Crimson Bonds [MxM]

13

Through bloodshot eyes

As soon as Saifa is done singing and steps down from the stage, he strides purposefully toward Peter's table. His smile, though weary, shines with the same intensity as always, and he smoothly navigates through the throng of patrons who try to engage him along the way. Peter watches in wonder, noting an impatience in Saifa's movements, as if he can't get to Peter fast enough. It's absurd, Peter thinks. Why would Saifa be so eager to see him?

He doesn't want to dwell on it, feeling the familiar anxiety twist in his stomach. He swallows his unease. Saifa seems genuinely joyful, and that's what matters right now.

"You came!" The High Fae exclaims upon reaching Peter, his smile so genuine it's almost disarming. Saifa's skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, adding a new layer of radiance to his caramel tone. His eyes, often distant when leaving the stage, now display a vulnerability that stirs Peter's protective instincts.

"Yeah," Peter replies, watching Saifa take the chair Aiman left behind. "Your show's really good. You have a great voice, as always."

"Thank you," Saifa responds, running his hand through his copper strands and pushing them back. He settles into the chair, his smile softening as his gaze meets Peter's. "Do you still want to have a drink with me?" he asks, his head tilting slightly. His copper hair cascades over his forehead, accentuating his pointed ears.

"Yeah," Peter says, forcing himself to meet Saifa's gaze. "That's why I'm here."

"And that's why you've already had a beer," Saifa chuckles, pointing at the almost-empty bottle.

"Aiman gave it to me," Peter explains. "I need to pay him back, actually."

They share a brief laugh, but the ambience shifts as the music transitions from Saifa's soulful performance to more upbeat, high-energy tracks. The pub is packed, people crowding both inside and out, making Peter grimace at the sudden change.

"You alright?" Saifa asks, his voice gentle but cutting through the clamour.

"I am," Peter nods, "I just haven't been out like this in a long time."

"You like it?"

"I don't know," Peter admits. "It feels like a lot, but at the same time, I think I needed it," he adds, chuckling awkwardly. "I don't know if I'm making any sense."

"You do," Saifa assures him, nodding. "I feel that way sometimes too. When I'm on stage, it all feels overwhelming—the lights, the sounds, the people... But then I start singing, and everything falls into place. It feels right, and I forget the rest."

"You really like singing," Peter observes.

"I do..." Saifa says thoughtfully. "Singing... How should I put it? I always find it difficult to express what I truly feel. It's like there aren't enough words or there are too many, and I never find the right ones. But when I sing, it's different. I can convey more than just speaking allows. It's powerful. I like that."

Peter gazes at Saifa, impressed. "For someone who says they struggle to express themselves, that was quite beautifully put."

Saifa's eyes brighten with curiosity. "Do you have something you're really passionate about?"

Peter thinks for a moment. His life has been so consumed by work and studies lately that he hasn't had much time for personal interests. But there used to be something he cared deeply about.

"I like photography," he says. "I was obsessed with it a few years back. My older sister even got me a professional camera. I still have it somewhere."

"Do you have some pictures on your phone? I want to see."

Saifa's request is met with a soft, encouraging smile, and Peter retrieves his phone, scrolling through his gallery. It saddens him that the most recent photo he finds was taken nearly two years ago. The memory of that time, dating Theoden, stirs mixed feelings.

He hands the phone to Saifa, who begins to scroll through the pictures. A soft smile plays on Saifa's lips, but it gradually fades as he continues.

"Is it that bad?" Peter jokes, though he feels a twinge of anxiety.

Saifa looks up, his expression serious. "Have you taken classes?"

"No, why?"

"Because these look like professional photos you'd see in an art gallery, Peter."

Peter feels a flush of embarrassment at the compliment. "It's not that good."

Saifa shakes his head, his smile fading. "No, you're really good!" he insists, showing Peter a picture of a nearby beach at sunset. The colours are objectively striking, but Peter is still sceptical.

"Come on, it's not that great," he mutters, reaching for his phone, his cheeks warming with embarrassment. But Saifa keeps the phone out of reach, swiping to another photo.

"Look at this one," Saifa says, turning the phone towards Peter. It's a picture of Peter's sisters, Alice and Daphne, smiling in a garden bathed in soft morning light. The image captures their happiness, a stark contrast to the struggle Peter has felt recently.

"They're my sisters," Peter explains. "Alice and Daphne. I took that picture when they were visiting. It was a good day. Alice had just gotten a new job, and we were celebrating. It was a rare moment of happiness and stability for us."

Saifa studies the photo, then looks up at Peter with an expression of understanding. "You don't live with them? I think I remember Aiman mentioning Anouk's your roommate."

"That's right. My sisters live in Faurbs."

"You don't see them often? You looked sad when I showed you the picture."

Peter sighs softly, his gaze fixed on Saifa. "It's my fault. I haven't been able to visit them in a long time."

Saifa considers Peter's words for a moment, his green eyes reflecting concern and thoughtfulness. "You know what?" he suddenly declares, standing up. "I think you need something to relax." Without waiting for a response, he grabs Peter's arm and pulls him toward the bar. "Let's get you a real drink!"

As Saifa leads Peter through the bustling crowd, the energy of the pub surges around them. Saifa's enthusiasm is infectious, and Peter can't help but feel a mix of apprehension and excitement as he contemplates what the night—and his growing feelings for Saifa—might bring.