Pouting

Felix knows who it is the moment his hair gets ruffled.

"Felix," Pan whispers carefully, considerately, as if he wasn't actively trying to wake him up—he's being patient and respectful of another person's delicate sleep schedule, Felix should be pleased that he's graduated to this level so quickly. But Felix knows the truth. He's bored. And Peter Pan cannot resist bothering somebody (namely the boy he was currently bothering) when he gets bored.

Usually Felix would give in, letting Peter quite literally drag him from the comfort of bed. But today, for whatever reason, he wasn't feeling quite so charitable. He tried saying so, but his words only melted together, into a sleepy blob of noise that left him moaning pitifully into a pillow.

Peter shuffled somewhere on the bed, readjusting to lean over and prop an elbow up on Felix's back, setting his chin in his hand. His own personal elbow rest. "Oh come on, Felix. Let's play." His whining had gotten no less childish over the years—in fact it seemed to grow more so with every morning that passed.

When pouting didn't work (his first tactic in a long line of tricks), he lifted his head, frowning petulantly at the tall lump of boy in front of him. Glowering didn't work either so he was forced to take his mission on the offensive, he leaned back knowingly, smugly and slid off the bed altogether. And for a few moments Felix thought he was safe. He had won and Pan would leave him alone and let him sleep.

Then of course the covers were harshly ripped from him, leaving him bare and cold and the echo of Peter's laughter as he gleefully dropped the large blanket onto the floor in a heap. "Rise and shine!"

Felix barely lifted his head, wiry hair in a disheveled mass of half formed curls all reaching in different directions. Raking a hand through the mess, the boy sighed, and dropped himself unceremoniously back down onto his pillow. He heard Peter huff, clearly offended. "Oh you're not being any fun today."