If you're still taking requests, could you write #30 between Leo and Donnie on a day where Leo's sick?
30: “I’m fine.”
Donnie wakes up to a gentle nudging. It peels him slowly out of a deep, thick sleep, and he finds himself face-to-face with the alarm clock nestled on his pillow beside him.
“I know you’re awake, Donnie,” Mikey says, sounding harried. “It’s not my fault you never go to bed. C’mon, bro, get up.”
Mikey is persistent, and Donnie is functioning on four hours of sleep; there’s an obvious winner, here. He rolls over to face his brother, and finds a Mikey dressed in soccer gear, orange tote bag over one shoulder. He has to stare at his little brother for a moment before he understands, then he levers himself up on an elbow.
“You have a game this afternoon,” he says, dismayed. “I forgot. We haven’t missed it, have we?”
“Not yet, but you’re going to,” comes Mikey’s prompt reply. “Leo doesn’t feel good, so Raph made him stay home.”
Nonplussed, Donnie looks past Mikey to Leo’s bed. Normally, Leo would be at work by now– but sure enough, today there’s an approximately Leo-sized lump buried under a pile of blankets.
“When you say Raph made him–”
“Threatened to call April and everything. So yeah, he’s gonna be cranky.“
The blankets emit an irritated harrumph, and Donnie finds himself wishing he’d gone to bed earlier last night.
This morning I was walking to the train station wearing burgundy tights and a blackwatch tartan coat with a big jewelled moth on it and carrying a bright orange tote bag and I realised everyone else was basically just wearing black and I felt slightly bashful in my very conspicuous approach to business casual.