Chapter Text
It’d been a month or two since the whole…ordeal with his dissociative identity disorder.
Things had settled into something resembling normal.
Or at least everyone was pretending they had.
Leatherhead had been the first to leave, packing up his things and moving back to his own home barely a week after all four brothers had finally returned to the lair. He'd insisted there simply wasn't any room left with everyone back where they belonged.
Raph knew better.
Leatherhead had always been the sort to make himself smaller for everyone else's sake, convinced he was overstaying his welcome long before anyone else had even considered it. Respectful to a fault, the gator yōkai practically apologised for existing whenever he thought he was inconveniencing someone.
So Raph helped him carry his things back into the Hidden City and accepted the excuse without argument, and promised they'd visit.
They did.
Just not as often as they probably should've.
Leo was next.
True to his word, he announced he was picking his tour back up and, for once, actually had a schedule printed out instead of scribbled onto the back of a pizza flyer. After everything that had happened, he'd made a point of addressing the cancelled shows, explaining the circumstances as best he could without airing every deeply personal detail to thousands of strangers.
He apologised.
Offered refunds.
Even recorded a painfully sincere video that somehow managed to avoid a single joke for almost three whole minutes.
His audience took it surprisingly well.
A few disappointed comments here and there, sure, but the overwhelming response had been relief that he and his family were okay and then excitement to see him performing again.
Raph figured Leo had gotten off pretty easy all things considered.
Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.
Before leaving for good, Leo had one last problem to solve.
Finding Splinter and Draxum.
Turns out opening a portal to a random vacation spot in the heat of an identity crisis was significantly easier than remembering where you'd sent two grown men afterwards.
For nearly two hours, the slider disappeared into glowing blue portals, only to reappear muttering things like, "Nope, that's Iceland," "Definitely not that beach," and "I am ninety percent sure we have never been to Nebraska."
Eventually he got it right.
Splinter and Draxum stumbled through the portal together wearing matching floral shirts, both sporting suspiciously deep tans and expressions that suggested they'd been having an excellent time right up until they'd been yanked halfway across the world.
Neither of them looked particularly pleased to be home.
Draxum spent the next twenty minutes complaining about the interruption to his "well-earned respite," while Splinter dramatically mourned the loss of unlimited buffet breakfasts.
Leo accepted the scolding with the kind of sheepish grin that only worked because everyone was just relieved to have him back.
Mikey was the next to leave.
His extended break from college was coming to an end, which meant it was time for him to head back into the Hidden City and throw himself into assignments, studio critiques, and whatever bizarre elective he'd somehow managed to convince the faculty to approve this semester.
He packed slower than everyone else.
Not because he had more to take, but because he kept remembering little things he'd forgotten. A favourite mug. A sketchbook tucked beneath the sofa. Three different hoodies that definitely belonged to Raph, despite Mikey insisting they were still his.
Just before he left, he pulled a small spiral-bound notebook from his backpack and pressed it into Raph's hands.
"I made you something."
The front cover was decorated with little doodles of smiling pizzas, steaming mugs and turtles wearing chef hats.
Inside were pages upon pages of recipes.
Some were proper meals with ingredients carefully measured out and substitutions scribbled into the margins. Others were drinks with notes like ‘add more cinnamon if you're sad’ or ‘this one's better after a bad patrol.’ The rest were desserts and snacks – cookies, brownies, homemade ice cream and tiny pastries that Raph had only ever seen Mikey make on special occasions.
Every few pages there was another little note.
‘Leo says this one has too much garlic. Ignore him.’
‘You can absolutely eyeball the measurements.’
‘Don't forget to stir.’
‘Seriously, Raph. Stir it.’
By the time he reached the back cover, the writing had become noticeably messier.
‘If you mess one up, that's okay. Mine looked awful the first time too.’
‘Call me if you get stuck.’
‘Actually call me anyway.’
Raph closed the notebook before anyone could notice he'd been staring at the last page for a little too long.
"...Thanks, Mikey."
The younger turtle just smiled, wrapped him in a quick hug that smelled faintly of flour and vanilla, and shouldered his bag.
"No problem, big bro. Now you've got no excuse not to eat nothing besides protein bars."
He left the lair shortly after, his arm waving goodbye in an animated manner that could challenge Mondo.
For the first time since everyone had come home, the lair felt noticeably quieter.
Unsurprisingly, Donnie took the longest to leave.
With his place in the program already secured, there was no immediate rush to head back into the Hidden City. Instead, he stayed, insisting he was merely "collecting additional recovery data" while making sure his strength and weight were steadily climbing back toward their original levels.
Raph knew that was only half the truth.
Donnie had never been particularly good at leaving people behind.
Only once Donnie was satisfied with the latest scans – and after a conversation with Rockwell held behind closed doors that lasted the better part of an afternoon – did the softshell finally begin packing.
Even then, it seemed to take forever.
Every few minutes he'd remember another charger, another notebook, another screwdriver he'd left sitting on the workbench.
When there was genuinely nothing left to collect, he slung his bag over one shoulder and adjusted his goggles with practiced precision.
"If anything feels off," he began, pointing a finger toward Raph, "physically or psychologically, you will contact me immediately. Text, call, video message, carrier pigeon–I genuinely do not care about the method."
Raph snorted.
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"You are notoriously bad at asking for assistance."
"I know."
"You will not wait until the problem has escalated into a catastrophe."
"...Yeah, alright."
Donnie stared at him for another second, as though trying to calculate the probability that Raph was lying.
Then, before the eldest could make another joke, the softshell stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.
It was brief.
Awkward.
