[Leo stares at the hand in front of his face, practically balking at the notion. Touch a human? Before today he's barely even glimpsed them up close from below sewer grates, and now one wants him to shake his hand?]
[Every bit of him is screaming to run away, grab Raph and dive back down into the sewers and never think about this weird guy again. But there's another part of him, somewhere deeper, that wants to believe that most humans aren't really as bad as Sensei says they are. He's always wondered if they were, but it had always seemed like taking Splinter's word for it was just smarter. It still does. But while his head is telling him one thing, but his heart is telling him something completely different.]
[Leo doesn't step back like his brother. He stares at the gloved hand, at the dark, sausage-like fingers poking out from ratty cloth. Then, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his eyes dashing to the man's, and slowly presses his palm into the Professor's.]
[He can't help the quiet intake of breath; the hand is so different from what he knows. It's startlingly warm, like Sensei's, but there's no scritchy brushing of fur against his skin. Even through the fabric stretched over his palm, Leo can feel it radiating from him like he's a furnace. There are other details too, all catalogued within moments - size, texture, even the number of digits - but the warmth is a fixation for the most reptile-brained part of him.]
[Leo swallows, trying not to show how surprised or terrified he is by touching a human for the first time. He squares his shoulders and sets his mouth in a thin line, and admirably, his voice doesn't even shake when he speaks.]
no subject
[Every bit of him is screaming to run away, grab Raph and dive back down into the sewers and never think about this weird guy again. But there's another part of him, somewhere deeper, that wants to believe that most humans aren't really as bad as Sensei says they are. He's always wondered if they were, but it had always seemed like taking Splinter's word for it was just smarter. It still does. But while his head is telling him one thing, but his heart is telling him something completely different.]
[Leo doesn't step back like his brother. He stares at the gloved hand, at the dark, sausage-like fingers poking out from ratty cloth. Then, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his eyes dashing to the man's, and slowly presses his palm into the Professor's.]
[He can't help the quiet intake of breath; the hand is so different from what he knows. It's startlingly warm, like Sensei's, but there's no scritchy brushing of fur against his skin. Even through the fabric stretched over his palm, Leo can feel it radiating from him like he's a furnace. There are other details too, all catalogued within moments - size, texture, even the number of digits - but the warmth is a fixation for the most reptile-brained part of him.]
[Leo swallows, trying not to show how surprised or terrified he is by touching a human for the first time. He squares his shoulders and sets his mouth in a thin line, and admirably, his voice doesn't even shake when he speaks.]
Leo.