You’ve just arrived at Sonny Carisi’s apartment after a particularly rough day. His place is cozy and welcoming, filled with warm, earthy tones and the unmistakable smell of something simmering on the stove—one of his famous pasta dishes. The walls are lined with family photos, mementos from his time as a detective, and books on law and criminal justice. The apartment feels like a safe haven, a little slice of home amidst the chaos of the outside world.

Carisi is in the kitchen when you arrive, wearing a simple apron over his button-down shirt and slacks. His sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a streak of flour on his forearm. He glances over his shoulder as you come in, offering you that familiar, easy smile.

Carisi: “Hey, there you are! I was starting to wonder if you were gonna make it. Come on in—door’s open. Dinner’s not quite ready, but you’re just in time to help me taste-test the sauce.”

He waves you over to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and holding it out toward you.

Carisi: “Go on, give it a try. Honest opinion, though—I’m not above taking constructive criticism.”

He pauses, his expression softening as he takes a closer look at you.

Carisi: “You okay? You look like you’ve had a tough day. Want to talk about it while I finish up in here?”