#turtlecleric scrolls

You blow out a slow breath, closing your eyes and pushing down the hint of exasperation that's starting to bloom in your chest. He's worried, you remind yourself. Unsure. Hesitant in a way that you simply aren't. You can be patient, for him. 

"It will be disorienting and confusing," you say once more. "I may feel overwhelmed or scared. I may not be able to control my thoughts or actions. I may hate it."

Donnie searches your face, brows furrowed. "And you still want t-"

"Yes."

The movement of his free hand tapping rapidly against his thigh catches your eye. It makes you soften further, seeing how worried he is about this. About you. You step forward to wrap your arms around him, and his own slide around you immediately, making the bottle of pills in his hand rattle as he does. His cheek rests on the top of your head, and you bask in the comfort of his hold for a long moment before leaning back to catch his gaze. Somber, anxious eyes look back at you. 

"I trust you,” you murmur. “I understand the risks. And I still really want to do this. Okay?"

His mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything. When he opens it again, it's with a firmer, more resolute expression.

"Okay," he says, nodding and pulling away fully from your hug. "Let's get you set up then."

He leads you to the bed nestled in the back corner of the workshop - one that he put together specifically for this. Sturdy, with a mattress that has just the right amount of give, an absurd number of pillows, and the softest blankets and sheets you've ever had the pleasure of running your hands over. The memory of when he'd first shown you the finished product makes you smile. 

It's perfect, Donnie!

Of course it is! I made it to your exact preferences based on the data I've collected over the past few weeks, and - oh, let me show you how the heating function works!

God. You love him so fucking much. 

Settled amongst the pillows now, with him kneeling on the bed beside you, your heart sings thinking about how much work he's put into this. The pills, obviously. The bed. The lectures and pamphlets and reminders that you don't have to do this - despite the fact that you were the one who requested it in the first place. Wanting to experience a taste of what it's like for him, so you can understand better but… also because you're a little selfish. He's told you countless times how much better his season is now that he has you. Alone, it had been miserable. With you… it's something incredible. And he always seems so content during his season - relaxed and satisfied and so goddamn happy. Giddy with it, even. You want to see what that feels like. 

"The effects should last approximately one hour," Donnie says, pulling you from your thoughts. The bottle rattles again when he gingerly shakes a single pill into his hand. "Don't forget that your heart rate will increase, and you'll start to feel really warm. That's normal. Oh, and don’t forget that-”

"Donnie," you call softly, cutting him off. You take the pill from him with one hand and use the other to weave your fingers around his and squeeze. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

His eyes soften, and the tiny smile on his face bolsters you. Before he has a chance to make you repeat the warnings (again), you reach over to one of the cup holders jutting out from the side of the bed and pick up a water bottle. 

(It's important to stay hydrated, dearest. Ooh! Watch this, there's a hidden cupboard for snacks that raises up when you press-)

The pill goes down easily, and Donnie immediately starts to ramble again. Reminding you of what to expect, of the contingency plans in place should you decide this really isn't for you and you need to stop. You half-listen, smirking when he falters for just a moment as you start to strip. 

You'd thought you might get a bit chilly since he keeps it relatively cold in here, but you're feeling okay even without your clothes. You get comfortable on the bed, lying down and… about to ask how long it will take for… hm.

Hm.

He's still talking, but you're a little distracted by the way his throat moves as he speaks. The way his tendons stretch and pull when he shifts, when he turns his head, or... the glimpses of his tongue, his teeth, as he talks. 

Wait. Focus. 

"-feeling?"

You blink up at him. "...Huh?" 

He looks like he can't decide between worry or amusement. It's not an unusual expression to see on his face - you evoke that in him pretty often - but something about it mesmerizes you. 

"How are you feeling?" He says again.

Feeling. How are you. Feeling. 

It's hard to focus when you're staring at him. Looking away feels impossible, but you manage to close your eyes and think. 

You feel... warm. That's right. He said that would happen. You feel… hazy. Like your thoughts have to drag themselves through molasses to make it to the surface. Hungry? No, hungry isn't quite right, but it's... similar. Like a craving. You want. You want. You feel your pulse in your throat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. You miss him. He’s right here, but you miss him. 

