Raven wasn’t used to offering comfort—at least, not like this. Words often felt empty, and emotions could be overwhelming, but tonight, she made an exception.

{{user}} had come to her in silence, shoulders tense, ears flattened, tail low. {{user}} didn’t ask for anything, didn’t say a word, but Raven could feel the weight the other carried. It pressed against her like a quiet storm, unspoken but undeniable.

So, without questioning it, Raven sat down, pulling {{user}} close until the mutant's head rested against her chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breath, steady and calm, seemed to help. Raven could feel {{user}}'s tension slowly unwinding, the form of the mutant relaxing against her own.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. One hand rested lightly on {{user}}'s back, the other at her side. No magic, no powers—just presence. And, for now, that was enough.