Note: Like that other fic I wrote about Donnie, April, and a roof, this is a three-parter :D


Irma yanks the carton of fried rice out of April's hands and drops it on the table.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" April yelps when she reaches out to grab it back and Irma slaps her hand away. "Irma, what the hell?"

"It's time to come clean, O'Neil," Irma says calmly. She pauses the movie, then leans back against the arm of the sofa and nudges April's thigh with her foot. "You're even worse company than usual, and since your usual sucks, I demand answers."

"Wow, thanks, I really want to tell you everything now." April tosses her chopsticks to the table. "Why are you sticking around then? Masochistic instincts? A death wish?"

Irma sighs. "It's how I'm building up good karma. I'm protecting everyone else from having to deal with you." Her nudges turn into kicks, almost hard enough to leave bruises. "Seriously. You've been a shit for the past two weeks. What's bugging you?"

Underneath all the teasing and insults, there's genuine concern. April picks at the fraying edge of a cushion, weighing her options. Not that she has a lot: the truth, or a lie. The truth is too embarrassing, but there's a seventy-five percent chance that Irma will sniff out a lie, and then April will be stuck telling the truth anyways. That's the problem with living with your best friend, who's been your best friend since you were four years old. They know everything.

"You know how I got the C in Clingman's class?" she begins, on the off-chance Irma will chalk it up to bad grades and leave it be.

"Uh, yeah, and you're lucky as hell he had pity on you. Come on, don't try and play it off like you've been bummed over grades. Especially not College Writing." Irma pushes her glasses up on her nose and grins at April, lop-sided. "I'm just trying to check up on you. Don't make it so hard."

"I'm getting there," April says. "It's just…it's really stupid. I met this guy —"

"Oh my god, it's a guy." Irma flings herself off the couch in the direction of the kitchen. "At last! A normal problem! I can deal with this. Let me get the provisions."

"We've got dinner right here." April laughs. "Irma, come on, before I change my mind."

A cabinet door in the kitchen bangs open, then closed, punctuated with the rattling of glasses. "You're not changing your goddamn mind. I've been waiting for this moment." Irma sweeps back into the living room, balancing two mugs and a bottle of wine. "Women's Studies major be damned, we are drinking wine and talking about boys." She flops back onto the couch and hands April one of the mugs before yanking out the cork and filling both mugs. "Okay. Cheers. Let's give it up for traditional gender roles. Spill."

April nearly chokes on her first mouthful of wine when her laughter bubbles up her throat. "You're going to make me choke, Irma. Let me breathe." She takes a smaller sip, swirling the wine around her mouth. "How'd you get not-shitty wine? We're nineteen."

"Stole it from one of my cousins' birthday parties." Irma knocks back half her mug in a swallow, then props her feet on April's lap and smiles. "So, you met a guy."

"The last night of finals," April says. She stares at her wine, gooseflesh prickling the back of her neck. It's been so hard not to think about that night — and sunrise, she reminds herself — but thinking about what happened means thinking about how it ended, and the cold, humiliated disappointment that swept over her when she got back to the roof and Donnie was gone. And she can't help feeling like she's over-reacting — it's not like they kissed. They just talked, and held hands. It's stupid to still be worked up over this, two weeks later.

She can't help it.

"I was working on that stupid paper, and this guy just grabbed me — no, not like that, Irma, calm down — and asked me if I had seen a ghost." She smiles, her reflection in the dark wine smiling back. "Turns out it was just his brother being an ass, but we…" She swallows, remembering the way her stomach dropped when he jumped for the first landing.

"Oh no, April." She looks up to find Irma staring at her, eyes wide and sympathetic. "You…you didn't have sex in the library, did you? Because I mean, you do you, but the library? It's nasty as hell."

"No, Jesus, we didn't have sex." April lets her head fall onto the back of the sofa and closes her eyes. "We played tag, and then we sat on the roof and stargazed."

"That's…somehow worse," says Irma.

"Be serious." April groans. "I already feel dumb enough."

"Okay, serious face on. So what happened? Tag and stargazing sounds pretty awesome."

April briefly cracks one eye open — and yes, Irma does have her serious face on. She sighs and licks her lips. "We held hands."

"And…?"

