Crimson Bonds [MxM]

21

 Imperfect for You

Peter sits cross-legged in the grass, staring at the river in front of him, but not really seeing it. The sun glistens off the surface, turning the water a golden hue, but it all feels distant, almost unreal. His mind is elsewhere, running in circles around the words his sister Alice had spoken to him earlier. Her voice echoes inside him, shaking his bones, forcing him to confront what he's been trying to avoid: the truth.

He's been running from it, from Saifa, from himself. But Alice is right. Saifa deserves to know the truth, even if it terrifies Peter to speak it aloud. The Fae deserves more than his fear. Peter's stomach clenches at the thought of it—Saifa's kindness, patience, and steady warmth. He doesn't deserve it. He never has.

But when did all of this begin? Peter pulls his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on them. It feels like only yesterday when Saifa walked into the coffee shop for the first time, radiating brightness that almost physically hurt. Peter hated it—how Saifa's smile, his lightness, made Peter feel exposed. He remembers how it annoyed him, how he'd tried to shut it out, only to find himself constantly drawn in.

It's funny how things change. He thinks back to the small moments, Saifa's hand brushing through his hair, the softness of his fingertips lingering on Peter's scalp, leaving lines of fire. Saifa's unrelenting patience, his quiet way of offering Peter space when he needed it, but never too far to feel like abandonment. Peter had been bitter back then, still trying to make Theoden notice him, to make himself worthy of someone's affection.

The memory of Saifa's smile the night they danced together resurfaces. The way Saifa had looked at him, not with pity or caution, but with something...more. Something genuine. And when they kissed...Gods, he misses it. He misses him. The realisation hits like a punch, knocking the breath out of him. He wants Saifa, more than he's allowed himself to admit. His touch, his presence, his goddamn voice that sounds like it could soothe any storm.

He has to tell him. Peter knows that now. But it feels impossible. His body feels rooted to the ground, like quicksand is swallowing him whole. He sighs, pressing his palms into the cool earth beneath him. The solidness of the ground steadies him, a reminder that he's still here.

He stands, legs shaky, brushing dirt off his jeans as he takes in a deep breath. One step at a time. He begins walking toward Saifa's car, each footfall heavy with doubt, his pulse thrumming in his throat. His heart pounds louder with each step as he nears the Fae, lying back in the car with his legs still dangling out. Peter swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Saifa." His voice comes out hoarse, barely audible. He clears his throat and tries again. "I...I want to talk."

For a long moment, there's no response. Saifa remains still, and Peter wonders if maybe he hasn't heard him. But then, slowly, Saifa stands up, closing the car's door and facing him. His emerald eyes, once so full of light, now seem dulled, shadowed by something Peter can't quite place.

"Well?" Saifa says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You said you wanted to talk. Speak." The words are sharp, but beneath them, Peter senses something else. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice falters. The words feel stuck, lodged deep in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to push through the fear. "I'm scared," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. It's a start, at least.

Saifa's gaze hardens, but there's a flicker of something else. Curiosity, perhaps. "What are you so afraid of?" he asks, leaning back slightly, folding his arms.

Peter hesitates, his mind swirling with tangled thoughts. How does he explain this mess inside him? "I don't know if I'm enough," he finally says, the words spilling out in a rush. "I'm not...easy to love. I'm grumpy. I'm rude. I push people away. Hells, I've spent half my life running from things I should be facing."

He exhales shakily, feeling the weight of his own words crashing down on him. "When Theoden left, I thought it was my fault. That I was the problem. That I wasn't...good enough. And I'm scared, Saifa. I'm scared that once you get to know the real me, you'll leave too. And I don't think I can handle that again."

The silence between them stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Peter can feel the tremble in his hands, his body betraying his fear.

When he dares to look up, Saifa is watching him with an intensity that makes Peter's chest tighten. But instead of the anger or mockery Peter expects, there's only calm.

"What do you feel right now?" Saifa asks, stepping closer. His voice is softer now, less guarded.

Peter swallows, his throat dry. "I feel...good. But I'm still afraid."

"Do you want to run away?" Saifa asks, moving even closer, their faces now only inches apart.

Peter blinks, the nearness of Saifa making it hard to think. His scent, the warmth radiating from him, it's overwhelming. He shakes his head slowly. "No."

Saifa's lips twitch into a small smile, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes yet. "And if I kissed you right now? Would you run?"

The question hangs in the air, thick with tension. Peter's breath hitches as Saifa steps even closer, their chests almost touching. The music playing from the car, a soft, slow tune, feels like it's been pulled from the background of a dream.

Peter's heart pounds against his ribcage, his skin tingling with anticipation. He feels Saifa's breath ghosting over his lips, the closeness of him almost too much to bear. "No," Peter whispers, the word barely audible.

"Would you mind?" Saifa asks again, his voice a low murmur. His fingers hover just above Peter's skin, waiting for permission.

Peter shakes his head. "No."

The kiss comes slow, soft, barely there at first, as if Saifa is giving him one last chance to pull away. But Peter doesn't. Instead, he leans in, his fingers reaching for Saifa's face, finally feeling the smoothness of his golden skin beneath his touch. He kisses him back, deeper this time, letting the fear fall away with each press of their lips.

The kiss intensifies, growing more desperate, more needy, until they're clinging to each other, hands in hair, bodies pressed together like they're trying to fuse into one. Peter's hands slide into Saifa's copper strands, tugging gently, earning a low groan from the Fae that sends shivers down Peter's spine.

They break apart, gasping for air, but Saifa's arms remain wrapped around him, holding him close. Peter feels like he's standing on the edge of something, something huge and terrifying, but with Saifa anchoring him, he doesn't feel like he'll fall.

"You're not running," Saifa whispers, his lips brushing against Peter's forehead.

"I'm not," Peter says, his voice trembling. He smiles, though it feels tentative, unsure. But he's still here, still holding on.

Saifa pulls back slightly, studying him. "What do you want, Peter?"

Peter opens his mouth, but the words get caught. What does he want? He doesn't know. "I...I don't know," he admits, his voice cracking. "I like you, Saifa, but...I'm a mess."

"You're not a mess," Saifa says softly, cupping Peter's face in his hands. "You're just lost. That's okay."

Peter shakes his head, stepping out of Saifa's hold. "No, you don't get it. You deserve someone better. Someone who doesn't carry this much...baggage. I'm not fair to you."

Saifa doesn't move, doesn't flinch. "Peter, I don't want perfect. I want you. Flaws and all. I'm not asking you to be easy. I'm asking you to be honest."

Peter stares at him, feeling the weight of Saifa's words sink in. "You...really like me?"

Saifa smirks, but it's softer, warmer. "Yeah. I really like you. I wouldn't have kissed you if I didn't."

Peter exhales, a shaky laugh escaping him. "You'll get tired of me."

"Maybe," Saifa shrugs, grinning. "But you'll never know if you don't try."

For the first time in a long time, Peter lets himself believe it.