"I can't."
You are delirious. You feel it, anyway; the rushing of blood to your head, how light your voice sounds, how hard it was to climb out and how hard it is to rationalize what hell you just heard. Your heart is pounding, your hands are shaking. Are you sure it is not a result of the drugs? No. Are you sure it is not helped by the bombshell just dropped on you? Yes.
"Why not?"
"Because," you laugh, running your hands through your hair with just a bit of delirium in your voice, "i-it is going to get you and I killed, Donnie."
Sitting on a swivel chair in his lab and watching you pace, he is not sure how to feel. You are not rejecting him. That alone is enough to confuse him, but your reaction now is making his head as messy as yours. "Wait," he puts his hand up, "I'm confused."
You turn to look at him. "It's not rocket science."
"But you're not rejecting me."
"Oh, of course not," you wave it off. "I've had a thing for you for months, but that's not the point."
His eyes widen. "I think it should be."
"I don't."
"But I do." He hops off, trying not to openly freak out again for his brothers' sleep's sake. "I think that is the quintessential point, actually."
"How is that more important than the practicalities of a relationship between us?"
He fights the urge to grin. "Because you like me."
"Like's a weak word for it." You stop pacing for a moment. "You've seen me at my weakest. I let you see me at my weakest." The words spill from your mouth quickly. "Your mind is as beautiful as your smile and I care for you deeply, but that means nothing right now," you do not meet his eyes, "because the most relevant thing— stop smiling, this is serious— is that having a relationship with you creates a massive risk for the both of us, especially you, given your line of work and you seem to be completely ignoring that."
It is hard not to smile. It is equally hard to truly consider the implications of your words when you are actively saying that you... well, he is not sure exactly what you are saying, other than that you like him more than just as a friend. "You more than like me?"
You stare at the wall. "I'm not going to be responsible for getting you hurt more than you will be already."
He walks around so he can see your face, trying to keep it together. "But I don't care about that."
"What if I do?" You shoot a glare at him, your face stained a gorgeous shade of red as you try to will him to take this seriously. "What if I care about your safety, that I might be the jackass who gets you in a bad situation.?"
'Huh?' He purses his lips. "What sort of bad situation?"
"Holding me for ransom comes to mind." You cross your arms tightly. "Hurting me to get to you guys, luring you into a trap. Karai knows where I live."
'"If that's a concern," he reasons, taking a step towards you, "then just because we aren't together doesn't make that less of a threat."
"How so?"
"I care about you regardless." He takes another step.
"But—"
"If anything," he walks over to properly meet your flickering gaze, "us being in contact with one another more frequently will reduce the chances of one of us being kidnapped."
Your voice does in your throat. He is very close. "W-well," you still avoid his eyes, "that doesn't mean the idea of a romantic partnership doesn't present its risks."
"Of course it does." He laughs— you are always the more confident of you two in this sort of situation. "But there are greater emotional and psychological risks in us not being together."
Your body tenses slightly as he grabs your hand. You swallow. "I don't—"
"Every night," he speaks quieter now, "We go out and we put ourselves in danger. By associating with us, you're putting yourself in danger. That is irrevocable. Agreed?"
Slowly, you nod.
"If something happened to me," he continues, "if something happened to you, and we didn't at least try this, I, personally, would hate myself for it, for not exploring this while we still have time. Does the same go for you?"
The back of your legs are against the counter. You nod again.
He sets his hand on the countertop next to you. "I wish that I was a normal human." He breaks eye contact. "I wish that I was in a position where I wasn't telling you all this after you just went through what must have been a terrifying, traumatizing ordeal. I wish that we both didn't have to do this like this, that what happened over the past few months didn't happen and that I could just do this like they do in the movies and ask you out to look at the stars or whatever." He takes a breath. "But I can't. Because I'm not."
You are not moving, now. Your eyes are focused on every micro-expression, every flinch in his face, mesmerized for a moment by the way his eyes shine under the fluorescent light. When did the room get so quiet?
"We're in a situation where both of us are in a lot of trouble with an organization that wants our heads. That's partly my fault." He looks back at you. "We don't have the luxury of worrying about that. Us being together isn't going to increase the danger at all: if they plan to use you as leverage, that is not going to change because we're honest with each other about our feelings."