More a firm squeeze than a proper embrace. But it was enough to make Raph freeze. Donnie wasn't one for initiating physical affection. He tolerated hugs, occasionally returned them, but very rarely sought them out himself.
Just as quickly as it had begun, he stepped back and cleared his throat.
"Statistically speaking," he muttered, refusing to make eye contact, "physical contact has been shown to reduce stress hormones."
Raph couldn't stop the smile pulling at the corner of his beak.
"Uh-huh."
"It is a perfectly rational farewell."
"Sure it is."
Donnie rolled his eyes with all the dignity he could muster, adjusted the strap of his bag once more, and disappeared from the lair’s entrance and made his way toward the Hidden City.
The silence that settled over the lair afterwards felt different.
Not empty.
Just...
Too big.
The days that followed were bleak.
Not bad enough to call them miserable, but not good enough to call them peaceful either.
Just sickeningly quiet.
Draxum drifted in and out of the lair every few days, alternating between his own apartment and whatever impossible schedule came with running April’s old school’s cafeteria.
He'd arrive carrying leftovers that he'd insist were "simply excess stock" despite being suspiciously tailored to Raph's favourite meals, fuss over Splinter for half an hour, complain about incompetent students or undercooked noodles, then leave again before sunset.
Raph was never entirely sure whether the goatman was visiting him or Splinter.
Either way, the company was appreciated.
It just never lasted very long.
Once the vines portal closed and Draxum disappeared, the lair would settle back into silence.
The same silence that haunts his childhood like a persistent leech.
The television murmured endlessly from the living room, filling the empty space with old game shows and dramatic soap operas that Splinter barely seemed to watch anymore.
He always sat in the recliner. Always in the same position. Always with the remote balanced against one knee. The same snacks scattered around the place as though it were his personal dumpster.
At first, Raph would wander over and try to make conversation.
Comment on whatever ridiculous plot twist was happening.
Ask if he wanted tea.
Tell him about a new person he’d met at or a pigeon he'd seen trying to fight its own reflection.
Sometimes Splinter answered. Sometimes he hummed without looking away from the screen.
And sometimes...
Sometimes there was nothing.
No acknowledgement.
No distracted, ‘mm.’
No half-baked joke.
Just the flickering light of the television reflected in tired eyes.
Eventually, Raph stopped trying.
He'd linger in the kitchen instead, pretending to wash dishes that were already clean or flipping through Mikey's recipe notebook for the hundredth time, listening to the distant sound of canned applause echo through the lair.
Keeping his distance was easier than wondering whether Splinter had heard him at all.
The silence hurt less when he chose it.
He tried to busy himself with whatever task he could find.
The kitchen was the first casualty.
He emptied every cupboard, scrubbed every shelf, reorganised the spices into neat little rows and lined up every plate so precisely that even Donnie would've approved.
There had been absolutely nothing wrong with it to begin with.
Then came the living room.
He worked around Splinter and stacked magazines, untangled charging cables, wiped dust from surfaces that hadn't collected enough to be visible and folded blankets that nobody had unfolded. He’d even taken the time to clean up the rat’s mess.
The bathroom followed.
Every tile was scrubbed until it gleamed. The mirror polished until his reflection stared back at him with uncomfortable clarity.
He moved on before he had to look at it for too long.
He stripped everyone's beds, washed the sheets, remade them with crisp corners and neatly fluffed pillows.
Leo's room still somehow looked messy.
Mikey had left paint under his desk.
Donnie's desk had accumulated enough loose screws to build another Battle Shell.
Even his own room wasn't spared.
By the time he'd finished, the lair looked better than it had in months.
And he still felt restless. The kind of restless that settled beneath his plastron and refused to leave.
So he wandered the halls again, searching for something else to fix.
A loose cabinet hinge. A dripping tap. A crack in the training room floor.
Anything.
Anything that could be repaired with enough effort.
After all, he'd spent weeks sitting in his room or on the sofa in the exact same manner as Splinter while everyone else picked up the responsibilities that should've been his.
Patrols. Repairs. Groceries. Cooking.
Looking after each other.
The least he could do now was make himself useful. Because if he stopped – If he ran out of chores and clean laundry and dishes to wash – There'd be nothing left between him and the thing he'd been avoiding since the day he came home.
The memories. The questions. The guilt.
The awful, gnawing uncertainty of what he was doing was actually helpful or detrimental to those around him – to those who depended on him.
And if it's the latter? Well. He doesn't think he’s ready for that conversation.
Doesn’t think he ever will be.
So he scrubbed the same already spotless countertop for the third time that day until his arms ached and the cleaning cloth had long since gone dry.
Pointedly ignoring the sharp laugh booming from the living space as the volume of the TV turned up.
~~~
Something soft smacked him square in the face.
Raph jerked awake with a muffled noise of protest, fumbling until he managed to peel the offending fabric away from his eyes.
A silhouette stood in the doorway.
The warm light spilling in from the space past the door turned the figure into little more than a silhouette with broad shoulders framed by gold, the shadows stretching across the floor of the train cart.
"Get ready," Draxum said simply. "We're going out."
Before Raph could ask where, why or – more importantly – whether this qualified as a criminal offence at whatever ungodly hour it currently was, the goatman had already turned on his heel.
At least he had the decency to slide the door shut behind him, something both Splinter and his brothers seemed to lack.
Raph stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, his eyes burning as sleep stubbornly refused to release its grip.
"...Rude."
Dragging a hand down his face, he reached for the phone charging on the bedside table.
The screen lit up.
07:00
He groaned loudly enough that he was fairly certain Draxum could hear it from wherever he’d disappeared to.
