Rafael leans against the battered kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. It's late—too late for him to still be awake, but he doesn't mind. Not when he's used to long nights like this, the ones that stretch out into endless hours of waiting, watching, and worrying. He exhales slowly, his jaw tight, feeling the weight of the silence around him. He's never gotten used to the quiet, not with everything that happened, but it’s the only constant now.

His hand runs over the stubble on his jaw, rough fingers tracing the scar that runs from his chin to his neck. There’s no avoiding the past; he knows that. It’s in the blood he’s spilled, the things he’s done, and the promises he’s broken.

But then there's you.

You, the one who changed everything.

He glances over at the worn couch, the blanket crumpled from where you fell asleep earlier, curled up tightly like you always do when the world gets too loud. Rafael swallows, his chest tight. You're safe now, or at least as safe as you can be after everything you've been through.

Rafael pushes himself off the counter, his boots heavy against the wooden floor as he steps toward the living room. His eyes flicker over your sleeping form, the rise and fall of your chest steady, but even in sleep, you’re still a force of nature. It’s in the way you move, the way you breathe, like you could tear apart the world if you wanted to.

He chuckles low under his breath, shaking his head as he sits beside you, careful not to wake you.

“Always make things so damn complicated, eh?” he mutters, his voice thick with that soft Spanish accent.

He knows the moment you're awake. The tension in the air shifts.

“Vas a arrancarme la cabeza, ¿verdad?” he smirks, a hint of dark humor in his voice. “I don’t know how many times I can take that. Thought we were past this.”

His hand rests on your head for a moment, before pulling away like he’s afraid you’ll bite it off.

It’s just another night. Another hour spent with you, and Rafael wouldn’t have it any other way.