"Well," says Donnie, then coughs nervously. April glances up — and up — to find him smiling a little sheepishly as he nods at a tiny diner, tucked between a toy store and a dry cleaners. "This is it."

She's done nothing but smile since they left the classroom an hour ago, and she doesn't stop now. The diner looks like the Platonic ideal of diners, with a cheerful neon sign hanging over the door and bright chrome fixtures everywhere she looks. This is the diner all other diners wish they could be.

"April?" She realizes she's been staring into space silently when Donnie gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "If you'd rather go somewhere else — I just figured, this has tons of stuff, and you'd find something you wanted to eat, and…"

"It's great," she says, and turns the full force of her smile on him. Right now, everything is great. "Seriously."

"Oh. Good. Great." Donnie clears his throat, and twitches his bow tie back into place. "I hope you like it. It's got the best coffee — you drink coffee, right? Or are you more of a tea person? Anyways, it's got great coffee, and they serve breakfast all day, and their pie is amazing."

"All of that sounds fantastic," April says over her stomach's rumbling, thinking of her forgotten lunch back home in the fridge. "But honestly, I'm so hungry I could eat the sidewalk."

Donnie throws back his head and laughs far louder than the joke deserves, loud enough that half the people around them stare. He doesn't care, and after a quick flash of what the hell are you looking at, because April was born and will die in New York, she stops caring too.

She found Donnie again. Everything else — her forgotten lunch, phone, and metro card, her sleepless night — fades far into the background.

He lets go of her hand long enough to bound up the stairs and hold the door open for her. "After you," he says, sweeping one arm across his plastron in a flourish. April tries to mock-bow and trips over the rug, but Donnie's heavy hand steadies her. "Careful," he says, with a fond, wayward grin. "I've got you."

"You certainly do," April says, inanely, inwardly writhing over how stupid she looks. "Thanks."

"No problem." Donnie leads her toward a booth in the back, his steps too assured for him to have picked the seat at random. No, this is a place Donnie's been before, and often. April feels her embarrassment melting away under the pleasure of being shown this, one of Donnie's treasures. After all, that's what this is. That's what this has to be, a little quiet jewel hidden away from the rest of the city, where he can get some peace away from his brothers. Maybe he does his studying here, drinking cup after cup of coffee and —

Maybe she's getting ahead of herself.

"So, you're a regular?" she asks as they fold themselves into the vinyl seats. Donnie nods, but he doesn't get a chance to reply before a brassy foghorn of a voice, the kind of voice that should come accompanied with bleached-blonde hair and red lipstick, breaks in.

"Donnie boy, a regular? We'd charge this kid rent if he didn't eat as much as he does."

Donnie flushes dark, his mouth screwed up into a grudging half-smile. "Hey, Sandy."

"Hey, yourself." Like the diner itself produced her from thin air, the waitress appears at their table. "Early today, huh? We don't usually see you till eight or so."

Donnie shrugs, still flushed. "I, uh, wanted to — this is April. April, Sandy."

"Hey," says April, unsure if she should shake hands or just smile. Luckily Sandy doesn't seem to mind her indecision, and turns her smile on April.

"Nice to meet you. You a friend of Donnie's?"

It's a simple question, and it only needs a simple answer. Across the table, Donnie looks up, eyes wide and hopeful, and April finds herself grinning again.

"Sort of," she says. "Yes."

"Sort-of-yes," Sandy says, dragging out the words, winking at April. "So more than friends, then?"

"Atta boy, Donnie!" someone hollers from the kitchen. Donnie flushes even darker, color spreading down his neck and under his plastron, and covers his face in his hands.

"We'll get back to you on that," April says, on another wave of recklessness. "I'll keep you informed."

Sandy cackles as she drops a menu to the table. "Yeah, you do that. I'll be back in a few. Drinks?"

"Water for me, thanks," says April, as a muffled me too leaks from under Donnie's hands.

