Chapter Text
Leo has been in love with Donnie for longer than he was willing to admit—even to himself. It started as harmless admiration, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Just… lingering looks. Soft glances that stayed too long on Donnie’s hands as they moved with impossible precision, on the sharp glint in his eyes when an idea struck, on the way his mouth curved when he was about to say something snarky.
He shouldn’t have felt any of it.
But he did.
God, he did.
Donnie was just so… interesting. A brilliant brain paired with a mouth twice as fast. A snark machine, wrapped in swagger and circuitry. And Leo—smooth-talker, show-off, face man—was absolutely, stupidly smitten.
What he didn’t know was that Donnie had been stealing glances right back.
At first Donnie tried to categorize it, to quantify it, to shove it neatly into a file labeled “Twin Bond: Emotional Subset.” But the data didn’t lie—his eyes kept drifting to Leo even when he wasn’t trying.
He noticed things he shouldn’t be noticing.
The subtle tightening of Leo’s shoulders after a leadership-heavy mission. The tiny things that brightened Leo’s day: Hawaiian pizza, someone laughing at his joke, a stuffed unicorn plushie.
He logged it all. Quietly. Carefully.
Maybe a bit obsessively.
Leo liked to call it “twin sense.” But Donnie knew better. This wasn’t normal twin behavior.
Not when admiration felt dangerously close to longing.
They had been two pining idiots circling each other, orbiting the same sun, pretending not to burn. Until the day Leo finally—miraculously—got the courage to ask Donnie out. His confession was rushed, awkward, a little too loud, but Donnie’s answer was soft. A nod. A smile. And a simple “yes.”
Everything escalated from there.
Hidden touches brushing under the table.
Secret kisses behind closed doors.
The way Donnie’s hand always found Leo’s wrist, and Leo’s thumb always stroked Donnie’s knuckles.
It all came crashing down the day their brothers walked in on them making out in the living room—movie playing in the background, popcorn overturned, Leo’s mask half-off, Donnie’s goggles crooked. Raph made a noise. Mikey dropped his phone. It was chaos.
At first, their brothers didn’t approve. But with time, they came to accept it, learning to give space and support in their own ways. Eventually, even April and Splinter adjusted, quietly accepting Leo and Donnie for who they were.
Four years passed in a whirlwind. Leo proposed in the middle of a rooftop lit by neon signs and soft moonlight. Donnie cried—quietly, indignantly, wiping at his face like emotions were a glitchy bug in his code. Their wedding was small but warm, surrounded by friends and family—Hueso, Raph, Mikey, Splinter, Cass, April, Draxum. A messy, chaotic, perfect little crowd.
After the wedding, they decided to move into a place of their own—a small, cozy loft separate from the lair in the hidden city. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. A space to breathe, to fight, to love, to argue, to exist as just Leo and Donnie without the world always pressing in.
Married life wasn’t all peace and harmony. They fought. Oh, they fought.
But they always found their way back. Always.
Until now.
Three years into their marriage, things began to shift. Slowly, so slowly Leo didn’t notice the distance forming until it was already there. Donnie spent more time in his lab—nights stretching into early mornings. Conversations cut short. Kisses brushed away with mumbled excuses.
Modifications. Research. Projects.
Always something more important.
Leo would stand in the lab doorway sometimes, watching Donnie’s silhouette glow under neon lights, fingers moving fast, eyes sharp and distant.
“Don?” he’d ask softly.
And Donnie wouldn’t even turn. “Sorry, Leo. I’m busy. Maybe later.”
The first few times, Leo smiled and accepted it.
He was proud—so proud—of Donnie’s Genius Built™ tech finally getting the recognition it deserved.
But pride didn’t fill the space in the bed where Donnie used to sleep.
Pride didn’t warm the spot on Leo’s chest where Donnie used to rest his head.
Pride didn’t quiet the ache that settled in Leo’s plastron each time Donnie pushed him away with a sigh.
Leo kept smiling.
Kept pretending.
Kept hoping the distance was temporary.
But deep down, something hollow was beginning to form—an ache he couldn’t charm his way out of.
Something was wrong.
And Leo had no idea how to fix it.
Then one day, as Leo was mindlessly scrolling through his For You Page, every other video seemed designed to punch him in the plastron.
“Signs your partner is losing interest.”
“When they stop choosing you.”
“Falling out of love looks like this—”
He kept swiping them away, but they kept coming back like the universe was screaming at him.
Or mocking him.
Or just rubbing salt in a wound he wasn’t even ready to admit was bleeding.
A part of him wanted to throw his phone across the room.
Seriously? Leo squeezed his eyes shut.
But the videos didn’t stop. They chased him—every scroll, every refresh, every tap. And each one dug its claws in deeper, whispering the same fear he’d been trying to ignore.
