If he’s being totally honest with himself? There’s a part of him that wishes he were here under different circumstances. Pot on the stove, groceries on the counter — he can’t deny the fact that he wishes there wasn’t a gun on his hip or a vest around his chest. The vest was, he’d tried to argue, overdoing it — but after losing Dodds to a lack in protocol his Lieutenant wasn’t going to let anyone talk her out of the order.
At least Rafael isn’t in one, he thinks, but that may also change in time.
When the beans were finally spilled, he hadn’t exactly been happy — Rafael seemed to know that. Amanda’s presence had helped to keep some of his words at bay; they could cut deep when it was just the two of them and this was one of the rare occasions where Sonny’s every outburst would have been valid. He would have won the argument. It would have been snippy, quick, and his hands would have gone every which way, but Rafael Barba would have known the severity of his mistakes.
He’s still chewing on the idea of blowing up on him about not telling him — him of all people, about the death threats. Their friendship was supposed to be stronger than that, was supposed to be more than that; Sonny told Rafael everything.
Well. Alright.
That wasn’t fair; Sonny hadn’t told Rafael what was arguably the biggest secret of his life.
But it wasn’t like his life was in danger over his own kept information. Not really — not when he kept such a low profile and had certain fail-safes in place. He wanted to tell Rafael, Hell … he’d gotten close a few times but backed out almost as quickly as he stumbled onto the almost-subject. It wasn’t easy being what he was. It wasn’t easy to make friends — real friends. Harder, really, to make lovers. He’s single for a reason — that reason being his secret and in no way the fact that he’s pining, has been pining, since the moment he crossed paths with someone in particular.
Someone he’s giving the silent treatment now, as he prepares the two of them dinner as though he’s some scorned housewife ready to completely cave or blow up any second. He wants to bring it up, why he’s in Rafael’s place to begin with. Why he’d accepted the order to work as Rafael’s security detail while they looked into the threats. There are so many things boiling under the surface, things he fears may bubble right out of him in the silence — but an attempt to cut garlic nice and fine has him suddenly cursing under his breath he slips up and knicks his thumb.
Immediately, his thumb ends up in his mouth as the knife clatters gently against the counter. Brows knit; it stings — but it won’t for long. The taste of copper fills his senses and he sighs, annoyed with himself for being distracted at what could be considered a dire time. Pulling his thumb away results in fresh blood seeping out and down his arm — which puts him by the sink, instead.
“Don’t start.” It’s quipped over a shoulder as water runs. “This never happens at home.”
The irritation is practically flowing out of Sonny, and Rafael wants nothing to do with it. He’s been sitting on the other side of the room, working on paperwork and pretending to ignore the cloud of bad feelings slowly creeping into his space. Sonny thinks he knows everything. He likes to think that he understands everything Rafael does, why he does it, how he does it -- He’s over there sulking because, as usual, he was wrong. Sonny usually is wrong. And Rafael isn’t going to sit here holding his hand and apologizing for Sonny’s big head.
This hasn’t been easy for Rafael. He’s been scared, frustrated -- all the feelings someone could expect from this kind of thing. Telling someone about it would have made it more real. It would have turned this from a couple of threats, into a genuine problem. The hope had originally been that if he just closed his eyes... it would go away. But that kind of thing never worked. And finally, finally, he had Olivia.
And now Sonny is punishing him for it.
He’s just seething quietly over his papers, when Sonny makes that noise. The sound makes Rafael’s head snap up, and he scowls at him. He immediately realizes what’s going on, the thought solidified with the flash of blood he sees as Sonny turns to the sink. “That’s rich coming from you,” he says. His irritation at the silent treatment suddenly boils over the second that Sonny’s speaking again, and Rafael can’t stop the sharpness in his tone.
“I’ll start if I want to, you’ve been giving me a cold shoulder all day!”
It probably isn’t very fair of him to yell at Sonny, but his tension is so high. He had spent so long terrified, and when he’d asked for Sonny... he thought he would make him feel better. Not worse.
“Don’t put that in your mouth, you’ll get in infected. I have something. Stay there and stop pouting so much.”
He stands up and makes his way quickly across the apartment floor in a few quick steps, going in his bathroom. He finds some gauze and disinfectant before returning to Sonny, still seething. “Give me your hand.” He holds his hand out to him, fixing him with a sharp look.
