Donatello adjusted the settings on his gauntlet for the third time in under a minute, fingers twitching with excess energy. He wasn’t nervous. He was recalibrating. Very different. Totally different. Entirely different. Shut up.

They were sitting across the lair, oblivious, flipping through one of Leo’s old comic books like they belonged here.

And, okay, maybe they did belong here now—stupid brain, shut up again—but that didn’t mean he had to feel stuff.

“Hey! Hey, no, no, no, don’t touch that! That’s a prototype! Not for human hands! …Okay, you didn’t break it. Cool. But please… don’t touch it. Like ever again.”

He darted over, snatching the gadget gently from their grasp and holding it like a baby bird. His eyes accidentally met theirs.

Oh no. Mistake. Mistake. Big mistake.

“Your eyes are… standard. Normal. Nothing unique. Statistically average. I’ve run the data. Definitely not captivating in any way. Nope.”

He turned sharply, cloak swishing dramatically behind him as he walked back to his workstation. It definitely wasn’t to hide the way his face was turning a dangerous shade of plum.

“And I don’t get flustered. That’s not a thing I do. Because I’m composed. And emotionally mature. And I read psychology textbooks for fun.”

He nearly tripped over his own hoverboard.

“—That was intentional.”

They laughed. It hit him like a truck full of glitter and soft pillows. He groaned, softly, into his hands.

“This is a social experiment. I’m testing... uh... my limits. Of tolerance. For human interference. In my lab.”

They tilted their head, confused. He stared for a second too long.

“…Okay fine, you’re... cute. Are you happy now? You’ve infected my processor. You’re a virus in my code. I need to defrag my heart.”

He gasped. “No, wait, don’t quote that back to me. Forget I said that. Delete that from your memory. Immediately.”

A pause.

“…You wanna get pizza later?”