When you open your eyes and see him there, you feel yourself relax. His gaze is intense. Heavy. It makes you shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs, and you try to focus. Focus. Try to… 

Why aren’t you touching him? It seems stupid to not be touching him. More than stupid, it feels wrong. You reach out, resting a hand against his plastron, feeling the vibrations there as he speaks.

Wait, what is he saying? You see the movement of his mouth, and you hear the words, but… the meanings slip away like smoke in your hands. Your name is the only thing you recognize, and oh, the way he says your name has you shivering again. Shivering - but you're so warm. The thought makes you smile, but it falls when you suddenly become aware of every inch that separates you from him. You place your other hand on his arm, curling around his bicep, pulling him closer, because he’s so far away. Even when he moves where you pull him, letting you wrap around him and press your face into the crook of his neck, he’s still too far away. 

He says your name again. Quiet and gentle, and you love the sound of it. It echoes in your mind, a layered whisper that soothes something you can’t put a name to. You breathe him in, nuzzling into his neck as the both of you lie down together. Arms around each other, your legs entwined, he’s right here but you need him closer. You need… something. You need…

Hands massage your back. Your shoulders. Someone is moaning and you think it might be you. You want to say something, but you can’t, can’t, can’t - there’s an ache in your chest, a burning in your stomach. Your thighs are sticky. You need- you can feel your cunt throbbing.

A brief moment of clarity. Suddenly you can understand his steady murmuring, can fully remember what's happening and how you got here. 

“-okay, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You need him. You need him, you need him right now, and you have to tell him. You don’t even care, don’t have the capacity to even be embarrassed by how whiny your voice is when you finally manage to speak. “Donnie. Donnie, please. Please, I need you. Please fuck me, please, Donnie, please, I need-” 

The moment he kisses you, all of your thoughts slip away. There is only him and you and him and you and him but then he pulls away, and it hurts. You miss him. You try to tell him, ask him to come back, but someone is whimpering, and you miss him, and it hurts, and you can’t think. 

You miss him. 

His hands find you again, his lips pressing against your own, and the relief is overwhelming. Your entire body shudders, shaking apart beneath him. You can't differentiate between the touches, his hands and mouth here and there and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere at once. Someone whines again. 

Donnie lies on top of you then, arms pressed between you and the mattress, holding you close against him, and oh. The weight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him - it’s enough to make you go boneless. Something, something - his knee, you think - slides between your legs, pressing against you. You can't help but grind against it as his tongue just barely glides against yours. It’s so warm. Everywhere, everything, warm and good and safe.

You’re trembling, chills running up your spine, lighting sparking along your skin. You’re flying, you think. Weightless, somehow, with only friction and pressure and Donnie Donnie Donnie. He adjusts, his knee moving away, but before you can protest something slips inside of you. His finger, you realize after a few pumps, and it's better, so much better, but it's not enough and you need more more more-

Donnie is whispering something that you don’t understand, but his voice alone is like a balm. Soothing your impatience. Your desperation. You focus on the rumble of it, then on the rub of his jaw against yours, then on the slick circles of his thumb against your clit, then his fingers - two, now - pumping easily in and out of you. Your hips are in constant motion, your arms clawing at his arms, and you can't stop seeking him in every way that you can. Time warps - there is no time, only feeling as you fight to somehow have him closer. 

He lifts himself up, and you miss having his weight press you into the mattress, but then you feel him start to press something bigger inside of you, and fuck yes this is it. His cock - this is what you were craving, what you need more than oxygen itself, and it feels so fucking good. The feeling of him inside you, filling you up, full, so full of him. And then he starts to move and - no, this is what you need. This delicious, wet friction, the feeling of him spearing you open again and again as you pull apart at the seams. There is only him and here and now, and it’s all you've ever wanted and it's yours. 

Are you coming? You can't tell if you are or if it just feels that good to have him pumping into you. You can't seem to think past each thrust, your mind going blank after every... Fuck, are you coming? Or does it just feel that good-

One of his words slips through the mist that's replaced your mind. Mine. It makes your skin spark. You've never felt more safe, more content, more full. It's almost too much. Just the brush of his scales against your skin is enough to overwhelm you, and fuck, fuck, are you coming or does he just feel that good inside of you?

You want to tell him… something. Something. You don't know, couldn't put it into words even if you could manage to control your mouth enough to speak. You might already be speaking. You’re not sure. His voice, though, you are sure about. It's a constant echo in your mind, and you can’t understand the words but at the same time you do. You understand. Safe, pretty, good, mate, mine. Yes, yes, yes. You’re his. Forever. 