By the time their food arrives, April is halfway in love with Donnie. She's not sure if it's his laugh that did her in, or the way he talks about his family — gently exasperated, with a steady current of loyalty beneath his words — but there it is, that simple, that easy.

They order once, but somehow the food keeps coming, in greasy profusion. French fries, onion rings, enormous burgers dripping with ketchup and mustard and melted cheese, milkshakes, even a plate of nachos all make their way to their table, until April sneaks away to the bathroom to undo the button on her jeans, and to catch her breath.

Washing her hands in the cracked sink, she catches sight of her face in the mirror, and shuts off the water to stare. Pink cheeks, bright eyes, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth.

So this is what I look like when I'm happy, she thinks, shaking her hands to dry them. Too bad I can't take a picture and send it to Irma. Just to memorialize it.

But she can't, and anyways time spent taking a picture could be spent eating, and with Donnie, so she grins at her reflection one last time and heads back to the table.

"Okay," she says as she slides into her seat, trying not to blush and failing when Donnie grins at her with unalloyed pleasure. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Raph's got the red mask, Leo's blue, and Mikey's orange."

"You got it." Donnie stretches his arms across the back of the booth and sighs, a deep, satisfied sigh. April tries — really, she does — not to stare. "Now you can't forget who's who. We're color-coded."

April laughs, louder than she means to, and claps her hands over her mouth. "I won't forget you," she says through her hands, then looks away, her stomach dropping. She's heard about putting too bare a face on how you feel, but why bother hiding anything? Why be cool? She isn't cool, she never has been. She's April, angry and too honest, but she's not ashamed of that, and she doesn't think Donnie will be either.

Donnie touches her wrist gently; he seems to be on the edge of saying something back — something important, something April very much wants to hear, so she leans over their empty plates to hear —

— and then Sandy reappears, smirking as April and Donnie both jump. "So," she says. "You kids want dessert? Or did you do enough damage?"

April glances at the table, wondering briefly how many orders of fries they ended up eating. "I'm up for it," she says, thoughts of pie dancing through her head. "Donnie?"

He starts a little. "Uh, maybe? I didn't think —"

Sandy sighs, loud and put-upon but still smirking, then drops a dessert menu to the table. "You two figure it out, I'll be back in a few," she says as she picks up an armful of dishes and walks away.

"Got to love places where the food comes with a side of verbal abuse," April says. Then she sees the words apple pecan pie just above white chocolate mousse, and her mind goes blank. Pie. Diner pie. She's in heaven.

"Oh, this is nothing," Donnie says. "You think this is abuse? I'm surprised they haven't told me I'm too skinny and need to eat more."

April raises an eyebrow and gives the rest of the dishes piled at the end of their table a doubtful look. Donnie shrugs, a motion that does very interesting things to his biceps.

"Yeah, I don't know either. See anything good?"

"Oh, god, everything." April sighs. "I'd eat everything they've got. But…I think I'm going with the mousse. That apple pecan sounds amazing, though."

"You could get both," Donnie says, wriggling his eyebrows — such as they are. "Live it up, April."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Yeah, only if you feel like rolling me home. I'm not sure even one slice is a good idea."

"I could always carry you again," he offers, then ducks his head. April bites the inside of her cheek; she already knows what's coming next — a blush, a stammered apology — and Donnie doesn't disappoint. "Wow, that was — I'm sorry, I'm presuming a lot, and —"

"I'm going to have the mousse," April says firmly. She reaches out and rests her hand on Donnie's wrist. His skin is cool, and thicker than she remembers. "It's okay," she says, in a softer voice that won't carry past the booth. "If I didn't want you to say things like that, I wouldn't be here."

Donnie nods, staring at her face like this is the first time he's seen her. "Thank you," he whispers, and covers her hand with his.

When Sandy reappears, they're still touching, and still staring at each other without saying a word. April orders the mousse, Donnie orders the apple pecan, and Sandy — for once — brings the food without comment. Maybe it's that obvious; maybe she just wants to go cackle in the kitchen with her coworkers. April doesn't care.

