Puzzle Pieces (Sonny/Graffiti Pete) In The Heights

For my, like, two readers, THANK YOU so much, I love you all.

Pete blinks at the door of the bodega before ducking inside. He wishes he could wipe his cheeks free of the blush that stains them but they're drawn in colored pencils- the crappy crayola ones that don't erase.

"Hey!" Sonny tries to ignore the flutter, the jump, the urge to smile. He fails.

Pete's here. Pete came. Pete wanted to see him.

"'Sup?" Pete smiles. Sonny's the only one who's made him smile in the past few days.

Sonny grabs cups. "Not much. Refreshing to see a new face."

Pete won't blush. "Anytime, yo. I got nothing better to do." He winks at Sonny, thanking him for the slushie. Hideous or not, he'll try it if it's from Sonny. Sonny's face heats up even more. It's awkward, but it's nice awkward and-

"Hey, punk, get out of my shop!" Both turn to Usnavi at the register.

"Yo, man, I'm just chilling out, dude." Pete doesn't roll his eyes, but he wants to. He drops his eyes to Sonny, who doesn't defend him. Ouch.

Sonny isn't about to step up against Usnavi. Usnavi's voice is still echoing in his head. No me diga!

Usnavi glares at Pete, and pulls out an old off-brand cell phone.

Shit. Pete bolts out the door.

Sonny watches Pete run, like a deer, bouncy, graceful, a spring in his feet.

Pete slumps onto a nearby park bench, alone. Again. With a sigh, he begins to sketch Sonny again, his whole body, stocky-short, energetic smile, winking.

Sonny glances over to Usnavi. "Hey, I'm gonna go see what he thought about my combo," Sonny says, hopping off the counter. Usnavi doesn't even blink.

"Sure bro."

Pete looks up from his barely started sketch to see the real Sonny plop down beside him with a grin.

His cap is on backwards, like it always is, and a few little curls spill from below it, where his eyes are still visible."Sorry about my cousin, he's an awesome guy-" Sonny tries to explain. He doesn't know why Usnavi dislikes Pete so much. The grate?

Or maybe... has Usnavi noticed Sonny making eyes at Pete...? God, please no.

"He just hates me." Pete finishes. He knows it's true.

"Yeah," Sonny shrugs apologetically. Pete keeps looking back down at whatever he's drawing as they talk about the slushie, the hot day, the bodega, the birds that Abuela feeds.

"What's she like?" Graffiti Pete suddenly asks, squinting into the sun.

"Abuela?" Sonny smiles at her name, feeling it warm his body from the inside out. Pete wants to pull out a camera and take a picture of this smile; it's different than the others. The others are energetic, eager, passionate. This one is loving, wistful, soft.

Pete doesn't have a camera. He speeds up his drawing. Lines, curves, shading, lighting.

"Well." Sonny lifts his cap and sets it back on, ruffling his curls. "She's wonderful. She cares so much about people and she gives to everyone, time and effort and love, you know? She loves us unconditionally like she really is my Abuela, feel me? The one I run to when no one else got my back."

Pete wrinkles his brow, sketching quietly as Sonny gazes off, wistful when his eyes turn to the bodega.

"Don't you have Usnavi?" Pete asks curiously, following the path of Sonny's eyes. Abuela sounds like the mother he wishes he had. Imagine coming home to someone who says hi when he walks in. Who listens when he feels down, who smiles, who hugs.