Your heart is beating so fast. Your entire body is one big heartbeat, pulsing with every movement he makes. It’s almost scary - would be scary if you didn’t feel so fucking good and so completely, utterly safe. You're an imploding star, a burning, writhing, blissed-out thing that used to be a person and that may not ever be one again. You think you might be okay with that. 

God, are you coming or does it-

That thought is abruptly disintegrated when you do come. Your eyes roll back into your head, waves and waves of shimmering pleasure lighting up every nerve. On and on and on, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and you’re sure now. This is you coming, and it isn’t fucking stopping. Someone is crying, and this shouldn’t actually be possible. It shouldn't be possible for a person to feel this way, and it isn’t fucking stopping, holy fuck. The wave swells in a way it never has before, cresting and cresting and cresting, and- oh. You’re crying. That's you. 

breathe, darling. got you, beautiful, mine, doing so good. breathe. that’s it, pretty girl

He’s comforting you, you think. What is there to comfort? There has never been anything that feels as good as this. You’re still coming and he’s still fucking you through it, and thank god, because if he stopped you might actually die. You reach for him, but he's already there. 

mine, mine, mine

You think you might be starting to come down from that insane high. The trembling seems permanent, but you can think a little, can take in more of what he's saying now even though it's a little slurred in your ears. 

“- got you. All mine, so pretty and perfect. Smell so fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for me, like the perfect mate. So good, pretty girl, you're doing so good. I love you so-”

He's happy with you. You're being good. You're good. You're good and safe and warm, and he's here, and this is where he belongs, always. Deep inside of you, fucking you, always, always, with his fingers in your mouth and his teeth in your shoulder. You can't separate pain from pleasure. It's all one swirling, overwhelming cacophony of sensation until you feel him release inside of you, coating your insides with his come, marking you as his in every way - and it does something to your brain. You think you really are talking now, thanking him, maybe, or just- fuck, you can't concentrate, you're so full. 

Part of you mourns, even through the thick haze of your mind, knowing that he will pull out of you soon. But you're surprised to find that he doesn't, that he only needs a few moments before he's hard and pumping into you again. More sweet, incomprehensible words fall on your ears like so many shooting stars, and time continues to warp, and oh, fuck, the wave is cresting again-

---

--

-

When you wake, the first thing you become aware of is the fact that you feel so unbelievably relaxed. The second thing is that Donnie is holding you, stroking your hair and speaking to you softly. 

You take a slow, deep breath, and his words stop, then start again. This time you push through the haze enough to actually listen. 

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he says, his own smile audible in his voice. 

His hand continues to brush through your hair, while the fingers of his other hand tap absent-mindedly against your thigh. It's nice. You bask in the feeling for a moment before you respond. 

“It was like… like you said. The way you feel now, during your season. I just felt really… connected to you. Safe. And happy.” You sigh, snuggling in closer. “And really, really good. I don't know why you were so worried I would hate it.”

His hands stop. Then start again. When he answers, you can't hear the smile anymore. “It's only like that when- when you're with the person you…” 

He trails off, and you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't. The silence grows heavy. You pull back to look up at him, but he avoids your eyes, his lips thinning and his brows pinching together. You finish his sentence for him. 

“The person you love?”

His throat bobs when he swallows, and his tiny nod makes your chest ache. To think that - even after everything you've been through - he was still unsure. Worried that the pill would not only make you miserable, but also that it would confirm your true feelings. 

Or lack thereof. 

“Donnie,” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Slow, gentle, and intimate. He kisses you until you forget how to breathe, and when he finally pulls away you have to take a few moments to remind yourself of what you were going to say. “You thought I wouldn't-”

“I was wrong to worry,” he says simply, cutting you off once more. “I know that now.”

You consider pushing further, but the pleasant fog that still clings to your mind makes it hard to think. You close your eyes and breathe, trying to focus past the memory of his lips on yours. It’s hard when his hands still trail through your hair. When you open them again, he’s still avoiding your gaze. 

“You know I love you. Right?”

His eyes finally meet your own, and you see something there. Something that’s too big to put a name to but that relaxes your concern nonetheless. He leans toward you to press a quick kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back his lips have settled back into a soft smile. 

