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your name is hershel layton, and you can count the number of times you've died on one hand.
your name is professor layton, and you are a father, a lover, a friend, a brother, a celebrity. most people in london know your name and you don't know if you hate that or not.
your name is hershel layton and you are getting your friend luke's burnt and dirtied clothes out of his hamper and putting them in the laundry basket next to your own. he is in his room, an old guest room of yours that he slowly claimed as his own, and he is asleep. he is your son. he is one of your best friends. he is your follower. he is resting after three days of being in near-constant danger and he has to go to school tomorrow.
your name is professor layton and you have just finished solving yet another mystery. you have solved puzzle after puzzle and battled with both wit and sword until your opponent finally broke. you will return to your classroom tomorrow and your students will ask you about your travels. you will tell them an abridged version of what happened, and they will ask for more and more details until you remind them that you have a class to teach.
your name is hershel layton and you are walking down the halls of your home to your laundry room. you peek into the second room on the left. your daughter, flora, is sleeping. you didn't think, all those months ago, that you would be taking a child home with you. you certainly weren't ready for one. you let her sleep in your room and you took the couch until you could move all of the furniture in your study to your living room and replaced it with a bed that she could actually call her own. you walk in, take her laundry as quietly as possible, and leave, closing the door behind you.
your name is professor layton and you're ready for a nice relaxing cup of tea. you're content. you're happy that despite all of the things you've gone through, it's all finally paid off. you work too much and your back is starting to ache more often than not but you don't mind. you have a family, and that's all that matters, right?
your name is hershel layton and halfway down the stairs you stop to look at the clock above the mantle of the small fireplace in your parlor. it is half past 9. you really ought to go to bed, but if you put this load in now, you can put it to dry in an hour and it'll be all ready in the morning.
next to the clock are a number of carefully framed photos. you and luke, you and your parents, you and flora and luke, you and randall, you and claire, you and andrew, you and luke. you really should dust these off next time you have the chance.
your name is professor layton, and you just spotted a hidden puzzle. no doubt tucked away by randall— just one look reveals the scuffed edges and well-worn nature of the thing. something at the back of your mind speaks up; a memory, from long ago, about solving this very puzzle. you put it back. you can let flora solve this one in the morning.
your name is hershel layton and you're pouring detergent into a cup and then into your washing machine. you wish that time would stop, sometimes. you wish you didn't have to participate in the world of academia or mysteries. you wish that you could have at least one night off to yourself, and you can picture it now; you, and you alone, curled up with a good book, a cup of tea, and a thick blanket. your home is dark and empty. silent. the bitter taste of wishes enters your mouth. you begin to pile the clothes in.
your name is professor layton and you disagree.
academia is a monster of its own. you acknowledge this. but to solve mysteries is to help others. help the dead, the missing, the desperate. to help others is to fulfill the duties of a gentleman.
your name is hershel layton and you sigh. sigh heavily, sigh for longer than normal.
to be a gentleman... is to give to others, completely and wholly. but what about you? who gives to you?
your name is professor layton and you look up at the ceiling. if you remember the layout of your home correctly, the second floor hallway should be right above you. to your left is flora's room and to your right is luke's.
your name is hershel layton and you turn the machine on and lean against the doorway. you close your eyes, silently cursing yourself for thinking such foul thoughts. how could you forget about all they've given you? how could you be so rude? so horribly selfish as to wish them away?...
your name is professor layton and you realize that being a parental figure is hard.
you've known this for a very long time.
but there's no harm in reminding yourself.
there never is. there's no shame in being tired. there is only shame in taking it out on others.
your name is hershel layton, and after collecting yourself, you head to the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil.
you may as well curl up with a good book, a cup of tea, and a thick blanket as you wait for the wash cycle to finish. but not you, alone. instead it is you, in your home, with the two people you would do anything for and reminders of those who love you all around.
your name is professor hershel layton, and despite all of the damned things in this world trying to hinder you, you are loved and you love in turn.