Crimson Bonds

25 - The boy is mine

The music pulses around Peter as he steps into the pub, the vibrations settling into his skin like a second heartbeat. It's loud, but the voice he hears weaving through the noise is unmistakable—Saifa's. There's a power in it, raw and mesmerising. Peter's eyes sweep the room until they land on the bar, where Aiman is hustling behind the counter, pouring drinks with practised ease. He makes his way over, leaning in for a quick handshake. The pub is too loud for conversation, so they skip it. Aiman raises a brow, offering Peter a drink with a flick of his wrist, and Peter nods.

But something makes him hesitate before Aiman can serve him. His gaze drifts to the stage, to Saifa, glowing under the spotlights. It's like the world stops when Saifa performs. The Fae's voice grips the crowd, pulling them in like a spell. Peter's chest tightens, and frustration simmers beneath the surface. After that run-in with the girl who'd hit on Saifa, he can't ignore the fear creeping in, the idea of someone else stealing Saifa away. His magic stirs, his veins heating with the slow burn of Fire, and he clenches his fist to keep it in check.

He needs to make a move. He needs to show Saifa what he means to him—now.

Turning back to Aiman, Peter leans closer, speaking directly into his ear over the din. "Get me another beer," he says, his voice low but firm. "And a candle."

Aiman pauses, his hand hovering over a bottle. "A candle?" he repeats, cocking an eyebrow. "What are you up to?"

Peter shifts awkwardly, feeling his face flush. Romance has never come easily to him, even in past relationships. But with Saifa, everything feels more intense—more important. He clears his throat, glancing away to avoid Aiman's curious stare. "Don't ask," he mutters, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, his burgundy skin deepening to a rich maroon.

Aiman smirks, leaning over the counter. "This for Saifa?" The teasing tone makes Peter's stomach flip. "You're finally going for it?"

Peter clenches his jaw, nodding, feeling the weight of his decision settle in. "Yeah," he admits, his voice tight. "I'm gonna ask him out."

Aiman's grin widens, sharp and playful, the same grin he wears when teasing Anouk. "About time! I'll find you that candle."

He ducks beneath the counter, rummaging around for what feels like an eternity before popping back up with a small fake candle set in a dark green holder. "Here you go," he says with a wink. "Go get your Fae."

Peter's nerves tangle as he takes the candle and beer, moving through the crowd to find a table with a good view of the stage. He picks one far enough from the thick of the crowd but close enough that Saifa can see him. Setting the candle in the centre of the table, Peter carefully places the second beer in front of the empty chair across from him. His own drink sits untouched as he watches Saifa, the music and noise fading into the background.

Saifa finishes the song with a final, breathtaking note, and the crowd erupts in applause. He bows, his movements graceful, but Peter catches the way his eyes immediately scan the room. Saifa doesn't linger on stage tonight. He sidesteps the fans trying to get his attention, his focus already fixed on Peter. His bright smile sends the Tiefling's heart racing, but there's something more beneath it—an urgency in the way Saifa weaves through the crowd, ignoring the hands that try to stop him.

Peter's breath hitches as Saifa slides into the seat across from him, grabbing the beer with a sigh of relief. "How was I?" he asks, his eyes gleaming with that familiar playful glint.

Peter forces a smile, though his nerves are buzzing. "You were incredible. Had everyone captivated."

Saifa's smile brightens, but Peter notices a flicker in his eyes when they land on the candle. The Fae's expression shifts, just for a moment—a shadow of something darker before it vanishes behind a soft, teasing smile. He tilts his head, his hand curling around the beer bottle. "What's with the candle?" he asks, his voice casual, but Peter feels the tension lacing his words.

His throat tightens. This was supposed to be the easy part, but its vulnerability all crashed over him like a wave. He clears his throat, forcing the words out. "I'm trying to be romantic," he admits, cringing slightly at how weak his voice sounds.

Saifa's eyes widen slightly before his lips curl into a sly smile. "Romantic, huh?" He leans in, his voice dropping lower. "And what brought this on?"

Peter swallows, suddenly unsure of himself. He grips the edge of the table, feeling the elemental magic churn inside him, barely kept in check since he is so nervous. But he pushes forward, knowing he can't retreat now.

"I want to be with you," he says, the words rushing out before he can second-guess them. His voice gains strength as he continues, locking eyes with Saifa. "No matter how messed up I feel about myself, I want to be with you. I need to be. I'll work on my issues, but I'm not going to let them stop me from having this." His hand gestures between them, the space charged with everything he's been holding back. "I need you to know that. And I thought—" he stumbles over the last part, his voice tight, "I thought if I didn't do something, someone else would try to take you away."

Saifa's eyes soften, though amusement dances in them. "Take me away?" he echoes, and Peter braces himself for the rejection or laughter that might follow. But instead, Saifa leans even closer, his voice low and serious. "Peter, no one's taking me anywhere. Not unless I want to go."

Peter's pulse races at the closeness, the sincerity in Saifa's words. The High Fae takes Peter's hand without hesitation, intertwining their fingers in a bold, grounding gesture. "You think I'm here because I have to be?" Saifa asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've liked you for a while now, but, I confess, I wanted you to make the move."

Peter's face heats up, and he squeezes Saifa's hand, feeling a flood of relief. "Then let me do this properly," Peter says, his voice filled with conviction. "Let's go on a real date. I don't care about the past or who I was before. I want to be with you, Saifa."

Saifa watches him for a moment, his gaze softer than Peter's ever seen. "Alright," he says, his lips curving into a tender smile. "Let's do this. A real date."

Peter's chest swells with joy, the weight of his uncertainty lifting. "How about Tuesday? After your classes?" he asks, his voice more confident now.

Saifa chuckles, his hand still in Peter's. "Tuesday's perfect."

Peter grins wide, unable to contain the excitement bubbling up inside him. "Great. I'll pick you up from the Art faculty, and we'll go somewhere special. I promise."

Saifa raises his beer, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "I'm looking forward to it."

As they sit there, Peter feels the lingering tension in his body slowly fade away. Saifa chose him, and for the first time in a long while, Peter feels like he's finally chosen the right path.