Our meeting was the strangest and most embarrassing there could be in the world.

I was returning from my evening shift at the bar, it was almost 3 a.m. and I was dead tired; I arrived like a zombie at my top floor apartment, with the only thought of throwing myself into bed and sleeping until late in the afternoon. I would have done it if I hadn't remembered that I had to remove my make-up first, if I didn't want to stain the pillowcases once again and above all find myself the next morning with a face similar to papier-mâché; looking back now, if it weren't for the makeup you and I would never have seen each other.

I found you sitting on the toilet bowl, disinfecting a bad leg wound with my hydrogen peroxide.

Any sane person, or at least clear-headed and with a vision not clouded by the (albeit slight) dose of alcohol taken, to find himself in front of a giant humanoid turtle with a purple bandana and armed with a stick would probably have screamed like a possessed man; but at that moment, although sure I was sane, I was not at all lucid. My mind was probably already registering everything as a possible alcohol hallucination, because I just shrugged and went towards the mirror over the sink, like nothing was happening. As I proceeded to remove the evening makeup I clearly felt your gaze on me and gave you several sideways glances; I couldn't bear to be watched, hallucinating or not.

- Will you stop staring at me? You're getting on my nerves -. You jumped at those words, making a shrill sound very similar to a squeak, which if I hadn't been half drunk and half sleepy I would have found very funny.

- S-Sorry ... I-I didn't want to ... -, even your voice had a somewhat shrill tone and with a clear note of anxiety mixed with ... fear? It was that little detail, in addition to noticing how nervously you were looking for any point around you where to lay your gaze that wasn't me, that made me slightly soften.

- Don't worry, I won't bite. Just try to hurry up with that wound and get out of my apartment. I've already had a bad night and I'm not going to have to deal with anything other than my bed, pillow and sheets -.

I finished taking off my make-up and quickly rinsed my face to try to regain a minimum of lucidity, but nothing; the worst part was that the room had begun to sway dangerously, a sign that the alcohol was finishing its course towards my brain. You said something to me that I didn't record, as I foolishly tried a few steps towards the bathroom door; after which I saw the floor coming towards me to welcome me in its cold and painful arms of marble tiles...

An embrace that never came, replaced by something solid, but at the same time soft and warm that supported me in the fall.

- Woah ... to be an alcohol hallucination you are quite real ... -, I murmured; you had risen from your corner on the toilet to come to my rescue and avoid a ruinous fall, a gesture that tore you a hiss of pain and a quite colorful exclamation that I still remember and that I am still convinced that Master Splinter would certainly not be happy to know that it came out of your lips.

- Your leg ... you're bleeding ... -, I realized in a moment of clarity, trying to get back on my feet so as not to put my weight on you, but you shook your head, muttering a "Don't worry", as you began to lead me one step at a time to the bedroom, then resting me so delicately on the mattress, as if I was made of glass. From that moment on I still don't think I remember much: the only things that come to my mind are the coolness of the sheets, the sound of your footsteps moving away and then returning to the room, and finally the feeling that someone had stroked my hair with soft touches.

The next day, when I woke up, in the pain of a hangover and with the help of an aspirin conveniently found on the bedside table, I tried to remember what had happened the night before; what my memory recovered seemed to come out of a fanfiction, yet I had proof that it had really happened: the hydrogen peroxide was halfway through and there were some blood stains on the floor tiles. For the first few minutes I didn't know what to think; I had a close encounter with a giant turtle that had nearly run out of my disinfectant, stained the floor and prevented me from impacting the apple green tiles resulting in morning muscle aches the next day. Such an encounter could only happen once in a lifetime. A rather reassuring thought that accompanied me in the days to follow, until you decided to show up once again.

The night I first saw you was the night my brain and heart decided that your image would never leave me. You were and still are a mature woman, a completely different goal from the fifteen and fickle April, a vision not even remotely comparable to the immature figure of the teenager who still, I confess, sometimes makes my heart skip a beat. At our first meeting I could not say you were in great shape... Well... now that I think about it, I was not really in great shape either, given the wound in my leg caused by a fight with the Kraang; under different circumstances I would not have dared to sneak into a human's apartment, but I had lost sight of my brothers and I was afraid that the cut might widen, so, noticing the dark window of your bathroom and after making sure that it wasn't a living soul inside the apartment, I entered it as quietly as possible and without turning on any lights, so as not to alert the neighbors.