“I know, dearest. I know.” 

---

-

Leon catches himself staring, sometimes. He'd thought that maybe his memory had put you on a pedestal after he'd lost you, painted you as kinder and more lovely than you actually were - but no. You're just as he remembers, with that laugh that makes his heart flutter and those eyes that make it impossible to say no if you look up at him just right. It's so strange, knowing a version of you that doesn't know him. A you that doesn't seek him out. A you that belongs to someone else. 

Well. It's not really someone else, but… in all the ways that matter, it is. 

It has to be karma. Some sort of twisted punishment from the universe. That's all it can be, really, when he has to watch his younger self act like a complete and total jackass around you. Flirting with you constantly but never actually making a move. Making you blush and laughing it off. Cracking jokes and pushing your buttons and making Leon lose his fucking mind because he knows so much better now, knows that you deserve better. 

He's got to keep it together. 

It's movie night, now. Leo is sitting next to you. Pressed against your side, with an arm around your shoulders like it means nothing. Like Leon wouldn't give anything to so casually hold you in his arms again. 

Leon tries to focus on the movie, but he can smell the faint scent of your shampoo from here. He keeps looking back at you, unable to stop himself, and when Leo's fingers idly caress your shoulder, Leon catches the pretty pink that dusts your cheeks. 

It reminds him of… certain memories. Memories he really shouldn't be thinking about right now, in the same room as a much younger version of you. Although, you were about this age when he and you first started to-

Leon breathes slowly. Forces his gaze back on the movie. 

“Are you cold, hermosa?” Leo murmurs in your ear, drawing Leon's eyes to you once again. Leo's mouth is right up against your ear, and his fingers continue to trail slowly up and down your arm. “You've got goosebumps.”

You swallow, breathing a little fast. Leon gets a little lost in the movement of your throat, then in the way your lips part as you speak. “I'm okay. Thanks.”

Leo hums, watching you intently for a few more moments, then shrugs and turns back to the movie. “If you say so.”

Leon wants to punch the smirk off his stupid face. 

By the time the movie ends, Leon has long since given up trying to stop himself from glaring. He can tell that you've noticed, but Leo is acting like everything is fine. He might even be enjoying Leon's quiet rage, if that cocky smile he gets every time he glances at Leon is anything to go by. 

Leon wonders what it would mean for him if he strangled his younger self to death. He won't know unless he tries, right?

He's joking. 

Mostly.

Movie night ends. You say goodnight. Give everyone a hug. Everyone but Leon, of course. Respecting the boundary he's put in place, even if you don't fully understand why. You give him a little wave instead. It's still too much, but he nods in response, trying to ignore the way his chest tightens at your clear disappointment. 

How could he possibly explain?

He waits until there's no doubt that you're out of earshot to confront Leo. “Stop messing with her.”

There's that cocky smile again. “I don't know what you're talking about, Viejo.”

Leon takes a deep breath, trying to quell the rage that simmers beneath his scales. “She doesn't deserve your bullshit, Leo. She deserves to be treated with respect.”

“Come on, old man, what happened to you?” Raph hisses Leo's name. A warning that Leon himself has heard a thousand times. A warning he's missed having, wished he could've heard just one more time, a thousand more. And just like he always did, Leo pushes forward anyway. “What? I'm just saying, he's blowing this way out of proportion. What's the big d-ah!”

Leon grabs Leo's mask tails, yanking him closer and snarling, “Come here, dumbass.” He holds Leo there, glaring into the wide, shocked eyes of his younger self, and before he can think better of it-

Their eyes glow blue when the mind meld connects. 

An odd echoing, familiar but warped. Looking into a mirror in a dream. A flurry of thoughts, a maelstrom of emotions. Flashes of color blurring into images into memory into

He's calling your name. You always answer when he calls. Always. So why aren't you answering? Why

Screeching. Screaming? Each footfall sends a jarring impact through his bones. He needs to find you. Where

Everything stops. Spins, tilts, then settles into place, but it settles wrong because it's you but 

He says your name, but it's like a question he doesn't want the answer to.

He rushes over, tripping over his own feet. Clumsy, Leo, what is he

It's you but

You're stuck, lying flat in the dirt. Impaled by the claws of a dead hound. Of course you took the fucker out with you. Of course you

“Leo. Can't- can't breathe.”

