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You woke up, less than aware of your surroundings, a thump, crash, and loud shouts meeting your ears from somewhere beyond the walls that refused to register in your mind.
A comforting warmth encased you, but it did little for your confusion. It took a bit longer to realize that you had fallen asleep, and had just woken from a nap, which explained why you felt so heavy yet so light at the same time.
Another shout erupted from beyond the room, and you thought about getting up to investigate.
The moment that thought crossed your mind though, you were filled with a sudden dread, heart picking up and eyes rapidly moving left to right in what you can only assume was dizziness.
Still, you tried to stand. The moment you sat up, your head and vision swam, a horrible anxiety coating the surface your heart, slowly growing roots that reached into its core. You pushed on, swinging one leg after another over the side of the bed. Your limbs began to shake, lungs feeling inadequate.
A nap hadn't effected you like this in a long time. And the worst part was that you didn't know why this happened.
You're not even sure you dreamt at all.
You wracked your brain for a reason. Before your nap you remember having a sandwich and some water a few hours beforehand, so it probably wasn't dehydration or hunger. You certainly didn't feel hungry or thirsty.
A familiar smell finally registered in your nose, and you remembered where you were. Which your eyes couldn't seem to do so beforehand.
But now that it finally clicked, the dark purples and bright pinks of the lab seemed to soothe you just that bit more.
Getting tired of the shaking and pounding in your heart, you laid back down in the incubator bed, a mutant turtle sized hoodie getting wrapped uncomfortably around your arms and waist.
You did your best to fix it, but with shaky fingers and weak legs you didn't get very far.
You loved naps, you really did. But when you wake up feeling like this it made you want to never take them again.
Once more you tried to remember what you dreamed about, what happened before your nap, and only scraps of images came to mind. Blood, aching, fear, but they long since passed from your nerves and dispersed into nothing but concepts.
Crocodile sized tears filled your eyes, despite them being anything but dry. Laying down, the anxiety was gone. That's just how naps are sometimes. You weren't upset, sad, neither over nor underwhelmed, and definitely not angry.
And yet here you were, crying without actually crying. Your eyes didn't sting, nose never running, lips never turning down. Tears just pooled in your eyes and trickled down to your ears.
And that's how he found you.
The shouting had ceased, and Donnie walked in with a scowl that fell the second he laid eyes on you.
He was utterly beautiful. His skin glowed a magnificent colour under the bright neon lighting, his marks seeming to glow as if he was made out of fluorescents. You wanted to paint it, to paint on his skin and see how the colors would blend under the infuriating concept of color relativity.
He stepped closer, surprise and concern morphing into understanding and fondness.
"It was one of those ones, huh?" He asked, resting an arm on the edge of the bed and leaning over you.
You nodded, nuzzling into his hand as he brushed away the salty streaks. It was calloused from endless hours of working, and yet the palm remained soft. His fingers weren't like sandpaper though, grating against your skin. They were simply rough, and full of life. He loved what he did and he loved that he had the intellect to show it.
They weren't just his ideas, they were him and what he felt, who he was, taking life in the tangible.
You wanted to kiss him.
"No memory?" He inquired, index coming and brushing your hair away from your sticky cheek.
You shook your head, reaching a shaky hand up and gently closing over his own.
The back of his hand felt nice and smooth, a little cool against your warm skin. Your fingers glazed over the tiny scars you knew by heart, the ones that even in your hazy state you can hunt and find within seconds.
You remember the day you walked in and found a wrap around his hand, far from preventing him from continuing his work but still terribly inconvenient.
When you asked he was straightforward, albeit a bit squirrely about the specifics. Bandages and butterfly stitches didn't stick well to his skin, so the next best thing was some cotton and gauze.
It worried you, the way he kept working while injured. No matter how he reassured you, the bandage glared right into your eyes, and you hoped that whatever he was cutting and welding wouldn't work it's way through the fibers.
With heavy thoughts, you gently grasped his wrist, giving him all the room in the world to pull away. The further up his arm rose, the more attention he gave you. It was only when he lifted his goggles that you placed your lips to the covered cotton.
The green around his cheeks and eyes darkened, and you could have sworn his breathing stopped.
He held a similar expression now, months later, when you turned your head in his hand and kissed the base of his thumb.
It never gets old.
He never gets old.
On his chin are three new markings, slowly forming in those classic rectangles down his neck and beneath his plastron. In some parts they didn't quite connect. The older he gets, the more his markings seem to change. But you know soon they'll come together. You can see it now as thin lines show in the empty space between.
You don't think non-mutant turtles do that. At least not on their skin. And if they don't, you think that he's quite special.
Honestly you just hope he's not gonna go through a growth spurt (though you know that's imminent given what you know about the future turtles). You've heard shedding stories from all of them, including April, and you don't know what you'll do when your usually composed boyfriend becomes an itchy mess.
"D?" You ask, the little syllable seeming to completely empty your lungs.
"Mm?" He hums, still incredibly dark and just this side of wide eyed from the kiss.
You take a few breaths, really really hating your body right now. "What happened?"
