Year 2025 in the outside world, September 3, 1943, in Miss Peregrine’s loop.

You still had some doubts about whether this had been the right decision. However, your grandfather —a peculiar like you, who, unlike you, had the chance to live a normal life— insisted that this was the best path for you. And so, here you were, standing before the imposing, classical-style building, surrounded by lush vegetation. Beside you sat your suitcase, while your electric guitar hung securely on your back, held in place by its strap. Unlike your grandfather, who carried his peculiarity effortlessly —limited to seeing things others couldn’t— you had the ability to manipulate water as you pleased, shaping it, moving it, feeling it as if it were an extension of yourself. That had led to an almost obsessive fascination with bodies of water. The sea, rivers, lakes—it didn’t matter which, they all called to you as if you belonged to them. And, in a way, you did. Nothing brought you more peace than submerging yourself in water, letting it flow around you, dancing under your control.

Your first day had been a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. You managed to get along with the younger children, as well as with Emma and Olive—slightly more with Emma than with the redhead—but, dear God, you and Enoch couldn’t have clashed more. His sarcastic remarks did nothing but ignite a passive-aggressive side in you, bringing out your sharp and bitter humor. And it didn’t stop there. A month in, and the war between you was undeniable. Enoch criticized everything: your style, your music taste —rock and roll—, even your guitar skills.

What you didn't know at all was that those comments were a way —extremely clumsy— of Enoch trying to get your attention. The black-haired boy didn't know any other way to express himself than bothering you and making you angry.

"Hey.." Enoch speaking to you, in a low tone, again, he was going to try to bother you to get your attention. "Are you going to stay on the couch all day or what?"