You swallow again. "Can I say something?"
"Please."
You clear your throat. "I want to be in a situation where I can do what you described." Your fingers clench and unclench as you try to articulate. "I just don't want you to get yourself hurt because you're worried about me, or get distracted when you're in such a high-risk situation, or to do something irrational on my account."
"Y/N," he takes your hands gently, still on the counter. "I'm going to do that regardless. That just comes with the job."
"But would you do it at a higher frequency if we were together?"
"Probably not."
"How?"
"Because I'm going to care about you regardless."
"So whether I say no or not—"
"The irrational behavior is a given, yeah."
You look up at him. "I hope you know that this will come with its own complications. Neither of us knows the first thing about maintaining a romantic relationship."
"Are you familiar with the scientific method?"
You nod. "Question, background research—"
"We've both done plenty of that."
"Hypothesize, test, analyze, conclude, repeat until you get a result."
"That's what we'll do, then." He smiles. "If something doesn't work, we'll look over the problem, analyze the data, make a conclusion, and try something else with that in mind."
You pull your hands off, gently pushing at his chest. "This isn't fair," you mumble, "having me like this. It's hard to think enough as is."
He blinks. "Huh?" He looks between the two of you, backs off. "Oh, right, sorry," he sputters, rubbing the back of his head. "Personal— I— sorry."
"It's all good," you smile, exhaling. "But I do see your point." You rub your arm. "I agree with your reasoning, but if we continued like that, I would've kissed you, and my mouth tastes gross right now, so yeah."
His face is finally matching yours. "You— really?"
"Was that not your intention by pinning me to the counter?" You giggle, trying to relax.
"I didn't really realize I was doing it, to be honest."
Your smile widens. "Glad I'm not the only one that's freaking out about this."
"Yeah," he chuckles nervously, "I'll admit that this is my first confession."
"You did a damn good job." You sign, pushing the hair out of your face. "On a more serious note, I can't go back to my house because I'm fairly sure Karai knows where I live. Do you mind?"
"Oh, not at all." He walks over, pulling the garage door open. "It's not a bad idea, anyway. It's less likely you'll be followed the free trips you have to make."
"How convenient."
"It is, huh?" He steps into his lab properly. "Well, you can't really argue with convenience, can you?"
"I guess." You fold your arms across your chest, your jacket constricting around you. "Seriously, though," you look up at him, "we have to be really careful about this."
He nods. "Of course." He smiles. "But, hey? We've gotten this far without dying."
"Barely." You look down at your dress. "I don't suppose you have a spare set of clothes, huh?"
"I do not." He looks around a moment. "I can go back out and grab your things if you want."
You wave it off. "It's alright. It's just blood."
"What did you even do to her?"
You sit down on the countertop, leaning forward to rest your head on your hands. "I don't remember." You bring one away from your face to look at what specks of blood you could not quite reach, the blood too far under your nails. You absently look around for something to use to pick it out. "I think I must've bitten her; my mouth tastes like blood."
"You aren't bleeding or anything, right?" He gets up. "And could you sit down for a second over there? I'm going to try and run a blood test to make sure there isn't anything in your system that can cause long-term issues."
You do as asked, settling into a proper chair. "Not that I know of. My head hurts, though."
"Where?"
You gesture to the back of your head. "That's probably part of why I can't remember everything that clearly."
He pulls up a chair, grabbing a syringe from a box. "Alright," he admitted, "I'm still not amazing at this, so if you have bruising, I'm sorry." He holds his hand out. "Arm."
The process of him drawing blood from your arm is not a smooth one, but it is not unforgivably unpleasant. He puts the blood into a vial, sticks it in his centrifuge, and claims that he will be able to get proper results in approximately three hours. Until then, he suggests, it is not a terrible idea for you to have some food and drink while he goes and grabs your things; you insist that this is unnecessary, but he is already out of the door and back into the Shellraiser before you can say much.
You sign quietly as he leaves. 'I don't even think that phone is his.' You slide the lab door open, slightly— and you can take solace in slightly— limping towards the kitchen. 'On an unrelated note, holy fucking shit, I have a boyfriend.'
"Are you alright?"
You freeze at the entryway. "Uh, yeah."
"You sure?" Leo walks past you into the kitchen, pulling down a tin from one of the cupboards. "You look all banged up."
