i know this hurts, it was meant to

Oh. There it was.

Over the course of the night, with the aid of whiskey, Sonny had successfully pushed from his mind what he remembered of that interaction up until just now, and would have been perfectly happy to leave it unaddressed. It took every modicum of his control to prevent his face from morphing in a way that might reveal some particular emotion. The mask didn’t matter, however, because when he opened his eyes Port was still not looking at him.

“I love you,” he said by way of response. It was not what he had intended to come out of his mouth, even if it was the truth.

Port finally shifted, no longer stone, twisting and pushing himself up onto his elbow. Sonny thought his brown eyes were beautiful, even in the dark, in a way that made him want to simultaneously shy away from the eye contact and keep staring into them forever. There was a furrow between Port’s pale brows. “I love you, too,” he said. 

There was no hesitation in his words. For some reason Sonny was surprised by how unflinchingly he said it, even if it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it from him— but never so blatantly, never face-to-face like this. Only ever in the dead of night, Port’s lips pressed to his hair or near his ear, whispered in soft or scary moments. He’d figured Port might find it difficult to say in any other context.

“Okay,” Sonny said.

Port sat up fully and interlaced his fingers in his lap. One of his thumbs brushed over the other, running along the fingernail. Sonny could not see too well from this angle or in the darkness, but he knew from every past sneaking glance at Port’s nimble hands that the nail was warped, like dented sheet metal or the rippling surface of a pond. 

“I’ve been thinking about the files,” Port said.

It took Sonny a moment to realize what he was referring to, with the sudden non-sequitur. Those redacted documents. Port hadn’t seemed very interested at all two days ago. At this point, Sonny was done with them, too. “What about them?”

“I think… I get why you wanna know more about who you are.”

Sonny shook his head minutely, listening to the soft scratching sound of his hair rubbing against the cotton pillowcase. “I don’t care anymore,” Sonny said. “I decided I don’t want to know.”

Port stopped rubbing at his thumbnail. “Really? Why?”

Sonny turned his face away, frustrated. He had not intended to continue thinking about this at all, let alone put it to words for Port’s benefit. Sonny cursed his stupid fucking immune system and his own self and every single circumstance that had led up to this moment. “Yesterday…” he said through his teeth, “…in the bathroom, it brought up some shit I don’t really wanna think about. I don’t wanna look back at all, including anything in those files. I’m done with all of it.” 

When Sonny turned back, Port was looking slightly pained, some discomforted emotion pulling at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were very still, aimed at some spot on the blanket, as he looked for words to say. “Did… did you know who I was?” he asked.

Fucking embarrassing. Sonny pressed his palm to his forehead, fingers in his bangs, and groaned. “Forget it happened.”

“Did you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s all fuzzy.” He felt a little fuzzy right now, like he might dissolve into the bedsheets. 

Port rubbed at the back of his neck, over the delicate collar. “Y’know, family… has been on my mind, lately,” he said haltingly. “And I just feel like I should tell you… You’re family to me.” The look he was giving Sonny was something a little wide-eyed, a frightened sort of sincerity.

Sonny didn’t want to look at it. He brought his other hand to his face and pressed both palms to his eyes, scoffing. “Do you always have to talk around things like this?” The pressure had stars exploding behind his eyelids. “Just say what you really wanna say.”

Quiet. Darkness. “Did you mean to, uh, lick me?”

Sonny nearly laughed. Only Port would word it like that. 

It was something he’d wanted to do many times before, in moments tantalizingly close to Port’s bare skin, restrained only by his sense. When he was sick, he’d had none. Right now, Sonny thought he might still have none. And even though he hadn’t really known whose neck he was pressing his tongue to at the time, it did not matter. It was not the real question Port was trying to ask. “Yes,” he said.

Port did not respond to that. Sonny told himself he would simply lay in the silence and force Port to say something if he truly wanted to talk it out. He wondered if Port was mulling over his words right now, eyes still and focused in the way they were whenever he was calculating a response, trying to decide on a way to let him down easy. He could not help but imagine the way Port might be looking at him— as he hid behind his hands in a way that now seemed pathetic rather than resolute— perhaps with pity or apprehension or disgust.

His resolve for silence did not last even a minute. “I’m not your little brother,” Sonny said, even if it sometimes felt that way and he didn’t always hate it. “I feel like you put me in this box. You put me in this box and you refuse to see me any other way. And you think I’m, like, incompetent and… and immature.” The words were spilling out of his mouth.

“I—“ Port sounded weak. “I just don’t know where this is coming from.”

Sonny injected as much incredulity into his voice as he could manage. “You had no idea?”

Port’s voice was suddenly a little bolder, words a little quicker. “I mean, do you really think that would be good for us? Really?” 