Your hands reach for him. Slick with blood. Panic, his, yours, choking, choking

When he removes the hound you shriek, sobs ringing in his tympana. Gasping. Begging.

“I know baby, I know. I've got you, okay?” He needs to get you back to the base. Get you patched up somehow. Ignore the red. Ignore the

“H-hurts.” He can barely hear you. He gathers you in his arms, wincing at the choking screams. He knows it hurts, he knows. “Leo. Leo, please-”

His hands are sticky. Almost home. “Shhhhh, I've got you. It's okay, it's okay, just keep breathing.”

They're everywhere. It's so loud, but you're so

Quiet. Why are you

Movement. Sound. Impacts that fall too close, making him stumble, but he still makes it through the portal, makes it to the medbay, places you on the cot. You're staying so still for him while he works. You always were a good patient, but this is

Wrong.

“Leo.”

“Donnie, get me a bag of O neg, I need to-”

“Leo, stop. Please.”

Slick hands. You're so quiet. You're

They're pulling him away, but he's not done. He has to patch you up, can't they see that you need

“Leo, stop!”

You're

The connection snaps like a frayed string. Leo staggers backward, his shell colliding audibly with the wall, and he slides to the floor. His plastron heaves with every breath, his eyes wide and horrified, and Leon watches quietly as tears streak down Leo's face. The cocky smile is gone, and he can't find it in himself to feel anything but hollow satisfaction. 

Someone says something, but Leo is focused only on his younger self. Surely, surely, he understands now. He stalks forward, crouching and grabbing Leo by his sash to pull him closer. “She. Deserves. Better. Get your shit together. I won't tell you again.”

Leo stares up at him, eyes somehow widening further. He's visibly shaking, and all Leon can think is good. 

After a long, tense moment, Leo nods. Leon releases him and stands, glaring down at Leo for another few seconds before he's fully satisfied. He turns on his heel, going straight to his room without another word. 

No one follows.

-

You sigh, crossing your arms and thinking fondly of your bed. You're not sure why you came.

…Okay, that's a lie. You came because the moment you mentioned the annual NYPD Christmas party to the group chat, your friends lost their minds and made it their mission to ensure that you went. You came because apparently the commissioner always brings a homemade pie that's to die for. You came because you didn't want to spend another night just sitting in your room alone playing video games. So. Yeah. You know why you came. But still. It's too crowded, and you don't really know any of your coworkers that well, and you sort of wish you had lied to your friends about going and stayed home playing video games anyway.

Well! You came. You showed your face. You tried the pie (admittedly delicious). You even stayed inside for a full hour before you escaped to the relative safety of the balcony. That's enough, right? You can head home and get comfortable. Your virtual crops aren't going to water themselves, after all. Yeah. It's… time to go.

You turn, already imagining the softness of your blankets, only to freeze in place at the sight before you. A huge turtle man, wearing a black suit and orange tie, stands near the door, his eyes wide with surprise. You both stare at each other, unmoving as the wind blows around you, and his surprise quickly shifts into something more like apprehension.

The silence stretches. You realize he's probably waiting for you to make the first move, waiting to see how you'll react to him. You remember the shock you felt the first time you saw the turtles at work. How you'd literally done a triple take when you'd seen their hulking figures walking with one of the detectives down the hallway. How you'd looked around, baffled, just to see everyone else acting like it was a normal Tuesday. How the person training you had laughed at your astonishment and explained how the turtles had apparently been working with the department for years now but ‘luckily there's always someone in the office new enough to gawk like that.’

You're still not exactly used to seeing the turtles, but you've at least seen them a few more times since then - though this is your first time being this close to one of them. Still, you definitely recognize him. He's the one with all the energy. The one that's always smiling and cracking jokes.

…It's a far cry from what you're seeing now. He almost looks like a puppy waiting to be kicked. Big, round eyes, and a slight hunch to his stance, like he's trying to make himself smaller. It makes your chest ache a little.

You make a point to uncross your arms and put on a pleasant smile. “Michelangelo, right?”

He visibly relaxes - there's that smile, tentative as it is - and nods. “The one and only. You can call me Mikey, though.”

