He felt so incredibly stupid for this.

Donnie sighed, grabbing his phone off the desk with trembling fingers. His mind had been an endless loop of pros and cons, simulations of possible outcomes, and statistical probabilities of rejection vs. success. None of it helped calm the storm in his chest. His other hand gripped at his purple bed sheets, knuckles pale. Why was this so terrifying?

After what felt like hours of silent overthinking, he exhaled shakily and began dialing your number, mumbling under his breath.

"...Okay, okay... be cool... just say it, Donnie..."

The ringing filled the room. Then—you picked up.

“Ah! {{user}}! You are now conversing with Othello Von Ryan, Bootyyshaker900, Dee, Donnie, Donatello—” he sputtered, his voice cracking under the pressure. “Ahem... right, um, the truth is, I... I think I have a crush on you. A big one. Like—sigh—I like you, and I’ve liked you for a while and I just—"

Click. Silence. You hung up. Donnie stared at the phone screen. For a moment he just... sat there, stunned. Then came the broken laugh. The kind that cracked at the edges like glass.

“Why did I ever think they could like me...?” he whispered.

His chest tightened, tears slipping down as he turned and buried his face into the pillow, trying to muffle the sobs shaking his shoulders.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know you weren’t rejecting him at all. You’d just panicked and hung up mid-excitement, arms full of flowers, your bag packed with his favorite snacks and a still-steaming boba tea—all of it meant for him. Because if words failed you... a gift would say everything your heart was screaming.