F L A M E

21 - 𝕀𝕞𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦

Peter sits in the grass. He watches the water flowing over its golden bed without truly seeing it, lost in thought. His sister's words still resonate within him, ricocheting against bones and flesh as he tries to find a way to articulate his truth. His honesty. What he really wants to tell Saifa. Alice is right. The Fae deserves the truth.

However, Peter wonders about when he started liking Saifa. He remembers like it was yesterday, the day the man stepped for the first time inside the store, grabbing his caramel macchiato and smiling so brightly that it effectively annoyed Peter. He remembers his soft, kind words as he looked almost gullible. He remembers the way Saifa's fingers entangled with his short hair, the feeling of his fingertips leaving pleasant burning lines on the skin of his scalp, and how he had looked at Peter that night. He had been understanding and kind and so damn patient with him, inviting him to his gig as often as he came to the store. He remembers the way Saifa moves on stage, the way he sings with all of his heart and soul, shining brighter than the brightest star. There's so much beauty within and outside Saifa, so much to see and discover. He is a constant wonder — an amazing one at that. Then, there has been his anger at Theoden's neglect, and his joy and relief when he heard Peter had broken up with the Half-Fae. He remembers Saifa's hands on his hips as they danced in the crowded pub. He remembers the feeling of his lips against his. He remembers his taste.

He misses it, Peter realises.

The sense of Saifa against him, his lips, his bright eyes, his touches... He misses all of it. He likes Saifa. And the latter has brought him to such a mesmerising place, which is probably one of Saifa's spots, and that, even though Peter has been the worst jerk he could possibly be. He is too good for him. Too kind to him.

Peter believes Saifa deserves his honesty more than anyone. He wants to walk to the man, stand in front of him and just declare his love for him, his devotion and attraction. He'd like that. However, he is still terrified. It's like he is paralysed, his feet drowning and swallowing in quicksand, even as he tries to stand and move.

He sighs, pressing his hands against the earth, feeling the humid soil under his palms.

It's steadying.

Slowly, he stands on shaking legs, brushing his hands against his pants. He watches the water one last time before turning away, walking one step at a time to Saifa's car. The latter is still lying inside, his legs dangling outside. Peter approaches, feet moving the gravel as he comes to stand in front of the Fae, only seeing his long legs up to mid-thigh.

He bites his lower lip. He feels himself shaking, his hands, his heart, his knees. It's like all of him is suffering through an earthquake.

"Saifa," he clears his throat, trying to even his voice and stops the slight tremble he can hear. The Fae doesn't move. He doesn't even look up at Peter. "I want to talk," he says after a moment of silence. Only then does Saifa move, slowly sitting up on his still-reclined seat. Taking a long look at Peter, Saifa gazes him up and down. He isn't frowning, but something in his features looks upset nonetheless. Perhaps it's the dark shadows swirling in his usually bright eyes.

"Well?" He inquires, "You said you wanted to talk. Speak, I'm all ears." His tone is curt and sharp like a knife, but Peter thinks he deserves it and only exhales shakily, trying to ground himself in the present. Alice's words still resonate in his mind.

"I'm scared," he declares first, the words leaving his chest in a breath as if it is forced out of his lungs. "I ran away because I was terrified. Because I still am."

"What are you so afraid of?" Saifa then asks, leaning his left shoulder against the side of the car, looking at Peter attentively.

He then hesitates, trying to find the right words to describe his feelings. It's challenging. His feelings are a convoluted mess, after all.