You follow him in, leaning on the island as you discretely catch your breath. You are too skittish, now. "Yeah." You chuckle. "Your girlfriend's just strong."
He pauses. "Wait, you had a run-in with Karai? Actually?"
"What do you mean, actually?" You lean on your arm.
He turns to face you. "Donnie mentioned it as he was running out. What did she want with you?"
"Don't remember." You sigh. "She drugged me. I don't remember anything."
"She what?"
"Drugged me. You didn't deny the girlfriend thing."
He ignores you. "Are you alright?"
You shrug. "I feel crappy, but not more so than typical. Your brother's running a blood test to make sure there's nothing lethal in my system."
Sapphire eyes bore into you. You do not typically spend time with the eldest brother, preferring to hang out with the younger members of the family. You have never noticed how intense his stare is.
You clear your throat awkwardly. "Leo?"
"Sorry." He does not sound it. "Lost in thought." He turns back to the cabinets, pulling down a tin. "I came out here to make tea. Do you want some?"
"So late?" You perk up at the idea of not having the vague taste of blood and vomit in your mouth. "Will you sleep?"
He nods. "It has a bit of caffeine, but it's not coffee-strong or anything."
"Then sure." You start to rise. "Need me to do anything."
"You can grab the cups if you'd like." He points to another cabinet. "Bottom shelf."
You do. The cups are taken from your hands, filled, and dumped into a kettle. The whole process, containing entirely too many steps to someone as unbothered by that sort of thing as you, seems incredibly tedious, but you suppose that is half the appeal, the ritual. He explains, with a fervor not dissimilar to his brother's, the reason behind his doing what he was doing, how you can not brew green teas at a boil, how portioning works, and all the little details of the process.
"And I take it," you cut in as he takes a breath, "you learned all this from your father?"
"Of course." The tea is made, cups are set down. He watches you expectantly. "Have some."
You take a tentative sip. It is better than what you had with his father, although, you suppose, that has more to do with the fact that it's warm. "It's good."
"I know, right?" He takes a sip.
A few moments pass, the two of you quietly draining your respective cups.
You set yours down. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you up so late?"
"Donnie isn't back for the night," he shrugs. "It's the responsible thing to do, to make sure he gets home safe. Where did he run off to?"
"Just to grab some of my clothes." You rub the back of your neck. "They know where I live, now."
"They?"
"The Foot, I'm pretty sure." You stare down into your cup. "The only person I told where I was going was the guy I was meeting and a classmate of mine. I don't frequent the area, so the logical conclusion is that they followed me from somewhere. Also, my window was open."
He nods. "So you're staying here, then?"
You nod.
"With Donnie?"
You nod again. "Do you mind!"
"Not at all." He takes another sip from his tea. "What you two do is none of my business. I asked because the couch isn't exactly comfortable."
"It's also not a couch," you agree. "They're wrestling mats on a concrete step."
"Speaking of, though..." he swallows. "You mentioned having a thing for Karai, before. I take it that's thoroughly extinguished?"
You snort. "Dude," you giggle, "bros before hoes. I would never do that to you."
He blinks. "What?"
"You're totally into her." You lean against your hand. "I think she's hot, but that doesn't mean I'd ever even consider going after her."
This seems to be something of a surprise to him. "Really?"
You nod. "Obviously."
"That's... incredibly considerate."
"That's just called not being a scumbag." You wave it off. "I'd never really consider it."
"Never really or never?"
"I said what I said."
"But actually," he chuckles, "are you over it?"
You laugh. "I think the drugging is a bit of a deal-breaker, and you are free to quote me on that."
"Hey, you can never be too sure."
"Fair, fair." You swallow the last few drops from the cup. "Thanks for the tea."
"Thank you for the company." He smiles. "You and I need to talk more."
You nod in agreement. "This was indeed a very pleasant conversation."
"Now that I have you, though, mind if I ask you something?"
You shrug, leaning against the island. "Shoot."
He takes a moment to articulate what he's trying to say. "What are your intentions with my brother?"
"What do you mean by intentions?"
He laces his fingers together. "You and Donatello are... close." He glances off. "Closer than any of us are to you, I mean, apart from maybe Mikey."
