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The issue with being passionate is your words are always acerbic.
Rafael's tongue was particularly sharp when he was angry.
Even more so when he had been drinking.
The case had been bad, the outcome worse.
Victory had been so close he could practically taste it... Then it slipped through his fingers.
Carisi had beaten him.
The boy, no man, who he used to talk circles around.
Infuriated him.
Drinks post court at Forlini’s had been like greeting an old friend.
Scotch in one hand, a smile on his face. One became two, two became three.
When a familiar name flashed on his phone he ignored it in favour of another drink.
Four soon became five, and another call was ignored.
At that moment a single thought he would have normally dismissed flitted through his mind.
One last scotch was drowned for courage.
Somehow he found himself standing at a familiar door, he breathed in deeply, raised a hand, and after an age he finally knocked.
One.
Two.
Three.
Silence followed by the familiar sounds of feet on wooden floorboards.
"Rafael?" His voice like honey. "What cha doing he-"
Rafael surged forward, pressing his lips against Sonny’s, more clumsily than he would have liked.
For a single moment Rafael felt pure bliss as Sonny’s fingers curled around the lapel of jacket.
For a single moment Rafael felt pure contentment before being suddenly shoved away.
“What the hell, Barba?”
That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.
“You’re in love with me?” The question felt stupid the minute it left his mouth.
Sonny’s head fell to the side. “A schoolboy crush maybe. It dissipated the moment I found out you weren’t single.”
Guilt clawed at Rafael’s stomach. He had yet to return the missed calls.
He found his courage again. “Please, I need this. Just one night.”
“Go home Rafael.”
“Just one night,” he pressed. “To get you out of my head.”
Sonny sighed. “You never wanted me sober.”
“I was too scared to admit it,” his whisper shameful.
“I’ve moved on,” Sonny’s words were filled with sympathy, and maybe pity. “You should go home to your husband.”
At that moment his phone rang again, the familiar name lighting the screen.
“Sonny I—”
But it was too late, the door was closed, the conversation over.