Donatello's Love (Donnie X Reader One Shots)

The Note 3

One Month Later

You missed Donnie. You really, really did. You'd wanted to visit him ever since that night you ran out of the lair. But you were too scared. And every time you would walk past that familiar alleyway where the manhole entrance was to the lair, the same thoughts would dart through your mind.

What if he's still mad?

Would he even accept my apology?

I wonder if the others are mad as well.

Your only existing connection you had with the turtles whatsoever was April. She would always politely answer any questions you had about them when the two of you met up to hang out. But you could tell even she was upset with you at first.

You were in the wrong, and you knew it very well. You acknowledged that until you did something about it yourself, chances were he wasn't going to talk to you.

Yet you still gaze out your window from time to time every night, in hope to see that familiar silhouette perched on the sill, tapping on the glass for entrance. 

You lay on your (F/C) bed sheets completely motionless. Your eyes trailed along the ceiling in contemplation. You had a rat's nest of tangled and filthy hair. Recently you'd just decided to give up all together.

You hadn't showered in almost a whole week. You've worn the same baggy sweatshirt and paint-stained denim shorts for the past three days. And you're grateful your parents are too irresponsibly stupid to notice that you've been skipping school almost everyday for the past two weeks.

"I'm a wreck." You whimper under your breath. You put yours hands over your face and turn onto your side, sobbing gently. 

You felt nothing without him. You didn't even know he existed almost only five months ago, but now you can't imagine life without him. It was as simple as going and apologizing, but you were simply too ashamed.

"(Y/N)?" Says a soft voice from across your bedroom.

You gasp in result, rolling off the side of the bed before they can see you.

"(Y/N)..." The voice says again.

April?

You slowly stand from the floor to peer at her from the bed. 

"Oh... it's just you." You walk around your bed over to your desk chair. You pull it out and plop down to inspect your red tear-stained face in the small hand mirror left of your desk. 

"What do you want?" You mumble. You probably sounded very rude, but just brushed it off. 

"I need to talk to you, (Y/N). You've been skipping out on school, you hardly leave your room unless to go get food or use the washroom. You're a mess; no offense." 

"How is that not offensive?" You sigh, rubbing your greasy, unwashed eyelids. You knew she was right, anyhow.

"I just," She shuts your bedroom door, locking it and strolling over to you. She sits on the edge of your bed a few feet away from your desk. She continues, "I just think I should tell you something. It might help you out."

You scoff obnoxiously, now rummaging through your desk drawer to try and look busy.

"Doubt it. But, go on." 

"I want to tell you about Donatello."

This makes you stop and slowly push the drawer shut. You bite your lip as your eyes slowly trail up and down her facial expression of concern and pity.