I always seem to find my inspiration in music. This fic is heavily influenced by the song "Hoppípolla" by the band Sigur Rós. "Hoppípolla" means "hopping into puddles" in Icelandic. I highly suggest you listen to the song before or while reading this story. I think you will definitely be able to see why I have fallen in love with the song and this story so much. By the way, this is probably my favorite story I have ever written about anything, ever. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
After only a few months with my surrogate brothers, I felt like they had been around my entire life. It felt odd to reflect on moments far in my past, when I had not known them. I had not even known they existed, or what wondrous chaos they would bury me in.
Was I even truly alive before them? Sometimes it did not feel like it.
That moonlit night, when they first stood on my aunt's fire escape. Four unfamiliar voices, faces, hearts. A pair of glistening russet eyes made a vow to me.
"We'll get him back April. I promise."
My mind was a fog. Swirling, lawless, senseless. Separated from my father, but drawn in by a new family. All was too new to make sense of just yet.
But with the gentle touch of his oversized hands, everything seemed to shift. Our eyes were magnetized together by some unseeable force. And as he jumped from the fire escape to the roof, and as his palm waved a silent goodbye, my heart became a bomb. Full of everything, slowly counting down.
I was like the Spanish general who set flame to his ships on the shores of a new land. He had said, "We either conquer this land, or die trying. There is no going home." Had I known I would never return to normalcy, perhaps I would have never boarded this vessel. But now that I know the riches of this strange soil, I watch the sails burn with a smile on my face.
Summer brought a lazy peace over me. Leisurely walks through Central Park were my daily ritual. One day, I found a bench soaked in a pool of light and curled up on the warm wood with a book. I stared at its cover as the sun tickled my exposed skin. Two clouds, one black and one white sat together on the book jacket, like yin and yang. Opposites, but one without the other seemed insufficient.
It was nearly dinnertime. Donnie would be expected me.
As I made my way to the lair, wispy streaks of white began to dissipate from the sky, and heavy, angry clouds made their way in. Only when I reached a familiar manhole did I feel a small droplet land on my shoulder.
The rain fell in torrents that day. The sound reminded me of pouring an entire bag of M&M's into my mouth when I was a child. Impatient, wanting to indulge in the sweetness all at once, smiling with my mouth full of rich chocolate. Temperatures in New York had been in the nineties all week, and cloudless skies had turned the grass brown and brittle, aching for water. When the rain came, the scorched earth drank it in like a thirsty dog. Sloppy, desperate, needing its cooling relief.
The same click-click-click I had heard a thousand times sounded as I pushed my way through the turnstiles of a particular abandoned subway. My eyes fell immediately upon the tails of a purple mask as the owner's head turned towards me.
"Hey April," Donatello said with flushed cheeks and a grin.
We sat in the pit together after dinner, watching our brothers play video games with boundless energy. A hand slipped tentatively around my shoulders. My heart revved at the touch. I wordlessly slid into him, resting both cheek and hand on his plastron. Our brothers were too busy to notice.
"I wish we could all stay this young and innocent forever," I bemused. "The silly little things I did as a kid always make me laugh."
"Like what?" Donnie asked quietly, so the conversation would remain between only us.
"Bubble baths, building a fort with the couch cushions, coloring, playing in the rain."
He looked down at me, still nuzzled into his chest. "How do you play in the rain?" he asked.
"You just... Do!" I chuckled, trying to grasp what childhood would have been like without the concept of "outside."
Donatello stood from the couch and offered me a hand. "Let's go do it, then." He grinned with a childish glint in his eye.
At first I hesitated. My mind fabricated excuses, like my clothes would get wet, I'd get cold, I might ruin my shoes. But that faint sparkle, that something in Donnie's eye pushed me off the couch, my hand into his.
The moment I moved the manhole cover away, rain drizzled onto my skin, hair, clothes. Though it was late evening, a bit of sunlight remained, streaking the clouds with pink and purple, like a child's finger painting. The warm droplets pooled on my skin, and I watched as they clung to my shirt. I grabbed Donatello's hand and took off in a run down the alley.
My eyes were darting back and forth as drops of rain stuck to my eyelashes. We bounded through alleys and I dragged him along by his hand, not wanting to break contact.
"What are you looking for, April?" he yelled through a laugh. The sound of the raindrops hitting the cracked pavement nearly drowned him out.
Over my shoulder, I threw him a smile. "I'm looking for the perfect-" we turned a corner and there it was.
"-puddle."
A wide but shallow pool of water stood between us and a forgotten back street. A warmth spread up from my chest. Memories flooded back to me, like the runoff flooding the storm drains. This was innocence. Childhood. Purity. Love.
Donnie squeezed my hand. "What do we do with a puddle?"
I bit my lip, trying to hide my childish grin. "We jump in it."
Our fingers intertwined as we stared at each other through the rain. I could feel my heart, the bomb, ticking away as I prepared to ruin my running shoes.
We ran. We leapt.
Time was grinding to a halt. Our bodies moved as if through syrup, slowly, smoothly. Each instant became an etching in my memory, burned into my foggy mind. The burst of water beneath our feet splashed onto our legs. It was cool, making my skin tingle. Droplets soared for those drawn out moments, then met the damp pavement again.
A laugh erupted from my throat, deep from my heart, ticking more frantically now. Donatello swung me around by my hand as he convulsed with laughter. I grabbed onto his shoulders, and he lifted me from the sodden gravel, spinning us in circles. We were children. Careless. Innocent. Free.
Donnie placed my feet back onto the sidewalk, but clung close to me still. I kept my arms around his shoulders as our laughter began to die. His grin lit up the alleyway as his eyes carefully locked onto mine.
And then, the quiet explosion.
We were kissing. My eyes fell closed, embracing every sensation. The tepid rain trickled through my hair, down my back, over my skin. The sound was nearly deafening, but soothing. It was a chorus of pittering drops, and they were all singing for us. My hand clawed at Donnie's neck, wanting us to melt together like chocolate in a child's palm.
His fingers were woven into my damp hair. He allowed the strands to fall through like sand. Our mouths desperately embraced, clinging together as if the other would dissolve away if they ever separated. We were in a valley with no echo. No one could reach us. We were blissfully stranded in the middle of this nowhere. Together, alone.
I could die chasing this feeling, I thought.
And so we stood, completely drenched to the bone, lips entwined. Hearts bursting, aching, surging with electricity and light. As our lips floated apart, I smiled. Our foreheads were sealed together as the water began soaking into my socks. But I did not care.
Children had far more urgent things to worry about.