"Does my hair look alright?"
Sonny was fidgeting; Rafael really wanted to kick him in the shin, get him to calm down.
"Yes, your hair looks fine. Quit asking," he hissed, settling for pinching Sonny's hip instead, an act decidedly less violent and wholly unnoticeable to the mousey social worker shifting throughout their kitchen.
"Ow. I'm sorry Rafi, but we're adopting a baby, I don't want them to think that I'm a heathen. The agency needs to know that I'm a respectable young man," Sonny whispered, rubbing the spot where Rafael had pinched him through the fabric of his tan slacks. He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly in what Rafael was sure was the seventeenth time in the span of two minutes. Rafael took his unoccupied hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Shut up. You know you're going to be an amazing dad. So do they."
His husband didn't appear the least bit appeased, though, as his fingers trailed down the length of his flannel button-up, nervous fingers smoothing down imagined creases, the likes of which had been ironed out just four hours prior.
Rafael couldn't believe that, with a social worker fifteen feet away from where they stood in the living room, he was being the calm one.
That with a social worker prying into their cabinets, their pantry, their life, he was the one remaining cool and collected.
That with a social worker making her way from door frame to door frame, scrutinizing each, making sure that the required baby-sized fence was posted in between each one, stopping just short of pulling a tape measurer from her blazer pocket in order to ensure maximum accuracy, he was the one remaining entirely confident in how this inspection would end.
Meanwhile, Sonny looked as though he might fall over.
The social worker – Jane, he remembers her name being, maybe? – popped her head out from behind the bar top counter. "Everything looks good in here. I'll just need to see the child's room before I leave," she said absentmindedly, frame of the black glasses perched atop her nose sliding forward as she tilted her head, jotted something unintelligible down on the notepad clutched in between her hands.
"Yes, of course." Rafael stepped forward (because Sonny apparently lacked the ability to even form single syllables right now), motioning for her to follow him down the hallway, Sonny trailing at his heels.
The baby's bedroom was directly opposite of their own, a previously scarcely-inhabited space meant for guests to stay in on the off chance that they entertained any, now converted to a home for a nine-month-old little girl.
They had decided on purple for the walls, a light lavender to be exact, because Sonny had read up on multiple, well-regarded parenting websites that a baby's room should be painted calming tones which allowed them to fall asleep quickly, if needed.
Against the far wall was the crib, wooden and painted white, ivory sheets spread out evenly over the mattress, a purple and floral-printed blanket laying on top. Next to the head of the crib sat a worn, stuffed duck; Sonny's own, a relic that he'd spent almost six hours trying to dig out from the depths of his parent's attic the previous week.
It was missing a wing (the family's golden retriever had chewed it off when Sonny was five), but Sonny only assured Rafael that the duck's amputated limb would teach their little girl to love and adore other's imperfections.
The remainder of the furniture was dispersed throughout the remaining corners of the room: a changing table, white as well, sat underneath the room's singular window, a rocking chair directly beside it, while a sizable dresser that Rafael insisted was absolutely necessary (the child was going to be his daughter after all), rested against the closest wall to the door, next to a closet.
Then of course, were the many decorations he and Sonny had added once the bare bones of the room had been put together.
Whimsical photos of multicolored butterflies and owls were framed and mounted over the changing table, and a mobile hung directly above the center of the crib, tiny purple owls and even smaller pale, yellow stars dangling in uneven rows, turning softly as the ceiling fan assaulted the thin wires with unexpected puffs of air.
Rafael's favorite part of the room, though, was the mural that he and Sonny had spent an entire Sunday painting on the wall behind the crib.
It was an image of a simple tree, something that would require a no higher artistic level than either one of them possessed.
That level, of course, being slightly above mediocre at best.
The tree was huge and took up almost the entirety of the wall beside the crib, branches snaking up and behind the piece of furniture. At the top, at the peak of each branch, they'd painted an array of variously-sized flowers, all white with purple centers. Sonny had decided to take a few artistic liberties and paint a smattering of blossoms to the right of where the actual tree ended, saying, "It'll look like they got pulled off by the wind, Rafi!"
The only thing missing from the room was a toy box that they still hadn't gotten around to piecing together.
The social worker – was it Jessica, maybe? – stepped inside and began her assault eagerly, heading for and opening a dresser drawer, glancing at the few outfits that Rafael had already bought.
"I'm assuming you have diapers?" she questioned, whirling around to face them.
"Oh, yeah," Sonny, finally seeming to have found his voice, answered. He moved away from his previous post next to Rafael, bending himself almost in half as he gingerly opened the cabinet doors attached to the bottom of the changing table. "It's all in here," he said, gesturing, ticking off items on his bony fingers as he went. "Diapers, baby powder, wet wipes. And then we've got like, enough extras of this stuff for an army of babies in the hallway closet."
Rafael face-palmed.
The social worker – no, Jennifer, that was it! – on the other hand, smiled. "I'm glad to hear it," she replied, dutiful notepad already in hand. Her pen scratched inaudibly at the paper; it may as well have been screaming, for the way it produced a nauseating anxiety deep within the pits of Rafael's stomach.
Once she seemed to be satisfied with her notes, she looked up at the two men, pushing the bridge of her falling glasses back up the slope of her nose with a careless shove of an index finger.
"I'll be able to write a more in-depth report once I get back to the office. But," she paused. "What I can tell you, is that you passed your home inspection. With flying colors, actually. You'll be able to start meetings with your soon-to-be daughter next weekend."
Maybe-Jennifer was still smiling, Rafael's chest felt like it was about to burst, and Sonny, sweet and lovely Sonny, had actual tears pricking at the corners of his beaming eyes.
