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February was cold and miserable, and every day seemed to bring with it new reasons to hate the city. Rafael was working long hours trying to stay on top of multiple cases, and desperately needed a vacation. Or failing that, at least a long weekend, with his phone turned off and a bottle of Scotch within arm’s reach.
It was after 8:30 p.m. when Rafael put his key in the lock and let himself into the apartment. Bombolone was lounging by the coat closet, blinking sleepily at him. He snuffled contentedly at the sight of Rafael and rested his head on crossed paws clad in tiny pink and red heart-patterned socks.
Sonny poked his head out of the kitchen doorway, pointing an exceptionally accusing wooden spoon at him. “Didn’t you say you’d be home by seven?”
“I was a younger and more optimistic man back then.” Rafael set down his briefcase and made his way to the kitchen, where his beloved stood at the sink, refilling a pot with water. Slipping his arms around Sonny’s waist, Rafael nuzzled at the nape of his neck, bestowing little kisses along his hairline. “I smell something delicious.”
Tersely, Sonny replied, “I made Ma’s bolognese sauce.”
“Oh... yeah, that smells good, too.” He nibbled at Sonny’s earlobe, eliciting a grudging chuckle that was abruptly cut off as his lover wriggled away with an annoyed harumph.
“Hey, you don’t get to be all cute with me after I had to toss a pot of pasta.”
“You wasted perfectly good noodles?” Rafael depressed the trash can’s foot pedal, frowning at the congealed mass of noodles resting atop coffee grounds and crumpled butcher paper.
Sonny turned to face him, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You told me to expect you by seven, so I put the noodles on just before then, thinking you’d get home just before they were done. Do you know what happens to pasta when you drain it and let it sit? It turns into a fucking lump. Ma would lose her freakin’ mind if I served her sauce on a gummy, starchy mess like that.”
“Why didn’t you just toss the pasta in with the sauce?”
It seemed like a harmless question, but Rafael immediately regretted saying it. Sonny narrowed his eyes at him as though he’d suggested throwing handfuls of garbage at the pope.
“Is it so hard to send me a text when you realize you’re gonna be late?”
“I didn’t think I’d be this late.”
“Yeah, well, you were.”
“I know.” Rafael sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
Silence fell over the room. Sonny stared stonily into the pot of water on the stove, his shoulders tensed up against further attempts at conversation.
Deflated, Rafael turned and headed to the bedroom, to change out of his suit. He was too tired to argue, and didn’t have a leg to stand on, anyway. He’d simply lost track of the time. When he’d realized he’d blown past his estimated time of arrival, it was late enough that a text message wouldn’t have spared the discarded pot of pasta. Maybe it would have taken the edge off Sonny’s mood, but since time travel wasn’t an option, there was no point in agonizing over how badly he’d blown it.
He hung his coat and trousers in the closet, and carefully smoothed out his tie before hanging it with the others. He pulled on some sweatpants and a threadbare Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me t-shirt he’d had since he saw The Cure at Madison Square Garden in the eighties. It was soft, and comforting, and he steadfastly refused to throw it away, even if it was a bit frayed around the edges. He liked knowing it was in the dresser, Robert Smith’s ghostly face gazing up from the stack of neatly folded t-shirts in the drawer, waiting for him after a day like today.
Bombolone came padding into the bedroom. He reached up, placing his absurd, sock-clad front paws on Rafael’s knee, staring expectantly at him. There was no point in resisting. Rafael helped him up onto the bed and flopped backward. Bombolone began licking Rafael’s face, repeatedly digging a pudgy paw into the softness of Rafael’s chest. Capturing the paw before it could strike again, Rafael felt something inside the sock. Reaching in, he withdrew a small piece of paper, folded up into a neat little square.
Come eat dinner with me, Rafi. XOXO
He looked over at Bombolone, amused. “And here I thought you just wanted to hang out with me, you little shit. You’re working for him now?”
Glancing in the mirror on his way out, he ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it slightly and frowning. He looked as tired as he felt. He raised his eyebrows a little, but it didn’t help. He still looked tired, but now he looked mildly alarmed. Oh well.
Sonny was leaning against the kitchen counter, his legs crossed at the ankles, apparently trying very hard to look casual when Rafael joined him.
“I got your note.” Rafael fished it out of his pocket and held it up, tossing it onto the counter. “I didn’t know The Bombolone Express was a thing, but I’ll have to keep it in mind.”
Without hesitation, Sonny went to Rafael and pulled him into a tight hug, scattering fervent kisses over his hair and face in rapid succession. When he’d exhausted the initial, intense need for contact, Sonny clung to him, whispering his anxieties against Rafael’s ear. “I kept thinking you’d have sent me a text if you were just running late. You usually do, so when you didn’t… I was so worried you’d been in an accident or maybe got mugged or something.”
“Ohhh, noooo, I’m an asshole.” Rafael muttered, his eyes screwed shut. “When I realized how late it was, I should have called. Or texted. You’re right to be mad. I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’re not an asshole. And I don’t want to be mad at you. I hate feeling like that.”
“I’m sorry I worried you. And sorry you had to throw out that pasta.”