The pie is every bit as delicious as she thought it would be, the mousse melting away on her tongue as soon as she tastes it, but Donnie only takes two tiny bites before he sighs dramatically, rubbing his stomach and stretching.

"Wow, I'm stuffed," he says. "Would you…uh, like some?" He pushes the plate toward April, grinning, then winks.

With both eyes.

And that's it, that's all it takes — forget halfway, April's all the way there. She's fallen. It's done.

Donnie blinks at her, silent for what feels like a week. "You want me to…come up?" he says, in a small voice. "To your apartment?"

"Uh," April says, staring at her feet. Is this where she messes everything up? It feels like where she messes everything up, down to the blank incredulity in Donnie's eyes. "You don't have to, I just thought…" She shrugs, hoping Irma has some more wine hidden somewhere in the apartment, because if the next few minutes go the way she thinks they will, she's going to need it.

"I just thought it'd be fun to hang out more," she finishes lamely. "That's all. But it's cool, it's getting late."

"Not that late," says Donnie. "I just didn't expect — yes. Yes, I would love to." He even sounds like he means it, smiling and giving April an almost glowing look — but of course he means it, because Donnie only has two settings.

"Okay." She turns back to the door to hide her own smile, and twists the key in the lock. "Just a warning — my roommate might be home, but she's cool. She's just…"

"I think the word you used at dinner was 'intense'," Donnie says, holding the door open until April is in the foyer. "Don't worry, I can handle intense. You should meet Leo. Man, when Space Heroes got cancelled, he went nuts."

"Did he write sad fanfiction to deal with his feelings?" There's just enough room on the stairs for them to walk side-by-side, and their hands find each other so easily that April barely notices.

"He did! We all pretended not to know, until he started leaving browsers open with his new chapters right there." Donnie shakes his head. "Not his smartest plan. He stopped after Mikey and Raph acted out some of his scenes, but he's still writing."

April glances at him from the corner of her eye. "How do you know?"

"I, uh. Well, I proofread them for him." He nudges her as she cackles. "Oh, come on, it's not like I'm writing fanfic."

"No, of course not," April says soothingly. She pats his shoulder. "You're just aiding and abetting."

His squawk echoes through the hallway as she fits her key into the lock and opens the door. "I'll have you know that transformative works are an important part of media culture," he says, in lofty, oh-so-professorial tones. "And it's not like Leo's bad, just a little melodramatic."

"So reading fanfiction is okay, but you draw the line at writing it? Slippery slope, Donnie — oh, hi, Irma."

Her roommate twitches and shuts off Project Runway — which she'll deny watching till her dying day — before turning to face them. "Oh, hey April — and April's very tall friend."

Donnie hovers in the doorway, waving awkwardly, until April takes his hand and tugs him inside. "Irma, this is — this is Donnie Hamato. He's the TA for my chem lab, and we got dinner, and decided to come back here to hang out." And please be cool, Irma, because if you fuck this up for me I will set you on fire.

She really should have known better; Irma takes one look at April, and how she still hasn't let go of Donnie's hand, and smiles. April relaxes. She knows all of Irma's smiles, and this isn't the one she saves for people who don't tip or who declaw their cats, and it's definitely not the one she uses on guys who say but not all men. Irma's going to be more than cool. She's going to be awesome.

"Donnie Hamato, huh?" she says, standing up and walking around the couch. "I had a couple of classes with one of your brothers. Leo. He was pretty cool." She holds out her hand, each finger tipped with teal nail polish and half an armful of bracelets clattering at her wrist. "Nice to meet you. You're a TA?"

April watches Donnie shake Irma's hand, nodding and smiling politely, if a little bemused. And of course bemusement suits him just as well as every other expression, because it's Donnie.

She's starting to understand that Donnie isn't just nice, he's good.

"— to Dr. Stone," Donnie is saying when April manages to tune back in. "But sorry, enough about me — what's your major?"

This time, Irma's smile is sharp, and very hungry, the kind of smile that makes April think of tiny creatures that can bite straight down to the bone. "Women's Studies," she says sweetly. "With minors in French and Poli Sci."