What if Donnie doesn’t want him anymore?
What if it wasn’t really work that kept him away—Leo was?
“Nope. Nope. Absolutely not.” Leo shook his head so hard his bandana tails slapped his shoulders. “Donnie loves me. He does.”
He said it out loud because maybe saying it would make it feel true again.
And he knew it was true—right? Donnie wasn’t cold, he was just tired. Busy. Overworked. Stretched thin.
That had to be it.
Right?
Leo swallowed hard.
…Right.
He forced himself off the couch, pacing the room with jittery energy coiled tight beneath his skin. He needed to do something. Sitting here spiraling wasn’t going to help anyone, and it definitely wasn’t going to fix whatever this strange, creeping distance was.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, hands on his hips, pacing like the floor was shrinking. “I’ll just… make tonight good. Something nice. Something that reminds him we’re still… us.”
His mind raced—juggling memories, ideas, small gestures they hadn’t done in too long.
Breakfast in bed?
A home-cooked dinner?
A movie night curled together under blankets?
As he paced in the room, his eyes caught the edge of the closet door. A thought struck him, sharp and sudden.
Something he’d stashed away, forgotten in the back…
He opened the closet and rummaged through the drawers until he found it.
Wrapped carefully in tissue paper, half-forgotten but still delicate, it made his chest tighten.
The lingerie April had convinced him to buy.
A silly, impulsive thing—back when he’d still felt brave and bold and adored enough to picture Donnie’s reaction.
He hadn’t worn it yet.
Maybe he should.
Maybe… maybe it would make Donnie look at him again. Really look at him.
Not as a background noise in the lab doorway.
Not as another task waiting to be checked off.
But as his husband.
The person he used to touch without hesitation, without thinking, without distance.
Leo pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the tight, nervous flutter beneath it.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe tonight… maybe this will help.”
He tried to smile.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
Leo ran a hand over his face, taking a deep, steadying breath. He needed to take a bath first, just to wash away some of the tension.
Refreshed, or at least a little lighter, he wrapped himself in a towel and headed back to his dresser. His fingers hovered over the drawer like it might bite him. The piece of fabric inside had the power to make his heart pound.
He took a shaky breath and picked up the lingerie, already opened but still carefully wrapped in tissue paper. The delicate folds had been preserved exactly as he’d left them.
April had helped him pick it out during one of their rare Above Ground days—after she said, with a grin, “You deserve to feel pretty too, y’know.”
It was a soft, cool shade of silvery periwinkle blue—just a step between moonlight and dusk. The color had jumped out at him in the store, reminding him of quiet moments and soft confessions, of nights spent whispering with Donnie when the world felt far away.
He lifted it carefully.
The fabric was delicate—sheer mesh trimmed with gentle satin, light enough that it slid like water between his fingers. It had a halter neckline, simple but elegant, and intricate stitching that picked up the light like tiny constellations.
Leo’s throat tightened.
He had never worn something so… intentionally beautiful.
He slipped it over his head.
The fabric kissed across his skin, cool at first, then slowly warming as it settled to his body. For a moment he just breathed—eyes closed—allowing the sensation to settle around him. It didn’t cling in a suffocating way; instead, it floated, accentuating the lines of him without hiding anything that made him him.
When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the contrast.
The silvery-blue mesh made his Goldenrod yellow plastron glow richer—almost honey-warm beneath the cool tones. His light yellow stripe-like markings—the twin lines on his arms and the ones running down his thighs—stood out vividly beneath the sheer fabric, almost illuminated, like bioluminescent streaks under moonlight.
His red crescent eye markings looked sharper too, dramatic against the soft palette.
The lingerie draped just enough to highlight his silhouette, the hem brushing mid-thigh. Whenever he shifted his weight, the fabric rippled, catching against the darker trim of his blue-grey carapace. The curly-bracket pattern on his shell peeked subtly beneath the halter back—just visible, like an intentional design rather than something accidental.
It made him feel…
Not sexy.
Not bold.
Not daring.
But seen.
Like the softer, quieter parts of him were allowed to exist.
He ran his hands down the sides of his body, fingertips gliding over the mesh. It felt like touching a memory, something delicate he might break if he breathed wrong. The fabric shimmered faintly against the onyx of his eyes when he leaned closer to the mirror.
He whispered to his reflection, voice barely a thread:
“…Maybe he’ll like it.”
His own expression flickered—hopeful, nervous, fragile.
Leo wasn’t used to seeing himself look unsure. Not like this. Not stripped of confidence and jokes and bravado.
He smoothed the satin band at his hips. His fingers trembled.
It had been long—too long—since he’d dressed up for Donnie. Too long since Donnie had even really looked at him.