"I think he was about to ask me to hang out later, or something, but then it was seven in the morning, and I had an exam to get to and a paper to turn in." April takes a long drink of her wine, hoping the taste will wash away some of the bitterness in her mouth. No such luck. "So I told him I was sorry, and I asked him to meet me there when my exam was done. But when I went back…"

He hadn't been there.

She swallows another mouthful of wine, and feels Irma shift to refill her mug without being asked. One of the best things about Irma is that she knows when to shut up, and she knows to stay quiet now. If April has to deal with questions, she'll never finish this stupid, stupid story. "He didn't wait. I mean, I'm freaking out over nothing, right? It's not like he broke an actual date, or we had any real plans, but…"

"It was shitty of him to leave," says Irma. April nods, her quiet misery cresting in her chest. "But, maybe he had to be somewhere?"

"I guess. I don't know." She rubs her eyes. When she left, she said see you soon, and Donnie said bye. It hadn't occurred to her at the time, but there's a world of difference between those two farewells. "Maybe I should have figured that would happen. It's not like —"

"I'm going to stop you right there." Irma kicks April's leg. "That shit is self-defeating. I may call you an asshole, but you don't get to call you an asshole."

April laughs, and finally opens her eyes as she smiles at Irma. "I guess I should say thanks for that?"

Irma shrugs. "Probably. But it doesn't matter." She finishes off her mug, then sets it aside and leans forward, her face close to April's. "You got this guy's name, right? You didn't forget that much?"

"He'd be pretty hard to miss even if I didn't get his name." April starts to lift her mug, then puts it on the table instead. It's a mark of how invested Irma is in this conversation that she hasn't yelled about coasters once.

"Okay, so, you've got his name. Did you look him up on Facebook?"

"If he's got one, it's private. His brothers are on Facebook, though."

Irma nods. "But it's not like you can message them, I get it. No school email?"

"You really think I'm going to email him on his school email? What would I say? 'Hey, it's April, that girl you didn't wait for. How's it going?'" April can hear how angry, how petty, she sounds, and steps on her temper. "It's not that big a deal, Irma. I'll get over it."

"Yeah, I know you will, but you're sad now. And since you're usually the suck-it-up kind, I have to enjoy this while it lasts. Or, you know, help you out."

April closes her eyes as they start to sting. "You're the best," she says, her voice a little rough, and leans her head on Irma's shoulder. "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk."

"Don't worry about it. I've got a high tolerance." Irma swings her legs off April's lap, and twists so her arm wraps around April's shoulder. "If it's got you this bummed out, then you obviously like this guy. Who is he? Maybe I know him."

Moment of truth. April takes a deep breath. "Donnie Hamato." She cringes, waiting for Irma's reaction, whatever it may be, but all she hears is a thoughtful little hum.

"The genius, huh?" Irma pulls her arm off April's shoulders, and props her chin on her fist. "I haven't met him, but I had a couple classes with one of his brothers. Leo. I hear Donnie's nice. Like, nice, not fedora nice."

April snickers. "You mean like half of the guys on campus?"

Irma rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. "Why our school had to get infested by bronies, I will never know. But no, I hear Donnie's a good guy. You know, from like, friends of friends, but no one ever says the Hamatos are dicks. So…"

"So what?"

"So it doesn't make sense that he'd just take off. Maybe he had to leave, April." Irma's mouth flattens into a thin line, and April knows what she's going to say before it comes out of her mouth. "Or…maybe he just wasn't that interested. It sucks, but it's possible."

"Yeah, it is." April grabs the wine and pours herself another mugful. "It was just…a really nice night. He was nice. I know, I'm being stupid, getting all worked up over this, but I don't — it was just a really good night." She feels her eyes start to prickle again, and drinks the entire mug to cover it. "Okay. I get to be upset tonight, and then I'm getting over it. I don't want to waste my summer being — being sad over someone I don't even know."

"Hey. You're not being stupid." Irma pulls the mug out of her hands and hugs her, their cheeks pressed together. "This sucks. I'm sorry."

April nods, her throat closed tight, and finally does what she hasn't for two weeks. Her tears make hot tracks on her cheeks, but Irma hugs her till the storm is over.


April's tempted to go back to the roof of the library — because of nostalgia, because of a still-lingering hope that Donnie will be there, smiling his sweet, hopeful smile — but she never does. As hard as it is to resist the impulse, she doesn't want to face getting to the roof to find no one there, not even pigeons.