He's confused for a moment, until you look toward the door and make a small explosion with your empty hand.
"Oh! Worry not." He smirks. "Dear old dad was just chewing out Raph and Leo for being too loud during his movie. Mikey dented one of his spray cans and it busted open in his beanbag when he threw it. This of course prompted everyone to start yelling and pointing fingers." He stroked your cheekbone, and you're not even sure he was aware of it. "Just another day in the Hamato clan household. Or rather, sewerhold."
You smile, another batch of tears pooling in your eyes. You use your free sleeve to wipe them away, then remember how uncomfortably twisted they are and anger boils your blood.
Donnie sees it immediately and begins to untwist it, helping you lift your torso up to pull the cloth down.
Relief pools in your being, no longer feeling the folds of the clothing bunched against your skin or the twisted fabric compressing your arms. You felt free, the word 'trapped' no longer in your vocabulary.
"Thank you." You grasp his hand again, it no longer cupping your face. His claws were getting a little long, a point finally taking shape. He usually files them down since they can get in the way of his work, but it seems he hasn't felt the need to lately.
He squeezes your hand, a sigh leaving his nose. "If I didn't you would have tried to rip it off. And considering that's my favorite hoodie, I'd rather you not."
You chuckle, feeling a lot more grounded than you did before. Now that you weren't dying of a horrible sensory grating against your skin, it was a lot easier to breathe and think right. Time seemed to slow the moment the fabric came untwisted and your eyes dried their excess tears.
But you still wouldn't try sitting up, or talking for too long.
He leans forward and kisses between your brows, holding his lips there for a few moments. You can feel the heat radiating off his face, his nose letting out another small sigh.
Affection isn't exactly rare to come by with Donnie, but it's not all that common either.
It simply depends on your definition of it.
If your definition is hand holding and cuddling and going on regular dates and annual gift giving, then he is going to look like the worst boyfriend the world could possibly give you.
But, if you look at it how you do, he's the most affectionate being on planet earth.
He's never missed a day that was important to you, he's always happy to answer your questions and make analogies to help you understand his tech stuff, he makes sure to grab your favorite brand of popcorn when he can and saves your favorite spot in reference to the tv.
Hell, he let's you nap in his bed that he adjusted just for him and allows you to wear his favorite hoodie while hissing at his brother's for even coming near it.
He'll look for you when he finishes a project he knows you'll be interested in and warns you when he's holding something you find particularly triggering before entering his lab.
Dates are very few and far between but you don't mind. When they do occur he orders a small pizza that has toppings the both of you like that you can't normally order on the family pizza, and you'll tuck into his room to eat while playing games.
At night when you get tired, if he wants the bed to himself he'll make sure to make the comfiest bed on the floor with his thickest blankets for you to crawl in just below his own. And when he is okay with sleeping with you, he'll let you guide him into a position you find most comfortable to avoid his hard plastron digging into your bones.
And when he kisses you, he always does it out of the blue and turns away after, busying his hands while he churrs and sighs quietly.
Which is what he's about to do as he leans back, looking your face up and down once before turning to walk away.
You quickly grab his wrist, stopping him.
"D?"
He clears his throat. "Yes?"
"Lay down with me?"
You can see him fight himself in his mind, wanting to do his usual and cool off after a bold display of affection but also wanting to crawl into his warm bed and lay with you.
He squeezes your hand, and sighs. "How could I say no?"
You release his hand to allow him to take off his battle shell. A button on his tech gauntlet releases it from his back and propels it to his wall where it lays safely. His goggles come off next, whatever music temporarily pausing before its displayed onto the speakers in his room.
It blasts some 80's pop before he quickly turns it down, just barely audible as you chuckle against your jolted heart.
Don already has a position in mind when he slinks into his own bed, his chest slotting in the space between your hips and ribcage. It's not uncomfortable, and some pressure begins to alleviate when he lays his head on your chest, arms ever so gently holding your sides.
You allow the rest of him to flow between your legs, your arms falling like second nature to his cheek and the top of his soft shell.
Despite popular belief, Donnie actually thrives off of touch. It just has to be the right person.
He's constantly touching you: an arm slung over your shoulders, the pads of his fingers resting against your shoulder blade to grab and keep your attention, bumping his side into yours whenever you put yourself in his immediate proximity.
His touchiness rivals Leo's, which is saying something.
It's a side of him that you're sure he's aware only comes out when you're around. It's something you've heard from his brothers on countless occasions when they feel like being little shits and annoying him.
It's not that he wasn't touchy before, he just didn't have the right person to spend all that energy on yet.
And that makes this feel all the more special, hearing him sigh as you graze your fingers over the top of his soft rubbery shell. You mourn the day you ever accidentally hurt him in the way he was hurt in the past. The mere thought makes you nauseous.
He's found his person in you, and you don't ever want to lose that. Not even for a moment.
"D?" You whisper.
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
He doesn't respond. Not verbally, anyway. He just squeezes you tighter, moving up just a bit more until his head is right over your heart.
It's loud, you know it is. You've always had a naturally loud heart.
But he nuzzles into it. And in moments, he's out like a light.