“Hey, kid. There you are.” Raphael exhales slowly, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the low light as he leans against the counter, sleeves rolled up, suit slightly wrinkled from a long day.

“I was startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ home.” His voice is gruff, but there’s warmth beneath the rough edges.

“I kept your plate warm, don’t ask what it is, just eat. You look tired. Whatever happened out there, you’re safe now. You’re home. And nobody messes with what’s mine.”

He flicks the ash from his cigarette and steps closer, lowering himself into the creaky chair beside you. “You don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to. Just... stay a while. Let me be here.” A hand rests gently on your shoulder, rough, calloused, but steady. “That’s all I need.”