But tonight, Leo wanted to try.
He wanted to reach for something that felt like them again.
Even if it scared him.
Even if the mirror showed a version of him who felt more breakable than heroic.
He took one last steadying breath.
Then he turned toward the door.
Ready—
or at least trying to be—
to show Donnie the part of himself he’d been missing.
Leo had taken the time to set everything up. A soft blanket on the bed, the faint glow of the lamp casting gentle shadows across the room, little touches meant to make the night feel like them again. He even brewed some tea, just in case.
Then he climbed onto the bed, careful not to wrinkle the blanket, and waited. And waited.
Minutes stretched.
The silence pressed against him, heavy and unfamiliar.
Every creak of the floorboards outside, every faint distant hum of the city, made his heart jump.
Then—a subtle, unmistakable sound.
The turtle tank rattled as it was pulled up to the entrance. Leo’s chest tightened. Here it comes. He’s here.
He straightened slightly, smoothing the fabric of the lingerie along his shoulders and hips. His nerves were taut, but he forced himself to adopt the pose he’d imagined in his head: confident, inviting, a little vulnerable.
Keys jangled in the lock. The soft click of the door opening made his pulse spike.
“Leo?” Donnie’s voice called out, tired and hoarse, a little rough around the edges.
“Here,” Leo replied softly, trying to steady the quiver in his voice.
The footsteps grew closer. A shadow passed under the doorway, then filled the room.
Donnie stood there, the lab coat half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, eyes dark with fatigue. He looked… exhausted. Every line of tension in his body screamed of a long day, of deadlines and stress, of every tiny worry and responsibility he carried.
Leo’s chest swelled with nervous hope. This is it. He’s going to notice. He’s going to see me.
Donnie’s eyes met his.
And nothing.
Not the spark Leo had imagined. Not the slow, appreciative blink, the soft smile, the warmth that Leo had been craving. Just… tired. Weary. Almost blank.
Leo’s stomach twisted. The carefully constructed scene—the lingerie, the blanket, the tea, the glowing lamp—felt suddenly fragile, almost foolish.
“Hey,” Leo whispered again, trying to coax some recognition, some spark.
Donnie blinked, briefly, then let out a tired sigh. “Long day,” he muttered, more to himself than to Leo. Then he shifted, moving past him toward the dresser, muttering, “I just need to—uh… put this down.”
Leo froze, a tight, hollow ache spreading through his chest. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
He wanted to reach out, to grab Donnie’s hand, to make him look, to make him see him—but the words stuck in his throat. The hope he had nurtured for days suddenly felt like sand slipping through his fingers.
Donnie didn’t notice the subtle slump of Leo’s shoulders, didn’t see the small tremor of disappointment in his stance. And Leo realized, with a sharp twist of fear, that this—this fatigue, this distance—might not be just temporary.
He had set the stage to remind Donnie of them. To remind him of love.
But tonight, it seemed, the world had other plans.
Leo’s chest tightened as he watched Donnie move past him, each step echoing in the quiet room. He couldn’t let it end like this—not tonight, not after all the thought and care he’d put in.
Slowly, he swung his legs off the bed and moved closer, careful to keep his pace measured, almost tentative. “Donnie…” he murmured, voice low, coaxing.
Donnie paused, eyes meeting his briefly. But the exhaustion was written across his features—every line of tension, every droop of his shoulders. “Leo… I’m… really tired,” he said, voice low, almost pleading.
Leo’s fingers lingered on Donnie’s arm, searching for the warmth and connection he craved. “I know,” he whispered, voice small. “I just… I wanted tonight to be… us again.”
Donnie gave a faint, weary shrug, like the weight of the world had been pressing him down all day and he couldn’t lift it even for a moment. “I know. I just… can’t. Not right now.”
Leo’s chest sank. He nodded, trying to swallow the sting. “Okay,” he whispered, forcing a small, understanding smile. I get it. He’s tired. I’ll wait.
He inched a little closer anyway, hoping that proximity might remind Donnie of them—of the closeness they used to share. He lifted a hand, hesitating for the briefest moment before brushing it against Donnie’s arm.
For a heartbeat, he thought maybe… maybe Donnie would soften, lean into him. But then Donnie tilted his head slightly, and instead of returning the kiss Leo had been aiming for, Donnie leaned down and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to Leo’s cheek.
The softness of the gesture almost broke Leo’s heart.
“I… I need to—clean up,” Donnie murmured, stepping back. His gaze was apologetic but distant as he moved toward the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him.
Leo sank back onto the bed, letting the weight of disappointment press down on him. The soft glow of the lamp and the neatly arranged blanket felt meaningless now. Every careful detail he had planned to make tonight special seemed to mock him in its stillness.
