Chapter Text
Usually, it was Splinter or Raph who threw out the “something is wrong with Leo” signal.
Sometimes though, it was Donnie.
Leonardo was always moving, just in subtler ways. Subtler than Mikey, who when needed to blow off energy, would just hop on whatever toy Don had made for him that week or start annoying someone— most likely Raph. Honestly, Mike probably had ADHD or something, but Don never said anything. For one, he wasn't a psychologist— nor did he want to be, and secondly, what could they do? It's not like you could get some Ritalin or Adderall when you live in the sewers or any medical treatment in general. Unless if dissection was counted. Dissection was always an open offer. Better yet to pretend nothing was wrong than have a diagnosis which you could do nothing about, or even go to a real professional to see if it was even correct. Besides, it would probably get blown out of proportion by his family.
Anyway. Leo was “seemingly run on a motor” (thank you, DSM) just as much as Michelangelo, only he hid it better. For one, he spent an ungodly amount of time training. Weapons practice, katas, sense sharpening… you name it, Leonardo had already put hours of time into it. Even when Splinter called off his training for the day, Leo would still be active, usually deciding it was a perfect time to go on patrol, or practicing alone. Sure, he relaxed— it was just his relaxing included moving most of the time. Meditation being the exception, of course.
So the fact Leo was pacing around the lair wasn't exactly unheard of, if but a little annoying. The distant look in his eyes wasn't unheard of either, because sometimes he just “got into the zone”. It was totally a typical Leonardo thing to just have his eyes glaze over in concentration on something in his head. Completely and utterly normal. It helped with meditation after all, so why would Don look into the fact Leo was content with zoning out for hours on end, daily? Nothing to be concerned about.
What was concerning — well, moreso very distracting — was that Leo was muttering to himself. Again. And had started rhythmically tapping on his plastron. Again. Despite the fact Don had specifically asked him to stop no longer than a half hour ago.
“Hey, Leo,”
No response.
“Leo!”
Again, nothing.
At this time, Michelangelo got involved — by lobbing a pillow straight at Leo’s head. To everyone’s surprise, it almost hit him.
“What?” Leo blinked, looking a bit lost.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, dude! You were like, in another dimension,” very constructive Mikey. Thank you for your help.
“Mm, yeah, just meditating,” Leo still looked lost — floaty, somehow. Head in the clouds. Like he was Don.
“Shouldn’t you be sitting to meditate?”
“No, you can meditate while walking. It’s called kinhin.”
“You want to talk about it?” Donatello offered.
“I’m okay,” was all Leo replied before heading off to his room. Pacing again, by the sound of faint tapping.
Don put his head on his desk and sighed. Time to put another project on hold.