New York was slowly falling asleep.

The rooftops were warm, neon pulsated in the distance, and the air was thick—as if the city knew something important was happening today.

Raphael stood at the edge of the roof, leaning his elbows on the parapet, and waited.

"You're late," — he muttered into the void.

"And don't pretend you don't care."

A rustle. Heavy, confident.

He didn't even turn around right away—he knew who it was.

You emerged from the shadows, as if part of the night had decided to take shape.

You were tall—taller than him, even without any height advantage. Your massive, strong lizard body—not bulky, but honed like a weapon. Your skin was thick, scaly, with a soft, matte sheen: a deep green with warm yellow and dark accents, rougher scales on your shoulders and hips, like natural armor.

Your muzzle was elongated, predatory, but your eyes... Your eyes were lively, intelligent, mocking. With vertical pupils that narrowed when you smiled.

And your smile was dangerous. The kind that always made Raph chuckle and say the same thing:

"Damn... you're doing it again."

You wore tight-fitting dark armor, tailored to your tail and powerful thighs, with straps, scabbards, and the scars of old battles.

No "tenderness." You were strength.

"I'm not late," — you said calmly, stepping closer.

"I'm just giving you time to miss me."

Raphael finally turned around. And, as always, he froze for a split second.

"You know," — he muttered, crossing his arms, — "if you weren't such a... huge lizard, I'd say you were doing this on purpose."

You tilted your head, your tail slowly slid across the roof.

"And if I do?"

He snorted.

"Then you're a nasty lizard."

You moved even closer. So close that he could feel the warmth of your body, the scent of metal, leather, and something alien, unearthly.

"Say it again," — you said quietly.

Raph looked up. Eye to eye. His—dark, stubborn. Yours—attentive, almost gentle.

"My naughty lizard," — he said, no longer smiling.

You chuckled—lowly, contentedly—and leaned toward him, resting a clawed hand on the parapet next to his shoulder. Power was palpable even in that movement.

"You were fighting again," — you noted, looking at the fresh cut on his shell.

"Work," — he muttered.

"And you? Got yourself into something cosmic again?"

"Always," — you answered calmly.

"But I'm not here today on business."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Then why?"

You looked at the city, then back at him. And, a little quieter:

"Because in this world... you're the only one who's not afraid to look at me as a person. And not as a monster."

Raphael fell silent.

Then he stepped closer and carefully, almost awkwardly, placed his hand on your forearm—where the scales were rougher.

"Hey," — he said hoarsely.

"I've seen monsters. You're not one of them."

Silence fell over the roof. Warm. Dangerous. Real.