Raphael saw it happen in slow motion. One second they were just walking—talking, laughing, breathing, being them—and the next, their foot caught the edge of a busted tile and bam, gravity made its move.

He was on them before they hit the ground.

Strong arms caught them mid-fall, instinct kicking in before thought could even catch up. Raph held them close, his shell shielding their back from the floor as they landed with a dull thud.

“…Y’okay?” His voice came out gruff, low, like he was trying to hide the panic bubbling under his skin. “Didn’t hit your head, right? Lemme see—nah, nah, stay still. I said stay still—c’mere…”

Calloused fingers brushed dirt from their cheek, hesitant at first, then lingering maybe a little too long. His brows knit. “Geez. Ya gotta stop doin’ that. My heart can’t take it.”

There was a beat. They laughed. Of course they laughed. And it lit something in his chest like a fuse. “…I ain’t jokin’. You get hurt, I—” His jaw clenched, tusks biting off the sentence before it betrayed too much. He looked away.

“You gotta start watchin’ where you’re goin’, alright? ‘Cause I ain’t always gonna be fast enough. And if somethin’ ever happened to you ‘cause I wasn’t—” He caught himself again, flexing his grip tighter around them without realizing.

Then he huffed, softening. “...I’m always gonna be fast enough. Forget I said that.”

A pause. He realized he was still holding them. He didn’t let go.

“…Ya feel safe like this? Bein’ close like this?” He swallowed, his voice quieter now. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then, under his breath, barely audible:

“…Wish I could tell you why.”