Sonny was brave enough to pull his hands away and open his eyes. He set his jaw and fixed Port with a look he hoped came across as angry rather than ashamed, swallowing hard, fearing the bob of his throat was too obvious. Port’s look in return was something akin to wariness, nervous wrinkles under his eyes. “I don’t think you actually want me like that, Sonny.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me what I want.”

“I’m all you had, and you’re all I had, for— what— eight months? I’ve been the only person around for you to… to put those feelings on.”

“For god’s sake, stop talking.”

“You’re just starved for—“

“Shut up!”

“—for that sort of stuff. You’re a romantic sort of person…” Port had started to drawl out his words, and his eyes could not stick to a single spot for more than a few seconds, rolling all over the room— landing everywhere except on Sonny. “…and I think you’re misinterpreting your love for me.” 

Sonny could feel the heat rising to his face and sweeping over his entire body like a fiery alcohol flush. He burned. He could imagine too well the thought going through Port’s head: This stupid child doesn’t know what he wants. Sonny remembered they were not alone in the house and had the restraint not to raise his voice. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he hissed.

Port’s eyes steadied, looking down at him, and Sonny realized it was ridiculous to be laying flat on his back having this conversation. He sat up, rising to Port’s level. 

“I’m not trying to put words in your mouth,” Port said, shrinking away. “I just…”

He did not care for whatever stupid explanation Port would try to give. “Why did you even bring this up in the first place?” he asked, throwing his hands up. “What are you getting out of it? Do you get hard to the thought of humiliating me?”

Something cracked in Port’s expression, then. Sonny could not stop himself from continuing.

“You want me to answer your question? No, I don’t think it would be a good thing for us. Which is why I’ve never fucking brought it up before!” His hands balled into fists. “I was sick, man. I wasn’t thinking when I did it. And if you’re really as oblivious as you say you are, you never, ever would’ve known, because I was never going to bring it up.” 

Port just stared at him, mouth shut.

“Are you happy we’re talking about this? Is this making you feel better? Is this conversation productive to you?”

Port’s wide eyes dropped to his lap at the same time his hand rose to his temple. He looked heavy in every limb of his body. “I… thought it would fester,” he said quietly.

“You’re the one who was making it awkward,” Sonny snapped. “You refused to look at me.”

Port’s eyes squeezed shut, pained. The skin of his forehead dimpled as he pressed his fingers there. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and despite himself Sonny found some of his frustration melting away at the sad sight before him. “I’m sorry,” Port repeated. “I was nervous. And I— I scared you real bad. I really messed up. I’m just… awful,” he finished weakly.

This switch in his demeanor— the evaporation of all that condescending self-superiority— really took the wind out of Sonny's sails. He no longer wanted to shout at him or insult him until he broke and admitted to the ways he was hurting him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Sonny asked.

Port stared blankly into his lap. “I’m a terrible person, Sonny. I just lie to you and upset you.” His words had a flat affect to them, like he was reading from a script. Like it was something he’d gone over in his head so much he had lost all the emotion behind it. “I’m even doing it now. I… I deserve…” he trailed off. 

His admittance of his faults was not at all satisfying, nor did it ring as true as Sonny had expected it to. “Stop,” he said. He felt bad, and at the same time, he was angry at Port for making him feel bad.

“Sometimes I wish we never met, for your sake.” Port’s voice was quiet. “You’d be happier.” 

That sent a stake straight through his heart. “Jesus. Stop it. This is—“ hurting me. No. That was not the right thing to say to him right now. “That’s not true,” he said. “You’re the most important person in the world to me.”

Port was silent for a moment. “I feel the same,” he replied. His eyes lifted, hesitatingly, to meet Sonny’s. In all their guilt, they were still beautiful. 

Sonny had told himself he wouldn’t try anything. He had told himself he would not try to take whatever his feelings were for Port any further. But, of course, leave it to himself to get sick and drunk and stupid and smash open the bottle he had worked so hard to stuff everything inside. “Is it really so impossible for you to see me that way?” he asked, against all better judgement. 

Port’s eyes dimmed a little, brows ever-so-slightly lowering on his forehead. “Still hoping?”

“…I’m drunk.”

“I know.”

“I just… can’t help but wonder what it would be like,” Sonny admitted quietly. 

Port tilted his head almost imperceptibly, face turning a little contemplative. 

Sonny did not want to be subject to whatever was going through his mind. He laid back down, head on the soft pillow. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced, though he did not pull the covers up and did not close his eyes. His lidded gaze ran along the blades of the ceiling fan.

Port was unmoving for some time. Perhaps a few minutes passed where he simply sat there, Sonny sensing his stare.