"Nice." Donnie nods. "Wait, Poli Sci? Were you in Professor Arlen's seminar on pre-1850 American politics, two semesters ago? I think my brother Mikey was in that class."

"Yeah, I was — wait!" Irma claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, he was such a little shit. Sorry, but no, really, he was. Every time Arlen tried to make a point, he'd raise his hand and be all, but what would our founding fathers have to say about that?"

April snickers, then freezes and glances at Donnie to gauge his reaction. He's smiling, a touch of exasperation — not quite so gentle now — in his eyes. "Yeah," he says, and sighs. "That sounds like Mikey."

"I mean, it was hilarious, but you'd think Arlen would've learned not to take the bait." Irma laughs. "Well, anyways, I actually have to duck out really quick. We need to get some stuff at the market."

"What stuff? Irma, I just went grocery shopping this weekend, we should be all set." April sets her backpack down next to the couch, then holds out her hand for Donnie's satchel. "Here, let me take it."

"Just a few things," Irma says, already shrugging into a hoodie and grabbing her purse. "You need anything? No? Donnie? Okay, I'll be back in a few. Nice to meet you!" She sails toward the door, then turns at the last second to flash April two thumbs up behind Donnie's shell.

So that's what a wingman is, April thinks, as the door clicks closed and leaves her alone in her apartment with Donnie.

She summons the rest of her courage, and spreads her arms wide. "So, welcome to my home base," she says, wincing as soon as the words are out of her mouth. Home base. I actually said that. Oh my god, this is a disaster. I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. "Do you - can I get you anything? Do you want a seat?"

I'm going to drown myself in the bathtub, she thinks, her face flaming hot. But Donnie just shakes his head as he looks around the room, one corner of his mouth quirking upward.

"No, I'm good." He turns slowly, still smiling. "This is...pretty great. Lots of room."

"Yeah, we're lucky," April says, all too happy to follow his lead. "Like, really lucky. As long as we keep our scholarships, our parents pay our rent. We still have to pay for utilities, but..." She follows Donnie's gaze as it moves over the living room and kitchen: the threadbare rug that took two hours to haul up the stairs, the mismatched bowls and plates scattered on every flat surface.

She should have cleaned last night, since she couldn't sleep, but it's too late now. "Sorry about the mess," she says, toeing a sports bra under the sofa.

"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "This is a million times better than where I live. Three brothers, remember? Mikey's got old pizza under his bed that's developing language skills."

April leans against the back of the sofa, laughing. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. Is it just you and your brothers? No other siblings?"

Donnie's smile slips for a brief moment, and his eyes cloud. Before April can regret the question, he's smiling again, his expression haunted at the edges by a distant, soft melancholy. "I've...sort of got a sister. She's a little older. It's...it's weird. Not bad weird, just weird." He shakes himself, just as April pushes off the couch to reach him. What good her touch would do, though, she isn't sure; she just wants to help, however she can. "What about you?" Donnie asks, with a little forced brightness in his voice, just enough to tell April to let the subject go. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"Nope, just me. Guess my mom and dad decided not to push their luck a second time." The joke falls flat to the carpet between them, and April looks away. "Irma's got a big family, though. I hang out with them a lot when I can't get up to see my parents on holidays."

"You two have been friends a long time?" Donnie inches closer to the bookshelves, melancholy and self-consciousness falling off his shoulders as he runs his fingers along the spines — reverently, April notices, whether it's Irma's copy of Watchmen or her copy of Middlesex.

"As long as I can remember." April smiles, a simple, broad pleasure filling her as she watches Donnie moving around her apartment, mindful of his shell and heavy feet, strangely delicate for all his bulk. "My mom says Irma bit me on the first day of kindergarten when I wouldn't give her my scissors, but Irma's mom says I told her that orange crayons tasted like real oranges and Irma ate three of them before the teacher stopped her."