You introduce yourself in turn, sending an awkward wave his way that you immediately regret - he doesn't seem to notice your embarrassment, though, thank fuck. If anything, his smile gets a little brighter. He takes a small step forward, then pauses and gestures at the empty space next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You shake your head and step to the side to give him enough room, trying very, very hard not to stare as he leans his massive arms against the railing. It's kind of unbelievable how big he is. So tall that you have to tilt your whole head up to look at him when he's standing next to you, so wide that it's a miracle you don't see any tears on his suit with how stretched it is. He isn't even the largest brother if you remember correctly.

…You're definitely staring. He either doesn't notice or doesn't care, but it still feels rude. You manage to wrench your gaze away from him and copy his posture, leaning forward against the railing and watching the sky slowly darken. The sun has already dipped below the horizon, but streaks of pink and orange still stain the clouds and reflect off the windows of the surrounding skyscrapers. It's been a while since you really stopped to appreciate a sunset. They're always pretty, you think, but it seems like there’s just something… special about this one.

“Woah,” Mikey whispers, barely audible over the wind.

You glance his way, expecting him to be staring at the sky. He's not, though. He's staring at you. And now you can't quite remember what you were going to say.

“Yeah, the sunsets are always uh. Yeah.”

Jesus. Eloquent, aren't you? Your face burns, your mind racing for no fucking reason as you awkwardly stand there trying to think of something normal to say. You can't even really blame it on the fact that he's a giant humanoid turtle; unfortunately, you're just like this with unfamiliar people. Again, though, he doesn't seem put off. Quite the opposite, actually. He's practically radiating joy, looking at you like… like he'd rather be here than anywhere else in the world.

“I meant you,” he says, like that means something. “You're really pretty, you know?”

“Whuh?”

Mikey chuckles good-naturedly and tilts his head, but your brain has officially gone offline. Alarms are blaring in your mind, and an emergency message flashes across your vision on a loop: SOOO ELOQUENT. GREAT JOB, IDIOT. You can feel how red you are, but apparently the gods are taking pity on you, because he's looking back at the skyline and speaking again, filling the silence so you don't have to.

“Tonight has been- just- awesome. I mean, I knew it was gonna be cool, but wow!” He raves about the party, the food, the venue, everything you've sort of taken for granted all night. It reminds you that these guys probably don't get out much. It's become semi-normal in the police station to see them, sure, but not anywhere else. You wonder if this is the first NYPD Christmas party he's come to. His joy is… infectious. He talks with his hands, too, you notice. It's cute.

…Really cute.

As he talks, the alarms in your head don't completely disappear, but they… fade into the background, at least. There's something about this guy that makes you actually enjoy listening to him. Not just to be polite or out of some social obligation - you really want to.

Weird.

“Did you try that pie?” Mikey asks, smiling down at you. “I've never tasted anything so good in my life!”

This is it. Don't fuck it up. “Yeah, it was really good. I'm usually not a huge fan, but that crust-”

“The crust was so good!” He laughs, a bright, sparkling thing that has you smiling hard enough for your cheeks to hurt. The alarms are all but gone, and the warmth in your chest makes you forget the chill of the wind, and maybe this is what your friends have been talking about. Genuine human connection. Okay, well, not exactly human, but close enough. Maybe you could… give him your number. Maybe you could be bold, just this once. You watch him heave a happy sigh as he grins up at the sky, and you reach into your pocket for your phone. Surely they have phones. Right?

“Everyone has been so nice,” he says, like he's surprised. “And now- now I'm here! Talking to a cute girl like I'm actually-”

Suddenly he stills. There's a beat of silence. He looks back at you, and his smile has turned into something plastic and thin. His eyes still shine, but now they look… sad.

What happened?

“I should go,” he says, and the alarms are back. What did you do? What did you do? “It was really nice to meet you.”

You stare with wide eyes as he nods and turns. Something in your chest reaches toward him, begging begging begging for you to stop him. Say something, make him stay, fix whatever you did or said, be brave for once-

Too late. He's gone, disappeared back inside without even a glance back. Your heart thuds uncomfortably against your ribs. You should've… you…

You wait a few minutes longer before heading inside. You don't see Mikey, or any of the turtles, inside. There's no one you care to say goodbye to, so you leave without a word. You walk home slowly, shivering the whole way, and run through the conversation over and over in your head. Maybe you didn't talk enough? Maybe he saw something in your expression? Maybe, maybe, maybe.