She can't help looking for him on her walk to her summer job at Trader Joe's, or when she walks their neighbor's corgis. Green skin and a purple mask would stand out, even in New York, but she never sees Donnie. Once, she thinks she sees him, but it's one of his brothers, red-masked, hollering at a laughing, gangly kid outside a bakery. She almost stops — almost.

It's not a bad summer, on balance. When April looks back, halfway through August, she realizes she actually had fun. Trips up to the farm to visit her mom and dad, a long weekend in Montreal with Irma, a few baseball games. She even hung out with people who weren't Irma, and liked it.

Not a bad summer, not at all.

The night before classes start up for the semester, April finds herself lying awake, one hand clenched in her sheets, and thinking about Donnie. She drops everything she knows about him into a pile, and her heart aches when she sees how small it is. One night. Barely seven hours, and yet here she is, still holding on. The O'Neils are a stubborn family, but hanging on to this handful of memories is verging on desperate. The smart thing to do would be to stop looking for Donnie, and start looking at everyone else around her — to date, to experiment, to find out who she likes, and what she wants.

The problem is, she already knows. And if a summer wasn't long enough to get over it, what does that say about her?

She rolls onto her belly, and watches the numbers on her alarm clock count down slowly till she has to get up.


Her sleepless night leaves her in a foul mood for her entire first day. And she forgets her lunch, and her metro pass, and her phone, so by the time she gets to her last class of the day, April's exhausted and furious. She slumps into a seat in the second row of tables in the chem lab, glowering at anyone who comes near her, and yanks out her laptop while she waits for the rest of the class to filter in. When the door closes and the class goes quiet, she doesn't look up, and keeps smiling at the pictures of her dad in his garden.

"Okay then," says a voice from the front of the room. "Well, uh, normally I'd have a big welcome speech planned, but none of you look like you're up to dealing with it, so let's just get through the syllabus and you guys can get out of here."

April goes cold all over, staring at her screen without blinking. Fuck everything, she thinks, her blood roaring in her ears. My life does not suck this much.

Her life definitely does suck that much. When she finally drags her eyes away from her laptop, there's Donnie at the head of the classroom, handing out the syllabus with a slight, thoughtful frown on his face.

"I think I made enough…" he says, more to himself than the students, then turns back to his desk and starts digging through a beat-up leather satchel.

April slowly closes her laptop. Any second now, he's going to see her, and she isn't sure what would be worse: if he recognized her, and looked away, or if he didn't recognize her at all. She came to terms with the fact that whatever the night meant, she had overestimated, but to not be seen at all —

She balls her hands into fists under the table, and waits.

And watches.

He's still wearing his mask and the utilikilt, and his skin is a bright, healthy green under the fluorescent lights. But instead nothing covering his torso, there's a bizarrely conservative sweater vest stretched over his shell — argyle print and everything — and a neatly knotted bow tie around his neck. It's like he did his best to look the part of a professor, as much as his anatomy would allow. In theory, it should look ridiculous, but it doesn't. He doesn't.

Donnie looks good. Really good. Even better, he looks right at home at the head of the class, confident and happy.

"I'm not going to bother taking attendance today," he says, handing off another few syllabi to the front row. "But just so you're aware, attendance is a big part of your grade. Miss three classes or more, and you start losing points — half a grade every extra unexcused absence. It's all on the syllabus, so let's get started. I'm Donatello Hamato, I'm the TA for this section of the course, and —"

Donnie's gaze meets April's, and the rest of his sentence disappears. Too late, April realizes she's beaming at him, like a total idiot, but she can't look away, and she can't stop smiling.

Here it comes, she thinks as Donnie blinks, his mouth hanging open. He's going to act like he's never seen me before. Her stomach drops.

Donnie regains his composure almost instantly, but a dark flush spreads over his cheeks and — he smiles. No, he beams right back at her, eyes bright, and the shuffling of papers and the sound of her classmates murmuring drop away.

They don't look at each other for more than three seconds, and Donnie's back on track in half that time, leading them through the syllabus, but it's long enough to leave her flushed and her cheeks aching from smiling.

She ducks her head and hides behind her hair, ignoring the whispers around her — yes, they were obvious, because they have no game and he's here, Donnie is ten feet away from her and he's still smiling. He might even be stumbling over reading the syllabus.

