Crimson Bonds [MxM]

27- Miracle Man

The early evening air is crisp, a soft but biting chill brushing against Peter's skin. He pulls his thick coat tighter around him, the ends of his long green scarf fluttering with each gust of wind. Beside him, Saifa seems unbothered by the cold, though Peter notices the Fae shifting closer with every step. Their fingers are tightly intertwined as they make their way toward the restaurant Peter has chosen for their first proper date. Peter's heart flutters with excitement and nerves, but the smile on his face is impossible to suppress. His cheeks ache from it, but it's worth it—Saifa's with him, talking animatedly about music, his voice bright under the dim glow of the streetlights.

There's something magnetic about the way Saifa speaks, especially about music. His green eyes sparkle, his face lighting up as he describes his compositions, his words full of passion. It's not just talk—it's like Saifa is made of music, the rhythm and melody weaving through his voice. Peter can't look away, captivated by the way Saifa's energy shines through every sentence. He almost looks younger like this, cheeks slightly pink, his eyes shimmering like stars. Peter's heart pounds in his chest, warmth spreading through his veins.

It hits him suddenly—he's falling in love. Maybe even more than he already thought.

The streets around them are growing busier, the hum of people leaving work, heading toward pubs, cinemas, or dinner spots filling the air. As Peter glances up, the stars are beginning to peek through the darkening sky. He wishes the night could stay like this—perfect, peaceful. But the world rarely grants such wishes.

Footsteps behind them quicken, and Peter glances over his shoulder. A group of three young men are approaching, their laughter loud, their strides carefree. They're dressed casually, wearing university hoodies—Altala students, no doubt. Peter wouldn't think much of it, but there's something off in the way they look at him and Saifa. One of them, tall with dark hair, lets out a sharp laugh, his eyes lingering too long.

"Oi, look at that. A Tiefling with one of the Fae," the dark-haired guy sneers, nudging his friends. "Guess standards don't matter anymore, huh?"

Peter feels a sharp sting in his chest, but he keeps his head down, hoping to ignore the comment. Saifa's hand tenses in his, though he doesn't say anything, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The knot in Peter's stomach tightens. Being a Fire Tiefling means facing this kind of treatment more often than not—people avoiding eye contact, whispering behind his back, sometime worse. But having Saifa, a High Fae, by his side seems to magnify the stares and sneers tonight.

"Must be charity work," one of the other guys mocks, his voice dripping with scorn. "A High Fae slumming it with a Tiefling? Must be scraping the bottom of the barrel."

Peter's pulse quickens, and he glances at Saifa, hoping he'll just let it slide. But he can feel the shift in the air. Saifa's presence grows heavier, his grip tightening almost painfully around Peter's hand.

"Let's just keep walking," Peter whispers urgently, trying to defuse the tension. He tugs at Saifa's hand, hoping to lead him away before things escalate. The last thing he wants is a scene.

But Saifa halts, his tall, imposing figure turning slowly toward the trio. His green eyes are no longer soft and warm; they're cold, glowing faintly with restrained anger. Peter's heart sinks—this isn't going to end well.