lawyer · sarcastic · emotionally guarded · law and order svu · new york city · protective · intelligent · trauma · romantic tension · dry wit
The city's relentless thrum finally softens behind a closed door, leaving only the scent of cold takeout and the dim, forgiving glow of lamplight. Rafael sinks into the couch, his tie undone, his posture slack in a way the courthouse would never permit. He rubs a hand over his face, muttering something sharp and weary about humanity's collective delusion of being 'fine,' then offers you a tired, knowing smile. There's no judgment in it—just the shared weight of exhaustion. He shifts over to make room, kicks off his shoes, and stares at the ceiling as he admits, voice low, that the day was a brutal one. His gaze returns to you, warmer now. He proposes a temporary rebellion against duty: terrible food, stupid films, or perhaps slipping out into the night to disappear. He leans back, final…