What in the world could possibly require him to be awake at seven in the morning?
He'd been looking forward to a proper lie-in for the first time in weeks.
Instead, he'd been assaulted with knitwear.
Sighing with all the enthusiasm of someone being marched toward his own execution, he unfolded the garment that had been thrown at him.
A familiar white hoodie. The same one he'd worn when he and Mikey had dragged Draxum around Alberto Land.
Despite himself, the memory tugged a small smile onto his face.
He pulled it over his head before pausing.
The fabric sat looser across his shoulders and plastron.
Not by much.
Just enough to notice.
His smile faded.
Recovery was going well – everyone kept telling him that – but mirrors and old clothes had a habit of pointing out all the things people politely avoided mentioning.
He gave the hem a small tug and decided he didn't particularly care to think about it at seven in the morning.
Fifteen minutes later, he emerged into the living space where Draxum was stood waiting. The snappers' hands were damp hands and his teeth hastily brushed, matching shorts had been thrown on, bandana tied into place and the distinct feeling that he'd somehow forgotten something lingered terribly.
If Draxum was dragging him out before sunrise, though, it was probably already too late to worry about it.
They walked in silence for most of the journey.
Raph wasn't in any state to fill it.
Seven in the morning was an unreasonable hour for consciousness, and he'd already decided that Draxum's refusal to explain where they were going qualified as emotional warfare.
The goatman, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to lead the way without a word.
His hooves clicked steadily against the stone pathways, setting an easy pace that Raph followed without much thought.
For a while, the snapper barely registered where they were going.
He yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, adjusted the sleeves of the oversized jumper that kept slipping over his wrists.
It wasn't until the familiar streets gave way to somewhere entirely new that he started paying attention.
The buildings stood close together, each one leaning comfortably into the next as though they'd grown side by side over centuries. Their walls were built from warm, honey-coloured stones and dark wooden beams polished smooth with age, the rich grain catching the early morning light.
Small gardens broke up the rows of houses wherever space allowed.
Some were no bigger than window boxes overflowing with bright flowers and trailing vines, while others spilled onto the pathways with carefully tended shrubs, flowering herbs and tiny fruit trees whose branches bowed beneath impossibly vibrant blossoms.
The air smelled damp from the morning dew, carrying hints of fresh bread, brewed tea and soil still cool from the night before.
Lanterns hung between neighbouring buildings, swaying gently in the breeze.
Instead of candles, dozens of tiny firefly-like creatures drifted lazily inside each glass casing, their soft golden glow pulsing in slow, sleepy rhythms that hadn't yet faded beneath the rising sun.
As they continued walking, the neighbourhood gradually shifted.
Homes gave way to cafés and family-run shops with colourfully painted signs hanging above their doors. Stall owners arranged baskets of vibrant produce while early customers chatted over steaming drinks, the quiet murmur of conversation blending with distant laughter and the splash of running water.
The narrow streets opened unexpectedly into a broad circular square nestled between the surrounding buildings, the ground dipping gently into a shallow bowl with stairs leading up to different shops encasing it.
At the centre of the square sat a fountain so old that moss had claimed the cracks between its stones. Strange fish-like river creatures curled around the base, their antlered heads tipped towards the water as clear streams poured from open mouths into a basin scattered with lily pads. Tiny moths perched atop their horns and whiskers, carved so delicately they looked ready to flutter away with the next breeze. Every nose, every wing, every antler had been worn smooth by generations of passing hands.
Some yōkai children darted around the fountain without a second thought, each one reaching out to brush a moth's wing or tap the nose of one of the fish as they passed by. None of them slowed, the gesture so absent-minded it seemed instinctive, yet every adult did exactly the same.
Weird…
He took note of the benches curved around the plaza beneath flowering trees, their branches providing patches of shade despite the early hour.
Every planter was immaculate and every flower carefully trimmed. Every path was swept clean with great care.
It didn't feel like the bustling marketplace Raph had become accustomed to and grown to expect from the Hidden City.
It felt...comfortable. Lived in.
Like the kind of place people wandered through with nowhere particular to be.
For the first time since they'd left the lair, Raph looked away from Draxum's back and actually took in where he was.
"...Huh."
The goatman didn't turn around.
But Raph was almost certain he saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward and one of his ears flick contentedly.
He followed Draxum into the plaza and towards one of the terraced buildings bordering the curved path..
It caught his eye almost immediately.
A canvas awning stretched over the doorway, its alternating stripes of rich canary and soft icterine yellow bright against the stone around it, like a patch of captured sunlight refusing to fade with the morning.
The building itself shared the same warm brick and dark timber as its neighbours, yet somehow felt entirely different.
Alive.
Thick green vines climbed from the ground to the roofline, winding lazily around windows and beams as though the structure had simply decided to grow alongside the garden rather than keep it outside.
Clusters of royal-yellow Japanese honeysuckle bloomed among the leaves, their delicate flowers spilling over the walls and filling the air with a sweet fragrance that lingered just at the edge of every breath.
Raph's attention drifted higher.
The windows were unlike anything he'd seen before.
Instead of neat rectangles, their edges curved and meandered as though carved by flowing water rather than careful hands. The wooden frames twisted gently around the glass, bending into elegant spirals that curled back toward themselves like unfurling fern fronds.
There wasn't a single harsh line to be found.
Nothing rigid, nothing perfectly symmetrical.
Every odd little detail somehow belonged exactly where it was.
Someone had loved this place. Not just maintained it, but cared for it with the kind of quiet affection that showed itself in watered flowers, polished windowsills and vines carefully guided instead of cut away.
