Puzzle Pieces (Sonny/Graffiti Pete) In The Heights

Chapter 3: Blackout

So. Back again with another chapter because I'm amazing.

Jk.

Anyway, hope you enjoy because I freaking edited this from 3,000 words down to half that so it wasn't boring...

Maybe it's because finally relaxing, now that it's summer, complete with sweltering heat.

Maybe it's because Sonny seems to like Nina less romantically since she returned.

Either way, Sonny is suddenly noticing Pete, looking around, trying to catch sight of the lithe, lanky, graceful guy.

Or maybe it's the other way around: Maybe it seems to hot because Sonny keeps recalling sugar-sweet dreams and blushing, and he likes Nina less like a crush because he can't keep his mind off of strong arms, dark skin, slim body in a tank top. Maybe the piece fits after all.

Maybe.

Graffiti Pete can't stop idly sketching Sonny's bright face on a scrappy piece of paper. He doodles and it's Sonny's stocky frame, he draws deliberate lines only to find Sonny's angular jawline, lips in a wide grin, heartwarming.

Pete smiles back before rolling his eyes and starting over. If he's going to draw someone, his mom can't catch him drawing a cute guy with a blush...

That's not a conversation he feels like having right now.

Pete and Sonny both tell themselves, it's nothing but a passing crush.

~~~

It's dark and Pete is back chilling on the bench. He and Sonny are coexisting quite nicely without either talking or making it awkward.

Sonny looks stoically boundless, like even late into the night he's not nearly tired as he jumps around and makes brightly colored slushies.

Pete is... well, Pete is mysterious, but not in a dangerous way. He's just a solid presence, with solid muscles and a less than solid movement as though he moves like water.

Sonny can see Pete cringing as Sonny mixes blue raspberry with nerds and a squirt of sour-citrus orange. It's a burst of sour with undertones of sweet, fruit and artificial flavors. It seems like a super immature mix, he knows, which is the last thing he wants Pete to think of him, but hey, it tastes good!

Pete bites his lip as Sonny considers, and then adds more orange-colored slushie. Those colors together are hideous, and when they mix he knows they'll be a color worthy of Satan's realm.

Right now they haven't mixed, but even in the dim light of the lamp post Pete can tell they clash terribly.

But then the light flickers off, on, off and Pete can't see the horrid colors anymore- he can't see anything at all. Neither can Sonny, but he can hear people spilling out of the club in a panic, so he is soon swept in contradictory torrents of people calling and rushing and asking things to no one in particular.

Enveloped by the panic and chaos, it's oddly calming (although only a bit) for Sonny to voice his own anxiety, to get it out of his system.

Pete is always on the fringes of community, an edge piece; he can hear the commotion but he's lucky enough to not be part of the panic. A few lights begin to break the darkness- candles, flashlights- and he sees Sonny running over to the bodega, his stocky form lined in light. This could be a beautiful photograph, and if done right, an even better painting, maybe if he accented and highlighted Sonny's full, set features...

"What's going on, what's going on?" Sonny can barely make out Graffiti Pete's lanky figure moving towards him, yet the movements are so smooth that he can't say running. Still, Pete's moving fast enough that he's at Sonny's elbow in an instant.