Sonny ducked his head and tried not to laugh. “Okay. Maybe I was being a little dramatic. I probably could have tossed it with the sauce.”
**********
As Valentine’s Day approached, Sonny spent more time than usual in the kitchen. If it wasn’t his mother’s carbonara, it was her stracciatella, or her chicken piccata, or her lasagna, or (one night when he was feeling especially ambitious) osso buco served on a bed of risotto. And it seemed as though he’d decided Rafael needed sweets, so there’d been a parade of special desserts, some from his favorite Italian pasticceria (in Manhattan, anyway), some baked at home.
Since his inaugural use of The Bombolone Express had elicited such a positive response, Sonny had ramped up his use of the dog as a courier of love notes, jotting down sweet thoughts and occasionally incredibly filthy things, all delivered by a blissfully clueless French bulldog. Sometimes the notes were tucked into a sock, other times they were in a pocket on a pink hoodie that seemed to be a recent acquisition.
It happened so frequently now, whenever Bombolone approached him, Rafael patted him down, looking for possible correspondence from his beloved. He’d read whatever Sonny had sent him, then grab a pen and compose a response, sending Bombolone on his way. Sometimes they’d carry out entire conversations this way, mingling flirtatious teasing with achingly sincere declarations of devotion set to paper.
I love you so much, Rafi. Have I told you that enough for one day? Because sometimes I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t say it again.
I love you, too. So very much. You are my heart.
Do you ever sit and think what it was like before we got together? Furiously pining and trying to telepathically convey our feelings, when we should’ve just used our mouths all along?
(Speaking of which… )
Paging Mr. Barba, please meet your party in the bedroom.
The best times were when he could hear Sonny chuckling or cooing a soft “awww” as he read Rafael’s responses. It gave him something to look forward to every day, and he found himself thinking about new ways to tell Sonny how much he meant to him.
If Bombolone had any objections to being used to carry their flirtatious notes from room to room, he didn’t show it. Granted, they each tended to give him little treats as rewards for delivery, so he was getting at least as much out of the transactions as they were.
You wore those jeans on purpose, didn’t you?
You mean my “Sonny can’t keep his hands off my ass when I wear these” jeans? I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Maybe we should call them your “Sonny has to avert his eyes when you wear those in public” jeans. Because seriously, Raf? The sight of you, in those jeans? You do things to me without even trying.
The effortlessness may be an overstatement. I deliberately wear these hoping you’ll spend the entire time wanting to take them off me.
I’d already be doing exactly that if we weren’t supposed to be meeting Mike for dinner. You are a wicked, wicked man.
I am a wicked, wicked man. But you love me.
I do. I really do. Never forget that.
**********
Every morning, when I open my eyes and see you beside me, with your cheeks flushed with sleep and your hair looking like that… I am shaken to the core by my good fortune. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
XOXO
~R
Sonny was still sleeping soundly when Rafael composed this latest missive on a single sheet of pink paper which he left beneath a rose on the nightstand for him to discover upon waking.
It was Valentine’s Day, and although Sonny had taken a vacation day, Rafael had to work. They’d already discussed their options for the evening. When Rafael floated the possibility of a night out, Sonny treated him to an amusing rant about “outrageous Valentine’s Day restaurant price hikes”, which he considered “the criminal extortion of horny show-offs.” While shamelessly pleading guilty to being both horny and a show-off, Rafael didn’t see any need to push the issue. He was happy to agree to a cozy night at home with his beloved, who’d promised to prepare a special dinner for him.
He’d taken extra care dressing that morning, opting for a dark charcoal three-piece suit that went beautifully with the pink of his tie and the flash of crimson from his pocket square. He had a couple of court appearances to get through, and a lunch meeting with the D.A., but after that, his day was relatively uneventful.
When five o’clock rolled around, Rafael was already halfway to the train station. There was an undeniable spring in his step, and a silly grin that threatened to erupt over his features every time he thought of the ridiculous man waiting at home. The train wasn’t too crowded, which was a relief. Rafael took a seat, cradling a dozen lavender roses in one arm, while using his free hand to review the stack of love notes he’d written in spare moments throughout the day.
After going through the stack once, he sorted it roughly into sets of notes to be sent via The Bombolone Express, or taped to the bathroom mirror, or slipped under Sonny’s plate on the dinner table, or tucked into one of the kitchen cupboards. If he played his cards right, Sonny would be stumbling across these little messages hidden around the apartment for days, possibly weeks.
The unmistakable strains of Sam Cooke singing “Cupid” greeted him as he opened the door and stepped into their apartment. Trails of rose petals lead throughout their home, and strings of pink and red fairy lights cast a rosy glow over doorways and down the hall to the bedroom. It was over the top, and deeply silly, and Rafael loved everything about it. No longer compelled to attempt even the thinnest veneer of cynicism, he allowed himself to grin as he surveyed his lover’s handiwork.
He could hear Sonny whispering in the bedroom, and was about to investigate when an overexcited Bombolone trotted out, sporting a set of white felt wings strapped around his plumpness, and a squishy golden bow and heart-tipped arrow clamped between his teeth. He had a small pink and red delivery pouch attached to the strap just below one of his wings. Rafael laughed and crouched down to pet him, checking the pouch for a note.
