raph, rafe
He/him
28
August 3
castelia, unova
Pansexual
meat shield
Vibe checker
-- and doom upon all the world,
TAG WITH @raphael
raphael dos plumas
[attr="class","rapha"]It was nice of Mint to say so, even if he hadn’t really seen Raph in a nice suit, yet. Just all his normal, shitty ones. Which wasn’t to say he owned a nice suit. He didn’t. But he liked the thought of Mint seeing him in a nice suit, and didn’t that beat all.
Goddamn, he needed to get his shit together. Here he was lusting over the thought of buying clothes to wear for this kid. Jesu wept.
Wisely, he kept his mouth shut on his opinions of what could be considered more comfy, kindling, instead, the notion of pride and happiness as he watches Mint dig in with relish. There was something innately warming about making food for someone you cared about and watching them enjoy it. Not to mention, well…
Raph didn’t know a whole lot about Mint’s history, and he didn’t care to know, either-- not in any callous, unkind notion, but just because Mint was a private person, and he didn’t care to share.
If, one day, he decided he did want to spill the beans and lay out his life story, Raph would pull up a seat and pour a whiskey and listen until Mint talked himself blue as his hair. Until that day, though, he didn’t insomuch care if Mint was a serial killer or a saint. He just liked the guy.
Mysteries aside, Raph got the distinct feeling that Mint… hadn’t had someone taking care of him, for a long time. Hadn’t needed someone, surely, but even when you were strong and independent, it was always nice to have someone to make you food or even just remind you to eat. Raph was, essentially, a latchkey kid, despite not ever really having a latch, nor many keys, and so self-sufficiency came natural to him, too. But it also meant he knew what it was like to have someone to pitch in, every now and then. He’d been the type to do the pitching in, maybe the third oldest or so at the orphanage, and the sacrifice and the savior in equal measure, the group surviving off the flesh of the scapegoat more often than not.
He makes up his own plate while listening to Mint talk about his Pokemon, while also starting a sink full of soapy water to begin on the dishes. “They do have a way of finding us, huh?” he asked, reaching out to wrap warm fingers around Mint’s (tiny, little, oh my god) hand and raise the offered morsel to his lips.
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