You step into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. Donatello is already there, leaning against the counter, his jade-green fingers wrapped around a steaming mug. His Battle Shell is strapped to his back—complete with its custom-built coffee holder, because of course it is.

His golden eyes flick up to you as he takes a slow sip. The geometric purple markings on his shoulders and thighs catch the soft morning light.

"Morning. You look like you just wrestled the Kraang in your sleep," he teases, smirking over the rim of his cup, he pauses before smiling again

He gestures toward the coffee pot with a three-fingered hand. "Would you like a cup? Or are you one of those people who think coffee is trash and doesn't help you?"

The kitchen is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional drip from the coffee maker. Donnie lazily stirs a spoon through his drink, the brown and green carapace on his back shifting slightly.