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Donatello moves along the rooftops like they're his second home. So, when he extends his hand down to you from the fire escape, you know you shouldn't worry. Still, your heart races as you shuffle closer to the window. You scrub your hands over the backs of your thighs to rid them of the nervous itch in your palms.
"I know this building better than most," Donnie says with a playful smile. "Been spending an awful lot of time up here. But if you're having second thoughts about tonight--"
With a surge of determination to conquer your sudden (and totally reasonable) fear, you clasp his hand. "You'll catch me if I fall?" It’s so much more than a question about the height and you want to believe him when he says,
"I've got you, now. I'm not letting go."
Since you started dating several months ago, your feelings have grown and grown. You feel weightless with the thrill of being loved by him in return. And some days you really do worry you’re falling too hard, too fast.
Donatello holds your hand as you climb, then you hold onto him as he jettisons from one building to the next. The weightless feeling isn’t so scary when he has you in his arms. It’s with smooth transitions that he switches from jetpack to zip line and back, yet your heart is in your throat each time his feet leave the concrete.
The wind rushes past your ears and through your hair. You think it should be impossible for you to hear him over the wind, but he's hugging you against his chest like you're part of him--so, maybe you're reading his thoughts. You hear talk of degrees and functions of speed and you know Donnie’s running equations through his mind faster than the speed of sound. He doesn’t need to think aloud. Perhaps, the words are for you. His way of assuring you he knows what he's doing. There's no need, of course. You trust him completely.
When he comes to rest, you hold him closer. You expect him to launch you both across another street, but his hesitancy piques your concern. It's your turn to show confidence in him. "I'm OK. We can go again."
You loved it really, the thrill. The way your heart skipped. The way your stomach dipped and flipped. But when Donatello sets you down and brings his hand to your face, you open your eyes and find none of the excitement has left. Your heart is beating just as hard as ever.
The city lights shine in his eyes, amplified and scattered by his glasses, and your affection for him swells. It creeps up your veins, from your toes to where his hand resides on your cheek, and you can't help but rise with it. “Baby,” he starts, ducking down to assess your comfort after the trip across town, but you place a kiss on his lips before he has time to finish his question.
It's then, when you're pressed against him, your mouths trading one caress for another, that you hear the soft jazz playing from the High Line below. You feel Donnie's fingers combing your hair before you realize he's swaying to the music. You break the kiss to peek at the space around you and see there are candles and flowers, food and drink, set up on a blanket not far from where you're standing.
You don't need to ask what it's all for. You don't want this moment--Donnie's arms around you, his feet slowly shuffling astride yours--to end. With your ear against his plastron, you hum along to the music. You melt into the soft churrs rumbling within his chest. Leaning into each other, shifting in your embrace, you listen to the live band’s tune as it drifts up from the park. It envelops you in a saxophone’s serenade.
⁂
Dinner and dancing would have been enough, you think as you lie against Donnie’s chest and look out over the city. But Donnie tips your chin up to the sky, lays a kiss to the side of your neck, and your eyelids flutter closed.
"No, no, no," he whispers, his breath tickling your skin. "Keep them open. Tell me what you see."
"I--" Donnie's mouth finds your neck again, another warm press of lips, as you blink at the night sky. "There's the moon."
"Mhmm." Donnie's pecks travel up to your ear, a slow, deliberate journey. "Tell me about the moon, baby."
"It's, um, it's almost full?” You relax under Donatello’s affections and breathe into his touch. “It's bright. It's--" Your next inhale is sharp as his tongue traces the shell of your ear. But he resumes his soft kisses almost instantly, and after a few you gain focus again. "There are some clouds moving past it, I think.”
"And what about the stars?" Donatello's devotions have migrated to the crown of your head as he holds your hands firm against your chest.
There’s something about having his hands over your heart. Turning in his embrace, you’re careful to keep them where they are. You can feel your heart beating for him and you know he can feel it, too. You want him to.
But he’s been so quiet this evening, you’ve missed the way he usually goes on for hours describing the smallest detail of a thing. So, you pass Donnie the question, wondering what he sees when he looks into the night. "Do you have a favorite?"
Donnie knows you're asking about the cosmic bodies above, but as he looks down at you, he's captivated by the stars twinkling in your eyes. He brushes his thumb under your lashes and hones in on the brightest point of light, flickering over your iris. "This one" he whispers, his thumb still delicately tracing the apple of your cheek.
You smile, ready to tease him for answering in such a way, but your words are cut off by the most gentle touch of Donnie's fingertips to your lips. You kiss them and he smiles down at you before sliding his hand around to the back of your neck and bringing your mouths together more urgently than before.
⁂
"I love you," he says as you turn again to face the stars.
Your heart sings at the confession, at the vibration of his churrs against your back, and you return the sentiment with a sigh.
You stare at the sky long enough to find every constellation you know, and still you don't want the night to end. Bruised rose petals fall through your fingers as you snuggle into the warmth of Donnie’s arms. "You really love me, babe?"
"Of course," he answers softly, not for a second convinced you are uncertain.
"Enough to let me wear your goggles?" You’re not serious, not really. They won’t fit you properly--designed for eyes far larger than your own. You doubt you’ll be able to see a thing through the lenses Donnie tailor-made for himself.
But the question is met with a small gasp of surprise, and you frown at the hint of disappointment carried on the sound.
You sit up, an apology forming in your mind as you worry your bottom lip. When you look behind you, Donnie's rummaging through the picnic basket muttering to himself about something too quickly for you to keep up.
"Babe it's alright if you--"
Donnie stops short. With his hand still deep in the basket, he turns to you with a lopsided grin. "Ask me again," he says, his voice shaking just a bit from nerves.
"Ask you…"
"Ask if I love you enough."
You place a hand on his chest, drop your eyes to the point of contact--your hand over his heart--and frown. "Donnie, I--"
"Please," he says. His eyes and smile are soft as they watch you shift with curiosity and concern. "Ask me, baby."
"D-do you love me enough-" Donnie nods for you to finish the question "-enough to let me wear your goggles?"
Then, carefully, as if he’s carrying the most precious thing he's ever held, Donnie lifts and extends his hand to you. "I love you so much,” he says, “that I made you your own."
You look down at the tech cradled in his trembling palms and you don't have to try them on to know, "They're perfect." But you bow your head to let him secure the band all the same.
You've never seen the world in such perfect clarity, and you don't mean through your eyes. You bring Donatello’s hands into your lap as you tell him again, "I love you."
And while wearing the glasses you get readings on Donnie's vitals as he processes the words. You see the spike in his heart rate, the dilation of his pupils, the quickness of his breath all quantified for you like never before.
"I know," Donnie says, but you think neither of you has really understood how much you care for each other until this moment.
There's something in the way you look at each other tonight, under the expanse of the night sky, that makes your love feel larger than the two of you. It's something cosmic and permanent and you squeeze Donnie's hands because you don't want to lose him. You can’t fathom a life without him.
"I've got you," Donnie promises, and you blush with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to share your thoughts out loud. But he continues, echoing his words from earlier tonight. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not letting go."