Donnie snickers, tossing a wry glance at her over his shoulder. "Either way, a lifelong friendship was born."

"Don't knock it," April says. "No one else can put up with me the way she can." She snatches a pillow off the couch and tosses it at him. Donnie spins, and catches the pillow with one quick snap of his fingers. The absolute precision startles April into silence; she's never seen anyone move so fast, or so silently, and her stomach flips.

"Smooth," she says, when she finds her voice.

"Practice makes perfect," he says, tossing it back to her. She fumbles the catch, her stomach still filled with strange, new flutters, but manages to get it back onto the couch without making herself look like more of an idiot.

"Do you want to see my room?" she asks. "There's a little deck outside, so you can lie about constellations again."

He scrunches up his nose — beak — at her, wrinkling his mask. "You mean, so you can demonstrate your ignorance again. I don't lie about science."

"Yeah, yeah." April steps over a pile of empty pizza boxes — she and Irma turned into slobs this summer, something they had better fix before one of their moms stops by unannounced — and grabs her doorknob. "Fair warning," she says. "My room's even messier than out here. I totally understand if you don't want to deal."

"Three brothers," Donnie reminds her, smiling as he follows her.

She flicks on the lamp next to her bed and sits down on the mattress, her heart picking up speed as Donnie peers at her desk, her bookshelves, and the dusty PS4 tucked halfway under her bed. At least all her dirty laundry is in the hamper. The thought of Donnie seeing her underwear —

She can't finish the thought before her cheeks are flaming hot again.

"Oh, no," he says out of nowhere, his voice low and disappointed. "I've got to go."

"What?" April looks up, her stomach not flipping over any longer, but dropping straight to her feet. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"You have an iPod," Donnie says, pointing at her desk. "I'm sorry, April, I can't do this. Apple products…my very DNA rebels."

She gapes at him, struggling to figure out if he's joking or not, before Donnie bursts out laughing, bent over and holding his stomach.

"Oh man, your face! I totally had you!"

"You're —" April stutters, now caught between calling him an asshole or laughing along with him. "Jesus Christ, you dick, you —"

She shuts her mouth as he sits down next to her and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulders. "I'm kidding," he says. "I mean, not about hating Apple, but for you, I'll make an exception."

"Wow, gee, thanks." She tries for sarcasm, but her voice comes out breathy, almost a whisper. Donnie is very close, and very tall, and so very earnest as he grins at her, self-consciousness forgotten.

In the shared quiet, April feels them start to lean into each other. She wonders if this is how she'll get her first kiss, but Donnie starts and slowly pulls away. He offers her a sad, apologetic smile, and it's the roof all over again. Donnie doubting, Donnie leaving.

"You don't have to —" she says, reaching up to trace her fingertips along the edge of his mask. Donnie shakes his head, his eyes downcast, and stands up.

"I saw a — a record player in the other room," he says, wringing his hands. "Is it yours?"

April takes a deep breath, her fingers still vibrating from the contact, and nods. "Uh, yeah. Irma and I collect vinyl. Most of it belonged to our parents, so it's a lot of old stuff, but we've got some good albums." She shoves down her frustration, knowing she doesn't have a reason to be frustrated, not if Donnie's worried about what she thinks he is. "You want me to put something on?"

Donnie nods, not speaking, his eyes on her window. On her way back out to the living room, April rests her hand on his for a spare second, long enough to feel the restless, miserable motion stilling. "Any requests?" she says lightly, as her hand falls away.

"Surprise me?" Donnie asks, a small, grateful smile on his face.

"You got it."

April crouches down to peer into the milk crate holding her half of the collection — Irma would murder her twice if she touched Irma's records without her permission — debating between indie rock, ironic eighties pop, or —

— or one of her treasures. She slides the record out of the crate, grinning at the faded cover, and stands up. Better to know now how Donnie feels about the classics.

She couldn't carry a tune if her life depended on it, so she keeps her mouth shut while Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young fills the apartment

Come to me now, and rest your head for just five minutes, Graham Nash sings as she walks back into her room. This time, when her eyes meet Donnie's, neither of them look away. But she lingers in the doorway, just watching him, another wave of simple pleasure coursing through her. He's here, and he's not leaving.

