EPILOGUE - A Decade On
“Sonny!”
The man’s voice reverberates throughout the downtown Toronto penthouse, alerting his meeker half. Sonny gets up from where he’d been seated at the kitchen island on his laptop, making his way over toward the studio. It’s, technically, supposed to be shared, but the equipment is all Joel’s, so the rule is that Sonny can’t use it if Joel’s already in there. He tends to spend his time in the studio whether he’s producing or not, though.
When Sonny comes in, lingering tentatively by the door, Joel has the desktop computer open to Ableton. It doesn’t look like he’s streaming, so Sonny doesn’t have to hide his bruises from the camera. When Sonny approaches him, he notes the cigarette hanging loosely from Joel’s lips.
“Yeah?”
Joel draws the cigarette from his lips, a puff of nicotine-scented smoke escaping. The whole studio reeks of it. “Make me a sandwich.”
Sonny doesn’t really want to, but he knows how Joel will react if he tells him to make his own fucking sandwich, so he acquiesces.
“Okay.”
Skittering off to the kitchen, all too careful not to overstay his welcome in Joel’s studio, Sonny makes quick work of locating the peanut butter and the jelly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sonny almost finds it cute that peanut butter and jelly is Joel’s favorite kind of sandwich- some vestige of childish sweetness or innocence. But mostly, Sonny’s just kind of annoyed he has to drop what he’s doing because Joel can’t be bothered.
But that’s love, he tells himself. He does these things for Joel, makes his sandwiches and endures his angry outbursts and verbal assault, because he loves him. And it’s not like Joel doesn’t do anything for him, either. Joel is, after all, sponsoring him for Canadian citizenship, and lets him drive his car if he needs to. Sometimes, after big fights that leave Sonny with black eyes, he gives him gifts in apology and lavishes him with affection until he can’t stay mad.
Joel just shows his love a little differently, Sonny reminds himself as he cuts off the crust.
He brings the plate to Joel’s studio and sets it on the table in front of his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Joel’s shoulders and leaning over him to look at his screen.
“What’re you working on?”
“Dunno. Probably gonna take a break and scrap this. it’s not coming together the way I want it to.”
Sonny feels his heart sink a little at that latter comment. Joel’s a little bit volcanic, in the sense it takes a special kind of attention to predict when he’s going to blow up. Sonny’s already got a latent bruise on his forearm, tinged a sickly yellow as it heals but still painful. If he leaves in too much of a hurry, he’s afraid that will set Joel off, too.
Sonny moves to slide his arm out from the lion’s mouth, but he’s too late. Joel’s skinny fingers encircle Sonny’s bony, frail wrist, grip tight enough he knows he’ll need to wear long sleeves to hide the marks next time he goes out.
“Don’t go yet,” Joel says, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and into the ashtray on the desk, before snubbing it out against Sonny’s skin. Sonny bites his lip and sucks in a deep breath to endure the burning sensation it brings. When he pulls it away and drops the butt into the ashtray, Sonny sees the dark ashen ring that’s been seared into his flesh and whimpers as Joel pulls him downward, until he collapses to his knees beside the swivel chair, forced to look upward to meet Joel’s cold, uncaring eyes.
“I want to spend my break with you .”
And this is love, Sonny reminds himself. He’s glad Joel likes having him around.