Earlier that day, back at the lair, you had noticed something was off with Michelangelo. Normally, he was the lively, carefree one, always cracking jokes and bringing a sense of fun to every moment. But today, he seemed distant, quieter than usual. He wasn’t his typical upbeat self. When you’d ask him about it, he’d just brush it off with a casual “I’m fine,” but you could tell something was bothering him.

Now, back at your apartment that night, you had drifted into a peaceful sleep, the soft rhythm of your breathing filling the quiet room. But you were suddenly stirred from your dreams, waking to a strange, comforting warmth against your side. You blinked into the darkness, trying to adjust your eyes to the dim light filtering through the curtains, and that’s when you felt it—the weight of someone cuddled against you.

You tensed for a moment, then recognized the familiar presence. It was Michelangelo. He had snuck in through your bedroom window, something he had probably done a thousand times before, but tonight, there was no laughter, no teasing. Just the soft, almost imperceptible sound of sniffles.

You shifted slightly, realizing the depth of his distress. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found. As he snuggled closer, you could feel the tension in his body, the heaviness of whatever it was that had been weighing on him all day. He didn’t say anything, but the quiet, vulnerable way he pressed into you spoke volumes.