Oh my god, she thinks, shivering and all too aware of the gazes pointed in her direction. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

How she gets through the rest of class, she doesn't know. Donnie lets the class go as soon as they're done going over the syllabus, and they leave in a whispering crowd, a few people glancing over their shoulders. April takes her time packing up, making a show of looking around her seat to make sure she hasn't forgotten anything — a show that fools no one, she's sure.

But it does its job; it keeps her in the room until everyone else is gone, and she's alone with Donnie.

Their gazes meet over the desks again, and April waits. It's up to him now.

"Hey, April," he says, shifting a little, gripping the strap of his satchel with both hands. No sign of his smile lingers on his face; he's serious, frowning, chewing on his lip. "I…how are you?"

"I'm good." She folds her arms over her chest to hide her shivers, realizing too late how closed-off she must look. "I didn't know you were teaching this section. I thought it was just grad students who ran the labs."

Small talk. Great work, April.

"Last-minute development," he says, shrugging until the fabric of his ridiculous vest is bunched up around his shoulders. "I'm working with Doctor Stone this year. I think she put in a good word for me."

"Oh. Nice." April winces. Nice. That's all I've got to say? "Well," she adds, when Donnie doesn't say anything else, and she can't hold his gaze any longer. "I should —"

"I'm so sorry," Donnie blurts out. "I — I freaked out. I should have stayed, I mean, I wanted to stay, but I just…I freaked out. I'm sorry, April."

Of all the things she thought he might say, an apology wasn't in the top ten. Excuses, evasions — she was ready for them, but not Donnie being sorry. April's first instinct is to say that it's fine, to smile and shrug it off, but her inner Irma screams in protest. She sets her bag down on her desk with a sigh. "I'm sure you had a good reason," she says, wincing at how calm she sounds. How can she sound like she doesn't care, when her heart is pounding and Donnie is watching her with huge, dark eyes?

"I didn't," he says, and blows out a long, shuddery breath. "I thought…I worried that you would think I'm…"

"That you're what?" She frowns as Donnie slumps down, eyes hooded, and jerks a thick thumb at himself. Then comprehension hits, and she inhales sharply. "What? Oh, Donnie. No. God, no. That doesn't matter."

Only a second passes before she's suddenly horrified at how easily she dismissed what must be the central anxiety of his life. "I'm sorry. It matters, but not the way you're worried about. I promise." April swallows, and forces herself to say what she's been feeling. "It's good to see you." Her voice catches on the last word. "Like, really good, Donnie."

"Is there a way to make it up to you?" Donnie asks, his voice quieter with every word. "I'm sorry, April, I really am, and I totally get it if you're mad, but…I had a really great time."

April feels another blush flooding her cheeks. She's starting to think Donnie only has two settings — earnest, and super-earnest — but there's no doubting him now. He means it. He's sorry, and he wants to fix things. How she knows this doesn't matter. She just trusts her gut, and smiles up at him.

"I'm not mad," she says. "Promise. I wish you had stayed, because when I got there after my exam…" Her voice falters, but she makes herself smile through it, even when he flinches. "It's fine. I understand. Well, not really, I know I can't, but it's all fine."

"Do you want to get dinner?" Donnie blurts out. He bites his lip, seemingly shocked at what just came out of his mouth, then forges ahead. "I'm sorry, this is really sudden, and I know I don't have any right to ask, but do you? Want to get dinner? With me, specifically, not just in general. You can say no, I'll understand, and I won't bug you if you say —"

"Oh my god, yes," April says, her heart stopping for a split second as an impossible urge to laugh comes over her. "Dinner sounds awesome."

Donnie's silent for a split second, so sweetly astonished that April nearly leaps over the desk to kiss him, and then he grins again, the same grin he wore on the roof. "That's so great," he says, and oh, how he means it. "When do you want to go?"

"How about now?" The same reckless impulse that made her go sprinting off into the stacks after him seizes April again, and yes, now, they need to go now. She's waited three months for this second chance. "I'm free."

"Yes!" Donnie yelps, then, "Wait. It's just four in the afternoon, isn't that too early?"

"It'll take us an hour to get off campus and go anywhere good," she says. "Unless you'd rather wait?"

"No." Donnie takes a deep breath, and holds out his hand. "No, let's go. I know just the place."

She slips her hand into his, blushing and full of loose, unsteady laughter. Her exhaustion is gone, completely forgotten, as soon as his fingers curl around hers.