Fire & Songs

1 - 𝕋𝕠𝕠 𝕤𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

It's late, and Peter feels cold.

It sucks. He hates working at the store, especially at such a late hour. The wind is blowing strongly in Altala's tonight, a soft yet hissing whistling coming from under the main door with each new blow.

Peter shivers, feeling the chill spreading despite his thick jumper. It's around 10P.M, and he needs to close the shop at 11 P.M. One hour left before freedom. One hour before he can go, walk through the frigid cold and finally, finally reach his lovely home where, hopefully, his best friend, the bright yet snarky Anouk Johnson, has left him some food for late dinner.

He shares a small flat in the centre of the lively city of Altala with Anouk. He met her when they started university as undergraduates, both being in the same major despite being from different races. Anouk was a Solar Witch while he was a Fire Tiefling, and they still managed to choose the same major: Faeries Law.

As such, they went through the ups and downs of law students, keeping each other company through the long nights of final study and the endless hours of essay writing. Now, as they are both reaching the end of their postgraduate degree, tweaking the details of their respective dissertations, life is starting to change, slowly but surely.

Well, as of now, for Peter, life is pretty much the same. He has had this part-time job at the local store for almost four years now, working the night shift mainly, and although he has started looking for a new job, something hopefully related to his degree, he is still stuck here, at the shop, at such a late hour.

It isn't like the store is even a good store at that. It's cold, especially in winter like now, with its broken heater and poorly made insulation. It has a large variety of basic things, like cup noodles, sandwiches, sodas, coffees, teas, energy drinks and many more things that keep university students alive, but there's a certain lack of more healthy options. Like fresh vegetables and fruits. There's water, though. Water is healthy.

Peter groans, running his hands over his face and then through his buzz-cut hair, feeling his red, curly horns, trying to wake himself up but to no avail. He is sleepy. It is not a weather for a Fire Tiefling, it is way too cold. Still, his mind returns to the various documents he needs to read in order to complete his dissertation and for its next lectures, and his groan intensifies.

Life sucks. That's all he can think about.

He hugs himself to keep warm, his eyes following the frost covering the shop's windows. He sighs, wondering if he should make himself some hot chocolate when the door suddenly opens with a light ding.

Peter's eyes turn to the entrance, where stands a familiar face.

It's Saifa, the High Fae. Awfully smiley Saifa. He and his guitar over his shoulder.

What on earth is he doing with his guitar at this late hour? It's not like he is a bard. Or perhaps he is since Peter cannot remember a time he has seen the other without his guitar.

The Fae steps inside, and Peter notices that two other Faes are waiting outside in the cold. He supposes they are his friends. Saifa goes to the beverage aisle, stopping in front of the coffee shelf. He seems deep in thought for an instant, the hand holding his guitar on his shoulder tightening mindlessly.

It gives Peter time to consider the other presence. Saifa Mockinjay is a well-known face for him. The High Fae is an art major or liberal arts — Peter isn't sure —hence his guitar. He is tall, arrogant and handsome as are all High Fae, but Peter will confess that Saifa is even more handsomely beautiful than any other Fae he had met with his golden skin and dark hair. But most of all, Saifa is the type of social butterfly that participates in too many clubs to count and is invited to all parties.

It isn't that Peter dislikes him per se, but he may be prejudiced. It's not his fault —perhaps it is — but Saifa annoys him to no end with his gooey, sunny smile, his perfect, fluffy hair, and his kind eyes. No one can be that nice except serial killers. And, perhaps the fact that Faes and Tieflings traditionally didn't go along didn't help as well. Peter is used to the common distrust towards his race, especially from Faes, but Saifa never so much as glared at him or looked at him weirdly, which unnerved Peter as well.

Under the shop's neon lights, Saifa manages to glow, the hideous white light surprisingly giving his skin a golden spark, reaching even the tip of his pointy ears, and his hair a copper shade despite its dark, almost ebony colour.

It's annoying.

Peter frowns, crossing his arms a little tighter over his chest, forcing himself to think of warm things and for his tail to calm as it snuggles around his feet when Saifa finally seems to make a choice and grabs a bottle of caramel macchiato because, of course, he would go for the weirdly named drink.

A part of Peter cannot help but think that it isn't well advised to drink coffee so late in the night, but he shakes his head. Whether the other wants to be unable to sleep is none of his business.

With his bottle in hand, Saifa strides toward the counter behind which Peter is standing. The Fae is smiling.

Isn't it tiring to look so happy all the time? Peter wonders, trying to quell his irritation. He gets easily annoyed when it's too late, which is terrible since he only works late hours. He watches the Fae gently settling down the bottle of coffee with a joyful grin.

"'Evening," Saifa greets, his voice melodious and light with his baritone tone.

Peter grunts an answer, scanning the product and ringing it up in the register. From the corner of his eye, he can see Saifa glancing at the thick books stacked up next to the machine. The one on the top is opened with a yellow highlighter and a blue pen lying at its centre.

"£1.80," Peter states the price, not wanting to make any conversation. He has read too, and he'd like to go home and sleep, not mindlessly chat with an unnecessarily happy lad.

Not seeming to be faced by Peter's curt answer, Saifa takes out some money and gently places it on the counter's surface, silently counting. Peter takes the coins, places them inside the register, and waits for the machine to print his receipt. Once it's done, he puts it next to the bottle.

Saifa takes both before staring at Peter, who stares back, unimpressed. He briefly wonders what is wrong with the Fae, but as soon as he thinks he will ask, Saifa turns around and leaves the shop with his two friends.

Peter watches him disappearing in the night, baffled.

What the hell just happened?

 He stares a moment longer at the door. A sudden shiver runs up his back and arms as he slowly realises that Saifa has been warm. So warm it was as if he was radiating heat. Because now, Peter is even colder than before.