I know it’s corny, but I was thinking that this is really our first true Valentine’s Day together. Last year, everything was too new, and I know I was a little self-conscious about being TOO excited to celebrate with you when we’d only been dating for a few weeks. But now? Fuck it. I love you. You love me. I’m all in and ready to act like an idiot for you.
Rafael exhaled softly, staring fondly at the words on the page. He kept petting Bombolone to keep him there while he selected a note to send in return, adding a brief postscript before tucking it into the delivery pouch.
Sonny,
You will be unsurprised to learn that before I met you, I thought Valentine’s Day was a craven cash-grab, a holiday for suckers. What may surprise you is that just this morning, I caught myself sighing and thinking of you as I looked at a sickeningly sweet window display replete with Cupids and roses and every hokey thing that would have elicited the most potent of eyerolls in the past. My heart is gripped by such love for you, my funny Valentine. What have I become?
XOXO
~R
P.S. I can answer my own question. I have become a fool. Come kiss me.
With a pat and a gentle word of encouragement, Rafael sent Bombolone on his way, and headed for the kitchen to find a vase. There was a pot of water not quite at a boil on the stove, and a covered pot of sauce simmering away on a back burner. Homemade tiramisu waited in the refrigerator, and an open bottle of red wine stood breathing on the counter. He set the roses on the counter and started rummaging around in the cabinets.
“Hey.” Sonny came up behind him, his arms wrapping around Rafael’s waist. He nuzzled at Rafael’s ear, murmuring, “God, I thought about you all day. Is it dumb to say I missed you?”
Rafael leaned back, exhaling contentedly and allowing this moment to wrap itself around him as tightly as Sonny’s embrace. His voice was low and teasing as he replied, “Are you kidding? I want you pining for me when I’m away.”
“Pining? Psshhhh. What do I look like, the kind of guy who takes a personal day to decorate the apartment and make hand-cut heart-shaped ravioli for his handsome man?”
“Oh my god, you didn’t.” Rafael turned to look up at Sonny with adoring eyes. He licked his lips and ran a hand over Sonny’s chest. “You know I love your ravioli. And that’s not a euphemism.”
“I can honestly say, in all modesty, I think I may have surpassed my previous efforts with these.”
“I mean… they’re heart-shaped. And they’re ravioli.”
“Mmhmm.” With a twinkle in his eyes, Sonny tugged at Rafael’s pink tie. “You look so nice today, with your Valentine colors and that cute little smile on your face, just makin’ me want to kiss you, Rafi.”
Trying not to blush, Rafael gestured toward the roses on the counter. “If you tell me where you hid the vases, I’ll get those in water for you.”
“You got me roses? They’re beautiful.” Sonny picked up the bouquet and inhaled deeply, sighing. He brushed his lips against Rafael’s cheek. “But not as much as you.”
“I’m starting to think you might have a crush on me, Carisi,” Rafael deadpanned. He took the bouquet from Sonny and started unwrapping it, setting aside a small florists’ card that bore the requisite images of hearts and Cupids scattered over a pale pink background. “That reminds me… that note Bombo delivered? I wrote it for you earlier today, and Carmen came in to grab some files off my desk and…”
Sensing where this was going, Sonny chuckled as he handed down a vase from the cabinet over the refrigerator. “It’s not like she didn’t know we’re together.”
“No, she knew that already. She just didn’t know I’m....”
“The cutest?”
“Not exactly where I was going with that, but you say it with such conviction.” Kitchen shears in hand, Rafael snipped at the rose stems, neatly arranging the flowers in the vase before depositing it on the dining table. He stood staring at them, idly poking at a rose here or there to adjust its angle in the arrangement, his mind still turning over the thought of the note.
He returned to the kitchen, and tried once more. “It’s just… I’m not used to being seen as a lovesick fool.”
“Aren’t you, though?”
Sonny flashed an adorably lopsided grin that pierced straight through Rafael’s heart. It was impossible to deny the truth of his words when struggling to breathe in the wake of so devastating a smile. All he could manage was a mildly flustered nod of acquiescence, and a soft, “Touché.”
“Besides, she’s worked for you for so long, I’m sure your reputation as a crabass is safe with her.”
Bombolone snuffled his way into the kitchen, checking his bowl for any leftover bits of dinner or surprise snacks. His wings were crooked, but he seemed completely oblivious to their presence. He took a seat next to Rafael and looked up at him with pleading eyes.
In turn, Rafael smirked and looked over at Sonny. “You do realize we’ve created a monster?”
“Tell me about it. He was bugging me for treats all day, and didn’t understand why I wasn’t sending him off to deliver notes.”
“Well,” Rafael slipped his arms around Sonny’s waist. “It’s a good thing I have a pocketful of Valentines for him to deliver.”
A slow smile spread over Sonny’s face, and he reached into his own pocket, withdrawing a stack of tiny notes written on all kinds of stationery, ruled paper, and actual Valentine cards. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the little guy, right?”