Crimson Bonds [MxM]

22

Logical

When Peter wakes up that morning, the sunlight streams through his half-closed curtains, casting warm patterns across his bed. For a moment, he lies there, letting the world outside stir to life. The distant hum of the city below, the muffled sounds of cars, footsteps, and birds chirping slowly pull him from sleep. As he stretches, a smile creeps onto his face—an odd sensation, given the tumultuous thoughts that have been plaguing him.

Today is a good day. He's going to visit his sisters in Faurbs, and for once, he's decided to leave his books and laptop behind. He even finds himself excited for the first time in weeks.

After dragging himself out of bed, Peter shuffles to the closet, pulling out a pair of pants, a white shirt, and his favourite dark green jumper, along with brown woollen socks. His movements are automatic, but his mind drifts to the weekend ahead. It'll be a break—a much-needed escape from the confusion that's been gnawing at him. But beneath that anticipation, there's something else, something more complicated. He shoves the thought away.

In the kitchen, Anouk is humming softly while making breakfast. Peter greets her with a smile.

"Good morning! You look unusually chipper today," she remarks, handing him a cup of coffee.

"I'm visiting my sisters," Peter says, grabbing a bowl for cereal.

"Oh! Please give them my love. I haven't seen them in ages." Anouk smiles, although her eyes seem to study him a little too intently. "Do you need my car?"

Peter pauses. He was going to take the bus, but Anouk waves off his protest.

"Take my car. You'll be more comfortable, and I'll be with Aiman all weekend anyway. If I need a car, I'll use his."

Before Peter can object, she's already handing him the keys. He thanks her, finishing his coffee, and with a brief hug and a quick kiss on her forehead, he's out the door. Yet, as he leaves, the tension that had briefly dissipated begins creeping back into his chest, coiling like a snake.

***

The drive to Faurbs is uneventful, even if Peter's mind is anything but. He plays a carefully curated playlist, the music filling the car. As the city blurs into the countryside, his thoughts return to Saifa.

Saifa, the High Fae who managed to make Peter question everything. They've been texting more frequently since that night by the river, sharing small, inconsequential details about their days—nothing too personal, but enough to leave Peter wanting more. The problem is, he wants too much. And he's terrified of it.

He'd told Saifa about his weekend plans, feeling compelled to share, as though the Fae had already become part of his daily routine. The ease of their conversations both soothed and unsettled him. He'd spent so long protecting himself, locking his heart away, yet here was Saifa, cracking the walls effortlessly. Peter clenches his hands around the steering wheel, trying to push down the anxiety rising in his chest.

By the time he pulls up in front of his sisters' small, two-story house, Peter feels a pang of relief. At least here, with Alice and Daphne, things are simple.

But as soon as he steps out of the car, he's tackled by a whirlwind of black curls and horns.

"Daphne!" Peter laughs as his younger sister wraps her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Finally!" Daphne's violet eyes gleam with excitement, her cheeks flushed from the cool air.

Alice appears in the doorway, smiling warmly, her usual sharp-edged demeanour softened in the familiarity of home. Her eyes shine with the same golden hue as Peter's, a shared trait from their father, though hers carry an intensity he's always admired and feared.

"Come on in, Little Flame," Alice says, wrapping her arm around Peter as they head inside. The nickname brings with it a flood of memories—days when Peter had felt sure of himself, of his place in the world.

But that was before. Before Theoden, before everything crumbled.

***

The inside of the house is just as Peter remembers—small, cosy, and filled with the comforting smell of Alice's cooking. As they sit down for lunch, the conversation flows easily. Alice has made pesto spaghetti, Peter's favourite, and for a while, everything feels normal. They laugh, reminisce, and Daphne fills them in on her latest school adventures.

But the quiet that follows dessert is when the real conversations begin. Peter knew this was coming; Alice never lets anything slide.

"So," Alice says, stirring her coffee, her voice casual but laced with intent, "how's it going with that person you mentioned last time?"

Peter stiffens, his fork hovering above his empty plate. He hadn't expected her to bring up Saifa so soon, but Alice is nothing if not direct. He sighs, leaning back in his chair.

"We talked," he says simply, hoping that will be enough. But Alice raises an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

"And?" She leans in slightly, her golden eyes locked on his.

"And we're waiting. Figuring things out." Peter shrugs, trying to sound indifferent, though his insides twist with uncertainty.

Alice studies him for a moment before nodding. "Waiting, huh? That doesn't sound like you, Little Flame. You've never been one to just... wait."

Peter feels the tension building in his chest again. He wants to explain, but the words feel tangled, heavy. "It's complicated, Alice. Even if I forget everything that happened with Theoden, well... This person -- his name's Saifa -- he's a High Fae. You know what that means."

Alice's expression softens slightly, though her eyes don't lose their sharpness. "You think he'll walk away because you're a Tiefling?"

Peter hesitates. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just... afraid. I don't know."

His sister taps her claws against the table, a rhythmic sound that matches the quickening beat of Peter's heart. "Tell me more about him. What makes this Saifa so different from Theoden?"

"He's... not like Theoden at all. Saifa is kind, genuinely kind. And he doesn't care about appearances. He never once made me feel like... like less."

Alice's eyes flicker with something—a memory, perhaps, or her own hidden pain. "That's good. But you're still hesitating."

Peter lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to get hurt again, Alice. He's too perfect, too... good. What if he leaves? What if he wakes up one day and realises I'm not worth it?"

Before Alice can respond, Daphne chimes in from her spot on the carpet, her violet eyes never leaving her book. "You're overthinking. You always do that."

Peter blinks, surprised by the wisdom in her words. "What do you mean?"

Daphne looks up, her expression far too mature for her age. "When you talk about this Saifa, you look... lighter. Happier. You've been carrying that sadness for so long, but when you talk about that Fae, it's like it lifts."

Peter's heart skips a beat. He hadn't realised how transparent he'd become. Alice smiles softly, reaching across the table to take his hand.

"Daphne's right, you know. Maybe it's time you stopped thinking so much and just let yourself feel."

Peter stares down at their hands, feeling the warmth of Alice's grip, her steady presence grounding him. He wants to argue, to say that it isn't that simple—that feelings have never been that simple for him. But something in the way Alice and Daphne look at him, with quiet understanding and unshakable belief, eases the knot of fear in his chest. Maybe they're right. Maybe, for once, he can stop running from what he feels, stop anticipating the worst. He's tired of holding back, tired of letting the shadows of his past dictate the light in his present. Slowly, he nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe you're right."