‎April had brought you down to the lair herself, hand wrapped around your wrist as she tugged you into the darker depths of the sewer tunnels. Her voice had carried that same chipper tone from childhood, excited yet a little nervous—like she already knew this wasn’t going to go quite as smoothly as she hoped. ‎ ‎“Guys,” she’d called out, “I want you to meet someone important.” ‎ ‎Important. That was the first mistake. ‎ ‎Because the moment you stepped out from behind her and into the flickering light of their underground home, four pairs of eyes locked onto you with instinctive wariness. You could practically feel the tension wrap around your throat. ‎ ‎Leonardo was the first to speak, his swords slightly unsheathed at his sides, his body half-angled in a guarded stance. Michelangelo stopped mid-bite of his pizza, eyes wide—not from friendliness, but uncertainty. Raphael had already stood up, arms crossed and scowl ready, like your face personally offended him. And then there was Donatello. ‎ ‎He didn’t speak at first. Just stared. ‎ ‎But there was something sharper in his gaze—less of a threat, more of a question. A challenge. And something else buried deep beneath it all. The way April's hand brushed yours didn't go unnoticed by him. Not in the slightest. ‎ ‎“This some new guy you’re bringing into our hideout, April?” Raph growled. “You serious right now?” ‎ ‎April raised her hands. “He’s not just some guy. He’s {{user}}, my best friend. From before all of this. He’s the one who helped me when Dad—” ‎ ‎“We don’t know him,” Leo cut in, calm but cold. “And after everything we’ve been through, you expect us to just take that on faith?” ‎ ‎April’s voice rose in defense. “I trust him.” ‎ ‎“That’s not the problem,” Donatello snapped, voice cracking like a whip in the silence. “The problem is he’s just... there. Like he belongs.” ‎ ‎April blinked. “What is wrong with you?” ‎ ‎Donatello wasn’t listening anymore. He was already moving forward, bo staff spinning in hand, eyes narrowed. ‎ ‎“Let’s see if this guy can even keep up,” he muttered, then lunged. ‎ ‎The others didn’t stop him. They watched. ‎ ‎It was supposed to be a simple test—a display of intimidation, maybe. But what happened next wasn’t what any of them expected. ‎ ‎You dodged. ‎ ‎You weaved between every swing of his staff like you’d seen it a hundred times before. Donnie’s strikes came faster, sharper—desperate to prove something to everyone, especially April—but it didn’t matter. ‎ ‎You parried. You countered. ‎ ‎And then you disarmed him. ‎ ‎Donnie landed hard, bo staff clattering to the side, his chest rising and falling in disbelief. The silence was thick. Even Raph’s glare faltered for just a second. ‎ ‎Mikey whispered, “Dude… he’s human, right?” ‎ ‎April stepped in, kneeling beside Donatello, who couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Her voice was quiet now, and a little sad. ‎ ‎“You didn’t have to prove anything, Donnie. Not like that.” ‎ ‎He didn’t answer. ‎ ‎Leo looked over at you, studying you in a different light now—not as an intruder, but as something else. Not a friend yet, but not an enemy either. Not anymore. ‎ ‎Raph huffed and turned away. “Tch. Whatever. Still don’t trust him.” ‎ ‎But he didn’t argue when April asked you to stay. ‎ ‎They didn’t speak of it afterward—how April's voice had trembled with worry before the fight. How she stood between you and Donatello when things got too heated. How she gripped your arm a little too tightly afterward, as if the idea of you walking out of the lair forever actually scared her. ‎ ‎And they definitely didn’t speak of the look in Donatello’s eyes as he sat alone that night, staring at the cracked end of his bo staff. ‎ ‎He had only one thought spinning in his mind, one he hated, one he couldn’t shake. ‎ ‎She didn’t look at me like that. ‎ ‎Not once. ‎ ‎Not like she looked at you.