It looked warm, peaceful, and safe.
Raph hadn't realised he'd stopped walking until Draxum reached the door and glanced back at him.
For the first time that morning, the goatman spoke without sounding as though he were issuing an order.
"Well?"
The snapper blinked, tearing his gaze away from the spiralling windows.
"...It's nice."
The corner of Draxum's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.
"I know. Come on."
The moment Draxum pushed open the door, something overhead answered with a low, honey-soft melody.
Raphael instinctively slowed.
It wasn't the bright, glassy chatter of the wind chimes sold in the market stalls, nor the hollow clack of bamboo tubes hanging outside shrines. The sound was deeper than that, rich enough that he felt it hum faintly in his chest before it drifted away into the warm air of the cafe.
He tipped his head back.
Suspended from a thick cedar beam hung a wooden chime, its surface darkened with age and polished smooth by decades of careful hands.
Delicate moths spiralled across its sides, their wings carved so finely they seemed ready to lift from the grain, intertwining with curling river reeds and broad lily leaves. Tiny pools of amber nestled within the design, catching the early morning light until they glowed like trapped drops of sunrise.
Beneath it hung a single wooden sail, shaped not as a simple rectangle or circle but as a gentle, sweeping river spirit, its tail curling into the same flowing patterns burned into the body above. Several little amber beads swayed from the rounded base, turning lazily whenever the door opened.
The movement coaxed another quiet note from the chime.
Low and gently.
Familiar somehow, despite Raphael knowing he'd never heard it before.
His eyes lingered on a tiny imperfection near one of the carved moths – a crooked antenna, the lines around it slightly deeper than the rest.
It wasn't a mistake.
Someone had made it that way on purpose.
And then another detail caught his attention.
No two flowers matched. One honeysuckle bloom had six petals instead of five. One of the same fish he’d seen carved on the fountain’s basin wore little whiskers carved in a completely different style. Then one moth had an amber body while another had amber only in the tips of its wings.
The piece looked less like something carved by one artisan and more like something gently added to over many years, each new hand leaving behind a small mark that nobody had bothered to erase.
Draxum guided him towards one of the cafe's many tables without so much as glancing at the menu.
It sat tucked away in a quiet corner beside a generously sized window.
From the outside, the glass had been almost completely hidden beneath the climbing vines and invasive honeysuckle, leaving only small gaps for the morning sun to slip through. Golden light filtered between the leaves and flowers, scattering across the tabletop in shifting dapples that swayed whenever a breeze stirred the honeysuckle outside.
Raph found himself watching the patterns for a moment before his attention wandered.
Every windowsill in the cafe seemed to have been claimed by plants.
Trailing pothos vines spilled over ceramic pots, their leaves nearly brushing the floor. Spider plants burst outward in cheerful green fountains while tiny tillandsia rested in hanging glass ornaments suspended from bits of driftwood. Fat little succulents crowded together in mismatched mugs and painted bowls.
Those, at least, he recognised.
Donnie had spent too many months becoming inexplicably obsessed with houseplants after discovering photosynthesis could apparently be ‘optimised,’ leaving the rest of them subjected to lengthy lectures about humidity and root systems.
The remaining plants were entirely unfamiliar.
Some glowed faintly beneath broad leaves while others produced delicate flowers that slowly opened and closed despite the steady morning light. One particularly odd specimen appeared to be gently untangling its own vines.
Raph decided not to stare at that one for too long.
Instead, his gaze drifted upward.
Hundreds of little paper decorations hung from the ceiling on nearly invisible threads, swaying softly whenever someone walked past.
Some were colourful paintings made with enthusiastic brushstrokes that looked suspiciously like children's artwork. Others were carefully folded paper cranes, flowers and stars. There were hand-cut silhouettes, tiny collages, pressed flowers trapped between sheets of paper and little handwritten notes decorated with uneven hearts and smiling faces.
None of them matched one another and yet, somehow, all of them belonged together.
One entire wall had been transformed into shelves. Not bookshelves. But something akin to memory shelves.
Trophies of varying sizes sat beside framed photographs. Worn medals rested next to smooth stones painted with smiling faces. There was what looked like an old sports cup balanced beside a faded map, a carefully preserved degree tucked behind a ceramic frog and dozens upon dozens of little trinkets whose stories Raph couldn't begin to guess.
Every single one had a handwritten tag attached. Some no bigger than a sticky note. Some tied with pieces of twine.
Like each object had been given a place simply because someone had decided it mattered.
Even the chairs had been cared for.
As hand-knitted blankets rested neatly over every backrest, each one a different pattern and colour scheme, as though somebody had spent countless evenings making sure every guest would have something warm if they needed it.
Raph glanced nervously over his shoulder then immediately scooted himself towards the edge of his seat. The spikes on his carapace came uncomfortably close to the soft yarn.
He leaned forward instead, elbows on the table.
There was absolutely no way he was going to be responsible for tearing something that had so obviously been made with love.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, he realised he wasn't thinking about empty rooms. Or the mess waiting for him back at the lair thanks to a certain individual..
Something gently tapped against the back of his hand and Raph blinked and looked up to see Draxum holding out a menu.
He accepted it with a quiet murmur of thanks, the thick card stock pleasantly textured beneath his fingers. The cover had been painted with winding yellow vines that curled around a tiny teapot, and the edges had softened from years of use.
Opening it, he found the categories written in neat, flowing handwriting.
BREADS & SAVOURIES
Honey Moss Loaf
A soft golden loaf glazed with wildflower honey and topped with tiny emerald moss seeds that pop gently between your teeth like sesame seeds.