You nod in understanding. "So you want to make sure I'm not just messing with him," you guess.
"Kinda?" He sighs. "It's just that we're all a bit new to interacting with new people in general, so none of us are great at picking up social stuff, ya know?" He looks back at you. "We don't think you're a bad person or anything, and I'm not accusing you of anything, but if you are trying to start something with him beyond friendship, it would be nice to know."
'Funny you should mention that.' You rest your head on your hand. "Leo," you smile wearily, the tea not being particularly good at waking you up, "I literally just had a conversation with your brother about this exact thing."
You think his jaw may have gone a little slack from that statement.
You continue. "I'm not going to explain what we talked about. That's not my place." You stand up properly. "But I can assure you that the situation has been handled to some degree. You do not need to worry."
"Donnie had a conversation with you about your guys' feelings?" His voice is oddly light. "Actually?"
You nod, placing your hands behind your back. "We had a heart to heart."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
He blinks. "Huh." He stands up properly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I assumed that was going to be harder."
"Your dad already pulled me aside, to be fair." You try unsuccessfully to hide your amusement.
"But still." He looks over at you. "He told you about how he feels about you?"
"Mhm."
"And whatever your decision was, you were cool with it."
"Yup."
He laughs. "I know he's my brother and all, but... wow, actually?"
"If you ask me ten more times," you assure him, "my decision will not change."
"Well then," he places his hands on the counter, "good for you guys, I guess."
"Thanks." You have no idea why he finds this so surprising, but who are you to rain on his parade? The rumble of an engine stops your heart momentarily. "That's your brother, I'm guessing."
"So it is." He rinsed off his dishes, putting them back away. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"
You nod, waving as the two of you part ways. "See ya." You quickly clean your cup, sliding it back into place before stumbling off to meet him.
Donnie beats you to the door. "I used a trash bag."
"Thank you." You take it from him, slinging the bag— small, still; you need to go shopping— over your shoulder. "Fitting, too."
"Why?"
You shrug, starting towards his room. "They're all messed up."
"They are?"
"Before," you explain, only barely stumbling as you spin to face him, "they weren't all torn up."
"I guess." He fiddled with his hands, following. "But trash is kinda harsh."
"It's not." You smile wearily. "This was the nicest thing I own. Speaking of," you reach his door, "do you mind if I change?"
You. Changing. In his room. It takes him a couple of seconds. "Oh, yeah." He takes a step away from the door carefully. "It's all good. Just, uh—"
"I'll make sure to let you know when I'm done. And I won't take over your space." You slide open the door, pointedly dropping your things in a free corner for him to see, and slide it back in place.
He leans his back against the door. "I did the test, by the way."
"Yeah?" Your voice is only slightly muffled by the door. "Am I dying?"
"Not tonight you aren't. Not at an excessively high rate."
"Hell yeah."
He clears his throat. "So," he hesitates, "to clarify, what are we, now?"
The shuffling of plastic pauses. "What do you wanna be?"
"I don't really know." He keeps his voice down, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want to be anything?"
"Well, we don't have to have a label if you don't want."
The idea was almost laughable, him not wanting to have a clear idea of where their relationship was at. "I'd prefer it if we did."
You slip open the door a crack. "I'm honestly too tired to come up with a specific set of wording." It slides completely open as he takes a step away. "But, if we're doing the whole relationship thing, I'd personally prefer something mutually exclusive. Is that alright with you?"
You are dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a tank-top, the same thing you had worn last time he was over. "Could you elaborate a bit?"
"Gladly." You step aside for him, your shoes neatly lined up next to the threshold. "I don't date anyone else, and neither do you for the duration of our relationship. If either of us does, then the relationship is terminated. Do you agree to those terms?"
"Who else am I going to date?"
You smile. "It's not out of a lack of trust for you, Hamato. It's just a formality."
"Then yeah," he nods, stepping past you, "I'm more than happy being the only one you date."
"Excellent." You slide the door back closed. "Then we are dating."
"If you want to."
"I do."
His heart flips. "Than yeah, we're dating."
"Gotcha." It is cute, seeing you act so professionally about something like this. "Would you like to discuss intimacy right now or deal with it if or when it comes up?"
"Intimacy as in?" He swallows.
"Everything past what we've already done."
"Then maybe after we've slept."
