Underwater, Sonny opens his eyes. It's a blurry mess of water and stone, blue melting into gray, but he kicks further down regardless. He uses one hand against the side of the fountain, pushing himself down further, faster, sure that if he can just reach the bottom, it means he can go home. At the bottom of this fountain is his family and his home, everything he holds dear. His sisters, his friends, New York's cracked sidewalks and irritated traffic. His job, his coworkers, his sense of purpose. He misses Central Park and the Italian bakery down the block from his apartment building.

He misses it all so much, it hurts, leaving his chest tight and constricted.

Or maybe those are his lungs, and the burning need to breathe. He should've started back up for air long before now. He probably won't be able to make it back to the surface in time now, but the surface is the opposite direction of where he wants to go, anyway.

He doesn't realize he's stopped moving all together until an arm loops around him. He didn't even realize that somebody else had jumped into the water with him, actually. His vision has already started to darken at the edges, his thoughts becoming fuzzy and slow. They haven't quite broken the surface when he pulls in a breath, dragging water into his lungs. It's a sweet, sweet feeling, not how he imagined drowning would feel like. There's no panic, no flailing. He relaxes, and his eyes close.

When they open again, he's staring up at the sky, the sun beating down on him. He breathes, then sputters, sitting up abruptly to cough up water. His throat and lungs ache and burn, his head throbs, his fingertips are raw and pink from scraping against the side of the fountain to drag himself down further. He looks up at Stella, flinching at the sharp sound of her voice.

He didn't make it home. He's not in New York, but in the village still. But at least he didn't die, he supposes.

"I... I just wanted to go home." He coughs again, grimacing at how rough it feels, how much it hurts.