few weeks, and I suspect he has something special planned for Christmas morning. I don’t want to know what it is. Before I slip out, I remember the wallet I stole last night. I unhook the clasp and pull out a wad of bills. There’s more than three hundred dollars—far more than I need. I keep a twenty and leave the rest for Sunggyu. I hope he buys something nice for himself.

• • •

The tourists might be missing, but Chinatown is open for business. I slip into my favorite restaurant. The décor leaves much to be desired, and I’m not always sure what I’m eating. But whatever it is, it’s cheap and delicious. The locals love the place, and tables are usually hard to come by. But today, the restaurant is empty. It’s just me and Mr. Song, who’s always behind the counter—at least sixteen hours a day.

While I wait for my food, I pull out the wallet I stole last night and start to examine its contents. It belongs to one Han Mira. The girl’s got every credit card known to man. I spread them out on the table. Fourteen pieces of plastic that could keep Sunggyu’s colony fed and clothed for years. I’m sure they were all canceled first thing this morning. Replacements will be arriving by mail tomorrow.

I feel a cold breeze as the restaurant door opens, and I quickly sweep the contents of the wallet into my lap before I look up to see who’s joined me for breakfast.

A man has chosen a table by the front window. He pulls out a chair that’s facing me, which instantly tells me there might be a problem. When two strangers take seats in an empty restaurant, they almost always prefer not to look at each other. Unless one of the strangers finds the other intriguing.

I’ve had men hit on me before, but it usually happens on days when half of my face isn’t hidden beneath a bandage. Anyway, this guy doesn’t strike me as the lonely-and-looking-for-love sort. If he was, he could afford someone much better-looking than me.

I know this because there is one skill at which all rich people truly excel, and that’s recognizing each other. Even when we’re in disguise. The first thing I notice is the man’s overcoat, which fits him perfectly though he’s not a standard size.

He takes it off, revealing a turtleneck sweater and jeans that he probably bought at J. Crew. That might make me question my assessment if it weren’t for his shoes. My father owns several pairs made by the same small shop in Italy. You could fly around the world three times for the price.

My eyes come to rest on his face. Maybe he doesn’t want my body, but he does want something. And he’s not shy, either. He’s met my gaze. I keep my expression stony, but he smiles. I’d say he’s thirty-five. But a rich thirty-five, which means he could pass for a man in his twenties.

Tousled brown hair with faint black roots showing. Mischievous eyes. He seems friendly. Boyish. But there’s something he’s hiding. Something he doesn’t want me to see.

He’s risen from his seat, and he’s moving toward me. Mr. Song has disappeared. The man stops at my table and places a palm on the top of the chair across from me.

“May I join you?” he asks.

I hook the toe of one boot under the bottom rung. The chair doesn’t budge when he tries to pull it out. “Why?” I demand.

“I have a proposition for you.” Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he is looking for love. But I doubt it.

“What?” The eyes that stare down at me seem completely congenial, but something about it sends warning bells off in my head.

“I’d like to hire a thief, and I believe you might be the right man for the job.”