Served warm with whipped butter and smoked salt.
His stomach gave a traitorous little rumble.
River Stone Dumplings
Small round dumplings with charcoal-coloured dough, filled with mushroom, ginger and roasted chestnut.
Served floating in a clear broth.
That sounded like something Splinter would order.
Rootwell Toast
Thick slices of toasted bread topped with whipped goat cheese, roasted figs and caramelised onions.
Definitely Draxum.
He turned the page.
DRINKS
Amber Leaf Tea
Golden tea infused with dried citrus peel, chamomile and honey blossoms.
Tiny edible flower petals float on top.
Mikey would absolutely spend ten minutes taking pictures of that.
River Reed Tea
A blue-green herbal tea harvested from Hidden City waterways.
Moth Milk Latte
Steamed oat milk infused with toasted vanilla pods and cinnamon.
Finished with a dusting of golden pollen sugar.
The final page was dedicated entirely to sweet treats.
Hearth Cocoa
Dark chocolate melted with cinnamon, chilli and smoked sugar.
Honeycomb Cake
Dense vanilla sponge layered with whipped cream and honey caramel.
Decorated with caramel shards resembling tiny amber moth wings.
Lantern Jelly
Little translucent domes that glow softly in warm colours.
Made from citrus fruit and flower nectar.
River Pebble Cookies
Round butter cookies coated in powdered sugar until they resemble smooth white stones.
Moth Wing Biscuits
Thin almond biscuits stained naturally with blueberry and butterfly pea tea.
Each one hand-painted with edible gold.
Blossom Custard Tarts
Tiny flaky pastry shells filled with vanilla custard and topped with preserved peach blossoms.
By the time he'd reached the bottom of the page, he'd forgotten he was supposed to be annoyed about being awake.
Everything sounded warm and freshly baked. Made by someone who genuinely wanted people to sit down, stay awhile and leave feeling a little lighter than when they'd arrived.
He looked up and noted Draxum hadn't opened his own menu. The goatman was simply watching him with the sort of quiet patience that suggested he'd already known exactly what would happen.
Raph looked back down at the list.
"...Can I order, like..."
He frowned.
"...Three desserts?"
For the first time all morning, Draxum smiled.
"That," he replied gravely, "is an entirely acceptable breakfast."
In the end, Raph settled on the honey moss loaf and a mug of hearth cocoa. Exactly the sort of breakfast that sounded illegal before eight in the morning. Across from him, Draxum ordered the rootwell toast without even glancing at the menu.
Of course he did.
As they waited, Raph's attention wandered once again. The café seemed determined to reveal another little detail every time he looked somewhere new.
Warm wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, their grain darkened with age and polished smooth by decades of care. Cream-coloured walls reflected the gentle morning light while tiny candles flickered from every table, their flames dancing lazily despite the still air.
Nothing matched perfectly. Nothing was extravagant. Yet somehow every corner invited people to stay a little longer.
The silence between them, however, was significantly less inviting.
Raphael could endure a great many things.
Broken bones. Exhausting patrols. Leo's magic shows and stifling attempts at comedy.
Awkward silences were not among them.
"Sooo..."
His fingers began tapping absent-mindedly against the tabletop, settling into a quiet rhythm.
Draxum raised an eyebrow and Raph gestured vaguely toward the plaza outside.
"What are those fish on the fountain?"
The goatman turned his head towards the window, following his gaze.
"The river spirits?"
Raph nodded hesitantly, he’d never heard of them before.
Draxum gave a small shrug, as though the answer were obvious.
"They're said to inhabit the waterways around this district. Old stories claim they protected blossoms that fell from the Great Guiding Tree, carrying them safely downstream until they reached any yōkai who had become lost."
Raph glanced back towards the fountain.
Small stone fish circled endlessly through the flowing water, mouths forever open as tiny streams poured from them.
"They guided people home?"
"So the stories say."
Draxum folded his hands neatly on the table.
"The river spirits worked alongside the moths."
"The moths?"
"They would collect the blossoms once the spirits delivered them and fly them back to the tree."
Raph frowned.
"...Wouldn't that just make the blossoms lost again?"
For the first time that morning, Draxum let out the faintest sound resembling a laugh.
"No."
He looked out towards the plaza, his voice quieter now.
"The blossoms always knew where home was."
The answer settled between them and Raph turned to watch the fountain, staring at it for a long moment before speaking again.
"So... why'd they stop?"
"The tree's magic faded."
Draxum's gaze remained fixed on the water.
"Centuries ago. There was a battle – one important enough to make history and foolish enough to wound something that had nothing to do with it."
His expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
"It never recovered fully."
"The blossoms stopped growing?"
"They became incredibly rare."
"And the river spirits?"
"They still wait."
Raph blinked.
"...Wait for what?"
Draxum finally looked back at him.
"For the blossoms to return."
Silence settled over the table once more.
This time, Raph didn't rush to fill it.
Outside, sunlight filtered through the vines, drifting across the fountain where carved fish wrapped around the basins of the fountain protectively, moths settled on their heads in a quiet act of friendship..
For some reason, the story stayed with him. The idea that something could spend centuries waiting for lost things to find their way home.
He wasn't entirely sure why.
As their conversation fizzled down to an end, the gentle shuffle of approaching footsteps caught the snapper and yōkai’s attention..
An elderly yōkai stopped beside their table, a warm smile already resting on her face as though it had simply belonged there for years.
She reminded Raph immediately of a lunar moth.