Such a strange certainty, after months of wishing and dreaming, to see Donnie here, and to know that she hadn't assumed too much about those first few hours. Everything she's heard has made it sound like finding this certainty is a long, hard journey, filled with stones to stumble over. It's supposed to be work. It's supposed to take a very long time.

But sometimes, April thinks, as the song swells to the chorus, sometimes people luck out. She lives in a strange world, where ghosts might haunt libraries and aliens exist, and maybe, for her, for Donnie, it will just work.

Life used to be so hard, now everything is easy 'cause of you.

This time, when she stands on tiptoe and reaches up for his mask, Donnie doesn't resist. April pauses before she touches him, waiting for his nod, and only undoes the knot when he smiles. She takes her time, holding his gaze as her fingers work, memorizing the worn fabric under her fingers.

Donnie catches her wrist as the mask falls away from his face. He stares at the fabric, frowning, a dark tint in his cheeks, before he sighs and gives her a wry, resigned smile.

"Uh. Ta-da?" he says, his voice hopeful. Please, say his eyes.

Yes, April thinks, and links her hands around the back of his neck to pull him down to her.

His mouth is cool and still under hers; she's startled him with her clumsy, heavy kiss — but it's her first. She's given him that, and it's a small thing, but she knows, with her new certainty, that Donnie will understand.

Is it his first kiss? She only wonders for a heartbeat, before his hands cover her shoulders slowly, gently.

"I'm sorry, I just — you're so cute," she says when they part. "Donnie, you really — ah!"

He beams at her as he lifts her, as easily as he carried her up the stairwell, only now her feet dangle almost a foot and a half off the ground. She clings close, her cheek pressed to his.

"Always knew being tall would come in handy someday," he says breezily, as she laughs and kisses him again, his mask still clenched in her fist.

Donatello Hamato, PhD Candidate says the neat sign on the office door. An equally neat schedule is posted underneath it, with a list of classes, office hours, and meeting times. April smiles at both sign and schedule before she knocks, her heart in her throat.

It's been barely fifteen hours since she last saw him. Only six of those hours were actually used for sleeping — Irma's debrief took almost two hours, because Irma is nothing if not thorough — and then there were classes to attend, new friends to meet for coffee in the break between labs, a quick phone call to her parents, emailing work her schedule for the week.

Now she's knocking on Donnie's office door, waiting for him to open the door and fill the doorframe with his shell and shoulders and smile at her.

He will smile, won't he?

"So," said Donnie. He stood two steps lower than her, smiling down at their linked hands. "I had a great time."

April nodded. "Me too." She licked her lips, steeled herself, and said "Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" just as Donnie said "Are you free tomorrow night?"

Their laughter rose over the stoop and spread over the street, carried away by the humid, friendly breeze. "Yeah," said April. "I am. Seven?"

"Seven." Donnie kissed her — shyly, sweetly — one finger tilting her chin up to his. "I'll come pick you up."

There hadn't been anything more than that. Donnie went down the stairs, swinging his satchel over his shoulder, and turned to wave before he disappeared around the corner. He smiled then; he'll smile when he opens the door.

And so he does, grinning down at her — no bow tie or sweater vest today, just a half-zipped purple hoodie and a giant mug of coffee in his left hand. "April!" he says, like she's the best thing that could have shown up at his door, and her heart lurches. Only the coffee keeps her from throwing her arms around him. "I didn't expect to see you — wait, is everything okay?"

His expression falls so quickly that April can hardly believe he had smiled a second before. His worry is so transparent: he thinks she's there to take it all back. Now she regrets not hugging him.

"I know we said we'd hang out tonight," she says quickly. "But I wanted to see you." With a brief thought about how she should start investing in heels, she bounces to her toes and kisses his cheek. Donnie makes a startled, pleased noise, and sloshes coffee out of his mug, just barely missing spilling it on his hoodie.