When I heard the sound of the front door opening, I was paralyzed in place for a few seconds, a mistake that, had you been any other person, would have created enormous problems; instead, the moment you entered the bathroom and our eyes met, I realized that from that moment on I would have other kinds of thoughts and headaches. If my heart sank the first time I saw April, you completely f**ked me up from head to toe: petroleum black curly hair with artificial blue shades and long up to mid-back, small stature (you certainly couldn't exceed the meter and fifty-five) but with an almost perfect posture enhanced by the dizzying heels that gave you those 8-10 centimeters more, slender body with a fair complexion, of those that are almost never exposed too much to the sun, and curves yes small but from which one could very well deduce how much you were by now a woman (I only discovered later that I was right; you had just turned 21). The most surprising and particular thing about you, however, were certainly the eyes, of a clear blue sky with long and well-groomed lashes, which scrutinized me, analyzing me from top to bottom in the evident attempt to understand who or what I was and what was I doing in your bathroom.

The seconds passed endlessly until it became a whole minute, after which, to my amazement, you indifferently shrugged your shoulders and began to remove your make-up in front of the mirror of the sink, regardless of my presence. This attitude of yours gave me a few more moments which, instead of using it for a quick escape, I used to observe you a little more. You were wearing a denim miniskirt - more mini than a skirt in fact - which was very close to uncovering the B-side completely, and a fuchsia-colored top that enhanced the whiteness of your skin even more, as well as being exaggeratedly low-cut - before I could stop it, my brain registered the presence under it of a pink lace bra that must have been a B cup.

I should have looked away and instead I got caught in the act staring at you, deserving your reproach to which I replied by blushing and muttering apologies in a shrill and pathetic voice. The gentle tone that you then used afterwards puzzled me almost as much as your confiding in me, a complete stranger - as well as a mutant turtle - that you had had a bad night. The rational part of my brain, which at that moment should have screamed at me to shut up and disappear as soon as possible, decided once again to stay silent, while my irrational side suggested me to ask you the reason for that negativity .

A question that you didn't give the slightest weight.

From that moment on, Destiny was with and against us at the same time.

Against us because he seemed to enjoy playing with my embarrassment and your unconsciousness.

With us because if all this had not happened we would never seen each other again.

You managed exactly two and a quarter steps swaying dangerously, before "deciding" that you wanted to "hug" the floor. I sprinted forward without even thinking about it, then cursing myself out loud when, to support your weight, I moved all the support onto the injured leg. I still thank today I don't know which Gods that Master Splinter still does not know what came out of my mouth that evening!

As I held you up, my nostrils inadvertently caught the smell of your skin, a mixture of coconut milk and inexpensive women's perfume that made even my shell quiver; luckily it was the smell of alcohol on your breath that woke me up and made me realize that you were actually drunk; so up to now you have not had in my presence the classic reactions that any human would have had in case of sobriety. This thought should have reassured me, because it meant that the next day you would not even remember me, instead I felt a slight feeling of disappointment inside me. And to think that by now I would have sworn that I had made a call to that reality of things...

Heedless of the pain in my leg, I was able to take you to the bedroom and gently lay you down on the sheets, even miraculously managing to reconnect to my rationality of thought long enough to allow me to go back to the bathroom, finish medicating and contact my brothers, establishing a meeting point.

The only last two out of line gestures I allowed myself were to leave you an aspirin on the bedside table and push a lock of hair away from your face.

In the days that followed - and the nights too - over and over again I found myself thinking about that little gesture, how soft your hair was and what it would be like to be able to slide your fingers through it once more.

And not onlyt that...

I forced myself to push those thoughts out of my mind as I tried to concentrate on the work I was doing in order to avoid thinking about you; but it was getting harder and harder, especially on patrol nights, when my footsteps were involuntarily headed as if on autopilot in the direction of your apartment.

I wanted to see you again. I had to see you again. Though it would have hurt me even more to part with you.

Just once more, I told myself as I waited for you to come home.

Just one more time.