Soft sage greens flowed into pale cream across the delicate fur that covered her face and arms, while hints of lavender dusted the edges of her broad wings, folded neatly against her back like an elegant cloak. The faintest shimmer caught across them whenever she moved, almost pearlescent beneath the morning light filtering through the vines.
Her large eyes were kind.
The sort that seemed to wrinkle with every smile and somehow made you feel as though you'd been welcomed before you'd even spoken.
What fascinated Raph most, however, were her antennae. Rather than arching freely above her head, they had been carefully gathered together and coiled into an immaculate little bun, secured with a polished wooden pin decorated with pressed yellow flowers and tiny amber gems similar to those he’d seen on the koshi charm.
It was impossibly neat as not a single strand had escaped.
Combined with her neatly pressed apron, embroidered with tiny honeysuckle blossoms along the hem, she looked every bit the sort of person who remembered everyone's favourite drink and quietly slipped an extra biscuit onto the plate if she thought they'd had a difficult week.
She carried herself with an easy grace that came from years of repetition, balancing a tray against one arm effortlessly as though it weighed nothing at all.
When she reached the table, her smile somehow brightened even further.
"Good morning, Draxum."
There was no surprise in her voice. Only fond familiarity. Then her gaze shifted over to Raph.
"And who might this lovely young man be?"
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Raph sat up a little straighter.
"This is my eldest, Raphael."
The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that it took Raph a second to realise what Draxum had actually said.
My eldest.
No hesitation. No explanation. Just a simple statement, delivered with the same certainty he'd used to order breakfast.
Heat crept up the back of Raph's neck and he rubbed at it instinctively, suddenly finding the grain of the tabletop intensely interesting.
"Oh, uh..."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"It-it's lovely to meet you."
The elderly yōkai's smile softened even further.
"And you as well, dear."
She reached out without rushing, gently patting the back of his hand with fingers surprisingly warm against his scales.
"I've heard quite a bit about you."
Raph's eyes flicked immediately towards Draxum.
The goatman had the decency to look only mildly guilty.
"...You have?"
"Oh, certainly."
Her wings fluttered ever so slightly as she chuckled.
"Only good things I assure you." She seemed to chirp impossibly cheerfully.
With practiced ease, she began setting their breakfast down.
A wooden board carrying thick slices of honey moss loaf was placed carefully in front of Raph, still warm enough for steam to curl from the golden crust. Beside it came a generously sized mug of hearth cocoa, the rich scent of dark chocolate, cinnamon and smoked sugar drifting up immediately.
Raph's stomach growled before he could stop it and the elderly yōkai's smile widened.
"There we are, dear."
She turned and slid a plate of rootwell toast in front of Draxum with the sort of efficiency that suggested she'd done exactly this countless times before.
Then she sighed.
Not dramatically. Just with the long-suffering resignation of someone who had completely accepted that some people simply refused to improve.
"The usual."
Draxum gave a single nod.
"The usual."
She clicked her tongue.
"You know, one of these mornings you could surprise me."
"I have no desire to."
"You've been ordering the same breakfast for–"
She paused, clearly counting.
"–far longer than I care to admit."
"It is nutritionally balanced."
"It is painfully predictable."
"It is reliable."
"It is beige."
Raph looked down at the toast.
Whipped goat cheese. Roasted figs. Caramelised onions.
It was, objectively, not beige.
The moth yōkai caught his expression immediately.
"Oh, don't encourage him, dear. If nobody argues with him, he'll start believing he has an adventurous palate."
"I do."
"You order this every single visit."
"It is consistently enjoyable."
"It is the only thing you order."
"There is no reason to alter perfection."
She shook her head, muttering just loudly enough for both of them to hear.
"Such a fussy old goat."
"I heard that."
"I know."
Without missing a beat, she reached over and straightened the edge of his napkin.
"And you'll keep hearing it until you try the seasonal special."
Draxum's mouth twitched upward in a ghost of a smile.
"I find your optimism admirable."
She patted his shoulder as she walked past, heading her way for the kitchen behind the counter.
"And I find your taste buds deeply disappointing."
Raph stared between the two of them for a second before a laugh finally slipped free.
It started as a quiet chuckle then somehow turned into a proper laugh that had him covering his mouth.
The elderly yōkai simply smiled knowingly.
"Oh, don't encourage her," Draxum sighed.
"Sorry, sorry."
Raph waved both hands dismissively, still grinning.
"I just... I didn't expect you to get roasted over breakfast."
"I am not being roasted."
"You absolutely are."
A pause.
"...It is a recurring occurrence."
That only made Raph laugh harder. When he finally settled, curiosity got the better of him.
"So... how long have you known her?"
Draxum didn't hesitate.
"Since I was a child."
The answer caught Raph completely off guard and his eyes immediately flicked from Draxum to the café around them.
The polished wooden beams. The worn floorboards. The shelves that were filled with decades worth of memories.
"You mean..."
"For as long as I can remember."
There was no exaggeration in his voice. No dramatic flourish. Simply fact.
"She and her husband have run this establishment for centuries. Ownership has never changed hands, nor has the menu changed significantly."
Raph blinked.
"...Seriously?"
"The honey moss loaf used to contain considerably more honey."
"...That's your complaint?"
"It was excessively sweet."
Before Raph could respond, another detail registered.
"Husband?"
Draxum nodded.
"Tsuki."
As if summoned by name, he glanced briefly towards the swinging doors leading into the kitchen.
"He prefers remaining behind the stove while she terrorises unsuspecting patrons."
"I do not terrorise anyone," the elderly moth called from across the room without even turning around.
"You attempted to force seasonal pumpkin pastries upon me for three consecutive months."
"Because they're delicious."
"They are unnecessary."
