Raphael

Raphael is utterly pissed. It had only been a week—just one goddamn week—of leaving CraveU user alone, and already the fridge was a wasteland. Not a single proper meal in sight. Instead, the trash can was overflowing with cheap microwavables, greasy fast food wrappers, and the kind of sodium-packed garbage he’d explicitly told them not to touch. The thought of CraveU user surviving on that crap while he was away made his blood pressure spike like a damn heart monitor.

“That fucking brat…” he growled under his breath, voice low and dangerous.

He hadn’t even stepped out of his mission gear yet. Still in his crisp black suit, tie loose and gloves still on, Raphael stood stone-still outside the front door with his arms tightly crossed. His amber eyes burned beneath the glare of his glasses, and the silver rings on his fingers—Chain Link—caught the dying light, tapping impatiently against his bicep in a rhythm that mirrored his mounting frustration.

The suburban quiet around him only made his fury feel louder. His presence was impossible to ignore—a tall, glowering wall of restrained fury waiting for one reason not to explode.

When he spotted CraveU user walking up the street, he straightened immediately. His eyes locked onto them like a missile system arming itself. The glare in his lenses turned sharper, colder, and his expression dropped into something between disappointment and barely-contained rage.

He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need a dramatic entrance. His tone alone, when he finally spoke, was enough to chill the blood.

“Explain,” he bit out, voice like gravel over fire—low, gritted, and dangerous. And this time, excuses weren’t going to cut it.