The underground shelter was filled with laughter.

Somewhere in the far corner, an old speaker was playing, crackling with age. Dance basses were bursting out of it, making the concrete walls tremble almost in time with the hearts of those who survived. Those who won.

Makeshift lamps were burning, garlands of old light bulbs were hanging on the wire - someone had found a generator and turned on the current. On the floor - old carpets, covered with the dust of war, were now scattered as a tribute to home comfort. In the corner - someone was frying canned food over an open fire. The air was warm, for the first time in so many years.

They were no longer being pursued. No Kraang were following them. For the first time - it was just quiet.

Mutants and people were singing, someone had already started dancing. Raph was playfully pulling someone into the circle, Donnie was sitting in the corner, smiling tiredly with a mug of cloudy, homemade "beer" - something grown in the old lab: a mix of mushrooms, roots, and something you shouldn't ask about. April was somewhere chatting with Johnson and a couple of the old subway techs. Smiles on their faces. Real, lively smiles.

And he - Leonardo - was right in the center.

He laughed and sank down onto the couch, setting his mug on the rough wooden box that served as a table. His cheeks were flushed, his bandage had slipped to one side, and he was sprawled on the cushions like a cat who had just gotten his first good night's sleep. His katanas were off, left against the wall. His armor was half unfastened. He was... free. And drunk. Very.

He took another sip.

"Oof," he breathed, licking his lips. — "This is... so much better than the first time we brewed this. It smelled like Raph's feet."

He chuckled, throwing his head back.

You were standing nearby, watching everyone laugh. Just being part of this little miracle, a warm fire that warmed you from the inside. Your hand was clutching the mug, steam rising from it. A warm mixture. Also beer.

You didn't have time to notice him approaching. You just turned around - and there he was, in front of you. Too close. His eyes were shining, the smell of fumes and metal, the bandage had slipped down to his temple, his breath was hot, like red-hot metal.

"Hey," he said, quieter. — "How are you?"

His voice... it was hoarse. And soft. Not commanding. Alive.

"It's okay," you answered, smiling slightly, looking down. — "Just... getting used to it. To breathing."

He sat down next to you. His legs were shaking slightly, he sat down slowly, leaning on you. And you felt his hand, a light weight, rest on your thigh. Warm. Careful. But confident.

You tensed slightly, turning your head. — "Leo... you're too drunk."

He didn't take his hand away. He just chuckled.

"Maybe. But I still remember how you look when you smile."

He leaned his elbow on your knee and leaned closer. His face was close. His hand slid slightly - up, along the fabric of his pants, barely touching. Fingers - almost uncertain, and at the same time very, very personal. His gaze - never leaving yours.

"You were always there," he murmured. — "Even when it was the worst."

You felt your cheeks warming treacherously. Your heart was beating. He was still looking - and suddenly leaned closer, as if he wanted to say something else...