"They're baked with love."
"They contain nutmeg."
Raph looked between them.
"...Is this a normal conversation?"
"Yes."
"Entirely."
The two answered in perfect unison.
For a moment, Raph simply sat there, watching an elderly café owner scold a centuries-old alchemist over breakfast pastries.
Listening to the quiet chatter of other customers. Watching sunlight filter through honeysuckle vines and scatter across the table.
The place felt permanent. Like it had been here long before him and would still be here long after he left.
There was something strangely comforting about that.
He reached for his mug, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic before taking his first sip of cocoa.
Rich chocolate. Cinnamon. A gentle warmth that settled all the way down into his very core.
Without thinking, his shoulders relaxed. Something Draxum noticed.
He didn't say anything. He just simply reached for his toast and ate it silently.
The rest of the morning slipped by almost unnoticed and neither of them seemed particularly interested in leaving so soon.
Their breakfast disappeared at an unhurried pace, the honey moss loaf proving every bit as good as it had sounded, the warm cocoa settling comfortably in Raph's stomach while Draxum picked methodically through his rootwell toast with the unwavering dedication of someone who genuinely believed it to be the pinnacle of culinary achievement.
Conversation came surprisingly easily. There were no awkward pauses demanding to be filled. No pressure to keep talking. It seemed as though the words simply appeared whenever they wished to, drifting between them as naturally as the sunlight filtering through the honeysuckle outside.
Raph wasn't entirely sure why.
Maybe it was the gentle clatter of mugs and plates around them. Maybe it was the smell of fresh bread constantly drifting from the kitchen. Maybe it was the way every other table seemed occupied by neighbours content to sit in comfortable silence, reading newspapers or chatting softly over endless cups of tea.
Or maybe this place had simply been built for lingering.
Whatever the reason, Draxum spoke more than Raph had ever heard him speak about himself.
He pointed vaguely towards the streets outside while recounting stories of childhood games played between the narrow alleyways and afternoons spent climbing rooftops he absolutely hadn't been supposed to climb.
He spoke of shopkeepers who had been old when he was young and somehow still seemed exactly the same now.
Of festivals where thousands of lanterns had once floated above the river.
Of impossible creatures that supposedly slept beneath the city's foundations and only rolled over during earthquakes.
Every tale was delivered in exactly the same calm, matter-of-fact tone.
It took Raph several stories to realise Draxum wasn't embellishing them for effect.
He simply expected everyone else to accept that giant stone turtles occasionally carried entire neighbourhoods on their backs and that wishing trees had once given directions.
By far, though, Raph's favourite remained the story of the river spirits. He found himself glancing back towards the fountain whenever conversation lulled.
The little carved fish on the basins continued their endless circle through the flowing water while tiny moths drifted lazily between the flowers growing around its edge.
Somewhere out there, according to centuries of folklore, they had once worked together to guide lost souls safely home.
It was a simple story. Almost childish. Yet Raph couldn't stop thinking about it.
About blossoms carried by the current instead of abandoned to it and the moths patiently returning them to where they belonged.
About things that wandered and still managed to find their way home.
He stared into the last swirl of cocoa at the bottom of his mug.
When he looked back up, Draxum was already watching him. The goatman didn't ask what he was thinking, didn't analyse his expression or offer unwanted advice. He simply reached over, tore the final piece of toast in half and placed one portion onto Raph's plate.
No explanation. No ceremony. Just quiet certainty that he'd eat it.
For some reason, that tiny gesture settled something restless inside him far more effectively than any conversation could have.
Outside, the fountain continued to flow softly beneath the vines.
Eventually, the last crumbs disappeared from their plates and the empty mug was gathered away.
Draxum rose from his seat without a word.
Rather than heading for the door, he wandered towards the counter where Akari had reappeared, already deep in conversation with Tsuki who had recently emerged from the kitchen.
The goatman started speaking before he'd even reached them.
It earned him a fond eye-roll from Akari and a quiet chuckle from the other.
Raph remained at the table for a moment, content to simply watch and take in any details he could.
Where Akari reminded him of spring mornings and pale blossoms, Tsuki carried all the colours of autumn.
Warm russet fur blended into rich browns and charcoal black, broken by broad patches of cream and soft gold that spread across the edges of the large wings folded neatly against his back. Fine patterns dotted across them like painted droplets, mesmerising enough that Raph found himself staring for a second too long.
Unlike Akari's carefully coiled antennae, Tsuki left his free. They arched gently above his head, shifting and curling with every laugh and every thoughtful pause, expressive enough to betray emotions before he ever spoke.
A light dusting of flour clung stubbornly to one sleeve and across the front of his apron, as though he'd wiped his hands there out of habit thousands of times.
One broad hand rested comfortably on the countertop while the other absent-mindedly polished a ceramic mug with a cloth that looked almost as old as the café itself.
He listened far more than he spoke, nodding occasionally while Draxum explained something with the sort of measured seriousness normally reserved for scientific conferences.
Akari interrupted him twice.
Tsuki once.
Neither seemed remotely intimidated.
Draxum accepted both interruptions with only the slightest narrowing of his eyes.
It was oddly fascinating.
Raph had spent years seeing Draxum as an intimidating yōkai, an impossible alchemist, a strict dinnerlady and an occasionally overbearing parent.
Watching him stand between two elderly café owners while they gently bickered over whether he'd lost weight and if he was still refusing to try the seasonal pastries...
It made him seem surprisingly ordinary.
Eventually, Raph decided the conversation between Draxum, Akari and Tsuki showed no signs of ending anytime soon.
