Nostalgic November, in 5 sentences
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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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