Peter sighed softly, back sliding down the door as he sank to the ground, the sound of Sonny’s soft sobs echoing through the bathroom. He wanted, so desperately, to reach out, to open the door, to let himself in, but he couldn’t. This situation, this arrangement was already something that Sonny hadn’t wanted, of that Peter was sure. And really, he hadn’t liked the idea either, hadn’t wanted his life, the rest of it, decided for him.
But it had been four months of living like this, dancing around each other, trying not to step on each others toes despite the fact that they fell into the same bed each night, an invisible dividing line down the center of the mattress. Peter didn’t want it to be like this. He knew he couldn’t make Sonny love him, knew that an arranged marriage, the pressure to make something out of nothing practically precluded that, but he had hoped, at least, that they could be friends.
But Sonny had come home from work today, still bloodstained and numb, and he hadn’t bothered to glance for even a moment at Peter, sitting at the kitchen table, and he’d walked straight into the bathroom, closed the door, and Peter heard the sobs.
And he wanted to let himself in, he did, wanted Sonny to know that even if they hadn’t chosen this, that he would be there for him, through anything, everything. That if nothing more, no love, Peter could be someone Sonny could rely on. But he couldn’t force it, not when everything about them was forced already.
“Sonny,” Peter called gently through the solid door, head tipped back to rest against it. “Please let me in.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, and he hoped Sonny couldn’t hear that bit through the door, but the lock clicked, and the door swung open, and Sonny was standing there, under the shower head, stripped down to nothing, just crusted blood still caked onto his skin, and his hands trembled, almost violently as he reached up to his hair, pulling at it under the spray.
Sonny looked over at him, eyes dark red and he let out another sort of strangled sob, “I can’t get it out,” he said, hands trembling at his forehead, “her blood, I can’t,” his voice broke into another sob, and Peter stepped forward, wrapped his hands around Sonny’s wrists, lowering them from his head, down to rest at his sides, and Sonny just let out another sob.
“Its okay, its okay, let me,” Peter offered gently, ignoring the way the spray of water soaked through his shirt as he stepped closer, tilting Sonny’s head back to keep the water out of his eyes, and he ran his fingers through Sonny’s hair, scrubbing out the blood, and when the water ran clear, he moved on to the rest of Sonny’s skin, pulling a soaked wash cloth off the edge of the tub.
And Sonny’s sobs continued, silently, even as Peter turned off the water, and gathered a towel to wrap around his quivering form, even as Peter pulled a brush from the vanity, pulling it through Sonny’s damp locks gently, away from his face, but Sonny relaxed into the touch, soothing and mellow, and Peter figured, that even if Sonny didn’t, couldn’t love him, Peter would love him enough for the both of them.
Hey Lex? Ouch.
SVU addict 