Not wanting to interrupt what was clearly decades' worth of friendship compressed into a morning catch-up, he quietly pushed back his chair and wandered towards the shelves lining the far wall.
On the way, he offered small smiles and murmured greetings to the other patrons.
A rabbit yōkai nodded over the rim of a teacup.
A pair of elderly kappas scooted their chairs in with quiet apologies of their own when he accidentally brushed past them.
Someone waved.
Someone else smiled.
Nobody seemed bothered by his presence.
The shelves were even more impressive up close.
There was no obvious order.
No sections.
No hierarchy.
Photographs leaned against trophies.
Pressed flowers rested beside medals.
Handmade clay figures shared space with carefully framed certificates.
Every single item had a handwritten tag attached.
Every single one.
Raph reached for one near eye level.
A neat wooden frame surrounded an official-looking certificate embossed with gold lettering.
The photograph in the corner showed a young osprey yōkai standing painfully straight, trying and failing to hide a proud smile.
Master Restoration Certificate
Raph frowned.
He wasn't entirely sure what restoration involved beyond fixing broken furniture, but the document certainly looked important.
Curiosity got the better of him.
He carefully turned the frame over.
On the back, written in neat flowing handwriting, was a simple message.
Hayate
Finally achieving the certificate he worked so hard for.
A persistent and helpful presence at every festival and community gathering for years before this–and undoubtedly for many more to come.
We are so proud of you.
Whoever Hayate was, someone had wanted him to know his hard work had been noticed. That it mattered.
Gently, he returned the frame exactly where he'd found it and his attention drifted lower.
Resting against the back of one shelf was a photograph so large it nearly hid everything behind it.
It showed a child alligator yōkai who couldn't have been more than eight or nine and mud covered half his clothes. He was grinning so widely it looked almost impossible, proudly holding up an enormous fish that seemed nearly as long as he was tall.
Raph felt himself smile immediately.
He picked up the frame and turned it over.
Leatherhead
Caught a fish larger than his father's.
He was so proud.
And so were we.
For a long moment, Raph simply stared.
For some reason, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of anyone he knew being up on this shelf. And now seeing Leatherhead there, as just a child, looking so proud of himself in regards to fishing, it felt like he’d just discovered something about his friend he never knew before.
This undoubtedly deserved to be remembered.
His thumb brushed absent-mindedly against the edge of the frame As he pictured the Leatherhead he knew now.
Respectful of others boundaries and being cautious as to not overstep them. Quietly moving back home because he thought the lair was crowded enough. Always making sure those in the Arena were okay. Always being there and willing to break up any unnecessarily violent fights.
Now here he was, just a bright eyed kid with the enthusiasm of a thousand men, presenting a catch he was so proud of purely because he’d beaten his father.
Raph laughed softly through his nose.
He placed the frame back exactly where it belonged. His eyes wandered across the shelves again.
Somewhere among all these photographs and scraps of paper and tiny keepsakes were hundreds of ordinary moments.
First jobs.
Lost teeth.
Finished degrees.
Festival ribbons.
Crocheted flowers.
Birthday cards.
Someone's favourite recipe.
Someone else's first successful loaf of bread.
None of them were remarkable to the rest of the world, but every single one was remarkable to somebody.
The shelves weren't displaying accomplishments. They were displaying evidence. Evidence that people had lived here. That they had grown. Failed. Tried again.
That they had been loved enough for someone to write, ‘We are so proud of you’.
Draxum's voice carried from the entrance.
"Raphael."
The snapper looked over his shoulder.
The goatman was already standing in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame while the other held the door open. Judging by the absence of plates on the table and the quiet conversation Akari and Tsuki had resumed behind him, the bill had already been settled.
It was time to leave.
Raph cast one final glance towards the shelves. Towards Hayate's certificate. Leatherhead's impossible fish. The faded photographs and handwritten notes squeezed together wherever there was room.
There wasn't a single empty space left.
For some reason, he found himself hoping they'd have to build another shelf soon.
He smiled faintly before making his way towards the door.
"Thank you for breakfast," he said, pausing beside the counter.
Akari's wings fluttered gently.
"It was lovely meeting you, dear."
Tsuki lifted a flour-dusted hand in farewell.
"Come back hungry next time."
"I usually am."
"Good," Akari replied immediately. "We'll fix that."
Raph couldn't help laughing.
"I'll keep that in mind."
The little koshi charm above the door chimed softly as he stepped outside.
Early afternoon had fully settled over the plaza.
The fountain sparkled beneath the sunlight, every ripple catching the light until it looked as though someone had scattered handfuls of tiny diamonds across the water's surface.
The carved fish continued their endless journey around the basin while pale moths rested lazily atop their heads.
The honeysuckle climbing the cafe walls glowed a rich golden yellow, petals almost translucent where the sunlight caught them.
For a brief moment, the entire building looked less like a café and more like something that had quietly grown there over centuries.
They left it behind at an easy pace.
Past the fountain. Past the little gardens. Back through the narrow streets lined with warm stone and polished wood.
Neither of them hurried.
After a while, Raph tugged absently at the cuff of his jumper.
"...Thanks."
Draxum glanced sideways.
"For dragging me out here."
A pause.
"It was..."
He searched for a better word.
"...Nice."
The goatman hummed thoughtfully.
"I know."
Another few steps passed before he spoke again.
"A change of scenery once in a while is good."
"Yeah."
Silence settled between them once more.
It wasn't awkward this time.
Just quiet.
The sort of quiet that existed beneath birdsong and distant conversations and the splash of a fountain somewhere behind them.
Raph found he didn't mind it nearly as much anymore.