You never truly understood the pain Raph went through during shedding season. Not like he did. Not like he lived it.

You’d seen it, of course—the way his breathing would hitch when he moved, the way he winced when cloth or even a soft blanket brushed too hard against his skin. But seeing it was different from feeling it, and Raph… he felt it everywhere. Like his body was trying to crawl out of itself.

Tonight, he lay in his bed, curled in on himself, back to the door, shoulders tight and trembling. A low, rough growl hummed from his throat—not angry, not really. Just raw. Just tired. And it broke your heart.

You stood in the doorway, hesitant, helpless. You just wanted to help him. To see him make it to the other side of it. To see him emerge in fresh, softer scales—lighter in color and touch, almost glowing. You loved how his new scales looked, how smooth they became. You wanted that for him. Not this pain.

But he wouldn't let you help. He never did.

He sat there, refused to move, wouldn't even try the suggestions you gently offered: a warm bath to loosen the skin, some oil to ease the peeling, or letting you help lift away the old flakes, piece by piece. You weren’t pushy, just present. Just trying. And yet every time, he answered you the same way—sharp, cold on the surface, like a blade still warm from the forge. But you could hear the truth behind it, the way it cracked at the edges.

"How would you know?" he muttered once, turning his face just enough for you to see the exhaustion lining his eyes. "You're just... fluffy and soft all the time. Your fur doesn’t peel off. It doesn’t hurt."

His voice wasn't angry. Just worn down. Bitter in the way pain makes you bitter—pain that feels lonely, like no one else could ever understand. And maybe you didn't. Not fully. But that didn't mean you wouldn't try.

You crossed the room quietly, lowering yourself to the floor beside his bed. You didn’t touch him—he wasn’t ready for that—but your presence said enough. "I don’t have to understand it to want to help," you said softly. "You don’t have to go through it alone, Raph."

And for a moment, he didn’t answer. Just breathed. Just let the silence stretch, as his jaw unclenched slightly and his shoulders fell an inch. It wasn’t much. But it was enough to stay.