Pete blinks at the door of the bodega before ducking inside. He wishes he could wipe his cheeks free of the blush that stains them but they're drawn in colored pencils- the crappy crayola ones that don't erase.

"Hey!" Sonny tries to ignore the flutter, the jump, the urge to smile. He fails.

Pete's here. Pete came. Pete wanted to see him.

"'Sup?" Pete smiles. Sonny's the only one who's made him smile in the past few days.

Sonny grabs cups. "Not much. Refreshing to see a new face."

Pete won't blush. "Anytime, yo. I got nothing better to do." He winks at Sonny, thanking him for the slushie. Hideous or not, he'll try it if it's from Sonny. Sonny's face heats up even more. It's awkward, but it's nice awkward and-

"Hey, punk, get out of my shop!" Both turn to Usnavi at the register.

"Yo, man, I'm just chilling out, dude." Pete doesn't roll his eyes, but he wants to. He drops his eyes to Sonny, who doesn't defend him. Ouch.

Sonny isn't about to step up against Usnavi. Usnavi's voice is still echoing in his head. No me diga!

Usnavi glares at Pete, and pulls out an old off-brand cell phone.

Shit. Pete bolts out the door.

Sonny watches Pete run, like a deer, bouncy, graceful, a spring in his feet.

Pete slumps onto a nearby park bench, alone. Again. With a sigh, he begins to sketch Sonny again, his whole body, stocky-short, energetic smile, winking.

Sonny glances over to Usnavi. "Hey, I'm gonna go see what he thought about my combo," Sonny says, hopping off the counter. Usnavi doesn't even blink.

"Sure bro."

Pete looks up from his barely started sketch to see the real Sonny plop down beside him with a grin.

His cap is on backwards, like it always is, and a few little curls spill from below it, where his eyes are still visible."Sorry about my cousin, he's an awesome guy-" Sonny tries to explain. He doesn't know why Usnavi dislikes Pete so much. The grate?

Or maybe… has Usnavi noticed Sonny making eyes at Pete…? God, please no.

"He just hates me." Pete finishes. He knows it's true.

"Yeah," Sonny shrugs apologetically. Pete keeps looking back down at whatever he's drawing as they talk about the slushie, the hot day, the bodega, the birds that Abuela feeds.

"What's she like?" Graffiti Pete suddenly asks, squinting into the sun.

"Abuela?" Sonny smiles at her name, feeling it warm his body from the inside out. Pete wants to pull out a camera and take a picture of this smile; it's different than the others. The others are energetic, eager, passionate. This one is loving, wistful, soft.

Pete doesn't have a camera. He speeds up his drawing. Lines, curves, shading, lighting.

"Well." Sonny lifts his cap and sets it back on, ruffling his curls. "She's wonderful. She cares so much about people and she gives to everyone, time and effort and love, you know? She loves us unconditionally like she really is my Abuela, feel me? The one I run to when no one else got my back."

Pete wrinkles his brow, sketching quietly as Sonny gazes off, wistful when his eyes turn to the bodega.

"Don't you have Usnavi?" Pete asks curiously, following the path of Sonny's eyes. Abuela sounds like the mother he wishes he had. Imagine coming home to someone who says hi when he walks in. Who listens when he feels down, who smiles, who hugs.

Sonny sighs, his smile fading to affably disappointed. "Nah, he's too occupied with Vanessa and getting back to the DR."

Pete holds his hand out and pulls Sonny into a hug, desperately wishing it was a kiss. Sonny, his chest pressed into Pete's lanky bundle of limbs, feels the grace rippling through him as though Pete's magic is flowing into Sonny. He wants to inch his fingers under that stupid tee and run his fingers across the smooth, chocolate skin.

"You can talk to me." Pete offers, his deep voice sending sparklers off down Sonny's spine. His mouth is right by Sonny's ear.

"Thanks." Sonny grins and they sit side by side, Pete's arm still around Sonny's shoulders, Sonny's side still pressed against Pete. Pete's worried Sonny can feel his heartbeat speeding and Sonny is pretty sure that if they'd hugged any longer he might have had a very awkward situation in his pants. "Hey, dude, what're you drawing?"

"You," Pete tells the paper in his lap, not looking up.

"Me?"

"Well. You have a nice face, you know, and fireworks lighting last night gave me ideas, 'cuz you have these really cool eyes, and man, your cheekbones give you this nice angle, with you smiling- and you've got great lips-" Oops. He goes for a cocky smile. Turns out that's the right choice because Sonny's face is a red as rich as acrylics.

Sonny's burning from the inside out, so he asks to see the paper for something else to focus on other than kissing Pete because that's out of the question. Pete's so out of his league it's painful, but the drawing turns out to be perfect as a distraction- it's beautiful.

Pete wants to capture this expression too: the wonder on Sonny's face. "It's like me, but hotter." Sonny observes, watching Pete watch him. Their eyes click like the right pieces. Pete grins at this, because Sonny is blushing so much, but smiling too. "Nah," Pete shrugs off the praise like slipping through water. "I prefer the real you."

Sonny splutters. "Thank you." Wow- just- whoa. As rare as it is, he finds himself disliking Usnavi, just for a minute, when he's called in.

It's later that afternoon when Pete finally finds his way back to Sonny, and they're chatting like old friends. Sonny's happy, Pete's actually feeling alive. It's like life is glossed over, has been placed in a frame and set brightly on a mantel rather than being a black and white sketch.

Pete loves it.

Of course, this is when the neighborhood decides to circle up.

Pete and Sonny look at each other; for a neighborhood that Pete's lived in all his life, he doesn't feel all that connected to it. Sonny's Usnavi's little cousin, and he doesn't plan on diving in just to get petted.

They stay on the edges. Until Usnavi announces Abuela won the lotto.

"What?" Sonny gasps quietly to himself.

Pete's eyes widen. "Holy shit, bro."

Sonny gapes. The two people who look after him are leaving him without a thought. For the DR. Tomorrow.

Don't they know they're unique pieces? Sonny will never find new ones to full the empty spaces they leave behind.

Sonny shakes his head, and Pete slings an arm around Sonny's shoulders, seeing him struggle to breathe. "That's hella messed up, man."

Sonny glowers. "Usnavi's not messed up."

Pete shakes his head. "That's not what I said." He tries not to look alarmed as Sonny keeps talking at him angrily.

"Usnavi isn't messed up, okay? He's a great guy. He's just got lots of stuff going on, alright?"

Pete knows that Sonny's just upset, but he shoots back anyway, "So much stuff he can't even spare a thought for the fifteen year old kid he's leaving behind?"

Sonny bites his lip. Is that what Pete thinks of him? Just a kid? "I'm not a kid, I'm sixteen! And a half!"

Pete rolls his eyes. "Anyone who still counts halves is totally a kid."

Sonny turns huffily back to the neighborhood, not wanting to deal with Pete anymore.

Sonny is mad. Shit. Pete jumps up, helping Sonny gather people's attention. "Wait a minute!"

I'm sorry, is what Pete means. Then he bites it back. Sonny likes Nina? Wait, not likes- loves. His puzzle is back to two pieces: Pete and art.

Damn it. Pete actually believed- it doesn't matter what Pete believed. It doesn't matter because he was obviously wrong and they never even had anything so why does he want to cry right now?

Sonny wants to cry. Pete's dashed off, and he's clearly mad. Usnavi and Abuela are leaving him. He wishes Usnavi and Abuela will never leave- their plans will be cancelled. He hopes and he hopes and he hopes.