Summary: Sonny's point of view when he learns that Will's the father of Gabi's baby
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: I wanted to give Sonny a more layered backstory so I took some liberty with constructing his past.
His first instinct is to run.
Escape from the scene and break down some place where he can be alone.
His therapist told him that he needs to step away from any situation that could potentially bring out the worst of his temper. Told him not to retaliate. Told him to let rationality sink in. Told him to monitor his breathing until it stabilizes.
But desperate hands pull him back, anchor him down, blue eyes like steel impaling his own into blindness, until all he sees is that pitiful pathetic face which only serves to bring a sour taste to his mouth, reminding him of his naivety, lied to for weeks, again and again.
His second instinct is to break something beautiful.
He could feel his hands balling up into fists, his lips pursing into an unfavourable clench, his chest constricting with the need to explode. Betrayal is not something unfamiliar to him and he cannot control the distaste that spits out of his mouth when he finally speaks, his hand wrenching that insistent grip on his coat, indignant feet wrestling against gravity as he storms off.
He refuses to be a part of this inane, twisted plot. He'd promised himself not to get involved with a closet case ever since he ended things with his last boyfriend - a worldly, handsome, married man with the charm to make him stoop to the level of late night booty calls with noone to wake up with in the morning. The last thing he needs is a flighty case of yes-I'm-gay-but-I-still-like-pussy for a boyfriend. No.
Not again. Not ever.
He finds himself at his door step and stabs the key unmercifully into the knob to unlock it. When he steps inside, he reels back from the sudden rush of fear slamming into him, the sight of this once-lonely space now clearly occupied by two people madly in love; two people he thought he had figured out, but only to realize today were a part of some desperate fantasy.
He cannot stay here, at least not at the moment, so he shrugs off his coat and tie, and heads down to where he could actively engage in productive activity that he hopes would calm down some of his nervous energy.
The last time he was high-strung, he'd knocked out a guy's two front teeth. He never wants to return to that place. Burying himself in work would drain his rage, and perhaps help him uncover the logic in this senseless revelation.
If he's honest with himself, he chose to return to the coffee house in the pale hopes of seeing Will. Ever since he embarked on this relationship, Will has become more than a man to him, more than a person, but an instinctual, intangible, connection that drives his actions.
When Will does fulfil that prophecy though, he feels the distinct pricks of breaking seams from his torn-up insides
He hates how Will makes him feel.
He wants to lash out at Will, and so he does. He wants to be cruel to Will, and so he is.
But there is no triumph in the attack; there is no winner in the war. Will stands like a statue, blank and painfully beautiful, like an abandoned porcelain doll, numb and barren, battered to the point of corporal punishment. He wants to shut the ache inside his very nerves that tell him to care and protect Will from everyone, including himself, but it's one big paradox and it only confuses him further.
So he walks away. Press his forehead against the warm wood of the storeroom, close his eyes, inhale, count to five, exhale, listen to the rattle in his breaths, missing Will and his sincere smile, and that distinctive laugh, and those goddamn eyes.
When he returns to the counter, more miserable than before, he sees Will bowed in defeat, words barely shuddered to Marlena, and he feels the stinging burn of despair at his own failing at what he did to Will earlier.
What he does to people when he gets upset.
Will's hands are jammed into his pockets, eyes so red they aren't blue anymore; a drowning man trying to stay afloat without asking for help. He feels pain bleed out of his chest, spreading an acidic warmth, as Will wears his heart on his sleeve.
He stares at the floor, averting eye contact for his own selfish sake, and hears Will's heavy footsteps peter off.
Stronger than before, the knowledge that he loves Will, rings impeccably through him.