You nod. "Then, Hamato," your bruised face stretches into a smile, outstretching your hand for him to shake, "you officially have a girlfriend. Congratulations."
His hand shakes a bit in yours; you squeeze it gently. "And you have a boyfriend if you want it."
"I do." You walk over, sliding the lock shut gently. "By the way, since we're a thing now, I think it appropriate to tell you that your blush is absolutely stunning."
What are words? Donatello cannot remember.
You turn back towards him, pointing to your face, now gently flushed yourself. "You don't quite turn red," you explain, "but you turn a different color when you blush. It looks pink compared to your face, but I think that, if I were to paint you, it would be closer to yellow than green, since green and red make yellow.
He feels light-headed. "So long as we're being honest," he slurs, "I think your eyes are the most gorgeous things I've ever seen."
Your face is flushing darker than he is.
"And," he adds, grinning, "I think your dress would've looked really nice on you if it wasn't covered in blood."
You snort quietly. "You're too kind."
"I'm not." Tentatively, he cups your face with his hand, spurred on by you. "You're really pretty."
You leaning into him does not go unnoticed. "My face looks like it got hit with a frying pan."
"Then call it the halo effect."
You smile again, your skin warm against him. "Must be an incredibly bright halo."
"Your smile's bright."
You have to take a second to articulate a smooth-sounding sentence. "You're really good at the complimenting thing."
"I'm really not. There's just a lot to compliment."
'Will I have to get used to this?' Your face feels incredibly hot, words caught in your throat. You are not exactly sure what to say to that. "I- uh," you stutter, scrambling to match him. "I think you're really smooth."
"You do?"
"Yeah." You clear your throat. "I mean, you're making it hard for me to talk, so you must be doing something right."
He never thought that he would be in a situation where he was the one making you stutter and blush. There is a foreign bit of pride that comes with it, he notes, satisfaction from making you squirm a little. He does not mind that at all.
Your hand reaches up, resting on top of his. "Is it time for bed?"
"Huh?"
"Bed." You nod towards it. "I'm still doing the school thing, you know. I've just got to do it via the subway, now."
"Oh, right." He looks back at it, then at you. "Same way as before?"
"Fine by me." You hold his hand for a second before letting it fall from your face. "If I wake you up tomorrow, I apologize."
"Don't worry about it." He sits down on his bed, you beside him as he starts to unwrap the wraps around his left hand. "I've got to get up early, anyway."
To his surprise, you slide off the bed, down onto your knees. You start undoing his knee pads. "Do you mind?"
He looks down at you, then stares at his hand. "Not at all," he nods, voice tight. "Have at it."
You do, fumbling hands helping in the effort to get him ready for bed. It takes longer for you to do it than it would have taken him, but the odds of him making any sort of comment on it were nonexistent. Who was he to protest to a gorgeous girl helping him out of his things? After a bit of struggling, the two of you manage to get him undressed and unmasked. His things are folded and placed by his bedside on a cardboard box, the two of you settle beside one another, your legs carefully intertwining with his.
He falls asleep first. You had noticed the first night, and you remember now with your head against his chest; as he exhales, he makes a quiet sort of whistling sound, not quite a snore, but a noticeable little noise that acts as a quiet reminder that he is there next to you.
Your eyes slide shut. In the quiet darkness, it is hard not to think, not just about the newest development in your social life— you are still trying to properly accept that you have a boyfriend now— but your life leading up to this. Your fingers once again gently trace the indentations in his shell, once, twice over, finding comfort in recognizing the way the geometric pieces of plastron merge across his front. You would not have noticed if you were not as familiar as you were now with the shape of his form; you can feel with scarred flesh the various scratches and bumps, where and how his torso must bend despite the hard bone.
He was right. You know he was, when he said that you five were lacking in regards to time. You were, too. This— this being any sort of formal attachment beyond friendship— will likely end poorly for the both of you by nature of both of your existences. Still, lying there next to him, it is hard not to appreciate how safe you feel next to him, how good it feels to not be alone. 'If I can do what little I can well,' you reason, more for yourself than the boy sleeping next to you, 'maybe I can justify the risk. Maybe I can let this happen.' It is with this thought in mind that you fall asleep.
If that is all you can do, you sincerely hope that you can live with that.