#tmnt 07 raph

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Day 27: Fleeting summers

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Raph’s always hated summer, hated how the heat clung to his skin and made his vision swim, how without fail he’d end up sick and shaking while everyone else was perfectly able to enjoy the weather. Leo used to be the one who sat by his side, pressing cool cloths to his forehead, forcing him to sip water, tell him terrible jokes and humming horrible ear-worms loudly until the worst of it passed.

This time, when the sickness creeps in again, Raph doesn’t say a word to anyone—Donnie’s buried in his work, Mikey’s trying too hard to take care of Sensei's weak health, and Leo’s not here.

He lies there alone, sweat cooling against his shell, realizing how quickly that small, gentle care had disappeared. Vaguely, he wonders whether the South American climate must be doing the same to Leo, and fleetingly wishes he was there with him.

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Day 24: "I kept it, just in case."

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"What's that?"

Casey hums questioningly in response, and Raph nods at the small shelf right by the window, or, more accurately, the small broken shuriken that sits forgotten on it.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches Casey tense a fraction, and then laugh just a little awkwardly, "Oh, yeah, that's one of Leo's, he snapped the head clean off when he and I first started sparring way back then—said I was 'finally learning'."

He shrugs with one shoulder, turning back around to mess with the dials on the radio, but his voice dips lower when he adds, "I kept it, just in case."

Raph pauses, before carefully picking it up to clean the dust gathered on the metal with the cloth of his own mask, choosing to ignore the small smile blooming on Casey's face.

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Day 12: Lost numbers in an old phone

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Raph stares at the battered cellphone in his hands, weakly lit up by the waning moonlight streaming through the heavy clouds, and slowly types the message into the text box:

‘Happy new year’.

He deletes it immediately after, and then types it again, over and over, before eventually, with his heart in his throat and a bitter hope in his chest, he hits send.

Until he remembers that not only can Leo never get this SMS all the way in Costa Rica, this number isn’t even active anymore.

Raph feels a thread of disappointment shoot through him, before he forcefully tamps it down. Ah, well, Leo’s supposed to come back in the next few days; he’ll just wish him then.

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Day 9: Things you never said

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‘I’m sorry’, the words written in the journal read, ‘and I forgive you. I think you’re the worst brother on the planet, but I still miss you like my second sai. I wish you hadn’t left. I wish you’d left sooner.’

Splinter’s gaze sweeps over the sentences again, and then he sighs, quietly shutting the journal closed and glancing at an asleep Raphael, collapsed over his desk—his pupil has so much left to learn.

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Day 7: Forgotten birthdays

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Mikey spends the first third of his day baking a towering cake, cleaning every inch of the lair until it shines, and hanging up streamers on the walls as his laughter and upbeat music fills the space. He spends the second third serving slices to his family, his grin unwavering even as Raph and Donnie trade thinly veiled insults across the table, the novelty of the day held together only by his stubborn cheer.

He spends the last third perched on a rooftop, right across the post office window, eyes locked onto a P.O. box with a small turtle sticker on it—waiting and watching for a mailman to open it and deposit a letter, just like how Mikey’d oh-so-wished it would come, that he would remember.

When midnight strikes, the street below goes quiet, and Mikey finally leaves.

The letter does eventually come, courtesy of Casey and the sympathetic look on his face, and it’s even dated correctly, several stamps pasted on the envelope as evidence of the unfortunate reroute it had gone through; it’s still not enough for Mikey to forgive him.

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Day 5: A song you haven’t heard in a year

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Raph’s breath hitches as he stumbles to a stop, feet barely keeping him from falling off the rooftops. The hands tightly wound around his sais momentarily go numb, as a painfully familiar tune greets him from the window below.

He stands there, stupidly frozen, feeling caught between multiple moments: the one right now, armed in his Nightwatcher gear on a windy, muggy summer night, and many, many ones from home, from before. Walking towards the kitchen passing by Leo’s room, going for patrols with a small speaker hanging off Leo’s belt, chilling on the couch with Leo as he read a book and quietly hummed to himself—and this song, playing over the montage of photographs flipping through his mind like papers caught in a storm.

Raph stays there for the entirety of the song, and when the closing guitar riff ends, he’s distantly surprised to feel a burning in his eyes, exacerbated by a deep ache in his chest—one he stopped feeling a long time ago—and then he grits his teeth angrily, pulling his helmet tighter over his ears, and turning away.

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