He wanted to cry—wanted to let the ache out of his chest in tears he had no one to share them with. But he stopped himself, swallowing the lump in his throat. No. Not now. Not in front of him.
Instead, he removed the lingerie and replaced it with his normal clothes, feeling the familiar fabric like a shield against the vulnerability he’d felt.
Leo swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to steady his racing heart.
When the bathroom door finally opened, steam drifted out in a soft cloud. Donnie stepped out with damp skin and freshly towel-dried head wraps, smelling faintly of soap and lab-grade citrus sanitizer.
Leo sat on the edge of the bed, now back in his usual clothes, hands clasped so tight his knuckles ached. He lifted his head when Donnie walked out.
“Donnie… can we—” Leo started softly, almost pleading.
“Leo, I’m really tired,” he sighed, tone already pulling away, retreating behind exhaustion like a wall he could hide behind. “Can we… do this another time? Tomorrow, maybe. Or… later.”
Later.
That word again. That promise that never came true.
Leo’s heart twisted. He pushed himself to stand, moving to block Donnie’s escape to the lab or the bed or anywhere but here. “No. Not later,” he said quietly. “I’m not asking for a fight, I’m not asking for a debate, I just… want you to talk to me. Just for a minute.”
Donnie’s jaw tightened. “Leo, I said I’m tired. It’s been a long day, and I really don’t have the capacity for—”
“For me?” Leo cut in. Frustration finally seeping in.
That stopped Donnie.
Donnie’s brows furrowed. “Leo, that’s not fair.”
“NO!” Leo snapped, standing up, trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak.
The word ripped out of him before he could stop it, sharp and raw and loud.
Donnie froze.
Leo’s fists trembled at his sides. His voice cracked open, spilling everything he’d held in for too long.
“No, what’s not fair is you treating me like I’m something optional on your schedule,” he said, breath shaking. “Like I’m a task you don’t have the energy to check off. Like I’m… I don’t know… background noise you tune out when you’re done listening.”
Donnie opened his mouth to respond, but Leo pushed forward, words tumbling faster, sharper.
“You’ve been tired for weeks! You barely speak to me, barely touch me, barely see me! I’m your husband, Donnie! Your husband!”
Leo’s eyes burned. “And I kept telling myself it was fine. That it was temporary. That you were stressed, that I shouldn’t make it worse, that I should be understanding because that’s what partners do.”
He laughed hollowly.
“But how long am I supposed to wait for you to remember I’m here? How long am I supposed to sleep alone in a bed we promised we’d share? How many times am I supposed to swallow it when you brush me off, when you say ‘not right now,’ when you kiss my cheek like you’re checking a box instead of actually wanting me?”
Donnie’s jaw tightened. “Leo— I never meant any of it like that. I wasn’t—” He dragged a hand over his face, sounding desperate now.
But Leo shook his head sharply, stepping back, pressing the blanket around himself like armor. “Don’t. Don’t even start. Just… listen to me for once.”
“I put myself out here tonight. I tried. I tried so hard to remind us of what we used to have. To remind you of me. To remind you of us. And you didn’t even see me, Donnie. You didn’t even look.”
For the first time, Leo didn’t try to hide the tears threatening at the edges of his eyes. He stood there, trembling with raw emotion, stripped of patience, charm, and all pretense.
And for the first time in a long while, Donnie saw it. The hurt. The longing. The frustration. The love that had been ignored far too long.
“I love you, Donnie. I married you. I chose you every day. And lately it feels like I’m the only one still doing that.”
Leo’s chest heaved, every word he had held in for weeks clawing their way out. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and his voice shook—not from weakness, but from the depth of his pain.
“You need to think, Donnie,” he said, each word sharp as a blade. “Think about your priorities. About what really matters. About why you even married me if I’m just another obligation to you. If all I am is someone you tolerate when it’s convenient.”
Donnie’s lips parted, panic rising, a protest forming in his throat. “Leo, no— That’s not— You’re not an obligation. You’re… you’re home. You’re—”
“No. Don’t. I’ve waited for so long for you to see me, to notice me, to care like I care for you. And I’m done waiting.”
Leo spun on his heel, the blanket slipping slightly from his shoulders as he moved with purpose. He strode toward the door, every step fueled by the anger, heartbreak, and exhaustion that had been building inside him.
Without hesitation, he grabbed his odachi, the familiar weight grounding him in the storm of his emotions. He murmured the incantation under his breath, feeling the portal shimmer and hum in response.
Donnie’s eyes widened. “Leo—wait! Don’t—”
But Leo was already gone, stepping through the portal with one final, lingering glance of hurt and defiance. The faint shimmer of the portal closed behind him, leaving Donnie standing in their bedroom, guilt and disbelief etched across his exhausted features.