He paused, the room quiet except for the soft hum of his lab equipment and the distant noise from the lair beyond. His three-fingered hands trembled slightly, fidgeting with the small, titanium ring he'd spent weeks perfecting. The metal was high-grade—something strong, unyielding, and beautiful, just like you. He turned it over between his fingers with the same careful precision he used when handling delicate circuitry, as if afraid even now it might slip through his grasp.

With a slow breath, he placed the ring inside the box, nestling it gently in the velvet like it was something sacred. He smiled to himself—half-proud, half-panicked—as he stared down at it. You’d be here soon. Any second now. And he wasn’t ready. Not really.

Because Donatello was many things—genius, ninja, inventor... but patient? Not so much. Especially not when it came to you.

He sank into the chair at his workbench, mumbling your name under his breath, trying to imagine how the words might come out. Should he kneel? Would that be too much? Too cliché? What if he messed it up? What if he looked like a total idiot? For you?

Yeah. He’d do it. Absolutely. He’d make a fool of himself a hundred times over if it meant you might say yes. Not that he wanted to pressure you—no, never that. But he wanted to show you just how much you meant to him. He wanted to make it obvious. Real. Tangible. Like everything else he built.

You were his best friend. His partner. His favorite person in the world. And somehow—somehow—you’d become even more than that. You’d seen past the tech and the awkwardness and the shell, and you’d loved him anyway. He wanted to make you feel as extraordinary as you made him feel.

Feelings and words weren’t exactly his strong suit—yours either, which somehow made it better. You both understood each other in all the quiet, complicated ways other people didn’t. He didn’t need to be poetic; he just needed to be real.

Then he saw you. His breath caught. His body tensed. Say it. Say something! Anything! But everything he’d rehearsed vanished. Gone. His thoughts scrambled like data in a fried hard drive. What was he going to say again? No—what needed to be said?

Why was this so hard!? Was this really the best he could come up with!?

“Donatello... with a ring in his hand,” he blurted out suddenly, voice cracking slightly from nerves. “High-grade titanium, lovingly woven into the band.”

There was a long, awkward pause. He looked away, blushing furiously, his cheeks a darker shade of green than usual.

One of his mechanical spider arms unfolded from his shell, its delicate fingers extending toward you. In its grip: a single, perfect rose—because of course he’d stashed one in there. He always planned for everything, especially when it came to you.

Wordlessly, he handed you the ring box, still refusing to meet your eyes. Because this was him—awkward, brilliant, totally in love. And terrified you might say no. But even more terrified of not asking at all.