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Garfield often misses the kid he used to be. Before the circus, before the mutation, before his parents' passing. When the Titans told him to “buzz off” or “move your furry butt,” he’d always drift to the kitchen or the garden. The quiet places where no one minded if he didn’t speak. Being the only vegan on his team, he often found himself left out, either at tea time, or even during the “night of movies,” as Starfire called it.
That morning, maybe it was the heat that came with summer’s eve, but while everyone else had bacon and eggs for breakfast, something clicked in Garfield’s pea brain after Cyborg joked about wanting his “green.” That was the day he started learning how to cook for himself. And after too many failed grocery trips, too many limp zucchinis and bruised tomatoes, he began to grow what he needed.
Raven always kept to the shadows — not by choice, but by comfort. When the rooftop garden began to grow, she found it was quiet in all the right ways. A little more sunlight than her room, sure, but silence like her own.
When autumn came, the air turned just enough to bite. Maybe that was what sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to see what had brushed against her, only to be met by the smell of her favourite tea. She remembered making coffee that day. And yet, there it was: Osmanthus. Its soft, muted glow caught her off guard. The kind that doesn’t shout for attention. It just is.
Curled on the viney canopy above, a green cat blinked slowly in her direction. Her book was nearing its climax. Not even a cat-shaped mystery would interrupt that. She headed back inside once she was done. But her cup of coffee hadn’t been touched. Huh. Normally, she would’ve needed that.
Garfield started noticing a little hooded figure showing up in his greenery — floating just above a small rug. Her books began piling into a quiet little shelf of their own. It might rain later that week, he thought. So he started building canopies. Not for her — for his vines. But they ended up just tall enough, just wide enough, that someone could sit under them if they needed.
It did rain that week. But the cloaked figure chose indoors. Of course, he wasn’t annoyed that she hadn’t used the canopy. Not at all. Definitely not.
Though, the following week, when the autumn sun grew shy and she reappeared beside the osmanthus with a book in her lap — he definitely didn’t purr.
Robin had started to notice the quiet. No impersonations. No loud tofu rants. No late-night marathons that ended with dramatic weeping over animated animal deaths. The Tower felt a little grayer — maybe from the absence of a certain kind of green.
One evening, Starfire murmured that Garfield had been feeling more blue than usual, her voice soft as she stirred her tea. Cyborg agreed. It had been a while since any scream-singing was heard from the showers — a routine he had gotten used to, suddenly vanished in the past few weeks.
Arms crossed, Robin had simply nodded. Beast Boy had been quieter, that much was certain. His eyes flicked upward, toward the terrace.
“I don’t think it’s something wrong,” he said after a beat. “Just... something different.”
Raven floated past them just then, mug in hand. When Starfire gently asked where she was headed, her answer was simple: “Up.”
A look passed between them — unspoken and curious. Raven, leaving her room in the middle of the day, without complaint or grimace, was not a usual occurrence. So they followed. Quietly.
The terrace was washed in late afternoon gold. Handmade trellises were now lined with vines, blossoms poking through the gaps like soft punctuation. Beneath the wide canopy sat a low table, two mugs placed without ceremony.
Raven sat cross-legged on a woven rug, her hood down, a book settled in her lap. Beside her, a green cat lay curled, purring faintly, its tail flicking in a steady rhythm against the fabric of her cloak.
The three stopped short, mouths slightly agape. Questions answered.
Robin lingered at the edge of the doorway. “Told you,” he said, voice low. “Not broken. Just different.”
Starfire’s eyes softened as she took in the space. “It is... very beautiful up here.”
Cyborg let out a quiet chuckle. “So this is the man cave, huh? Real leafy.”
None of them stepped further. There wasn’t a need.
Some spaces weren’t meant to be disturbed — only quietly witnessed.