"Oh," he says, shuffling, blushing, so adorably flustered that April gives up on anything resembling restraint and kisses him on the lips, relishing how quickly he responds.

At least they're both flushed and smiling when she rocks back on her feet. "Well, I — I'm not complaining," Donnie says, turning to set his mug on the edge of his desk. April catches a glimpse of a windowless but militantly neat office before Donnie leans against the doorframe.

"I can't really do anything now," he says, eyes darkening with regret. "I've got office hours — I know it's early in the semester to start, but it's good to have a routine — and then I need to be in Stone's lab for a few hours, but I would totally come hang out if I could, I'm sorry, I just —"

"Donnie, it's fine." April grabs his hand. "I only have a few minutes too, but I wanted to see if you could sign this form." She pushes the paper into his free hand, her heart lodged in her throat again as she watches him read. This could backfire, but she knows it won't. She knows.

"This is a drop form for my lab," Donnie says slowly.

"Yeah." April tilts her head at him when he looks up, and smiles, arching an eyebrow. Hopefully the effect is flirty, and not a grimace. "I don't think the department would approve of me dating my instructor."

"Dating your —" Donnie stares at the form, his mouth doing something complicated that's almost a smile. A disbelieving, trembling smile. He takes a deep breath, and reaches back without looking to snatch a pen off his desk. "No, I don't think they would."

His signature is barely better than a scribble, but April doesn't spare it a glance before she stuffs it in her backpack. "Okay," she says, exhaling noisily. "I should let you…do your thing. Till tonight."

Donnie doesn't say anything. He nods, still smiling, and reaches out to tilt up her chin — just like last night, which means they're going to kiss again. April lets her eyes start to close before a voice fills the hallway.

"Yo, genius! You forgot your lunch. Next time I'm not bringing it to — whoa, Donnie, what's goin' on?"

She's close enough to see fear, real, honest fear, flash through Donnie's eyes, then he straightens and faces toward the voice like a man heading to his execution.

"Hi, Raph," he says flatly. "Thanks for bringing my lunch."

"Oh, no," says the short turtle stomping toward them, his broad mouth stretched even broader in a grin that's the definition of shit-stirring. His green eyes glitter, utterly without mercy, and April takes an reflexive step closer to Donnie. "The pleasure's all mine. So let me guess —"

"I swear to god, Raph." Donnie says through gritted teeth. "If you keep talking, I'll tell Casey about the pink —"

"— this is the girl you moped over all summer?" Raph finishes, practically yelling to be heard over Donnie.

April swallows her first question (Pink what?) and looks up at Donnie. "Your brother?"

Raph snorts laughter. "Yeah, I am. Don't let me stop the romance." He leans against the wall and folds bulky arms over his plastron.

Donnie groans and smacks himself in the forehead. "This is a nightmare. April, I'm so sorry. I hoped I could avoid this for…well, forever, but this is Raph. My brother."

Raph smiles. No doubt he's used to that smile making people go screaming into the night, but April's lived with Irma long enough to be immune.

"Nice to meet you," she says, then turns her back on him and faces Donnie. "All summer?" she says. At Donnie's reluctant nod, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss.

A long kiss. With tongue.

Raph gags extravagantly behind them, but April keeps kissing Donnie until she runs out of air, then lets him go. He stays curved over her, too stunned to smile or blush, so she kisses him again.

"Sounds just like my summer," she says, just for him to hear. "Great minds think alike."

Now Donnie laughs, wrapping long arms around her and drawing her tight against him. "Tonight? Seven?" he says.

"Seven." There's time for one more kiss — there's always time for that — then April backs away, waving at Donnie until she has to turn around and head down the hall.

She glances back once, just in time to see Raph punch Donnie in the arm, then high-five him, grinning like a maniac. Just in time to see Donnie smile, and to meet his eyes as he follows her path down the hall.

It really is going to be this easy, April realizes, and lets that thought carry her down the stairs and outside, into the sunlight.