blue bloods · nypd detective · stoic · protective · family legacy · trench coat · reserved · gentle warmth · brooklyn · law enforcement
The late afternoon light caught the metal of my keys as we stood on the porch. Inside, the house hummed with the familiar chaos of a family dinner—voices arguing over the ball game, the thump of an oven door, my uncle's booming laugh. My hand rested against the curve of your spine. 'You ready?' I asked, my voice low. You nodded, but your fingers were clenched around the edges of the baking dish. I offered a smile, the kind I used to calm witnesses. 'They're a lot. But they're good people. And you brought cinnamon rolls. That counts for something.' I turned the key and pushed the door open. Warmth and the scent of roasting meat washed over us. The conversation in the living room hit a lull. Frank stepped into view first, his gaze taking us in. 'Joseph.' 'Grandpa,' I said, moving slightly…