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Sonny isn't ashamed of what he is, that little crisis had been and gone a decade ago when at thirteen he'd kissed Jason Santorilli behind the rec centre and realised he liked girls just fine - but he might like boys a little more.
The crisis of faith and Catholic guilt had also been worked through, which was a blessing for many reasons - mainly for his own peace of soul but also it helped greatly when dealing with rapist priests to know that the church was run by men, and men could be wrong and sick and deceitful. And God loved him no matter what anyone said, even if they were wearing a collar.
So no, Sonny wasn't ashamed of being bisexual. He'd even started dropping real pronouns when discussing ex's at work. He'd known better than to do that before Manhattan SVU, had quickly sussed out the boy club vibes in the other precincts and known to keep his mouth shut. The first time Fin mentioned his son's husband - and in a nice, loving way - Sonny had nearly fallen off his chair.
The first time Sonny mentioned an ex-boyfriend now working vice, and how he'd emailed over some files, he'd said it casually - sipping at his coffee like he hadn't just outed himself for the first time in his life.
A beat of silence - maybe a second too long or maybe Sonny was just being paranoid - but then the world pressed play again and everyone continued as normal.
Except that Rollins now nudged his shoulder with a little eyebrow wiggle every time the cute male barista flirted with him on their coffee breaks.
So yes, Sonny Carisi is a fully functioning, thirty-three-year-old, pays his own bills, even eats his vegetables at dinner, bisexual SVU detective adult.
An adult who still hadn't told his parents he occasionally has a thing for guys.
It's never really come up, alright? He's had boyfriends here and there, none of them lasting more than a month or two - so none of them worth the fallout of telling his very devout Catholic parents he's committing a mortal sin.
You see, the thing with devout Catholic parents is, they're really good at hypocrisy - hypocrisy and good old fashioned wilful ignorance.
Theresa's pregnancy scare at 16? Never happened. All three sisters living in sin with their boyfriends out of wedlock? Well, I'm sure there's going to be an engagement announcement any day now and no one will bat an eye. Bella having a child out of wedlock? What a wonderful little miracle.
Cousin Matty having a slip of the tongue four years ago at thanksgiving and mentioning a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend over passing the mashed potatoes? Well batten down the hatches, call in the Pope we got a problem.
Then it's all-
'Poor Aunty Nickie having to deal with such a heavy burden. She must be blaming herself. Well of course I don't have a problem with the gays, I just never thought we'd have one in our family.'
And Sonny's personal favourite –
'I just don't understand, he was such a good boy, such a pity, I told Nickie she should check his bedroom, Pastor Moretti always says that kind of moral decay is usually accompanied by drug use.'
That one had caused Sonny to pause his part of the Thanksgiving clean up - hands elbow deep in soapy water and stare open mouthed at the back of his mother's head.
Bella caught his gaze and rolled her eyes, diligently drying the mountain of clean dishes he was supplying.
And look, he knows his parents love him, he believes - truly - that given time they'd come to accept him. They're ignorant and misguided but they're not truly hateful. But he also knows, getting there would one hell of headache and he's never had a boyfriend serious enough to be worth the trouble.
Until now.
Until Rafael Barba.
Until a year of casual flirting and sniping back and forth had become something more - Sunday mornings spent drawing lazy patterns on naked skin as the other man mumbles and grunts and pushes his face further into his pillow. Sonny soothing the mild disgruntled grumblings about it being too God damn early with lips pressed against the nape of his neck - skin soft and warm.
Until formal dates had turned into watching a movie together in sweatpants, nestled together on Barba's couch underneath a chunky knit throw the older man had bought after Sonny had jammed his ice cold toes under his thighs for warmth one too many times.
Until post-it notes stuck to coffee cups left at a desks and in offices, silly drawings and simple messages - and at one memorable time a dirty limerick Sonny had remembered from high school which had made the tips of Rafael's ears turn pink.
Until one day Sonny had spent the night at his own apartment for the first time in weeks and realised over half his stuff was at Rafael's apartment. He didn't even have a clean pair of socks in his drawers.
So he's here, laying spread out on Rafael's couch, legs stretched out and splayed. He's reading a book - some detective noir novel Rollins had lent him - while absently scratching the scalp of the man currently sleeping with his head in Sonny's lap.
The apartment is quiet apart from rain pelting at the windows and the gentle hum of an air purifier in the corner of the living room - the room is dim; the only real light being cast by the gentle warm orange glow of the small table lamp next to Sonny.
He can hear the calm but slightly nasally open-mouthed breaths coming from Rafael, hot - and maybe a little drooly - against Sonny's thigh. The older man just coming out the other side of a flu that had taken him out for nearly two weeks.
Rafael is bundled up in the chunky knit throw - Sonny needs to find out if you can wash those because he can smell the menthol and eucalyptus smell of various cold and flu products wafting up from it.
He's wondering what to order for dinner, what has the strongest flavours to give the man a chance of actually tasting something - when the other man shuffles around, letting loose a cough and Sonny shushes him gently, moving the fingers tangled in the man's hair in slow soothing circles until Rafael settles back down with a wet, congested sniffle.
There's a solid wet patch on his sweatpants thanks to Rafael's drool, and his leg is starting to go to sleep with the dead weight on top of him, but he's determined to stay exactly where he is, this is the most uninterrupted sleep the other man has gotten in days, and he'll be damned if he's the one to wake him just because of some pins and needles in his foot.
He's just started humming gently under his breath - a song his mother used to sing to him when he was sick - when he decides.
"I'm going to tell my parents about you. About me."