It was taking every ounce of self-restraint that Rafael had left in him not to walk over and crush Sonny into his arms.
"Wow," Sonny breathed, an awed smile slowly overtaking his features. "Wow. That's so great. Like, really great. Wow." His smile grew wider and wider, inch by inch, until those beautiful dimples that Rafael could almost feel from where he was standing, half in-half out of the doorway, made their appearance.
Rafael wanted to kiss that smile, let his own happiness fill up Sonny's mouth entirely and completely.
Maybe-Jennifer chuckled and flipped her notepad closed, put the chewed-up cap back on her pen, and placed both items in the leather bag at her side.
Rafael and Sonny walked her to the door, maybe-Jennifer stopping to turn around and shake their hands.
"Thank you, thank you again Ms. Mead, for everything that you've done," Sonny spluttered, maybe-Jennifer's hand still clasped firmly in his own. She laughed and removed her delicate hand politely from his grasp. "Please, call me Jennifer. And congratulations, you two. I think you'll make great parents." She gave them one last, soft smile before taking her exit through the door.
The moment that the doorknob clicked back into place, Rafael was gathering Sonny up in his arms, crushing him, squeezing him, his face buried deep in the warm crook of his husband's neck.
"Shit, Rafi. We're gonna be dads." Sonny's voice was choked, his words coming out in broken shards; Rafael pressed a long, hard kiss to his throat, arms winding even tighter around the stupidly, skinny torso that he adored so much.
"I'm so happy. Like, my heart hurts, I'm so happy."
There was so much honesty in Sonny's voice that it knocked the wind right out of Rafael's chest.
Sonny was happy.
So happy.
So happy that his heart hurt, happy.
Sonny was happy with him.
Sonny was happy to be starting a family with him.
Sonny was happy.
Their family made Sonny happy.
"I love you," Rafael said desperately into his neck. "I love you so much." It was all he could think to say, the whole and absolute truth.
Hands still clutching at Sonny's shoulder blades, he pulled back.
Tears were still threatening to spill over and down the path of his cheekbones; he blinked, rapidly, and Rafael pushed up and forward, brushing his lips across Sonny's eyelids as they closed.
"My heart hurts too, Sonny," he whispered, fingertips coming to find their rest on Sonny's cheeks, the entirety of Sonny's sweet face cupped in his rough palms. "My heart hurts because it keeps having to make room for things that it never knew existed. First you, and now our daughter."
Rafael didn't think he'd ever seen someone look so beautiful while crying.
He was smiling, choking out laughter, tears running hot as they made their descent, Rafael catching and wiping away each one as they landed against the tip of his thumb.
"Jesus, Rafi. I was trying so hard not to cry, too," he said, sniffling.
Rafael grinned and pulled Sonny into his lips. Sonny's hands flew from their perch on his lower back, ending on his wrists, sliding up until his large hands were lying flat on Rafael's own, their fingers interlocking.
He wanted to stay like that, forever, with the soft brush of Sonny's fingertips against his face, the feeling of Sonny's smile in his mouth one that he'd imprinted to memory, yet always discovered new facets in each time their lips pressed together.
He wanted to stay like that, with that overwhelming tightness in his chest that signaled love, and happiness, and that he was finally getting everything he'd ever wanted and never thought he'd have, one of which was currently cradled in his arms.
But, there were other, more pressing matters to attend to.
"Have you thought about a name yet?" Rafael asked, letting go of Sonny's lips. Sonny released his hands, letting his own trail down until they were resting on Rafael's lower back once more, pulling him closer, the length from their chests to their hips held tightly together.
Sonny's thumbs began rubbing slow circles against his skin as he spoke: "Yeah, I have actually." He grinned, shyly, cheeks still a light pink from where Rafael's thumbs had wiped away tears. "I was thinking, maybe Elisa for the first name, after your grandmother? 'Cause I know how much she meant to you."
There Sonny went again, forcing his heart to jostle around its contents, forcing his heart to squeeze something else into it that shouldn't have possibly fit, but somehow, someway, there was always more room.
He supposed it was because it was Sonny-related. His heart never seemed to run out of room when it came to Sonny.
Sonny continued, apparently undeterred by his silence.
"And then, I was thinking maybe Rosalie for her middle name, since that's my nonna's name. That way, we both get a grandmother in there." Sonny shrugged, thumbs never discontinuing their pattern against Rafael. "Our grandmothers were both the first people we came out to, when we were younger. So I kinda figure we really wouldn't be here without them. So why not honor their memory in some way?"
Rafael blinked. "And you want my grandmother's name to be the first name?" he asked.
"Yeah, why not?" Sonny's grin lit up both his icy blue eyes and Rafael's chest. "It's a pretty name, perfect for our daughter."
Too overwhelmed to do anything other than nod, Rafael just stood there while Sonny kissed his forehead, squeezed his shoulders, and finally ended their embrace.
He practically skipped to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he went, "I think that this calls for a celebratory dinner. What do you feel like having, Rafi?" Sonny was already at the sink, hands buried deep in steam and soapy water.
"Whatever you want," Rafael replied, dazed, brain still fuzzy as his husband flipped on burners and pulled out an array of pots and pans from deep within their cabinets at a rapid-fire pace.
"Awesome." Sonny set a pot down on a warming burner, turning his back to rustle through the contents of their consistently over-stocked pantry.
Rafael's pantry had never been so full, at least not until Sonny came along.
But, Sonny always insisted they buy extra of everything when they went to the market on weekends, from boxes of pasta to cartons of eggs, "just in case", because you "never know when you're gonna have an unexpected group of people to feed, Rafi."
Rafael always obliged.
Always.
Because, for him, it was always what Sonny wanted.