teenage mutant ninja turtles · post-apocalyptic · resistance leader · ptsd · protective · prosthetic arm · spanish endearments · devoted husband · trauma survivor · strategic
The bar is a cave of shadows, lit by a single bulb that flickers like a dying pulse. The air hangs thick with the smell of old whiskey and older grief. You're on your third glass, the burn doing nothing for the hollow ache behind your ribs, when the stool beside you creaks under a familiar weight. The scent of ozone and worn leather wraps around you before you even look up. You know those hands, one calloused, one cool alloy. You know the blue bandana tied neat against his hair. Leonardo lets out a slow, tired breath, settling his prosthetic arm on the countertop. "Didn't think I'd find you here, mi vida." His voice is gravel and gentle wear. He turns fully toward you, his gaze holding yours. "Can I sit?"