Then he shifted. The mattress beneath Sonny dipped lower as Port’s weight moved closer to him, two points of depression joining into one. Sonny could feel his own eyes going wide and bewildered as Port’s arm carefully and deliberately swung over him, hand landing by his other side. Sonny glanced to his lean forearm, then up to his face. It hovered above him, expression unreadable. His wavy hair hung down from his forehead and over his ears. 

The last time someone had leered over him like this, he’d been choked to unconsciousness. The memory rose to his mind unbidden and unwelcome, but Port did not seem so sinister. In fact, Sonny had imagined being in this position so many times it was downright surreal. He could not be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Port’s face dropped lower. Sonny stopped breathing. He blinked at Port’s upturned nose, almost afraid to look him in the eye. He could smell the mint off him, feel his soft breath. Port was so close that Sonny could count each freckle on his cheek, if he wanted. There was the scantest layer of air between their faces, and Sonny would only have to lift a few inches, and then their lips would be touching.

So that’s what he did. Port met him halfway. And then they were kissing. 

...If it could even be called that. It was little more than a chaste, dry press, closed mouth to closed mouth. Port’s eyes were shut. Sonny observed his pale eyelashes, and the slightest twitch in his eyelid, and then Port was pulling away. It had lasted maybe a single second.

Port’s face was still quite close, brow furrowed. They stared at each other for a moment. Sonny felt like a weight was pressing his chest into the bed and at the same time like he might simply float away, or just spin forever and ever the same way he did when he closed his eyes.

It had been too quick. He’d lifted his head on such instinct and suffered such shock that he had not had the chance to savor the moment. He needed to try it again. He gently placed his hands on either side of Port’s head, over his stick-out ears and soft hair, and pulled him back in. 

Sonny tried to really focus on the feeling of Port’s warm mouth against his, focus on the heat radiating off his skin and the sheer sensation of what it was like to have this man leaned over him with his palms pressing into the mattress on either side of him.

It was not as he'd pictured this moment. Despite how many times he had imagined Port like this, and in ways more illicit than this, it suddenly felt too vulgar to try anything more. In all of his prevailing chasteness, and his still unmoving lips, Sonny could not bring himself to try and coax Port's mouth open or let his hands wander anywhere else. Something about it would feel corruptive.

He loosened his grip on Port’s face and gently pushed his head away to signal that he was done. Port straightened his arms so that he was no longer so close to Sonny’s face. Brow still knit, his eyes fluttered open. They were intensely pensive. 

“Did that satisfy you?” Port asked, after a moment. 

“Why did you do that?” Sonny asked. It was a genuine question.

“I wanted to see if…” His eyes slid away as he trailed off, aborting the thought. His head hung lower from his shoulders and he shook it side to side, hair swaying gently. “I don’t know.”

A non-answer. Absurdly, Sonny found himself endeared by such a Port-like response, even as it pained him.

“Did it feel right to you?” Port asked. 

Sonny hesitated, even as he knew his answer immediately. “No.”

“Okay,” Port said, with some sense of finality. "There you have it.” 

He removed himself from Sonny’s space and sat back so that he was no longer on his hands and knees. His expression was difficult to read. Sonny felt bruised.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Port muttered.

It had been so much more alluring in fantasy, without all these strange strings attached. Sonny wondered if they might be better off if this had never happened at all. It was too fresh to tell. Would it really have rotted within him? Would he have been haunted by the question: What could have been, had I tried? 

“No, it’s okay,” Sonny said, even though he still had not decided if it was the truth or not. “I think it was a good experiment.” Maybe this confirmation of his doubts would allow him to forget about it for good. “So can we move on from this, now? No more hang-ups?”

There was the subtle bob of Port’s head. The noncommittal response was not satisfying to him. “I’m serious,” Sonny said. “I don’t want you to kill yourself feeling guilty about it. And don’t feel guilty about what happened yesterday, either. I want us to go back to how we were. Before…” He swept his hand through the air. At everything. “…all this.” He was pleading.

Port nodded more deeply. “That would be nice.”

Sonny did not like that answer, but he simply lifted his arms to interlace his fingers behind his head and inhaled deeply, filling his chest with air. He pinched his elbows inwards so they covered his ears and acted like blinders, imagining what it would be like to squeeze so hard that his eyeballs popped out of his skull. He exhaled. A sigh. 

He shifted his legs under the blanket and pulled it up to his collarbone. “I’m actually going to go to sleep now,” he said, still spinning. But he knew he would not sleep. He would lie awake and replay the moment over and over again behind his eyelids, even as it sickened him.

"Okay," Port said. "Goodnight."

♤♢♧♡♧♢♤

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